Jillibee'sness

W. Bruce Cameron And Covid

Like everyone else in the world, I’ve been on house arrest drinking deeply from the home brew of cortisol over fear of catching Covid19. The good news is that I’ve had much more time to write. The bad news is that as the months drag on, all I have to say is “ahhhhhhhhhh!” I also have nothing but time to sing but no one to sing with; and the song in my heart is “La la laaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!” 

My two grown kids, my daughter’s boyfriend, and my teenage son are all crammed in our tiny house full of dogs while my essential but excessive over worker husband resides in a different home because we have family members at risk. I’m managing care for my senior relatives from afar and have not seen them since January. And we are one of the lucky ones in this #2020 pandemonium! 

When I started reading “The Dogs of Christmas” by my friend W. Bruce Cameron I found what any other year would have been significant troubles of the characters annoying. “They have it easy! Try having those issues without human contact! Try being alone or leaving loved ones alone in the hospital! Try cancelling all activities for the kids! Then talk to me about conflict and resolution in a story arc!” 

But mid way through the book, I fell into the story and remembered what it was like before Covid. It was both a sweet escape and a gentle reminder of just how much we are all enduring - in the middle of our own stories. So much that we all took for granted was the fabric and balm for the beleaguered characters in A Dog’s Perfect Christmas. The conflicts were complex enough to keep my interest while the tone was light enough to pull me back from the abyss of despair and plop me back into good old normal. Plus...a puppy. I don’t usually use my Blahg to recommend books, but I can’t imagine a more perfect book to heal your heart during Covid. 

W. Bruce Cameron made a name for himself by writing books and movies that make us cry and laugh and hope. I am not able to sugar coat or deny the pain and suffering all around me these days. But I’m going to try to do what Bruce has done and find a way to channel my dogs (who are the ONLY ones I know thriving during this prolonged house arrest). The world has become such a mess that I don’t want to be here now, but the only way to find peace to endure until things brighten is to do as Bailey Bailey Bailey says in the last line of “A Dog’s Purpose” (one of Bruce’s other best sellers); and be here NOW. This too shall pass...so may I recommend you pick up a copy of A Dog’s Perfect Christmas to pass the time in the meantime? link to pre-order on Amazon! https://www.amazon.com/Dogs-Perfect-Christmas-Bruce-Cameron/dp/1250163587 Jill, admin 

 

Arm the Mentally Ill With Better Weapons

When mass shootings happen, as day follows night, the tug of war begins between those who favor gun control and those who want to restrict access to the mentally ill. They toss them in a bag and label them like a problem to be solved, as if those with mental illness are easily identified. The answer is simple - just don’t arm the “crazies”. The mentally ill are lumped together with the worst of humanity and called “sickos”, “psychos” and “monsters”. 

 

I get why people do this. Anyone who could kill us, is somehow “other” than us, or anyone we know. It makes us feel safer to distance ourselves from someone who would kill anyone. But who were they the day before the crime, the decade before the crime? 

 

Something has to change. All the talk centers around “preventing mentally ill people from...” but we need to consider a strategy where we can “empower the mentally ill people to...”. We need to arm them with better weapons to fight their demons of illness, thought distortion and loneliness. 

 

These shooters, mostly young men, are shunned and isolated. They lay dormant in their rooms like sleeper cells. Under the surface they are fighting a constant battle against unseen, unknown enemies; until someone or something from their tortured brain offers them a way out which we, with functioning brains, would never consider. 

 

It reminds me of those jumpers from the towers on 9/11 - the only thing worse than the death they chose, was the fire that was consuming them. Counting on humans with broken brains to think logically about their future or the consequences of their actions, is like demanding someone with a broken leg run for help. 

 

We must create a better alternative for these souls. They too, are someone’s baby, crying for change. They are also dying in senseless deaths far too often.  Most of them don’t take captives as they go, but instead silently dismiss themselves from a world who has already written them off and let them go. 

 

 

Jill Brehm Enders 

Anti-Social Media

I wish Internet etiquette were like driving. Most of the time you're sharing the road with people going their own way, but who have the same underlying intention as you; to avoid a confrontation or accident. Every now and then you pull a boneheaded move, but somebody gets out of your way maybe with a honk, but that's that. You blush, make a course correction, and you go about your business. Every so often  you encounter an a-hole bent on destruction or driving recklessly. For that we offer the one finger wave and drive on. But day in and day out for the most part, we're all just trying to get where we're going. What a shame that this metaphor does not apply to the honk-happy, confrontation crazed world of social media. A shared understanding of basic rules of the road can get you far. Common sense, patience, kindness, and a gift of the benefit of a doubt, can really make the trip a lot more enjoyable for all of us. 

 

The Family that Plays Together

I grew up in a musical family. Singing with my Mom was a regular thing. When I was away at school she would send me songs to check out (not so easy in those days). When I came home from school she would play them and I would sing through them. Today her hands are arthritic so she only listens.

I play the piano (with much less skill than my mother) as my daughter and I sing through songs we discover. Tonight we sang through Adele's "To Make You Feel My Love". I'm struggling to put into words just what this all means to me. Making music with my mother and my siblings made me who I am. The fact that the children whom my musician husband and I made together, also make music with us and with each other, feels like the most important thing I've accomplished. 

A friend told me recently that he spends a lot of time these days thinking about legacy. I never called it that, but I have always had some ill defined vision of what it was I was meant to do here on earth. I sensed that it involved music, but it seems it was always "out there" somewhere - just beyond my reach - some achievement which was better than anything I've yet to accomplish. But tonight I see clearly that sometimes life is not only as John Lennon says, "what you're doing while you're making other plans"; but also the thing you do every day. Sometimes a miracle is unfolding at your fingertips and you don't even realize it. Like a spider with a gossamer web, intricately and uniquely woven between me and each member of my family - this delicate connection to catch what life throws at us is essential to our well being. This is home. This is love. This is life. 

 

The Ties that Bind and the Lies that Blind

Like most of you, I'm stunned. I'm watching (as little as possible) and reading (as much as I can handle). I am in a state of disbelief about the state of our union. I can't even find the words. My heart is paralyzed. I feel the need to stand up and resist. But I also fear backlash or a cry of "white privilege" if my words aren't correct. Aren't enough. Or are somehow too much for the platform of privilege from which I stand. 

 

Damned if I do or damned if I don't, never stopped me before. I think it is important to note that we don't suddenly have lots of new enemies. We don't suddenly have Nazis masquerading as allies in our midst. Our bonds of trust with friends and neighbors need not fester from the wounds of insecurity. Our trusted relationships must not suddenly tear at us like shrapnel from Charlottesville. 

 

If we have found safe haven in the homes and hearts of one another, we must be able to trust our hearts knew where to let down the guard. Life for most of us is the same today as it was BC (before Charlottesville) but now we have the gift hidden in tragedy - an opportunity to reflect and openly communicate, raw, uncensored. 

 

If there are areas of blindness or an inability to fully grasp the suffering unique to our lives, that is neither bigotry nor hatred. That is  the STARTING  point for a deeper conversation. Hold on to each other, stay with the conversation through the pain of being alone in your suffering, misunderstood in your vulnerability. Stay with it while your ego groans at the humiliation of being caught redhanded with imperfection. Stay through confusion, inconsistencies, and the shattering of assumption. Believe each other is telling the truth about life seen from that world view. And embrace the heart brave enough to trust you with the truth - incomplete as it is. The rewards to you both are priceless on the other side of these discussions. Give the benefit of the doubt but don't leave your loved ones in the dark. 

 

That said, if anyone is saying that those justifying or marching with Nazis are not guilty by association, they are wounding us all. The roots of this movement are well documented. The organizers are unveiled in their agenda and we must not accept this. 

 

There is evil in the world that goes beyond ignorance and fear; though it breeds in that dark cesspool of both fear and ignorance. Shedding light on that darkness, educating or illuminating will sadly not always be sufficient, though it is worth the effort to save a loved one, unless you must walk away to save yourself. 

 

Know this though - misunderstanding is NOT evil - refusing to try is. It is imperative that we cling to what and whom is worth saving in our lives in order to have the strength necessary to fight what is truly evil. United we stand and must stand against those who would delight in exploiting our differences to cause us to fall.

-Jill Brehm Enders  

A Pretty lost year and a half

18 months ago today, while I was out of town, my yorkiepoo Pretty ran away. The last one of the original signs came down yesterday. It was on a pole in front of my house. When I hung it, I was devastated; but I just KNEW we would get her back. 

 

I could barely sleep those early days. Every time I started to drift off, I would burst into tears. So I didn't willingly close my eyes. I worked tirelessly to find her - from the time my eyes opened until I just could not keep them open another second. 

 

I dreamed of her every time I slept. I kept the phone by my head. We got a lot of calls that first year, especially in the first six months. Just like an on duty fire fighter, I sprang awake and dashed out to answer every call. I put myself in a lot of risky situations. I can say in hindsight, I was not in my right mind. I was in my broken heart. 

 

Like this sign, my grief has aged and faded. Mercifully, those powerful emotions and constant adrenaline fueled reactions have receded. The overwhelming grief only comes in waves now. These waves are smaller and further apart. Although I look for her every single time I go out, it does not usually interrupt my day or hijack my thoughts like it did in the beginning when I quit my job and made finding Pretty my top priority.

 

Now when I get a call, I have to re-arrange my schedule to answer it. Before I race out, I have to evaluate the likelihood that she is actually the look alike who has been brought to my attention. 

 

I miss her every day and I still pray that somehow she will return or be miraculously discovered. I have had too many callous people say out loud what of course we all consider; but I do not sense she is dead. I do not believe she was eaten.

 

I wish I knew for a fact that she is still alive and being loved and cared for. If I knew that, I could live without the gift of her daily presence in our lives. God has filled the vacancy in our home; though the one in our hearts will never be filled. 

 

In some ways, I feel like this sign - worn out and weathered from this monumental but fruitless effort. But unlike this sign, my hope and faith is renewed every morning. I am not faded by the sun. My light shines from within. It is this belief and confidence of a greater Love and a greater purpose for every living being - which comforted me in my darkest hour and comforts me still. Pretty is lost to me. But God knows exactly where she is and has the power to care for her better than I ever could. Even if I don't know what it is, (though I have already seen glimpses of it); I believe she is fulfilling God's purpose for her life. 

 

I don't believe it's God's "fault" that Pretty ran away and out of reach, anymore than I believe that it is to my "credit" that she ever existed in the first place. We all have a story and a place in the Bigger Story. It's not always easy to grapple with that fact. But sometimes, little furry angels are brought into our lives to bring us these messages in ways we can accept.

 

~Jill Brehm Enders

Oh where oh where has my year and my little dog gone?

A year ago, on the 11th birthday of my son, I was in Ohio with my parents when I got a phone call that changed my life. My 4 year old Yorkiepoo, Pretty, had run away. 

 

While I raced home to CA - driving 48 straight hours without stopping; efforts were made at home to find her. Signs were going up and neighborhoods were canvassed, while I ran an extensive online campaign from the car. I watched her saga unfold as I was driving across country. Neighbors on Nextdoor were spotting her and trying to catch her. She was even seen at the end of my street once. But she was elusive. I heard horrifying stories of her darting into busy streets narrowly escaping traffic. She was wandering up to doors. She was ducking under fences. Each night my heart sank with the sun as I imagined her vulnerable to coyotes. And each morning it rose with the sun at the first sighting of the day. 

 

Friends and total strangers turned instantly into lifetime friends, formed search parties. For three days I went without sleep. Each time I tried to close my eyes, they filled with tears. I kept imagining this scared little homebody out there lost and afraid. I own her Mom and Dad. I had seen her born and prayed for her even before that. I knew every minute of her life and she was so dearly loved. Why, then, didn't I get her chipped? Why did $50 seem too much to spend (I've since found clinics that do it for $15) to add a measure of security? I won't be able to answer that, except to say I couldn't imagine a scenario where she would go missing. This pain is unimaginable even after a year of living it. 

 

On the third day she was seen for the last time. An older gentleman saw her going door to door and had pity on her. He followed her for an hour. She eventually ducked under a fence and into a back yard. This is behavior she learned at our house when once or twice she exploited a hole and got into the neighbor's yard. She knew going under a fence brought her home. 

 

Since January 10, 2016, I have done everything in my power to find her. We posted signs everywhere. We bolted out of the house all hours of the day and night, whenever someone called who spotted a little dog. We went to the two area shelters twice a week every week and have gone to Sacramento, and Hayward to check out look alikes. I learned to set live animal traps and caught and released a possum. I spent a night outside where she had been spotted. I paid a service to call every house in our county. I paid another service to send flyers to vets, groomers and merchants in the area. I went door to door in several neighborhoods. I went to every vet, groomer or pet shop in the area. (And many out of the area). I paid for Facebook ads. I set up and maintained a care station for her in various spots where small dogs were sighted. I approached complete strangers, followed every lead, even into dangerous neighborhoods. I dragged "scent items" along the street and even left a trail of trace amounts of her feces from the house of the last sighting to our house. I consulted with dog trackers and a psychic.  I signed up for every online lost animal site I heard about. I got two full page stories in two area newspapers. We peppered the Main Street any time there was a fair or event in town. We passed out flyers to people at the events, at Safeway or wherever we could reach a lot of people in the same place. 

 

I also got creative. She has her own Facebook page. I tweeted it on Twitter. I taped lost dog signs to my car.  I dressed like a giant green dinosaur and danced with signs on the busy intersection. I even took out an add on a Times Square billboard - not because I thought she was in NY,  but because  I wanted to attract the attention of the local news who didn't think "just another lost dog" was a story. 

 

But she's not just another lost dog. She's MY lost dog. And I don't have words to describe what it means to be my dog, but if you've ever loved a dog I don't have to, you know. You know how deeply connected I am. You know how seriously I take my responsibility for her. You hopefully don't know, but maybe can imagine, that just because she is not in my care doesn't mean my heart can ever rest. I have an unmet need to know she is safe. In the early days, after a full day of driving around or searching online, I would drive to the last place she was sighted and say goodnight, hoping my love would be carried to her on the wind. 

 

There have been so many kind souls who feel for her and have compassion for our loss. I have lost track of the many different friends of Pretty who have reached out, but I remember each and every call or kind word. Priests, police officers, hardened war vets, mail carriers, delivery people, people who didn't speak English (we made signs in Spanish), homeless people - all were approached and they all told us sympathetically that they would keep an eye out. It is an indescribable comfort to know a total stranger has allowed their heart to hurt on our behalf. People made us soup, gave us money, and took time out of their lives to help us look. Even now, a year later, people let me know when a look alike is out there. Even now people tell me "I'm looking for her. I'm praying for her. Never give up!"

 

There have been a handful of folks who have said, "She was eaten by coyotes". Some of these folks said this in front of my son. Some of these folks have felt compelled to tell me horrific stories of consumed pets or describe in detail the method of hunting and means of devouring their prey, that a pack of coyotes employs when eating a dog, not realizing I suppose, that I was imagining my baby in this gruesome scenario. I have no words for that pain. If I were to give into bitterness, it would be over something like this. Unless you know for certain a coyote has eaten someone's pet; don't mention it. We all know the threats to lost dogs - predators, animals, cars, puppy-mills, bait dogs, psychopaths, euthanasia. 

 

Thankfully, Pretty was last seen at 10:00 am, not prime hunting hour. The hills were green and teaming with prey. A tracker scoured the hills near where she was last seen and the coyote droppings were far from her last house. He got close enough to see that the coyotes had a tapeworm. If there had been a collar with tags or dog remains he would have seen it. Or so I tell myself. But I told myself that if a person picked her up while she was wearing a collar and tags they would have seen it. But apparently they over looked it. 

 

I made finding Pretty my full time job for the first six months. Then I made it my part time job. Now I spend maybe an hour a day online looking. But I never stop thinking, wishing, hoping and praying for her. I revised a musical I had composed about a lost dog, to include a song for her and to incorporate lessons learned through this ordeal. I am working to produce this musical as a fundraiser for the lost dog sites and shelters that helped me the most. I also want to get the word out "think lost not stray". I'm disappointed each time I see people assuming they were given a "gift from the Universe" when a lost dog wanders into their lives, without even making an attempt to find the owners. I can understand how someone would fall in love with her and tell themselves anything to justify it. She is that kind of dog.

 

I would do almost anything to have her back. I have offered a large reward and everything I have by way of time, energy, ingenuity, prayer. But until now, it has not brought her back. But that doesn't mean it has been in vain. 

 

I have learned valuable lessons, about the kindness of strangers, received the rewards for venturing far out of my comfort zone, understood better the depth of sorrow love can produce, and became acutely aware of the widespread problem of lost and found dogs and the angels among us who champion their cause. I have learned why restrictions on breeding, spay/neuter, and chipping campaigns are so important to the folks who witness multitudes of beautiful, but unclaimed or unwanted dogs and cats die. I have learned exactly what to do when you lose or find a pet. 

 

There is no real silver lining, if I'm being honest. I just want this never to have happened. But I do take comfort in the gifts that have come our way in this dark cloud.  Through my search for Pretty and the exposure of her FB site and our lost dog plight, we have been able to help 8 other dogs be reunited with their families or find new homes. 

 

I got called several times about Pretty look alikes who, when I caught them turned out not to be her. I or my family members have dived under dumpsters and leaned over cliffs on the side of the highway to rescue matted and injured stray dogs.  I'm happy to say they are all well loved; two of them by our family members. 

 

I have grieved with and comforted others who have lost their pets, and I have genuinely celebrated the reuniting of dogs who I've prayed for or whose story I've shared online. I will be honest, each time a dog is reunited I'm tempted to think "why not us?" But then I read a story of a miraculous return after months or even years and I think "why not us?" So I hope and pray and work for that - the long shot. In the meantime, I send out prayers for her and her new "owner" or God forbid, captor. I think loving thoughts as messages to her. I hang on to hopeful dreams as omens of her return. I don't think I really believed in this kind of thing until I was desperate enough to need something like this to believe in. 

 

A friend called a psychic for me. She said she is alive and well in a new home. That's the best case scenario if she is not coming back. To imagine that scenario satisfies the tortuous element of "not knowing". Seeing the little lost dogs whose back story I will never know, respond to our love also soothes my aching heart. Pretty can love and be loved by someone other than us. Though it is hard to imagine anyone loving her more. 

 

I admit this is a lot of energy over "just an animal". I suppose there is more to this than meets the eye. I've never wanted anything more, worked harder, or had so many folks pray for a reasonable request to instead receive no outcome, no closure. As someone who jumped right into this search said early on, "I can't do a thing about ISIS, but I can help this family find their lost dog!" But alas, this too must be put into the category of things beyond our control which we can't understand, and must accept, though our love and effort would have had it turn out differently. 

 

I suppose that is at the heart of my pain. If I can't protect my little dog, if I can't protect my little son from the loss of his little dog, if I can't affect the outcome using every tool at my disposal, then I am inclined to feel just as lost as she is. And yet, my faith that in spite of evidence to the contrary, we are all watched over by an all loving, knowing, powerful God; is my source of strength, comfort and forgiveness. Through that faith, bolstered by the many people who have promised their prayers, I can find the strength to work for the outcome I want, accept the outcome I get, and forgive myself and others if the outcome is one I definitely do not want. This is the lesson I have learned this past year and of all the dogs I have ever met, it makes sense that Pretty would have been the one to deliver this message. Who better than a really good dog, to teach me about trust, faith, devotion, unconditional love and acceptance. 

The Binds that Tie

Oh Facebook, you broke my heart this week. This reaction to the election went so much deeper than whose team lost. I've endured that. (Remember I'm from Ohio not Chicago). This is not about poor sportsmanship. This is about poor people - on both sides of this election result. 

The difference is in who they hope will pull them out of the quicksand. But when I dared to ask the question and really listen to the answer, my heart broke. 

 

I got a private message from a friend I have long admired for her kind heart, wisdom and creativity.  She messaged me privately for fear of backlash. She lives in an area hit hard by outsourcing and regulation. She has decades of experience but can't find full time work because it's cheaper for companies to hire part time employees. Coal mines have been shut down and the area has been hit hard by the deeds of desperate people, many of them are displaced, undocumented immigrants. It's easy to fear them all if the only ones you know wish to harm you. 

 

My friends are being ridiculed for being honest about who they are. They have lived examined lives and discovered a lifestyle and a tribe which represents their conviction and gives them freedom to express their soul without harming another. But they are frightened about what this election will do to their hard won gains or the lives of the people they love. My LGBT friends are hearing people of faith reduce their whole lives to a verse or two from a book, a love letter from God, which condemns and dismisses them.

 

It's easy to fear and loathe someone if you don't really know them. It's easy to detest people of faith if the only ones you know are trying to harm you. 

 

This fear cuts both ways. Noone won this election.  

 

In the expression of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; we suddenly see an opposition - I can't have mine if you get yours. The resources are not finite. In most cases, people are just fighting for the right to exist. But we've been manipulated into thinking it's either/or. 

 

People of color are tired of reliving the same horror from the same battles fought for generations. America is the only home they've ever known. Must they always feel unwelcome?  Will they ever get to take off their coat and stay a while? 

 

No matter who you voted for, life goes on. One of my nearest and dearest is about to be homeless. Her beloved pets will be surrendered. One of you is in the hospital praying, thankfully, that the freak accident which changed your young son's life didn't end his life; but uncertain what "new normal" will be. One of you is at the hospital with both parents and a best friend; praying the strongest pillars of your sense of security will remain when the doctors do all they can. Some of you are still grieving a family member lost in the war. Many of you are facing health issues and battling cancer. And this is just the microcosm of a week in the lives of MY America; my friends. 

 

People who struggle with mental illness are finally on a level playing field. This world that doesn't seem to make sense, doesn't make sense for any of us. The young people, instead of being idealists, are angry and scared. The old people, instead of having an influence, are just helplessly watching the show. The folks in the middle are working too hard to take much time to look directly at it.  

 

And then there's me. Some of you are angry at me for how I handled my confusion and sadness over the way my best friends and family voted and reacted to the results. I'm not defending those actions. We've all just been doing what we do under stress and uncertainty. I go for the middle. I make peace. Sometimes prematurely. 

 

I have felt ashamed, angry, defensive, thankful, humbled. I have felt like an ignorant white girl. 

 

As I drove around my incredibly diverse SF Bay Area, I've started to see the human trees for the forest. I have grown use to seeing people from all over the world, all genders, ages, stages and manifestation of personhood. That's "allowed" here. I learned shortly after moving here from the Midwest, it's impossible to "size a person up" when you meet them. I learned to evaluate security or threat from individual words and actions. But not this week. 

 

This week I saw them all as their type. I saw the Muslim woman on the corner of the intersection and she seemed so vulnerable. I wondered what went through her mind as she got dressed that morning. Just a change of outfit would have insured her security. What faith she must have to dress in a way that identifies her as "other". 

 

I appreciated every kindness from every African American I encountered. My friends on Facebook are so damn tired of still being "other" in a world of others. I wondered if I would even bother being kind in a world that kept telling me I was still not enough. 

 

I had a white woman flip me off and scream at me for a perceived traffic mistake. (It wasn't one, I swear). Her contorted face matched the ugly, angry tone of the horn.  (I may have responded by matching the tone of both; but I'm not confirming that rumor). I wondered what her life is like to make her so angry. I've thought a lot this week about the men who abused me in my past. I've felt frustrated that some of the men in my life still don't know what the "big deal" is. 

 

I thought about all my friends of faith. It's a weary, risky business to profess an unpopular, misunderstood position.  During worship service, I wondered if someone might come in and gun us down. I'm up front. I wondered if I would physically be able to duck and cover or if I would step in front of someone's bullet. My son wasn't there this week. But I know the answer if the bullet was coming for him. (To be fair, this is not a new thought to me. But this week it seemed more plausible). 

 

I wonder, if this is how I processed my world of diversity - as parts, not in whole -  it's no wonder the mean spirited or cruelly unstable among us are noticing and deciding who is "other" and unleashing their venom on them. 

 

No one feels at home right now. I pray it's temporary. But it struck deep. I live in a house divided. I was wounded by my nearest and dearest, and I assume these wounds were inflicted by those who felt wounded by me; disappointed in me. Betrayed. 

 

America needs a hero and it doesn't seem likely to be anyone elected - past or present. I think, therefore, we need to step up and be the hero. We need to form a militia of kindness.

 

If anything good came from this week, it's that we are really talking about that which we are passionate. Maybe we will also really start listening. Maybe we will begin to parcel out baby from bath water. I've been so thankful for acts of everyday kindness which I used to take for granted. I have no idea how these kind people voted; but their kindness has been clear and bipartisan. 

 

I spent a lot of time with children this week. That gives me hope for the future. I spent a lot of time singing great music this week. That reminds me that we have survived the past. It grounds me in our rich heritage. Those long deceased composers lived in turbulent times, and their creations, expressions of hope that inspired their acts of love, have lived centuries beyond them. 

 

I have had to dig deep to access the trust that above, within, and through us all is Love, Divinity, Light - God. I believe more than ever that the hurricane winds that scatter us don't endure. These are not the times that define us; they are the times that refine us. Unbreakable bonds won't be devastated by these times, but strengthened. Those bonds will reveal the gold standard for the forming of new bonds. And we will form new, stronger bonds. That's what we do. That's what Love does. #onlyloveisreal 

A house divided is hard to keep clean

This week I lost the respect of my son and I lost the respect of my best friend. In those tests where they ask you if you'd rather be loved or admired I've answered "loved", without hesitation, every time. 

I took a chance and spoke up, propelled by what I don't know, I thought the Holy Spirit, but maybe it was some dysfunctional part of myself not being able to stand the tension, needing to race in and make the peace. 

 

I couldn't stand to see so much hatred and misunderstanding towards the people I love and the people I love stood on opposing sides.  

 

To each I appear to have represented the face of the problem. A traitor to the cause, to the relationship. My need to speak up was greater than my need for the approval of my loved ones for a brief moment. And as that moment has passed I am left with such a profound sadness, far deeper than the lift that comes from speaking the truth in love. 

 

I don't know who God voted for. I think I know what God stands for as outlined in the Bible and most other Holy texts. And from what I've read both sides are blowing it. We are all blowing it. Nobody is coming out in front. From where I sit, nobody won this election. We are all a little lost. All we like sheep... 

The American Scream

Things have gotten out of hand 

A house divided will not stand 

The fearful crowds have found their voice,

convinced they've lost their place, their choice 

Competing sides who stand their ground,

creating tension all around

Destruction, mayhem, rage, disgust,

relationships left in the dust 

 

What will we win at long day's end?

 Is it worth the cost to lose a friend?

 

 The fiber of our DNA

determines how we walk today 

Do we really think our argument

can unwind years of lives well spent?

 We see the mountain from our side,

those on the other, we deride

Could we really be so blind 

to justify hatred in our mind? 

 

So often just a roll of dice 

we credit for OUR sacrifice 

Born here, not there, born now not then, 

make the difference of which

shoes we're in

What road will we, as people take

toward progress there is left to make? 

 

 

Through rhetoric of bridge or wall

our country's bracing for a fall

"One nation under God" but whose?

It would seem God has the most to lose

 

If God is love, God is light,

God is justice, mercy, right 

God is also patience, kindness, peace 

To access God, the noise must cease 

"Be still and know" says God to all,

before you build your bridge or wall 

 

Passion, fierce determination

ruling over all creation,

while drowning in today's sorrows

we risk the flooding of our tomorrows

Start here, start now, start where you are 

talk to each other, share your scar 

Love's opposite is not hate

but apathy, dismissal; not debate 

 

Embrace the fire if you dare,

that's how "we the people" show we care

With words and protests, or silent scream

We're fighting for the American dream 

 

Love challenges us all to wait

before letting chaos choose our fate 

The neighbor that you cast away

could be the change you seek today 

 

For in that thread within their story,

woven into the fabric of "Old Glory",

are sons and daughters of a generation

who formed the bedrock of our nation 

 

Don't judge so quickly what you see,

those wells run deep in you and me 

The only way we can begin 

to build a land we believe in,

Is to find a way to communicate

that fosters a will to collaborate 

 

Listen, listen, listen, hear 

Accept them, believe them, relieve their fear 

 

If we don't find our way to peace,

the opportunity to choose will cease 

 

 

for "united we stand divided we fall" 

is a bipartisan message for us all