Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter

Four Songs for a Funeral

It’s not that I’m morbid, but I am particular. The thought of my funeral as sterile, or worse yet a misrepresentation of me, is unacceptable. I remember one funeral in particular that failed to capture the beautiful life and spirit of the person we gathered to mourn. My grief felt like a gun shot wound and the funeral felt like someone rubbing salt into my wound. I know my friend would have wanted her funeral to be different, to be more reflective of who she was, but she didn’t get the chance to plan it since her death was unexpected.

I am 53 and in good health. I didn’t wake up and decide “Today I will plan my funeral.” But the book I am reading has brought me on two journeys – the author’s and my own. That book is Surrender: 40 Songs, One Story by Bono, lead singer of U2. U2, a rock and roll band, has been part of my whole adult life. Their Live Aid performance began our courtship. Their 1987 album The Joshua Tree solidified our relationship. I was a senior in high school when that album came out and I listened to it nearly every day for months. The lyrics and Bono’s obvious desire to connect – to others, to God – drew me in. The music that accompanied stirred and inspired me, and made me feel less alone.

Surrender is Bono’s account of his life and the life of U2 through 40 of their songs. His writing is thoughtful, self-aware, humorous at times, and vulnerable. I find myself remembering the details of my life as Bono recounts the details of his. I listen to With or Without and I am 18 again, feeling what I felt. But it doesn’t stop at my 18 year old self. I can feel my 38 year old self and my 53 year old self too. It is a remarkable experience to have a song grow with you.

Why U2, you ask? If there is someone who straddles brilliantly the messiness of this world with the other-worldly, I think it’s Bono. He is brutally honest and utterly hopeful for a better day and a healing love. He is unabashedly a Jesus follower without sounding irrelevant, exclusionary or judgmental. Sure, he’s a car salesman. But he’s an honest one. Surrender is the story of Bono’s faith, and I find myself revisiting my own story of faith.

All of the above somehow led me to think about my own funeral. (That’s normal, right?) It makes complete sense that my funeral would be structured around U2 songs. Not only do these songs capture aspects of my life, I admittedly love the idea of making people sit through them, especially my kids. But I don’t want to overdo it. I realize that even in death I could be a pain in the ass. So less is more and I think, and at least for now, four songs will do. I will leave the remainder of the planning to others. Maybe one more suggestion: I hope the service (or whatever) does not end not with a luncheon but rather a drunken fest and free Uber rides for all.

The playlist, to be played loudly in a great setting acoustically:

I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For

It was 1987, and I remember arguing with a friend. “It’s a great song!” I insisted. She disagreed. “Once you know the truth, you have found what you are looking for,” she stated emphatically. That wasn’t my experience then, and it still isn’t today. We get a taste of truth, an experience of truth, an encounter with truth. But as soon as we try to put that into words, we diminish it and sometimes lose it altogether. It’s not that we don’t try. But we recognize our limitations while declaring the beauty, the wonder, the mystery of the truth we have touched. Or maybe I should say, has touched us. I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. And for awhile, I stopped trying. But I’m hopeful again that one day, in this world or the next, I just might find it.

Walk On

Walk on; keep going; don’t give up – this has been the story of my life. Not with drudgery or despair, but with hope. Unadulterated and maybe completely stupid hope that I, or we, will get to somewhere good, somewhere right, somewhere healing, somewhere inspiring, maybe even somewhere like heaven. I remember listening to this one on repeat when a good friend was going through something excruciating. I didn’t play it for her. That would have felt assumptive. I played it for me, to help me as I sought to be of help to her. I return to this song regularly. Often I sing it for others. Sometimes I sing it for me. Walk on. 

Song For Someone

It took me awhile to learn that even when we carry someone, we can’t bring them to their place of healing. They have to do that journey themselves. It was hard to learn this, especially with those I love. And if I could’ve willed it differently, I would have. But it is crucial to learn this if we are going to continue our own journey. I had to learn how to be vulnerable and safe. I’m still learning that one. Love and boundaries. Love and heartache. Love and letting go. We can love and still choose to let go. It’s paradoxical which is maybe why it is so hard to learn. And we hold hope that someday, the person we love and had to let go of will hear the song we continue to sing for them in our hearts. This is a song for someone, and maybe they will someday have the ears to hear it.

Love Is Bigger Than Anything In Its Way

This is the big finale. This is one of the songs I put on with my headphones, turn up loud, sing at full volume and usually cry big tears. There’s something bold about the idea of this song. I imagine some of you will dismiss it as being too sentimental. To my ears and my heart, it is a bridge between this broken world and a better one, our broken selves and our healed selves. The idea that love can change the world and can change me has gotten me through a lot of shit. And it keeps working. I’ve let go of some beliefs over the years. But love? Not even once was I tempted to let go of love. Love is bigger.

My vision and my invitation is for people to sing along loudly as they exit the gathered space. Get out and go eat too much and drink too much. Tell funny stories about me. Everyone, that is, except my kids. Not yet. You can join them soon. But first I have something just for you. And it may or may not involve a U2 song.

Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter

What Do I Want To Do When I Grow Up?

On my way to work one morning this week, I was thinking about my professional life. I was late to the game of finding out what I want to do when I grow up. For years, I was a stay-at-home parent who loved the freedom and flexibility to parent the way I wanted. I also used the time to grow mentally, emotionally and spiritually, and learn how to best take care of me while also caring for my kids.

One of the things I did regularly during this time was meet a friend for coffee. It was cheap and the conversation was often enjoyable. I typically had coffee dates booked weeks in advance. My husband would say, “If you could get paid for having coffee with a friend, you’d have a nice side business.” As I considered his observation, I realized many of my coffee dates were with friends seeking advice. However, it did not seem right to charge my friends. “Judy, I enjoyed our time together this afternoon. That will be $65 please. Cash or check would be fine.”

As my kids got older, I continued to ask myself what I wanted to do professionally. I did not have a college degree or an identified passion to pursue, so it was not an easy question to answer. I went back to work, but soon learned it was not the job or the career for me long term.

Fast-forward 10 years. I have a master’s degree and am a Board Certified hospital Chaplain. My skills of coming alongside someone have strengthened with education and experience. I am now getting paid to have thoughtful, deep conversations. I love what I do, but it is not all that I want to do. Once again, I am asking myself, “What’s next?”

Some of the things I have learned about my professional self – strengths and growing edges (as we say in chaplaincy because “growing edges” sounds better than “weaknesses”):

1.       I love thinking about what is possible, how something could be improved, or ways to address an identified problem. While those around me often seem to respond with annoyance or disinterest, I become energized and want to jump right in. My husband will confirm, I have never met a scenario I did not want to improve.

2.       I am creative. This took me a long time to learn about myself. I married an artist and both of my kids have strong artistic talent. Therefore, I assumed my lack of drawing, painting or musical skills meant I was not creative. It also did not help that for years my mom would ask, “Where did your kids get their artistic talent from? I mean, it couldn’t be from you.” So I identified as the analytical one and left the creativity to the artists in the family… until I began to see that I, too, am creative. This not only impacted the way I see myself, but also how I express myself.

3.       I am an agitator. I do not agitate simply for the sake of being an annoyance. When something is not working to the point of creating dysfunction, I do not keep my mouth shut. I am going to say something. Probably more than once. To anyone who will listen. I am learning (AKA a growing edge) to do so more appropriately, helpfully, and kindly. I am also learning to discern when it is better for me to leave the situation than to address what is happening.

I think I have best used these skills as a parent. I love my kids more selflessly than I love others. I have their best interest at heart. I dose everything with a lot of love. I wish this was true in my other relationships, or more true. I’m working on it. (Growing edge.)

But this post is meant to be about my professional life. 

My current job delves deeply into the personal. My training has solidified healthy, appropriate boundaries and restorative self-care practices. Part of me wants to venture more into a professional space where I have a say on culture, function, vision and sustainability. And to be able to do these things with resources sounds very appealing. Would I be good at it? Can I build a healthy foundation professionally the way I have done personally with my kids?

I could have started school earlier and begun the process of building my professional self. But I now see ways I was working on who I am professionally. I did a lot of volunteering during the parenting years and honed my skills. I learned what I like and what I do well. I also learned what I do not enjoy and what I do not do so well. My professional path has been less like a race track, and more like a long walk in the woods. Come to think of it, that suits me much better.

What do I want to do when I grow up? Not sure. I think I’ll just keep walking. Meandering even. Seems to suit me well.

Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter

Letting Go

I was hardwired to be loyal. I am not one to walk away. I realized at 48, which was only 4 years ago, that I didn’t even know how. I was in a difficult partnership at work and I was talking with my therapist about it. I had some boundaries I wanted to add to the partnership, and I suspected it would end the relationship. While I was not afraid to challenge someone, I felt a responsibility to never push too hard. I knew the boundaries I needed would feel like a hard push to my partner.

My therapist asked me, “Do you want to continue to work with this person as things currently are?” I couldn’t say no. I danced around the question by talking about how our strengths really complemented each other. I talked about how much I had already invested. I talked about the potential. My therapist was patient yet kept bringing me back to this question. Finally, once I was out of reasons for why I needed to keep trying, I started to cry. “No, I don’t,” I said. The relief I felt was immediate. Honesty, even brutal honesty, tends to do that.

We continued to talk about why I was having such a hard time. I felt responsible to make this partnership work. “If I could, I should” was clearly my motto. But the bottom line, I discovered, was quite simple. I was allowed to say, “Enough.” I was allowed to say, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” I needed to learn how.

I didn’t walk away from that partnership. He walked away from me. But I learned a big lesson through that experience. I don’t have to stay in relationships that are harmful to me mentally, emotionally or spiritually.

I’m still not one to walk away. But I am learning that I can and sometimes should. I have learned how to add boundaries earlier in the relationship rather than waiting until I’m so depleted that I’m withering.

We tend to walk away too quickly in our culture. Relationships end because we want something better. Jobs are traded because we feel under appreciated. Traditions are abandoned because they take too much time. But even still, I wonder: Do we know how or when to end things well? A coworker once described counseling couples whose marriage had died but neither was willing to admit it. “It’s like watching them drag this carcass around that is their marriage, this heavy rotting flesh of a carcass, as they continue to assert that they just want to make it work. There is no resurrecting that carcass.” That’s a powerful visual. And not just for marriage, but for any relationship. How many times have I been carrying a rotting, stinky carcass just because I felt the responsibility to make the relationship work? There is no “making it work” when the relationship has become that carcass.

Yes there are times we need to stay in something even though it’s difficult. But there are times we need to walk away because there is so much more at stake than the relationship itself. I’m learning to distinguish between the two. Because when the relationship has died, it does no good to anyone to keep dragging that carcass around.

Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter

Stories

You have a story to tell. You are your story. Do you know your story? Do you share it? Only you can. I hope that you not only own your story, but that you recognize how important your story is.

Sometimes the world sends a message that some stories are more important than others. That is a lie. Sometimes the world says that one can do irreparable damage to his or her story. That too is a lie. As long as we breathe, our stories continue. Each breath is a reminder that our stories are still being written, still being lived out.

Another truth to ponder – your story is sacred because you are sacred. Every day I have the opportunity to hear people’s stories. And more than anything else in my work, I remind people of this truth. You are sacred. Your story is sacred. Sometimes we avoid our story because we feel shame about it. Or we miss the beauty of our story because we compare it to another person’s story.

And in case you didn’t know, there are countless stories in this world to hear and learn from, to be challenged and encouraged by. Listen deeply. Listen empathically. Be curious. Be kind. We need these stories, all of them. Yours and mine. My story isn’t your story and that is a good thing.

Several years ago, my then teenaged son plopped himself in a chair nearby complaining of my decision to not let him go hang out with his friends that evening. He was genuinely annoyed with me. In his story in that moment, he was the protagonist and I was the antagonist. How could I, this big, bad, mean mom ruin his life? I let him go on for awhile. When the complaining showed no signs of slowing, I walked over to interrupt his story with another. I knelt down to be eye level. I gently touched his arm. “Isaac, going hungry is a tragedy. Losing a parent at an early age is a tragedy. Living in a war-torn land is a tragedy. This? My making you stay home tonight? Not a tragedy.”

I said this not to shame him but to broaden his perspective. That is what another story can do. I was challenging his story with another story in hopes that he would see things a little differently. Isaac looked at me, a bit startled at first. He then chuckled and said, “yup.” He jumped up and found something else to do.

Maybe it is because I said what I did without judgment or annoyance. Maybe it is because it was love that fueled my actions. Or maybe I was just lucky. But in that moment I could see recognition on his face of a perspective that changed the story he had been telling himself.

A few years later I was sitting in a room with my fellow seminary classmates. One student shared that he had recently taught his teenaged son to drive. Part of that education included how to be pulled over safely by the police. This man, a black man, one of the kindest, gentlest men I knew, went on to share about his dozen or so experiences of being pulled over by police only to be let go after being cleared for no wrong doing. He talked about the unwritten rules he had been taught to follow that he had to pass on to his son. “Don’t make eye contact.” “Be polite.” “Don’t question.” “Don’t show your agitation, frustration, or anger.” Just to name a few. These rules weren’t for the sake of common courtesy. They were rules for survival.

I pride myself on identifying outcomes. I come up with contingency outcomes and contingency-upon-contingency outcomes. Never once, in all of my worst case scenarios I tried to imagine did I consider that my son, who I had recently taught to drive, might be in harm’s way when in the presence of the police. Not once did I worry for his safety. Maybe if my classmate had simply talked about his experiences, I might have dismissed his story. But there was something undeniably disturbing in the contrast between his son’s “driver’s ed” and my son’s. I heard him. And I was undone.

His story exposed a world I had refused to see up to that point. His story challenged my story in a way that humbled me and tore me open. It was painful and hard to allow his story to coexist with my story. But I knew I had to keep listening. I needed to hear his story and many more stories of people who live in and experience the world differently from me.

I am still listening. I am listening to my story and your story. I look for the ways they beautifully overlap and the ways they uncomfortably bump into each other. I am living and learning through my story and your story.

So, what is your story? Have you told it recently? Do so, and tell it often. Remember to tell the ups and the downs. Share the good and the not-so-good. Celebrate the joys. Mourn the losses. Share your story. Again and again and again. The world needs to hear your story.

Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter

Friday Favorite, 3.23.18

There is an unsettling story in which Jesus tells a potential follower to sell all that he has and give it to the poor first, if in fact he wants to follow Jesus. Some cite this story as what it costs to be a christian. Many christians are quick to say that the story is but one facet, and to make this the litmus test of faith is taking that story out of its context.

Robert Gundry has a different take, and it is his words that I sit with today.

” ‘Jesus did not command all of his followers to sell all their possessions’ gives comfort only to the kind of people to whom he would issue that command.”

When I use my conviction of faith to diminish or judge another, I have missed the point of that conviction. My convictions should make me uncomfortable, not be used to make you uncomfortable. Your convictions belong to you, and are yours to do with what you choose. When we come to different conclusions in our convictions, one does not diminish the other. They are simply different.

I don’t think giving away all that I have would be the most unsettling question asked of me. What I hold onto the tightest, what would be nearly impossible to give up if asked, that is what I am pondering today.

 

Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter

What Is Normal Anyway?

normal |ˈnôrməl|

adjective

conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected: it’s quite normal for puppies to bolt their food | normal working hours.

I think the idea of what is normal or what should be normal messes a lot of people up. “Normal” gives the impression of certain guarantees. As one prone to analytical thinking, I recognize predictors of outcome. But I rarely see a solid 100% guarantee on any outcome. When an expected outcome doesn’t occur, it can cause a person to question who is to blame for what went wrong. After all, wasn’t the person entitled to a normal outcome?

If I love a certain way, I will be loved in return.

If I save a certain amount of money, I will retire the way I want.

If I parent a certain way, my kid will become the kind of adult I hoped s/he would be.

If I work hard enough, my efforts will be acknowledged and rewarded.

I could go on. Maybe some come to mind for you?

There are several religious systems that support this kind of thinking. In my faith tradition it goes like this: “If I obey God, God will bless me.” Even if that is true, I don’t know that we do much work to wrestle with the ideas of what it means to “obey God”, and what “God blessing us” means. Rather we tend to define it in ways that suitably fit us. If or when they don’t, we go somewhere else.

Normality makes dealing with anything perceived to be abnormal as difficult or worse yet, a failure. The goal tends to be to pull or push or force or squeeze or shove what was happening into some kind of “normal” explanation. For example, when my friend died tragically, I couldn’t reconcile her death. “It shouldn’t have happened!” I cried out to God. Her death had no part in my perception of normalcy. Part of my journey through the grief was having to face the reality that there is no normal. I became increasingly aware that tragedy exists everywhere. I started to see how sheltered I had been from it up to that point. It didn’t make my loss easier, but somehow it made more space for the loss and all my feelings that went with it. Instead of judging whether or not it should have happened, I learned to deal with what had happened.

Believing in a norm can provide comfort. However I find the people who have deeply immersed themselves in normalcy to be fragile. They wall themselves off from anything or anyone that might challenge their norms. Their worlds get smaller as their voices get louder regarding what is acceptable, or what is right, or what should be normal. The thicker their walls, the more demanding of others they become. This is where their fragility becomes most obvious. The demand isn’t, as they surmise, for the betterment of others but rather an ongoing “Hail Mary” attempt to protect themselves. The problem is, superimposing one’s norms onto another can be ignorant, and even quite hurtful at times.

I have seen walls obliterated with one tragic event though some have the luxury of maintaining those walls for a lifetime. And honestly, I guess we all build walls to a certain extent. But for most of us, walls eventually fall down or get torn down. The conclusion I have come to is that “normal” is entirely overrated. Instead of building more walls or repairing old ones, maybe we could pour that energy into what is actually going on in us and around us. Rather than spending time wishing for what we have defined as normal or telling others what should be normal for them, we can spend time navigating what is meaningfully and healthily. That, for me, is the “new normal” or in other words, there ain’t no such thing as normal.

Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter · 3 Comments

A Great Divide: Challenge or Impasse?

There is a lot of arguing going on lately. We feel deeply and find offense quickly. The thing is, most of us know which side of an argument we will stand pretty early on, and that rarely changes no matter what evidence we hear. And yet we keep trying to convince others to join our side, our cause, our “right side of history”. Instead of seeing change, all we seem to do is stoke the fires of our own side and further the divide from those who disagree.

I have little tolerance for an impasse. I don’t mean a challenge; I love a challenge. A challenge is when the road from where one is to where one wants to be is difficult, or is non existent and needs to be built. An impasse is when every inch of progress is countered with destruction. It takes time to determine whether one is experiencing a challenge or an impasse. But eventually that impasse becomes clear. Most successful individuals will tell you that learning to recognize failure is essential to success. Remaining in the impasse is guaranteed to be continued failure. Most of us, with our views and convictions, remain at an impasse.

As I read and watch the latest divide, the #TakeAKnee/NFL/National Anthem controversy, I find myself tired. Not of the issues I believe in, but in the engagement with others over those issues. I am tired of trying to find meaningful dialogue. I am tired of the nasty dismissals of differing thoughts and ideas. I am tired of everyone talking and no one listening. I am tired of the ignorance, the lack of respect and love, the self-preservation. I am tired of being those things and I am tired of encountering those things. I am tired of the divide that seems to deepen and widen in this country.

This morning I took my coffee to my back porch. It is a beautiful fall morning, significantly different from yesterday’s nearly 90 degrees and very humid weather. The birds sang and the sound of leaves from the breeze blowing soothed my tired soul. How does one move from impasse to progress? As I sipped my coffee, I began to think about how my mind has been changed over the years. It wasn’t solid arguments or clever soundbites that I thought of. It was some of the people I have gotten to know and their stories I have heard. That is what has changed my mind, my opinions, my beliefs time and time again.

I thought of Dana, my friend with metastatic breast cancer (MBC). Through her journey, I have learned how little has been spent on stage 4 research. We celebrate the progress we have made with treating breast cancer. But there is significant and serious work we aren’t doing enough of. The progress we have made has been largely in the shallow end of the pool, so to speak. We have much work to do in the deep end of the pool and can’t claim victory until we navigate those deeper waters. Those with MBC are dying in the deep end. The pink ribbon campaign isn’t venturing out there enough yet gets most of our attention and funding. I now give differently because of Dana.

I thought of my friend Terry. As he shared the story of teaching his son to drive, which included how to safely be pulled over by the police (my friend is black), a bubble that I was living in burst. I had recently taught my son to drive and never once did I worry for his safety if pulled over by the police. Terry was one of the kindest men I knew. If he experienced injustice because of the color of his skin (and he did often) then I knew the world wasn’t quite as evolved as I thought it had become. I now see my privilege because of Terry.

I thought of John, a pastor and friend I knew years ago. When he told me he was gay, I expressed love for him and gently reiterated my position that I didn’t agree with his “lifestyle”. I didn’t hesitate in wanting to continue my friendship with him. And I felt it was my responsibility to be clear about where I stood on the issue of homosexuality. A few weeks later I received a letter from him. In it he said, “Do you think a moment goes by that I am not aware of what most Christians think of my being gay?” Navigating different convictions is difficult. Making someone feel loved shouldn’t be. What we do with our convictions is as important as the convictions themselves. I now see my self-righteousness because of John.

I thought of Kim, Jocelyn and Angie, women I went to seminary with who are lesbians. They are serious about their Christian faith. They challenged my views of homosexuality simply by living out their faith meaningfully. I had been taught homosexuality was a sin. These women (and many more friends since) taught me that their being gay is as much a part of who they are as being christians. And I wouldn’t want them to be anything other than who they are. I now see my ignorance because of Kim, Jocelyn and Angie.

I could go on. So many examples of people I got to know who by their being who they are challenged my ideas and perceptions. This is how we move from the impasse. We get to know people who are different from ourselves. If I have made any kind of impact in this world, it hasn’t been through my blog or Facebook status update or Instagram photo. Hashtags don’t change lives. If I have had the ability to make any kind of difference, it is because I am a better person having learned what I have learned along the way and am interacting meaningfully with others who differ from me.

I love to engage in conversations with diverse opinions being expressed. The point in doing so isn’t to convince others to see things my way. My hope is that each of us participating leave that conversation having taught something and having learned something, not with that as an agenda but with that as the outcome. But that is a choice we must make. And that is how we bridge the divide. When was the last time you learned something that surprised you? When was the last time a conviction changed, even slightly? These questions will help to determine whether you are up for the challenge these days require, or are part of the impasse that is getting us nowhere.

 

Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter

Foot Pins and Ultimatums

Three and a half years ago, I had foot surgery which left me with some hardware in that foot. For the past several months, I have had increased pain in that same foot, specifically in my big toe joint. Today I learned why: the pin in my big toe has come loose and is protruding from my toe joint. I could either live with the periodic pain and exchange all my shoes for large-toe-box varieties. Or I could have the pin removed.  Surgery isn’t to be underplayed. There are always risks. It won’t be inexpensive. I will miss some work. “It’s not going to get better?” I asked the doctor. “No,” she said. “So I am looking at 40+ years (I’m being optimistic of my lifespan) of babying this foot with what shoes I wear and avoiding contact where that pin is protruding?” “Yes,” she responded. I don’t know about you, but the answer seems pretty clear to me. I’m going to do the work, get the pin removed, and get this resolved.

While the decision is easy, it is not without sacrifice. I didn’t budget for the surgery. I’ve got a list of things to do that will take time in the midst of my very busy life. But the ultimatum is crystal clear. If I don’t have this surgery, I may as well give away at least half of my shoes. I will have to watch my activity level. I will continue to experience pain. And I might never be able to enjoy a Frye’s shoe sale again. I am 48 years old. I am too young to live with the side effects of a protruding pin.

This got me thinking about how much of our lives are filled with protruding pins. It happens slowly. We have adjusted due to the discomfort. We even settle for something less. If we took the time to identify that protruding pin and determine what it would take to have it removed, we would be freed from the handicap the pin created. Wouldn’t it be nice if we had someone in our lives to help diagnose our pins? Wouldn’t it be helpful if we increased our self-awareness? Doesn’t it make sense to listen to those we love and trust in order to better see ourselves? Wouldn’t it be wise to pay attention to the patterns in our lives regarding our work, quality of relationships, and the way we manage our ups and downs? Why don’t we take several steps back to look at the whole of our lives to see what is working and more importantly, what isn’t working?

Instead we change our shoes. We walk differently. We medicate to lessen the symptoms. We ice to numb the pain. In essence we fuss all around the protruding pin without ever dealing with the pin itself. We baby the pin while we live a life that is less than what it could be. If only it was as simple as scheduling an appointment and having someone identify the problem and then discuss what options we have. Or maybe it is, and we are not interested in learning what really ails us. Perhaps what we want to do is nothing at all.

 

Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter

The Paradox of Unity and Justice

Last week, I posted “Trump or Love” believing that you cannot choose both.  I made the case that Trump’s rhetoric counters love. Jesus was for the poor, the marginalized, the weak and the oppressed. None of those descriptors fit Trump or the majority of his supporters. And it is often the marginalized, the weak, the outsider who is painted by Trump to be the enemy.

Last night, I was challenged to seek unity by avoiding what is divisive. It was a challenge for me because I have felt strongly of the need to speak out against Trump. Each divisive statement he has made that preys on the fears of Republicans at the expense of minority groups has increased my resolve to be clear about how dangerous Trump is. I know my opinions have made people uncomfortable as evidenced by the conversations and cold shoulders I have experienced as a result. Am I working against unity by speaking out for justice? This is the question that weighs heavily upon me now.

I am highly unhappy with politics in general. I think politics has gone the way of religion and education in our country – we are more concerned about protecting the systems we have than educating, inspiring, and empowering those we lead. The systems are antiquated and failing. I have friends and family who are wonderful teachers and pastors, but they operate in these systems that more often hold them back than help them move forward. I was a Bernie Sanders supporter because he was the only candidate asking inspiring and relevant questions. His movement reengaged me and many others across the political spectrum. Even though there was great disagreement on the answers Bernie gave, we engaged the questions as we considered what might be possible and practical for our future.

But here we are, many of us unhappy with the options for November’s presidential election. Is seeking unity in our unhappiness the best choice we’ve got? Or is there another point in which we can connect? How do we unify and seek justice? What if our definitions of justice differ? I don’t have the answers. I wish I did. What we need are people with different perspectives who are willing to respectfully engage the conversation in order to seek the solutions. I have increasingly little patience for one-sided thinking which appears to be more egocentric than helpful.

Maybe unity isn’t about getting along in spite of our differences, but engaging our differences with respect. What surprised me about my post on Trump wasn’t the level of engagement about Trump but a retaliation against Hillary. I don’t blame you. You felt hit by my post so you swung back. It is so hard to stay engaged when we passionately disagree.

I am also thinking about how unity for unity’s sake can be dangerous. Germany was unified as it exterminated millions of Jews. I want to seek ways to unify through respectful dialogue. And where unity impedes justice, I want to speak out. How do I value and practice both?

So many thoughts swirling in my head today…

Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter

A Successful Launch

It has been a whirlwind of a summer. I spent 11 weeks doing an intensive chaplaincy training program at a hospital while my son, recent college graduate, found employment, moved, and settled into his new life. I had little time to contemplate the implications of his new independence, and little time to feel the feelings that go with it. But my intensive unit is done and my boy has settled in and now I find myself facing the undeniable reality that my job as mom has nearly come to an end.

Before you tell me that the job never ends, let me say how accomplished I feel to have gotten to this point with my son. It is our job as parents, as best as we are able, to get our children to a place of full independence and functioning. It is our job as parents to help our children to see their purpose in the larger world, a purpose that brings joy, contentment, and responsibility. And so I celebrate my son not needing me very much any longer. That is what I was supposed to do – ween him physically, emotionally, and mentally. I am supposed to move him from a place of needing me in his life to (hopefully) wanting me in his life. While he still calls with questions about things such as benefits or banking, the reality is he can reach out to a number of folks to get those answers too.

I celebrate his adulthood. And I grieve it just a little too. To deny that grief might mean I’m unhealthily holding on in a way that prohibits his full independence. I grieve openly and honestly because it is difficult to go from being the center of one’s universe to being just like everyone else, even when we are given years to accept it. And periodically I feel myself trying to be that center again. I guess that is natural. But when I feel myself wanting to be needed by him, I recognize that is more for my benefit and to his detriment.

I think the best thing I have done as a parent is to never stop learning how to be a better parent. I listen to my husband as he shares his observations. I listen to those who know me and my kids well. And most importantly, I ask my kids questions and listen to what they have to say. I know there is still learning I have to do as I figure out the new normal for my adult son and me. And no matter how much I have screwed up, I take comfort in remembering that parenting is about the cumulative effect. We always have the opportunity to improve the quality of a relationship. We make mistakes as parents. How could we not? But if we don’t forgive ourselves for the mistakes made, we can’t be our best selves in the here and now. I look at my grown son, and I see how we have all grown to get to this place in which we find ourselves.