I Tried: Hosting a Student Book Launch

I have always loved writing, and it breaks my heart to see how little value it is given in our education system today. The primary and almost sole focus of writing instruction (at least in Texas), is academic writing in response to reading. While that type of writing is necessary and has its value, it hardly inspires students, or anyone else for that matter. Writing improves literacy and language skills, develop critical thinking and organizational skills, and promotes emotional intelligence. Writing for different purposes and audiences, and especially writing for one’s own enjoyment and fulfillment is important. Likewise, students ability to view themselves as writers who have something of value to share with others has a significant impact on their sense of self, their confidence, and their ability to communicate. I could rally get on my soapbox about all this, but instead I will stop here and say that student’s relationship with and ability to write matters - a lot. For these reasons and more, I decided to bind my students written works from this year in their own personal books, and celebrate their writing with a book launch. The result was an absolute joy, and the event turned out to be one of my favorites from this year. I intend to make a tradition of it.

Students were advised of the upcoming publication about halfway though the year, and I announced the book launch a month or two before the event.

I invited parents, teachers, and classes from other grade levels, all building staff members, and even a few special guests from the district. In other words, students knew this was a big deal.

Our amazing librarian granted us the use of the library and allowed us to rearrange the furniture to suit our needs. There was a lot of shuffling. My partner teachers helped me get it started.

Tables were placed around the perimeter of the room in a sort of open box shape that allowed guests to stop and visit with each author. Students had their books in front of them (or beside and behind them) for visitors to look at. They also had a copy of one selected poem (short enough to print on half sheets) to give away and sign for visitors. Guests were invited to ask questions about and praise the work, to be read to (for our younger kiddos), and to ask for an autographed poem. Guests were also permitted to select one free bookmark from a large selection designed by the authors (and yours truly). I also prepared a photo backdrop for the event.

If you intend to try this (and I absolutely recommend that you do), please be advised that preparing for our book launch was A LOT of work. Reluctant or slow writers needed extra time and attention, so that no one would be left out. That extra push is required throughout the entire year. Then there’s the time and work required to assemble the books. I used Canva to provide writing templates, and because most assignments are turned in individually, I had to copy and paste each individual work into a collection file for each student. This also meant conferencing with each student to be sure that I did not miss anything, especially from students who did not finish or turn in prior assignments. Then, for each file, I had to arrange the pages to print front and back in a way that would place illustrations next to texts, rather than on the back page of a text. When printing each file, I had to double-check and reprint many times because the printer would randomly block out some of the images or even the text (still not sure why that happened). After getting all of that done, I spiral-bound each book myself, using a spiral-binding machine in our office. This whole process took forever (I spent my weekend and then some to print and bind the books). Even after all of that time and effort, I would do this again. My students were so proud of their work (however much or however little they had), and they were so excited to hold their very own book in their hands.

On the day of our book launch, many students dressed up, as requested. They did a wonderful job of discussing their work with visitors, and they absolutely beamed at every request for an autograph, letting me know more than once that they needed more copies of their work to share. Parents, former teachers, and fellow students shared in our authors’ pride. It was a great opportunity for our community to help students recognize themselves as writers and encourage their growth. I’m already thinking about ways to make it even better next year. If you’re an RLA teacher, I invite you to join me.

I Tried: The Garbage Challenge

Of all the quirky things that we do without necessity, I find it most amusing that we’ve managed to find a holiday for every day. While some of these holidays are a bit silly, many offer a chance to learn, reflect, and even have a bit of fun. I love the idea that we can find a little something to celebrate every day. For these reasons and more, I like to incorporate holidays into my classroom whenever I can.

Today, we celebrated Earth Day with “The Garbage Challenge”. Last week, after administering our Reading STAAR test (it’s finally done - yay!), I did some light frontloading about Earth Day. First, students read a brief informational text about Celebrating Earth Day, and completed an exit ticket to demonstrate their comprehension afterward. Then each student colored a square of our Earth Day Mural. Finally, when we returned for Earth Day, students were tasked with repurposing a piece of trash and writing about it.

For our challenge, I chose a toilet roll. I keep my empty toilet rolls all year long, because they are handy for all kinds of student crafts and activities. Students brainstormed ideas for how to use the roll, reflected on its original purpose and its new purpose, and then wrote an informational text explaining how to create the new product.

I love this activity because it offers multiple depth and complexity applications (and implications), including details, ethics, multiple perspectives, and knowledge across disciplines. Students enjoyed the opportunity to engage in creative work that involved art and science, in addition to our everyday reading and writing.

I Tried: Kool-Aid Pickles & Sensory Details

Last year, I noticed that my students really struggled with sensory details. They struggled to fully grasp the concept and properly employ the skill. As I looked for ways to make the concept more concrete and accessible, a common thread I discovered in my research was the need for students to actively engage their own 5 senses in real time while discussing and trying out the use of sensory details.

Some suggestions included setting up stations where students could engage each sense independently or snacking on apples, which made it possible to engage all 5 senses at once. I appreciated both of these ideas. In order to fit such an activity into our limited schedule (especially given how long it can take students to do relatively simple tasks), I determined that engaging all of our senses with one activity would be best. However, I felt that to maximize the authenticity and meaningfulness of the experience, I needed to offer students a sense of novelty.

My sister introduces me to new and exciting snacks regularly. She is willing to try all kinds of snacks, and she always has her eyes open for them. It so happened that as I was pondering what I might offer my students for our sensory experience, my sister introduced me to flavored pickles - I mean wildly flavored, like strawberry, grape, and fruit punch. After sampling the various intriguing flavors, I knew right away that this was what I wanted to offer my students. My sister advised me that the product was not inexpensive, especially for the number of students I’d be providing for. If you’re a teacher, you already know that most of the fun novel experiences we bring to daily classroom life are funded out of our own pockets. Since teacher pockets aren’t deep, we have to get creative. A little research yielded a Kool-Aid Pickles recipe that would cost a lot less.

Making rather than buying our Kool-Aid pickles not only reduced the cost, but also increased the meaningfulness of the experience, because students were invested in trying something new that they had made. Additionally, waiting for the flavor to set built up their anticipation. They asked pretty much every day if the pickles were ready yet, and when the answer was finally yes, they were so excited.

I had to be very careful about setting expectations ahead of time, so that we would not be so lost in novelty that we missed the whole point of the experience. I frontloaded the order of steps and let students know that we would not move to a new step until I confirmed that everyone had completed the last step. We would engage a sense, stop to think about it, and jot down adjectives and comparisons about it. Students had to jot down their thoughts independently to start, but after a few minutes, we shared out and added to a class list, which was helpful for those who needed additional support.

The step-by-step approach proved to be helpful, not only because it gave us time to focus and be present for each moment of the experience, but also because it left room for students who were nervous about trying it to try it slowly, or observe others trying it. Some of my students had never even tried regular pickles before. Our principal joined us, and students got to watch her give it a try as well.

All in all, we had a wonderful time, and it did in fact provide students with a meaningful experience to better grasp the concept and practice the skill of using sensory details. Here are a few of my favorite quotes from my students:

“My tongue curled up when I ate it. It looked like a little kid’s balloon to me.” -MS

“It looked like a red ruffle. It smelled crazy strong and interesting.” -BS

“I chewed it - it was loud and crunchy and slimy and also pretty good in my opinion.” -KW

“It tasted more Kool-Aid than pickle.” -TH

I’m getting ready to start this lesson with this year’s students, and I’d love to invite you to try it too. Feel free to use my handout with your students or children. For optimal flavor, I recommend Cherry and Tropical Punch Kool-Aid, and increasing the amount of sugar to taste. Have fun!

I Tried: Depression & Other Magic Tricks (book)

Long before poems evolved into the written forms we hold in our hands, they lived  orally, embodied in the voices of their creators and passed down in the echoes of those who held each poem in their memory. As a part of that lineage, I most enjoy spoken word poetry, and it was among the spoken word poets of YouTube, that I first encountered Sabrina Benaim. In her 2017 debut collection, Depression & Other Magic Tricks, published by Button Poetry, Benaim dazzles with a trick she does not name – the ability to maintain the essence of oral tradition in a written form.

At the age of 23, Benaim learned that she had a tumor the size of a squash ball in her throat. A close friend told her that the (noncancerous) tumor must be a physical manifestation of all the words she swallowed and advised her to start speaking her poems aloud in a spoken word workshop. Thus began Benaim’s journey from secret journal poet to spoken word poet and published author. The response to her performance of “explaining my depression to my mother” gifted Benaim a breakthrough in which she came to understand that she was not as alone as she felt. Depression & Other Magic Tricks is a testament to that breakthrough, and to the healing that comes from voicing our swallowed thoughts, fears, and feelings.

In an age of widespread loneliness and increasing mental illness, this collection asks without asking, whether loneliness is the cause or the effect of depression, identifying factors like absentee dads, loved ones who pass away, and lost romances. These poems wrestle with the endurance of memory, love, and the human spirit in the face of time, loss, mental illness, and other things that we cannot control. Through unadorned vulnerability, accessible language, unmissable allusions, beautiful extended metaphors, and other subtle craft choices, Benaim allows us to walk alongside her as she navigates and exposes the inexplicable nature of depression and anxiety in day to day life. This is especially evident, in the aforementioned “explain my depression to my mother” and in “the slow now”, which so vividly illustrates how ordinary depression seems, how it slows down our perception of time, and how it distorts our sense of victory.

Benaim’s shifting use point of view throughout the book helps readers to experience movement between “normalcy” and depression and anxiety. At times the speaker addresses us, at times, the speaker addresses themselves, and at times, the speaker addresses others directly, such as her father, former partners, and even Beyonce. However, when Benaim uses third person point of view to refer to herself, we step into disembodied feelings associated with depression and anxiety. In each of the 5 “magic trick” poems, Benaim opts for this point of view and even goes so far as to point it out in “girl beside you”.

i don’t know how to connect in a world like this
in times like these,
when I can’t even speak about myself in the first person.

Likewise, Benaim conveys the all-consuming nature of depression, by referring to herself, and even her name as the hard thing(s).

in my story,
i am the protagonist & the bad thing,
I have to learn how to bend the light out of myself
-“on releasing light”

…goodbye is the saddest word i know. the saddest word you know is my name.
-“the loneliest sweet potato”

Similarly, Benaim includes revised poems in this collection to show the transformative power of naming, accepting, and learning how to cope with depression and anxiety. Benaim uses the whole of each poem’s form to convey the speaker’s own coherency during, or understanding of their experience. Sometimes the speaker is almost rambling as they process their emotions, and other times they have moments of clarity, where some aspect of their experience comes sharply into focus. Benaim also references and revises many song lyrics that mean something to her, then by extension and revision, mean something to us. Her chosen form, erasure poetry, also speaks to the way that mental illness changes us.

Benaim uses beautiful images and throughlines to show how we both change and endure despite those things that we cannot control. Some of her most persistent and beautiful images include clocks, balloons, moons, candles, birds, and coffee.

Benaim’s ability to maintain the essence of oral tradition in a written form is apparent on the page, in the way that she uses white space, enjambment, and grammatical choices to help us hear her voice and all its varied emotional tones through each poem. For example, her deliberate abandon of capitalization throughout (with some exceptions) and the replacement of the word “and” with its symbol, give the reader pause and strip away some formality –like letting readers glace at a text or listen in on a conversation with a friend. Like her casual application of grammatical rules, Benaim’s casual tone conveys poem as conversation. While maintaining her use of metaphor, she speaks plainly. This approach makes her work widely accessible. The conversational tone removes distance and adds intimacy by sitting the reader across from the writer, rather than demanding the reader look up at the writer from their pedestal of mastery and formality.

Benaim’s use of allusions and cliché sharpens the associated images and brings with them affective waves of nostalgia, along with the weight of each referenced image or idea. This is beautifully demonstrated in “so my friend tells me she identifies as a mermaid...” -  its subtext and the irony of Ariel’s own wish mirrored in our own – a wish to be on the other side of our given realities.

“if you're just trying to sing & brush your hair with a fork without judgment, you can totally do that. some people will throw you the side eye, disregard them as crabs. OR are you just trying to say you're magic, BUT not that regular, pedestrian, witch type of magic. is mermaid magic better?”

Another one of Benaim’s magic tricks is her haunting ability to end and to turn a poem. This is especially evident in the aforementioned “so my friend tells me she identifies as a mermaid...”.

maybe i am a mermaid too. if being a mermaid means you've cried enough tears to drown your grasp of reality… then yes, i think i am definitely a mermaid. & every song i've ever sung has filled my lungs with sea, but i am not drowning - not like i thought i was when i was   human.

Benaim’s work in this collection is indeed magical. Her subtle craft choices and deep considerations provide us with a safe space to ask ourselves what truths and pains we have swallowed, to admit our unnamed struggles, like loneliness, anxiety, and depression, and to rest assured that above all else, we are not alone.

I Tried: Kayaking on Mountain Fork River

There is a certain kind of quiet stillness out on unknown waters that tempts you to be afraid. You think of everything you can't see below the surface of the water or hiding in the trees or waiting for you up ahead. There comes a moment when you desperately wish to go back the way you came, but it is too late.

Last weekend I found myself out on new waters in Broken Bow, Oklahoma for my friend, Sonja’s birthday trip. It had been raining all morning and the water on Mountain Fork River had risen. As I sat in my kayak full of water with my mind full of questions and worries, I pondered these things. Most days, my mind is half memory, half song, and at that time it played like a broken record: “No turning back, no turning back.” I had not thought of that sweet hymn in a long time.

I have decided to follow Jesus;
I have decided to follow Jesus;
I have decided to follow Jesus;
No turning back, no turning back.

What if following Jesus is not unlike being out on the water? Sometimes it is calm and it seems easy, and other times it is scary or difficult. The challenging days may be on still waters where unknowns abide, or in turbulent waters where we are reminded of how little control we have.

Out on the river in my little kayak, I was challenged many times. As I tried to find the rhythm between the water and my paddle, I was caught off guard by a rock that I could not see above the water. I struggled to push off of the rock without falling out of my kayak, and with some effort, I managed. It was not long before  I hit another hidden boulder, and that time around, I could not free myself. One of our traveling companions, Caleb turned around and pushed my kayak forward for me. As we continued on, someone pointed out a snake on the river bank. Any calm that I might have had disappeared then, and from that point forward, I struggled to maintain my composure anytime the current carried me towards the river bank. In the midst of these troubles, there were moments of relative peace, and as I started to settle into the ride, the current picked up and I could hear a waterfall up ahead. I became more aware of my lifejacket and my inability to swim, and I wished very much that I could turn around, but there was no time for that now, and I braced myself for what would come.

The details between the drop and the events that followed are a bit fuzzy in my mind, perhaps because panic frays memory somehow. What I do recall is my kayak flipping over and my more-than-mild sense of terror as my head dipped below the water. I closed my eyes instinctively and panicked more because I could not see anything around me. I could not seem to get upright in the water and I feared everything that was or might touch me underneath - rocks and snakes and fish and trees. My head must have come up a few times because I knew that I was screaming and better still, someone could hear me. Another one of our traveling companions, Josh made his way to me and grabbed my hand. I don’t know how long he held on while I struggled to calm down enough for him to help me into his kayak (mine had long since traveled down the river without me). I do know that at that point I was crying (something I really try not to do in front of other people) and that even in my panic, I found a moment to worry about how horrible I must have looked with my hair wet and flat and my puffy crying face. Eventually, we managed to get me into his kayak, however ungracefully - I kind of rolled over and collapsed into it. I was tempted to stay there just like that.

I sat up and regained some composure, and Josh guided the kayak in the right direction. There was only room for one of us, and so for a good distance, he ended up swimming, until a few of our traveling companions were able to locate my lost kayak and bring it to him. For someone I really had not known before, from that moment he became someone I’ll never forget. Life is funny that way.

Later on, my friend Sonja came alongside me in her kayak. “I heard you say ‘Sonja I love you, but I hate this!’” she informed me. I laughed and I told her not to heed anything that I say when I am panicking. The funny thing was, I did not even recall saying that.

In the relative calm that followed, my mind amplified its song: “No turning back, no turning back.”

My trip to the landing was less eventful, although admittedly, there may have been more tears as the current carried me right into a bank and I could feel the trees touching me like ghostly hands reaching out for me. As we entered the landing and exited our kayaks, I felt great relief and a quiet little joy.

I have determined, that following Jesus is indeed like being out on the water. Having committed and come so far, it would be fruitless to turn around. As difficulties arise, Jesus will not leave me to myself, but help me through with His sacrificial love. Unseen obstacles will come up out of nowhere and seem to hold me back, but Jesus will help me to move forward. Snakes and other unpleasant things may come out of hiding when I lose my focus or life’s current seems to carry me adrift, but God’s strength will be made perfect in my weakness and nothing will keep me from the path He intends for me. Trouble will come suddenly and turn me upsidedown until I can’t seem to get my head above water and every passing thing around me feels like danger. Jesus will extend his strong arm and wait patiently for me to stop struggling and grab hold and be saved. And even as I am shouting “Jesus, I love you, but I hate this!”, He will not lose heart but encourage my spirit. The most challenging parts of the journey will grow me, make me stronger, and teach me how to trust Him, even when I fall short.

On more than one occasion, God has taken his people to the water to demonstrate His character, and grow their faith. He parted the Red Sea. He calmed the storm. He walked on water. He even allowed Peter to walk on water. It seems there is always something we can learn out on the water, and it will always involve trusting God.  The journey will bring us closer to Jesus and end in more than relief or joy; the journey will end in glory.

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life.
-John 10:27-28a

Always Be

One Sunday morning, as I sat in church and listened to the speaker at the podium address a short and simple verse, I was struck by new thoughts about a familiar verse.

Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving each other, just as God also in Christ forgave you.
Ephesians 4:32

I look at that verse and I marvel at the word be. Be - an irregular verb that denotes (an often aspirational) state of existence. Sans conjugation, the timeline on the implied state of being never expires. This command is not “be kind until”, or “be tenderhearted if”, or “be forgiving when”; this is an always be.

Beyond its constancy, this “be” is a verb, which signifies action, and is compelling, if not convicting. Oftentimes, I may look at such a verse as a list of characteristics that God wants me to have, rather than a set of actions He expects me to take, and while both are true, one should not exist without the other. Our actions are the evidence of our character, just as our faith and our works go hand in hand.

In a highly individualistic culture, like the one we live in, it is easy to miss the hurts or needs of others, or even to deliberately ignore them. Sometimes the best-case scenario in which an individual does take notice results in a response of well-wishes, prayers, or sentiments. These are fitting responses, but they are often insufficient. Per the command given to us in Ephesians 4:32 (and throughout the Bible), I think that more is required.

I wonder, am I prone to insufficient response, and if so, why?

Perhaps I suffer from a lack of willingness to spend what is costly - whether that is time, resources, or energy. That is not to say that I am unwilling to give of these things; perhaps I am unwilling to give at the point where it costs. For example, it is easy to volunteer my time when it involves making music or art, but it is another thing entirely to commit to cleaning toilets or doing manual labor. It is easy to offer a listening ear to a friend over dinner, but perhaps a bit more challenging to sit down with a member of my church that I am not naturally inclined to spend time with.

After observing me leaving the house to have dinner with folks several nights in a row, my brother asked one night if my meeting would be mutually enjoyable. I found this to be an interesting and insightful question. He looks out for me in this way, because he knows that I can easily overextend myself, and there is merit in that. The flipside however is this: should the offer of my time be transactional? Should I only be willing to offer up my time in exchange for my own enjoyment? I think not. Likewise, I believe that kindness, tenderheartedness, and forgiveness are not transactional. Like God’s grace, they are to be freely given, and the fact of the matter is a free gift is likely going to cost the giver. What costs us “bandwidth”, cost God a son. These will never be equivalent.

Another reason why I may fall short of effectively being kind, tenderhearted, or forgiving is that when I regard those action-items as simply a list of aspirational characteristics, I can let myself believe that I am already fulfilling God’s requirement. I look at the characteristics like shiny tools in my beautiful toolbox, and they remain untouched while I rest comfortably and things around me fall apart without my notice or repair.

Last, but not least, I think this area where I can fall short involves a “you know where to find me” attitude. I can be great at declaring that I am here if you need me, but is it not better to show up where I know I may be needed? Is that not what Jesus has done for me? If He had waited for me to come to Him first, I would surely miss eternity with Him.

If you are even just a bit like me, then we can both acknowledge that we are imperfect, and may be prone to fall short in these ways. God knows that, and He extends grace for that. He also gives us the capacity to do what He has asked of us, in His power. This verse does not end with His directions, but with His reason for them: just as God also in Christ forgave you.

There are serious implications there. Each time that we exercise our ability to be kind, tenderhearted, and forgiving, we are reflecting God’s character and honoring the ways in which He has selflessly acted to bring us to Him. Likewise, when we reflect these and other characteristics of God in ourselves and in our actions, we have the chance to draw people to Him.

Dear Church

Dear Church,

Yours is the loudest silence
And the one that hurts the most
For I call you brother and sister
And my call returns a ghost
You do not answer
And I am hard-pressed to find you
In this, my dark-skinned hour

“Let us pray” you might say
And “Only the gospel can save”
But surely Our Father asks more
Has he not asked us to speak for the poor?
And stand for the weak?
To care for the widow,
And defend those who cannot speak? 

I have watched you weep for the child with cancer
And speak for her mother who is crying for answers
So why are you silent while I face this violence?
And why won't your heart break when my life is at stake?
Are you so convinced that all we can do is wait?

Wait.
Wait for the right time,
For the end of elections, after voters have made their selections
Lest anyone say that you swayed political predilections

Wait.
Wait for the best time,
When more universal troubles have been resolved
And less puzzling puzzles have been solved
Or by some Kumbaya magic, we organically evolve

Wait.
Wait for the End of Time,
When the Lord returns and He builds new earth,
And my bruises and burns will no longer hurt 

I have waited, Church
I have waited and I have been hurt
I have waited for more than prayers and empty words

I have prayed
And I have prayed
And
I
Have
Prayed

I am convinced that the Lord's answer was more than
“Wait” or even “just pray”
I am sure I heard Him say
Confess
Repent
Learn
Seek
Do good
Correct
Defend
Speak

And yet...
You remain silent

Your silence says to me that you do not care enough to hear my cry
Or weep with me, or stand for me and do something

Your silence says to me that you are either in denial,
Or quite alright with the way things are
That maybe it’s okay if my back and spirit break,
If that means that you can stay in the comfort of your place

Your silence says to me that you are unwilling to love me, your neighbor as yourself
And when this going gets tough and I cry out for your help
Your Bible is no more than a book on your shelf
How else can you ignore these cries and justify yourself

Your silence says to me that if I am here today and gone tomorrow
You will think nothing of it, and waste not your sorrow

Tell me church, is this what you intended?
Is your silence meant to convey this message?
If so, your faith seems disavowed
If not, then I would ask what now?

Not without hope,

Moriah

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy.
-Proverbs 31:8-9

Learn to do good, seek justice, correct oppression, bring peace to the fatherless
-Isaiah 1:17

28 Years of Black

As of Monday, I have been alive for 28 years. Not one of those years has been unaffected by the fact that I am black. And every year, I know that a little more - this year most of all. Birthdays are a time of reflection for me, and this year as I consider my life in the last several years and in the years ahead, I cannot avoid the consideration of all that is going on with regard to race and racial injustice in our country. If I am still here on this earth years from now, I will look back on this time, and remember this moment when all around the world, people were crying out for justice on behalf of people like me.

In the last few months, a handful of horrific incidents have brought national and worldwide attention to some ugly parts of our reality. The headlines came as news to some, but not to me. I already knew what Amy Cooper showed everyone - that white privilege combined with a discriminate justice system not only enables but emboldens unjust white civilians to invoke police presence as a threat to innocent black civilians. I already knew that there are several Amy Coopers running wild, armed with the knowledge that police are inclined to take them at their word and to proceed to take disproportionate and even unjustified action against black civilians. Black civilians remain vulnerable to this threat, which is not to be taken lightly.  Not when George Floyds are being nonchalantly murdered in broad daylight, in plain view of civilians objecting and cameras recording. Not when Breonna Taylors have their homes erroneously raided at midnight and are then shot in their homes without having posed any threat, much less committing a crime. I knew this, and most, if not all other black people knew it too.

What has been most surprising to me is the echoing uproar of people who have only just learned about the very real and pervasive racism and racial injustice that still exists in our country. It offers some solace in my ongoing struggle to merely exist as a black person in this society. That sounds dramatic, yet it still does not sufficiently convey the weight of the burden that black people have carried. Every decision I make and every interaction I have has high stakes, and not only because it can easily escalate into a death sentence, but because underlying assumptions about me as a black person as well as unconscious bias renders improper consequences for my actions and sometimes for no reason at all.

Today’s uproars over egregious acts of injustice, brutality, and murder have sparked important discussions about changes that need to be made. However, the framework of these conversations is often incomplete. While it is imperative and foremost that we talk about how to stop the unjust deaths of black Americans, it is not enough. “Black lives matter” means more than “we don't want to die”; regard for black lives has just as much to do with the beginning and the middle of our lives as it does with the end.

Black parents should not have to spend the formative (and following) years of their children’s lives determining how to shield them from and equip them for racism. My parents should not have had to clear hair picks and banana peels from our front lawn because white neighbors were opposed to having a black family move into the neighborhood. They should not have had to petition our district to let us attend our local school and been subjected to all kinds of inappropriate questions about what they do for a living to qualify their children’s entry. They should not have had to sit their children down and teach them how to respond if they should have the misfortune of being pulled over by a cop - speak as little as possible, remain calm, keep your hands where they can see them, respond with “yes sirs” and “yes ma’ams”, even when they call you out of your name *refer to you by derogatory names or words* etc, etc, etc - in short, give them no excuse to harm you.

“Give them no excuse” - that seems to be the unspoken motto of black existence. If you want to stand a chance of competing in a world where white is preferred, you will need to do twice as well in school - give them no excuse not to choose you. If you are being provoked or wronged, respond with quiet calm or not at all - give them no excuse to call you “unprofessional”, “threatening”, “sassy”,  or “loud”. If you are overlooked or wrongly accused because of your race, don’t you dare say so - give them no excuse to dismiss you because you’re “using the race card.”  You live a chin-up, eyes-down life and make it look normal. You keep your face smiling and your tone upbeat while your mind races a hundred miles a minute to keep up with each consideration you have to make.

Of course, my experience is not a universal black experience - every one of us has a unique experience. My parents granted me all the advantages that they could. That meant researching the best schools and neighborhoods and working hard to position us there. The best schools and neighborhoods were always predominately white, and so my siblings and I grew up in white American culture. Some black Americans learn to assimilate into that culture, but it was a sort of default for us. This meant that even though our classmates, teachers, church members, co-workers, and other people around us might still look at us differently, it was easier for them to warm up to us because in some way, we were already like them. I could see a distinction in how other black Americans in those settings who shared a less whitewashed upbringing were perceived and treated differently than I was. I still do.

However much each black American experience varies, there is a shared racial hardship. It undoubtedly plays a part in shaping our personalities and our lives. In addition to living under the weight of systemic racism (perhaps another topic for another day), imagine being perceived as a threat for no reason at all. Can you? It looks like women holding their purses a little tighter when my excessively upstanding moral father walks by. It looks like a mother pulling her child nearer to her when my sister who is a gifted teacher, beloved by children, walks by. It looks like a cop pulling my high school-aged brother over while he is riding his bike in his own neighborhood. These are not hypothetical situations or imagined racism, but real experiences.

The perceived-threat dilemma is only one facet of racial hardship that black Americans experience. It is one that plays a significant part in the racial injustice that we see so plainly today. The perceptions (conscious or unconscious) of black people as other, less than, or disposable have certainly brought us where we are today, but the perception of black people as threats has largely been the unmentioned justification for their murders at the hands of white perpetrators.

I have had several conversations lately that have helped me to be more introspective than I have been previously about how my race has impacted who I am. I have come to realize how much I allow for the issue of racism to persist by normalizing it in my own life and by virtue of my silence. I’ve grown so accustomed to racism that I think of it simply as “how things are”.

A lack of comfort, and a desire to always have the right words, sometimes hinder me from saying all that I want to say. As a general rule, and a part of my personality, strength and composure are important to me. However, I dare say there is a time to share my burden rather than shoulder all the weight, and even to lose my composure and allow people to see how utterly wrecked I am about these things. I could get so fired up, but I'm afraid to look like "the angry black woman". In this situation as in ordinary little situations in my life, I sometimes think to myself, if I were white I could yell about this. But I am black, and because of stereotypes and fear, I am extra careful about every detail of my speech, including the volume. Sometimes I'm a little afraid to show the full brunt of my opinions and experiences or call people to action because I don't want to make them uncomfortable or feel as though I am imposing.

I cannot continue in this way. We cannot continue in this way.

As a believer, I know that I cannot expect a perfect world on this side of heaven, and so I pray for the world and hope for heaven. However, that does not exempt me from making an effort to make things better. As believers unified by Christ, we are called to mourn with those who mourn, speak up for those whose voices remain unheard, and defend the rights of those whose rights are disregarded. Moreover, Jesus commands us to love our neighbors as ourselves.

Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow. -Isaiah 1:17 (NIV)

I won’t claim to have all of the answers - I have very few answers indeed, but I know that I can use my voice, my time,  and my experience at the very least. I am choosing to reject the status quo and break my silence. I am deciding to take a clear and public stand against racism and racial injustice. I am learning, alongside people of many backgrounds about what can be done at a local, state, and federal level to make appropriate changes in government and law enforcement. I am seeking and creating opportunities to have open, honest, and safe dialogue with people who may not share my experience, but have a desire to understand it and to help make important changes in the ways that we perceive and interact with each other in our communities. I am committing to be intentional about finding opportunities to meaningfully interact with people who do not look like me or sound like me or share the parts of my background that have quite possibly kept me from knowing them.

These are the things that I know to do, and I believe that they will make a difference. At the core of racism and racial injustice is a people problem that has a whole lot to do with perception. And that problem starts in our homes, in our churches, in our schools, and all the other ordinary areas in our lives where we spend our time. We cannot change the problem from the inside of our comfort zones, so I invite you to venture out with me. Let us leave our comfort zones and be brave enough to get a little uncomfortable for the sake of making this world a better place.

I want to end by expressing my deep gratitude to the tens of thousands of people from other races and white folks who have joined the demands for justice from police, Americans, and all institutions in America (and the world), by peacefully protesting all over the U.S., England, South Africa, Germany, Paris, and so many places throughout the world. These and other deliberate and passionate actions both seen and unseen are going to push the needle forward as we continue in our drive towards a more peaceful and equitable society.

Running Shoes

It’s been three months since Ahmaud Arbery was shot in the street while running near his own neighborhood. I can’t help but think of it when I grab my own running shoes and ask myself where I can safely engage in such a harmless and wholesome activity. Am I safe in my own neighborhood?

Since then, even in these quieter streets, cleared by COVID-19, a colorless enemy that should have reminded us all of how much more unites us than divides us, more men and women of color have continued to suffer hurt and injustice fueled by racism. My heart grieves for all the stories I know about, and I hate to imagine all of the stories that I am not aware of - the little stories that people like me live through silently. The assumptions, the microaggressions, and the larger incidents of racism that no one wants to talk about. Racism is real and not just a phantom of our history in this country - it is an issue that remains a part of our society and culture, even if the shape it takes or the names we give it are different today. In addition to the problem of racism itself, there is an issue of refusal to acknowledge, discuss, or change it.

I know people I love who would rather dismiss such matters than discuss them. There are people who grow weary of hearing about it, and want everyone to “move on” and “stop making everything about race”. These kinds of mindsets are a privilege that not everyone can afford. If you are not impacted by the problem, I can imagine how easy it might be to live in the comfortable privilege you’ve been afforded without realizing it. Some folks hold on to that comfort so tightly - some deliberately, and others without even noticing. Some people think they’ve been exempted from their privilege because they have faced their own challenges, or had to work for success. (White) Privilege is not the same as a silver spoon at birth; it is the luxury of not having to give thought to how the color of your skin will impact your day to day living.

To live without this privilege is to exist in a reality where the color of your skin adversely affects your day to day living. Sometimes that manifests in small ways. For instance, a black student admitted to Harvard will face the assumption that his race was the reason for his admittance, when in fact, his performance alone was sufficient to gain his entrance. Somewhere in the world, a white girl coveting his spot will assume the spot should have been hers and it will never occur to her that her academic performance and civic responsibility were simply not as outstanding as his.

Then, of course, these issues can play out on a larger scale. A young man will be gunned down near his own neighborhood, a consequence of the color of his skin and some unfounded assumptions.

Racism and racial injustice are messy, ugly parts of our world, and particularly our country, that can be difficult to face and easy to ignore. Whatever your race or your privilege, the courageous thing to do is to face the matter, to consider it, and to act to change it. Let yourself be held accountable for how you respond to racial issues. Hold others accountable. And treat everyone well, especially those who suffer because of these issues. As a believer, I would go a step further and say that we are called to love everyone well.

I write this today not from a place of sadness or anger, and not for the sake of preaching. I write this today so that I might encourage you as I have been encouraged. I started this post a couple of weeks ago, after reading an encouraging Facebook post from a friend and was prompted to finish it today after receiving an encouraging text from another friend.

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I thought about what it took to choose to watch that video for the sake of understanding the plight of the victim and countless people like him. I thought about her choice to share about it rather than stay silent about it. I thought about her heartfelt desire to learn how to be supportive of her friends, neighbors, and community members who were being impacted by the same kind of pervasive threats and injustice. And as I thought about all this, in spite of the horrible reality that Ahmaud’s situation exemplified, I was encouraged by my friend’s choice to try to understand the hurt and to respond to it with loving intent.

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How nice it was to be thought of in such a time. If a hurricane swept through a friend’s hometown, you might reach out to see how they were doing. If a friend’s relative was in the hospital, you might reach out to see how they were doing. My lovely friend saw some devastating news that might be impacting me as a person of color and thought to reach out and see how I was doing. This was more than a text - it was a meaningful gesture, and it was sincere. It came from a place of love and understanding of the fact that racial issues around me inevitably affect me. Again, in spite of an unpleasant delineation of an ugly reality, I was encouraged by a friend’s response.

These are the responses of people who are unafraid and more than willing to face racial issues, consider them, and act to change them. And it is the sum of people like these who will make the situation better.

So the next time that I grab my running shoes, I may run with caution, but I will know that I do not run alone.

I Tried: The Farewell (movie)

Please be advised that the following post contains spoilers, including Q&A with the film’s writer and director, Lulu Wang. These spoilers address more ideas than specific content - and I have tried to limit them.

Last night I had the opportunity to see The Farewell, a film that has been on my radar for several months now. The opportunity was provided by the Asian Film Festival of Dallas, during a screening event featuring an appearance from writer and director Lulu Wang, herself. The experience came about fortuitously, in such a way that exemplifies one of the reasons that I so love film - it brings together all kinds of people, and has the great potential to tell the unifying stories of humanity. I had mentioned the film to a co-worker (who happens to be Chinese) some time ago and so she became aware of it and interested in it. She came across the title amongst a list of events in an email from an organization she had recently subscribed to, the AFFD. She had become aware of the AFFD by way of a friendly and observant employee (who happens to be white) at her library, where she frequently rents Asian films. The timing of these varied interactions between varied people lined up perfectly so that my co-worker and I were able to secure tickets. When we arrived at the theater, we saw several races and ages represented in the audience. We wondered how each of those folks had come to be aware of the event.

In the opening credits, Chinese characters (“letters”) precede English words, a little detail that seems to pay homage to Wang’s Chinese heritage. My Chinese co-worker translated the Chinese title for me: “Don’t Tell Her” - an interesting difference from the English title. I wonder if the notion of a farewell is more western than eastern.

The film begins with a series of little lies exchanged between Billi (Awkwafina) and Nai Nai in a phone conversation. During the conversation, we move from Billi’s New York surroundings to Nai Nai’s surroundings in China. This is the first of several such juxtapositions and parallels that occur visually in the film, each of which is done beautifully and with subtle intention. Many elements of the film are this way - subtle and beautiful: the long, closeup shots of character’s faces and profiles, the shapes and symmetry within the frames, the slow panning shots, the muted tones, and colored lights. Every detail of the cinematography works together to show and tell a simple story that zeros in on incredible tension and emotion.

One such element is the choice to cut from one scene to the next abruptly at times. The element is still subtle, but it is also jarring. Maybe this is how grief looks - you move from one thought or emotion to the next without warning. You don’t get to finish processing one emotion before being hit by the next. Of course, I may be reading way too much into that.

The film tells a very personal story about filmmaker, Lulu Wang’s family, yet more than manages to resonate with a universal audience. I can see myself in Billi in so many ways. I see it as I glimpse the painful experience of navigating her identity as an American with foreign roots. I see it as she struggles between perusing her lofty career goals and attempting to maintain her independence under the microscope of her parents’ opinions and concern. I see it her heart for her tightly-woven family. I see it in the weight of all the unspoken hurt she carries.

A lot of the impact of this film lies in the things that are unsaid. Moments of uncomfortable silence, as well as conversations that reveal previously unspoken thoughts and feelings drive the almost tangible tension and emotion. Even the film’s plot rests on what the family is not telling Nai Nai. That secret creates suspense which is only intensified by the quiet moments, the haunting and truly beautiful music from the soundtrack, and every element that prompts you to wonder about its symbolism. I found myself holding my breath, waiting for the moment when someone would reveal the secret to Nai Nai. Would it be a slip-up fueled by drunken sadness or an intentional reveal from a character motivated by their own convictions about the lie? Would Nai Nai be the one to reveal that she knew the whole time? What did all the birds and windows mean? How much should I read into the phrase “benign shadows”? I felt as though I was sharing in Billi’s distress, and still, I welcomed all the confusing feelings - I was all the more drawn to the story.

The members of the cast are more than believable - they come across very much like ordinary people, and like a real family. Each raw display of emotion, however grand or subtle is felt deeply by the audience. At times I simply did not know how to process the emotion. In one scene, Hao Hao, the groom in the marriage scheme that provides cover for the family to see Nai Nai, begins crying gently, and then uncontrollably during an operatic performance at his wedding reception. This moment is preceded by a drinking game, which Hao Hao, who says very little throughout the movie, is losing badly. After watching him take several shots during the festive game, it is not readily apparent that his tears are more than a response to the sad-sounding song. The moment goes on for some time and the conflicting urges to laugh and cry wrecked me inside.

In as much as the audience is made to wrestle our emotions, and our wrecked insides, the film does offer some comic relief as well. Some of the humor is like a more favorable version of deadpan humor - it is matter-of-fact humor, used to address serious concerns. At one point, a joke that I laughed at earlier in the film surfaced in an argument between Billi and her parents. “What were we supposed to tell you, that your grandmother is on the roof?”, her mother says, when Billi questions why her parents had not told her about her grandmother’s health yet. I felt personally attacked. Of course, other humorous elements are the subtleties of Awkwafina’s performance.

In fact, Awkwafina really shines in the film. Her ability to make us a laugh offers welcome comic relief, but the gravity that she brings to her performance in a very serious role is commendable, and representative of what the writer accomplishes in this film. Both the writing and the acting handle heavy themes like grief and death with a certain levity, and without diminishing the significance of these themes.

The film brings up a number of matters within the family which remain unresolved in the end. As a crying Nai Nai, is led away by her sister after a tearful goodbye, the audience is left to wonder whether she knows the truth about her health. When the screen faded to black after Billi’s return to New York shortly after, I felt a little betrayed. Would none of my questions be answered? Where was the resolution? What the hey, Lulu?!

In her Q&A after the film, Lulu Wang states that the catharsis and the resolution that we might seek is perhaps an American idea, and she had to resist that. “For me, the drama in this movie is the lack of drama, and so what [I’ve] come to realize is that the drama’s internal. [You’re] screaming on the inside, and on the outside . . . life goes on.” I suppose that is the story in a nutshell - the conflict between a family’s internal screams and their external attempts to go on with life, in light of the emotional burden they are carrying for Nai Nai.

For more about the film and the writer, listen to the brief Q&A session below.

I Tried: A Photo Hunt in Bishop Arts

I spent my afternoon with some lovely ladies in the Bishop Arts District this afternoon. I had been looking forward to our outing for sometime, as I had planned a photo scavenger hunt for our monthly gathering. Our numbers were low, but our spirits were high. We met at Arapaho Center Station, and spent about an hour on a train talking with one another. The train took us to Union Station, and from there we took a bus to the Bishop Arts District. We walked a few feet to the nearest establishment, The Local Oak, where we waited to meet a friend who had driven to meet us. It was my first time in that particular part of the area, and I was immediately taken with the whimsical wishing tree outside. We read all sorts of wishes there - hilarious, relatable, debatable, and the like. Shortly after our friend arrived, we split into uneven teams and went on our way. Here are some highlights from our little adventure. I have made my scavenger hunt available to download for free. Happy photo hunting!

Download my Girls Day Out: Bishops Arts Photo Hunt

I Tried: "Won't You Be My Neighbor" (Movie)

I went with my mom to see Won't You Be My Neighbor. It is the first (and likely the last) documentary that I have ever had any kind of interest in. We saw it in a small theater room with only 4 rows of seats filled with mostly older people. Since I first saw the trailer for this film months ago and talked with others about it, I noticed the relevance of my age and its relation with history. A surprising number of my peers were not familiar with Mister Rogers' Neighborhood and as for those who were younger than me, they seemed to have no knowledge of him at all. To see that made me sad for a generation that didn't know Mr. Rogers and grateful for the privilege that I had to have grown up with him for a while.

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The film immediately brought me back to childhood as it opened in the same manner that Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood did - with a happy familiar tune inviting me to be a neighbor. From there on, I experienced all the feels for the next 134 minutes. The documentary highlighted a series of episodes that exemplified the things that Mr. Rogers stood for, the goals that he had, and most importantly the person that he was.  In addition to highlighting these episodes, we, of course, heard from some of Mr. Rogers closest neighbors, including his family members and cast/crew members or guests from the show. There are also quiet, short moments in which Mr. Rogers is beautifully portrayed as a cartoon Daniel Tiger while the story progresses. It feels like a silent nod to the neighborhood of imagination. It is also efficacious in that it delineates the notion or the belief that Daniel Tiger was in a sense an extension of Mister Rogers true self, particularly as a child. Last but not least, there were many scenes of Mister Rogers himself speaking outside of the show, such as his well-known statement in support of public television, and lesser-known interviews. Viewers get a lovely portrait of Mr. Rogers, not a television personality, but a man, who incidentally happened to be the television personality of his show. For viewers who knew Mr. Rogers, it is a moving tribute, and for viewers who did not, it provides a more than sufficient education.

Several elements of the film were truly reminiscent of the simplicity and genuinely moving nature of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. The timing and pace of the film are unhurried without feeling slow. The conversation with the audience is honest and sincere - telling us the facts as they are and taking time to appreciate how those made the storytellers feel or how they might make us feel. Another significant way in which the film is reminiscent of Mr. Roger's neighborhood is the way in which the conversations that are had, play against a backdrop of current events and issues we are dealing with now. In fact, it seems kind of meta - and it is a remarkable way to be reminded that in the “neighborhood” that we live in, we are watching history repeat itself.

Perhaps the magic of Mr. Rogers was that in the very same space in which he acknowledged the ugliest or hardest realities of life and humanity, he made us aware of all the good that is there right alongside those - the good of helpers in the midst of tragedy, the good of individuals in their day to day lives, and the good in ourselves, not just as it is, but as it could be. He told us that we were lovable just as we are, and also that we had the capacity to grow, to do good, and to love others.

One of the most striking moments in the film was when interviewees were asked to think of the people who helped them become who they are, which was a practice that Mr. Rogers had often encouraged. If I recall correctly each person was given a full minute to think about it. It is a quiet moment charged with deep emotion, in which neighbors on either side of the screen are reminded of the impact of the love they have received and good that already exists in our world.

In a time that is as dark and divisive as the one we live in now, the film reminds us of so many important truths, chief among them, that each individual has inherent value, and as such, they should be loved as they are. Likewise, we are reminded that “The greatest thing that we can do is to help somebody know that they're loved and capable of loving.”

While Mr. Rogers' message, which is ultimately the message of the film is consequential, perhaps the most appreciable gift for the audience is that the film tells us the very thing we hoped to know most, which is  that Mr. Rogers really was the person that he seemed to be - that he was as genuine, caring, kind, compassionate, determined, empathetic, and loving as he seemed to think that we could be. In this way especially, the film is reassuring and inspiring. It is an invitation to visit with a friend we have not seen in far too long (or may have just met), and a commission to carry on his legacy.