One of my favorite pictures of my mom is one of her dancing
in our living room. She is wearing a
shirt that my dad gave her. It said, “A
woman’s place is in in the house. And in
the Senate.” I’ve seen that shirt
resurface recently, but she had the original one from the 70s, when it was a
more radical statement. I don’t remember
what music was playing while she was dancing.
Maybe it was Fats Domino or Debby Boone (you light up my life) on 8
track. Maybe it was the Free to Be You
and Me album. These were the soundtracks
of my childhood. I just remember
thinking how cool it was, watching my mom dance and thinking about the possibility that I could be anything I wanted
to be (my dad played a huge role in that as well…but that deserves its own blog
post). I was thinking about that picture
on the eve of the 2016 election. I even
shared that with one of you. And then the
shock settled in. My last post to this
blog was right after that. It's just been too overwhelming.
Fast forward to January 2017. The woman who danced in her
living room in the 70s, marched in Washington, DC with hundreds of thousands of
other women. The stories she told of the
women she met were nothing less than inspiring.
She’s always been my hero. I’ve
been thinking about this post for over a year now. How to express that
gratitude…how to tell her how grateful I am that she did that.
So here we are, a year later. What a year.
Women marched once again. I feel
as though I’ve been marching, figuratively, every day this year. I’m tired.
And, yet, I’m inspired. This year
no less than last year. But….but, I got up this morning to see the same name
calling and shaming of the women who marched yesterday that I saw last
year. I was disappointed. I was hurt. And, thanks to one of the women I
will mention below, I realized it made me angry. My mom and I, we aren’t any of those names
people were using. Neither are the
dozens of women I know who marched.
Before you say, I didn’t mean that about YOU or your mom, just the
OTHERS, let me say this: those others…I
stand in solidarity with them, as well…I march for them, as well. Instead of debating this here or in the
comments, I’d rather invite you to come
sit with me on my porch and have a real conversation. I’ll make tea. Or we can eat some really good
cheese. Proximity to one another makes
the name calling harder. When you see my face, and I see yours, the divide
becomes a little smaller.
I pushed aside what I thought was disappointment and headed
to church. Sunday School for the next
few weeks is being taught by a woman whose teaching and preaching skills I admire. The title of the class
is “’Nevertheless, she persisted.’ Brave women who shaped the American church.”
At the beginning of class she asked us to turn to our neighbor and talk about
people who had helped us in our faith formation. I found myself telling a story about how we
came to be Presbyterian in the first place.
A story I had told many times before, but, in that moment, for some
reason struck me as different this time. I realized it was a turning point
(later in the morning when our pastor talked about turning points in her
sermon, I thought, wow, now I HAVE to write about this). For most of my childhood we had been members
of the Lutheran church (ELCA). When we
made a cross country move during the middle of my 6th grade year, my
parents began looking for a new church home.
The only Lutheran church near our new home was part of the Missouri
Synod. My mom had experienced that synod growing up. Women were not allowed to hold positions of
leadership in the church. She did not
want that for her children. So, we found
our way to the newly merged PCUSA and have been here ever since. Today, when I told that story, I realized
that most of the women whose leadership I have admired and faith I have valued,
I know because of that single decision.
I hesitate to make a list because I’m going to unintentionally leave
someone out (and you all know how I feel about exclusion), but I’m going to
attempt to make that list (in no particular order) so that you can get a feel
for the enormity of that decision:
Jackie, Beth, Kathleen, Bonnie, Ann, Anne (there are several Anns and Annes,
and I admire a Virginia because I know one of those Anns), Betsy, Ruth, Betsy,
Martha Ann, Izzy, Megan, Michelle, Sandy, Mary Frances, Carol, Jeanne, Donna, Robin,
Sterling, Eleanor, Beverly, Dawn, Carla, April, Elizabeth, Ellen, Diane, Claire,
Loretta, Sarah, Erin, Laura, Noell. Kate, Catherine, Marcia, Sherry, Sally, Amy…if I
stop here, I’m already to over 40 when I count multiple people with the same
names. I’d have been lucky to have known
just one of them, but over 40, probably closer to 50, that is because my mom
persisted. All of these women have shaped the church. Not all of these women marched or would have marched, but I march
because of them. I persist because of
them. They would do the same for
me. Not one of them would call me a
name, nor I them. We don’t have to agree
about everything for you to come hang out on my porch. Come on over. I’ve downloaded the Free to Be You and Me
album to my phone. Come on over, come
listen to the soundtrack of my childhood and let me tell you about my mom and
how she danced and persisted (and still persists). You’d love her.