Rachel Spangler's Blog, page 20

25 Songs of Christmas: Dec 14 – Grown Up Christmas List

As soon as I started this holiday season, struggling with the pain and the sadness and the deep yearning for more peace, I knew this song would make an appearance on this year’s list.  It’s so beautiful, and it captures so much of what I want for the world right now. “No more lives torn apart, that wars would never start, and time would heal all hearts. Everyone would have a friend, and right would always win, and love would never end.”

Those gifts are so much harder to come by than the toys and shiny things children wish for. These are no concepts for children. It’s just easier for kids to wrap their heads around the idea of a new video game or Elsa doll. My Sunday school students understand those kinds of things. They don’t understand the things I have talked about in these holiday blogs. They don’t understand how rare the peace and joy of Christmas really are. They don’t see goodwill toward all as some radical message. They don’t understand that the end of war would take a modern-day miracle.

When I was a child, I thought like a child. My faith was simple, but as I became an adult I put away childish things, including the surface level understanding of the Christmas story. They see an exotic journey where I see the hand of an oppressive government. They see a warm stable where I see poverty. They see camels and donkeys and a kind innkeeper where I see the harsh realities of people living on the margins of society being turned away once more.  And yet as I helped our church children prepare for their Christmas play, I realized I wouldn’t trade their understanding of Christmas for anything.

Today I held our youngest nursery child (in his sheep costume) tightly to my chest. I pressed my lips to his sweet head and prayed that no one would ever discriminate against him for the color of his skin, that he would never go hungry, that he would never go to war or come to harm in any of the other ways I fear for our children these days. Then I set him down and watched him toddle off shouting “baaa” at the kids playing shepherds. As I watched them play, I realized that as I look at the Christmas story and see the evidence of all the things in the world that call out for a savior, those children see only that The Savior has arrived.  It’s not that they don’t get the true meaning of Christmas. They get it better than I do. They get the holiday, and they get the message.  These children still live in eternal hope and joy.  The idea of ending wars and loving neighbors, and lives always being whole and full are not great miracles for them or impossible dreams. They are real, honest gifts they see all around them.  Each and every one of them feels that if they listen and pray and sing and circle around that manger they will always have all the things we adults only dare to put on our grown-up Christmas lists. And I can’t help but think that they may be right.

What if as we grew we didn’t learn the true meaning of Christmas. What if somewhere along the way we unlearned it?

Maybe it really is like the song says: What is this illusion called the innocence of youth? Maybe only in our blind belief can we ever find the truth.

25 songs of Christmas: Dec 13 – Joy To The World

Yesterday I had my first real pure moments of Christmas joy.  First Jackson’s class had their holiday concert which was obviously adorable.  Then in the evening we hosted our annual holiday open house with friends and family.  I got to see a lot of people I love. Kids ran around.  Adults shared food and drinks. There were hugs, and lots of laughter.  The best part was hearing Jackson and his young cousins laugh until their whole bodies shook. I was happy without exceptions in those fleeting moments.  That sort of thing is just good for the soul and therefore worth celebrating.  Christ came bringing good tidings of great joy, that is why we celebrate Christmas, and today I am celebrating the joy or having a little bit of joy.

25 Songs of Christmas: Day 12 – Lo, How A Rose E’re Blooming

So, I don’t normally take requests for specific songs blogs because 1) there are so many of them, 2) I am picky, and most importantly 3) I try to let The Spirit guide me in these meditations.

However, this year I got two requests for this specific version of this song, and it’s a pretty obscure version of a pretty obscure song.  Then last Sunday we sang it in church.  Seeing as how I am not a big believer in coincidence, I finally had to consider the possibility that The Spirit was at work there.

After reading all the lyrics to the hymn, I was particularly struck in how this one, more so than any other I have found, acknowledges Jesus’s humanity.  I’ve taken comfort in that idea this season as I have wrestled with my own.

So, without further ado, here is Linda Ronstadt singing “Lo, How A Rose E’re Blooming”

Lo, how a Rose e’er blooming from tender stem hath sprung!

Of Jesse’s lineage coming, as men of old have sung.

It came, a floweret bright, amid the cold of winter,

When half spent was the night.

Isaiah ’twas foretold it, the Rose I have in mind;

Mary we behold it, the Virgin Mother kind.

To show God’s love aright, she bore to us a Savior,

When half spent was the night.

The shepherds heard the story proclaimed by angels bright,

How Christ, the Lord of glory was born on earth this night.

To Bethlehem they sped and in the manger they found Him,

As angel heralds said.

This Flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air,

Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;

True Man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us,

And lightens every load.

O Savior, Child of Mary, who felt our human woe,

O Savior, King of glory, who dost our weakness know;

Bring us at length we pray, to the bright courts of Heaven,

And to the endless day!

This Flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air,

Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;

True man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us,

And lightens every load.

25 Songs of Christmas: Dec 11 – In The Bleak Midwinter

Some times I post this song without comment because I just love it that much. I can listen to it over and over and not get tired of it. In fact I love it so much that when I woke up after a terrible nightmare I couldn’t shake I resorted to singing these lyrics in my head.

You see this has felt like a pretty bleak midwinter to me. I am sure you all know by now that the culture of violence has really bothered me pretty badly as of late, to the point I have lost a lot of sleep and a lot of tears, mostly over my sense of helplessness. I feel the call, I feel the spirit stirring. But I also help hopeless about my lack of ability to actually affect the situation in a positive way. I know this world is crying out now as God people have called out through all of human history. I want so badly be a messenger of Christ’s love to the world. I want to be part of the voice crying out in the wilderness. I want to stop being part of the problem and start being part of the solution. I want to help foster real lasting change. And yet nothing I do seems to be enough to make a real difference. At this rate it will take millions of people working for another million years to turn things around and how many lives will lose before that happens?

And now you see why I have nightmares.

But as I lay awake, singing internally, trying to keep the dark images at bay, the beautiful imagery of these lyrics began to take over. Snow falling on snow, earth hard as iron, water like a stone. Cherubim and Seraphim. Angels and Archangels. A young mother’s holy kiss. These were certainly things better than what I’d awoken thinking about. But was it just a pretty escape? Did the world of the song fit anywhere in real world of my life? Was it even a dream I could dream right now? And if so, if I could dream it, did that mean I was called to peruse it in some way?

How could I ever contribute to ta world like that in the midst of such hatred and oppression? What could I offer poor, and tired and limited as I am? If I were a wiseone I would know my part. And yet, what can I give Him? Give my heart.

Yes, maybe that is simple. Or maybe the business of committing our hearts to something isn’t very simple at all. Maybe it’s the only way. Maybe it really will take millions of people millions of years working with all of their hearts all of the time, but if so let me be one of the million, let me give my heart.

25 Songs of Christmas: Dec 10 – Count Your blessings

Every year Susie and I do a little video compellation to go in our Christmas cards. It’s a sort of year in review thing for our family and friends we don’t get to see as often as we’d like. We used to write a letter, but that got repetitive and really we’ve got a pretty photogenic kid, so why not use pictures? It’s fun and a good way to catalog all our good memories.

Only 2014 has been a pretty rough year. When January starts with a flooded basement, you sort of have to wonder what’s in store. We tried to tell ourselves maybe it was a good sign, like we got all of the bad stuff out of the way early and the rest would be easy going. Water running down the inside of the walls and through the kitchen ceiling a week later seemed to mock that idea pretty thoroughly. Then trouble with various work issues escalated into a kind of nastiness that left us longing for simple things like broken pipes again. Two sets of friends left town by summer (no one from our wedding party three years ago is still within a 400 mile radius of us). In August we had to say goodbye to a great opportunity because of other people’s tomfuckery, and it hurt. Then my good friend Cate Culpepper passed away, and that hurt worst of all. We were already feeling kind of worn out, physically, emotionally, and financially when the latest rash of violence and oppression hit close to home (we both grew up near to St. Louis). We spent Thanksgiving hopelessly trying to avoid conversations that had the power to trigger nervous breakdowns. Quite frankly, neither one of us really felt any great desire to memorialize 2014. We wanted to kick its sorry ass to the curb.

But still, we have a cute kid. He’s growing and changing. People far and wide want to see proof of these things. So I sat down and started looking at pictures of the year, hoping I could find enough positive things to mention. I just went through month by month tossing up any picture I had anything good to say about. There was a ski trip where Jackson made some awesome progress. His first sleepover with his cousins. Finishing Kindergarten. I had a new book out. Oh and summer. We did take some really cool trips over the summer. Before I knew it, I not only had a full song’s worth of pictures, I had so many I had to cut some.

When Susie and I sat down to watch the finished project, we both ended up in tears. Sure, we hadn’t put all the sad events on there, and there was more than enough good stuff to fill the time. Where had all that come from? And why couldn’t I see it through all the junk? It was like I had lost an entire year of awesome experiences to a year’s worth of bad ones. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to relive 2014, but looking at the slide show, I know that 95% of the world would kill to switch places with me.

I don’t think it’s right to ignore the hurt and pain in the world and in our lives, but it scares me that we had let those bad things completely overshadow everything else. I want to do better going forward. Make no mistake: I will not compromise my commitment to acknowledging my privilege or calling out oppression where I see it. I am not going to stop caring about the loss of friends. I am not going to manage to be happy when my shower runs into the kitchen. There will be hard days and even insurmountable challenges, but at the same time I cannot let the bad things negate the all good.

Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” Letting the darkness of my life this year consume all the light is not helpful to me, to my family, or to our culture at large. Mostly, though, it is no way to show my gratitude to God who has given me everything, including unconditional love that accompanies Christmas.

25 songs of Christmas: Dec 9 – Christmas in America

I got a bit of a news flash this week that I wanted to pass along to all of you: We’re still at war.

When I grew up hearing about American wars I always thought of them as consuming the entire country with rations, and drafts, and protests, women going off to work, rich and poor fighting side by side both at home and abroad. I imagined that wars were all consuming. How could they not be?

Then the “War on Terror” began, a new kind of war with multiple fronts in Iraq and Afghanistan. You would think with a 24 hour news cycle we’d hear about nothing else, but I guess after more than eleven years (A full third of my lifetime) Americans have grown numb to the idea of other Americans killing and being killed in some desert most people can’t find on a map. Unless you know someone over there it can all start to feel so distant. And honestly most middle and upper class people, the people in positions of power, the people who are charged with making the decisions are less likely than ever before to actually know someone fighting. These wars are largely being fought by a very specific class of people. A class of people our culture doesn’t usually see.

A new study done by the pentagon shows that 44% of Military members come from economically depressed rural areas and 14% come from poverty stricken urban centers. That’s 58% of the Military coming from below the poverty line. More than half of the military come from the lowest 15% of American households. Beyond that nearly two-thirds of them come from below average Americans income brackets so 66% of the Military members are what most Americans would consider poor.

I admit, no one I know has been over there for a couple years. I don’t see their faces on the news, I don’t hear their stories. Their flag draped caskets don’t come through the streets of my white, suburban existence, and it hadn’t really occurred to me that they could. That is until Jackson said one of his classmate’s was crying because her father had just shipped out. Incidentally, this was the father of one of only three children of color in his class. The class had talked about where he was going. The teacher showed them on a map and the littler girl explained that Thanksgiving had been their last holiday together for a full year. He would miss Christmas, he would miss her 7th birthday, he would miss Easter, and the class play, and all of the things that mark the passage one year in a child’s life. As Jackson explained this to me, I realized this father, who I have never met, stood to miss a lot more than that.

Those students talked about his sacrifice in terms of one year, as adults we understand it could turn out to be much greater than that. We understand, or at least we should understand by now that the toll a war takes on a human life can extend through an entire lifetime, or it can end it all together. I do not mean to lessen this man’s sacrifice in any way. I am sure he is strong, and capable, and patriotic. I am sure he is making the choice he feels is best for his family and for his country. And yet I wonder what it means that two thirds of the people who make that choice happen to be living in poverty at the time that they make it. I wonder what it means that a disproportionate number of people who make that choice are from communities of color. I wonder what it means to have the people who make that choice sitting so far removed from the political decision making process. What does it mean for us a country to give them so little say in when and how our nation enters and sustains these wars? What if Latino Americans, and Black Americans, and the entire class of people who find their children, their brothers and sisters, their fathers and mothers leaving for the holidays, for the year, and possibly forever were charged with making those choices? Would these wars have lasted more than a decade.

Jesus came to bring hope to the hopeless, a voice to the voiceless. He was not born into a palace, or a mansion, or even a cute little suburban home. He was born into a poor family, in an economically depressed town, that was very much under the control of a foreign army. Don’t tell me He didn’t know the harsh realities of this world and still He told His followers to put down the sword. He told them to love their enemies. And He is known to all as the Prince of Peace. I don’t think He was naive about the world or the human capacity for violence. I think He understood the true nature of war better than I ever could and that is exactly why He said that in his Kingdom the last will be first.

I wonder what would happen if we were to follow that line of thinking right now. What if we put the last first, especially on this particular issue that disproportionately affects their families, would that father still be spending this Christmas at war?

I don’t know the answer for sure, but I do so wish more people would be asking the question this time of year.

“Come on all you faithful, it’s time to think again…”

25 Songs of Christmas: Dec 8 – Breath of Heaven

I am not Catholic. Doesn’t seem like the type of thing someone like me should have to declare. And yet as I’ve been listening to/watching videos of some of my favorite Christmas songs, I have seen this point come up in the comment section (i.e. crazytown) time and time again. Apparently there is a line of thinking in some Christian traditions that anyone who really likes songs about Mary or from Mary’s point of view is worshiping the Virgin Mother and only Catholics could like her. Apparently, aside from making me Catholic, my affinity for Mary also makes me an idolater and a polytheist.

So much blasphemy in a three-minute Christmas song. Go figure. But here’s the thing: I’m Presbyterian. (Or lesbyterian if you ask me on the right day). Guess I have to find another song to share today.

No, it’s okay to be a protestant, or nondenominational, or even nonChristian and still like the story of Mary. Personally, I like her lot, not because I think of her as a deity, but rather because I don’t think of her as a deity. I think of her as being a normal, everyday woman, the girl-next-door sort of woman, the kind of woman who might get frazzled over the housework or the cooking, a woman who probably had really mundane interests and some pretty big fears. Being a poor, young, single woman in a religious community under foreign occupation 2,000 years ago was a pretty tall order. I imagine she was probably just trying to keep her head down and take her of her own business when all of a sudden there’s an angel in her face and a savior in her womb. Can you imagine?

The answer to that question is “No.” None of us can imagine what it would be like..

And yet, the idea of an ordinary woman in an already bad position being called on by God to stand up and do something amazing for the world isn’t that foreign. When you take away the time and the specifics, the heart of Mary’s story really is something we can all look up to, something we can all identify with.

No, I don’t know what her life was like, but I know how it feels to be busy when a friend calls for help. I don’t know what it would be like to have an angel appear and tell me God’s plan. I do, however, know how it feels to be stretched thin financially when the food bank puts out a notice saying they are in dire need. I can’t even conceive of being asked to help offer salvation to the world, but I have been in situations where I’m already tired and overwhelmed and frustrated when a crisis breaks.

I know what it’s like to hear the call of God in my own, too-busy life. We all do.

Like Mary in today’s song, I have been frightened by the load I bear. I have wondered if I must walk the path alone. I have worried I might not live up to the task before me. I have asked if maybe someone better, stronger, or more put together should have had my place. And still I try to offer all that I am to the mercy of God’s plans. I have prayed for strength, guidance, and that breath of Heaven to hold me together.

It’s not a perfect plan. I am never going to be perfect in my execution of God’s will. This world is never going to be perfect, but neither was Mary’s world. If it had been, there would’ve been no need for Christmas. A perfect world would have no need for ordinary people to bear extraordinary burdens. Only broken worlds need a woman like Mary. Broken worlds need ordinary people to answer holy calls.

No, I don’t see Mary as God to be worshiped. I see her as woman to be identified with. And to me that makes her all the easier to celebrate.

25 Songs of Christmas: Dec 7 – Little Drummer Boy

This will not be a long, heavy blog.  Today is Sunday, and Sunday is a day of rest.  Not rest in the sense that I got to lounge around, mind you.  It was actually a pretty busy Sunday. This morning I went to church.  It was our big Advent festival with hundreds of nativities in the sanctuary and the fellowship hall filled with alternative market gifts.  The Sunday School kids were climbing the walls with excitement, and we had to take them out of the service earlier than usual because they just couldn’t contain themselves.

We spent the next hour working on the upcoming Christmas play, which was a fun sort of chaos.  Then we came home and began cleaning/rearranging our living room so we could make room for the tree.  Some friends came over and we all caravanned to the tree farm way out in the country and we cut down our own tree.  Then we spent the rest of the evening sipping hot chocolate with candy canes and putting on ornaments.

Now it’s 8:00, and it feels like I just sat down for the first time all day.  No, this was not rest in any sort of conventional sense.  And yet, I am more content that I’ve been in weeks.  Sometimes the trappings of the holiday, even something superficial like trees and candy canes, can help prepare us for the deeper work to be done.  Like kneeling before a prayer, or making the sign of the cross, the motions aren’t done for the benefit of God. They are done for the benefit of the believer.  Those motions are ways our bodies tell our minds that we’re about to do something important, something we’ve done before, something ingrained, a brain/muscle memory of sorts.

So today, even though I still haven’t felt that massive wash of the Christmas spirit, this going through the motions, the act of taking part in these outward rituals of preparation, I felt a part of me stir to life with a stretch and maybe a few aches, as if just awaking up to say, is it time?  Is it morning? Are we doing this again? This season may be like one of those mornings where it takes longer than usual to get out of bed, but the light is seeping in through the heavy curtains now, and even if I don’t actually feel the warmth of the sun quite yet, the part of my soul that seeks out those things has begun to stir in anticipation.

So in keeping with traditions that bring me comfort, I am sharing a video I personally look forward to each year.  I just watched it and smiled. I hope you do, too.

25 Songs of Christmas: Dec 6 – Hallelujah (Christmas Version)

Jackson’s elf on the shelf arrived from the North Pole yesterday.  That topic is probably a bit of whiplash for those of you following my blogs thus far this holiday season. Violence, child welfare, poverty, privilege, and an elf on the shelf?

Maybe now is the time to point out we do the elf on the shelf differently at our house.

Ever since Jackson was born, we’ve had a hard time with the concept of Santa Claus. We love Saint Nick, and we wanted all the fun that comes along with that right jolly old elf, but we didn’t like the cultural class-based baggage that comes with him, too. We have serious problems with the naughty or nice business.  I know, I know. it’s a really convenient parenting tool to get kids to behave at the holidays. It’s tempting, and in my weakest moment I may have even whispered, “Santa’s watching,” to a group of unruly kindergarteners last year. But this is not good in the long run.

Teaching kids that the number/quality of gifts they get from Santa depends on how good they are sets them up to believe bad things about how the world works. What about poor kids who may only get small gifts or no gifts at all? Is that because they were bad? Of course not. It’s because their families are struggling to feed them and keep them in clothes. What about Jewish or Muslim kids whom Santa doesn’t visit? The whole naughty or nice thing makes it looks like those kids are inherently bad because of their faith. And what about the rich kid who gets covered in toys? He looks like he was the best, nicest, most wonderful person in the world, when really he may just be horribly spoiled.   The idea of presents being the reward for goodness sets up a system that reaffirms the rich and reinforces the idea that poor people are bad. Despite what some people want to believe, this is not the way of the world. It is a system of oppression, one I do not want my son to learn ever, but especially at Christmas.

More importantly, though, I worry that the elf on the shelf with teach my son the wrong message of Christ at Christmas. The elf as it stands in most marketing ploys is to put the emphasis on the toys, on the consumerism, and as mentioned above that more toys = better. I want to teach my son that there is one true gift at Christmas, and it is the love of Jesus Christ, and the love of Jesus Christ is in no way dependent on what some elf catches him doing. The love of Jesus is the anti-naughty-or-nice. The love of Jesus is a gift freely given to anyone and everyone, no matter how rich or poor, not because we are good, but because we need it, all of us, not matter how many other gifts we get on Christmas. The love of Christ is part of no hierarchy. It is the great equalizer, and that is the true message of Christmas.

But, still, that elf looks like fun. Moving it around, messing with your kid’s head, that’s a good time for the whole family, and I don’t want my family to miss out on the joy and magic of Christmas, so my wife and I decided that maybe instead of letting the elf teach the wrong lessons about Christmas, we can use it to help teach the right ones. And with that in mind we reworked the elf (and Santa) in Christ’s image. Our elf didn’t come to help Jackson be nice; he came so that Jackson can teach him about the love of Jesus. This is the letter our elf arrives with:

Dear Jackson,

Thank you for your letter. It was very nice of you to ask about Mrs. Claus and me. We’re doing well, but things are very busy at the North Pole right now. I wish I had more time, but with Christmas coming I really need kids like you to help me. Which reminds me, I’m happy you want to teach an elf the true meaning of Christmas again this year. It’s confusing for the elves because they work so hard on the toys that sometimes they start to think that’s what Christmas is all about. Toys are so much fun. I understand how they could get confused for a little bit, and I am glad there are kids like you out there willing to remind them that Christmas is really Jesus’s birthday.

The elves can also start to believe all that silly business about gifts being about whether they are naughty or nice. When they start to think that way, they believe the only reason we are nice is to get presents and assume only the very best people will get good things. I want them to know that the best gift of Christmas is the love of Jesus, and that gift is free to everyone! God loves us all the time, no matter what. He calls us to share His love because He has so much love to go around. We aren’tgood to get this gift. We are good because we have already gotten it! 

So this is your elf, Ory. Will you please teach him it’s okay to make mistakes as long as we handle them like people who are filled with the love of Christ? Teach him to celebrate with joy and happiness and even a little bit of magic. Most of all, please show him how to greet every person with the love of God, who first loved us.

I’ll be back to get Ory on Christmas Eve to see if he’s ready to come help me share the true joy of Christmas with the whole world. You’ll have to wait till then to see about the Ultimate Baseball Trainer you asked for.

Merry Christmas,

Santa

Each day in the early part of the season, the elf makes a mistake. Sometimes he wastes food, and we use that as a chance to talk about people who are hungry this year and how Jesus called us to feed his sheep (John 21:17). Then we donate food to the food pantry. One day the elf put Jackson’s underwear on the tree. We laugh and laugh, then we teach the elf about how Jesus said that if someone asks for our shirt, we need to give them our coat as well (Matt 5:40). And we pick up some clothes to donate to kids in need. Every day, no matter what the elf does, we remind him that no one is perfect, but Christ and that God loves us any way. We remind him that God loves us so much He sent Jesus, and that’s why we are celebrating. By the end of the month, the elf is rocking Christmas, and on the last night with us in our home, we always find him in the nativity set, attention fixed where it should be, on the Christ child.   That is how we know the elf is ready to go back to the North Pole and help Santa spread the true joy of giving to others the way God gives to us.

25 Songs of Christmas: Dec 5 – Let There Be Peace On Earth

I haven’t slept a full night since the Grand Jury failed to indict Darren Wilson. It’s been almost two weeks and I am tried in a way that no nap can fix. I haven’t had a day without panic since Thanksgiving. That’s a full week of constantly feeling like something is sitting on my chest. I have begun to swing at shadows. I argue with people who aren’t here. Always vigilant always ready to fight. Then yesterday I started crying and I haven’t stopped. I cried through my evening devotional. This morning I cried at the thought of having to go back to Illinois for Christmas. I dissolve into tears at everything. I am crying right now.

I wonder how long this will go on. I wonder how much more I can take. And then I feel guilty because I know so many others have borne so much more pain and injustice and loss for so much longer. I feel guilty for even seeking rest when there is so much work to be done. So much at stake. So many lives so close to the edge. Every minute lost feels like another life lost. People keep talking about rage and I get that, I feel it too, but what’s choking me right now is desperation.

Honestly, I worry I am starting to succumb to it. I have been an activist for more than a decade. I have mobilized around women’s rights, marriage equality, hate crimes legislation, immigration, war, hunger, and gun violence. I am not some green newbie. I know that there are always more losses than wins, especially in the early waves of consciousness rising. I understand this is a marathon and I am embarrassed by my desolation, but I feel so helpless it’s crushing me.

I can’t fix the myriad of problems with out justice system. I can end racism. Hell, I can’t even stop my own family from saying horrible things about people who are fighting for their freaking lives. I want to give up. I want to tune out. I want to hole myself up in my house an never talk to another bigot again. I am cracking up and for what? I haven’t saved a single person? Maybe it’s time to back off a little bit.

But then there’s the guilt. My black friends don’t have luxury of taking a day off. Poor people can’t just decide not to stave for a couple days. People under attack can’t simply say, I’m goanna have a little vacation from this siege. Being able to take a break is a privilege. It is white privilege. It is class privilege. It is a privilege not afforded to everyone equally and not afforded to some people at all.

I didn’t ask for any of those privileges, but I have received them none the less. That’s the way privilege works. We don’t have any say in why or how we receive it, we can’t even reject it, we can only control what we do with it.  I am calling mine out. I am acknowledging the way it affects me and how it has the power to affect others. When some people get to take days off, and some people don’t who do you think cracks first? Do you think snaps first? Who do you think gets arrested first? Who do you think dies first? There is a caste system even inside a rebellion, and I am calling out the ways I benefit from that system.

That is a kind of activism too, I guess, to say, I see how the system works. I see how it treats us differently. I acknowledge the problems inherent in even the ways we are forced to keep vigil or accept rest.  Maybe that’s where I need to focus my energy right now. Maybe I will never cast as lasting blow to the hegemony, or racism, or poverty, or violence. Maybe all I can do is work in my circle to say in the moments when I get peace, this too is fundamentally unequal.

Today I will go to a rally, because Black lives matter. Then I will pick up my son from school and we will decorate the house for Christmas. Tomorrow I will attend several events to raise awareness and money to help fight hunger and poverty then I will celebrate the birthday or a little boy I adore. Sunday I will go to church and seek spiritual guidance and strength then I will go get my Christmas tree. I will have moments of struggle, of work, of grief, of loss, of anger, and of resolve. I will also work hard to have moments of peace, and joy, and hopefully rest, because without them I can’t see any reason to try and save this world. I cannot promise I won’t break down. I cannot promise I won’t feel guilty. I cannot promise I will always be strong, or steady, or right.

What I can promise though is that my peace, however I find it, will not come without awareness, without an acknowledgement, that true change has to come at the most personal level.  Even when I am not actively in engaged in fight against those larger systems of oppression, I can still be working to dismantle the systems of inequality at their most bedrock level within myself.