It’s been an odd summer in our world. I suspect it has been in your world, too.
I used to love back-to-school time. The anxious expectation of newness. New shoes. New haircuts, which were decidedly my mother’s idea. The hope for good new teachers. And, depending on my age and whether we’d moved in any given summer, longing for friends, old and new.
The school part was the easy part. And no masks were needed.
This year, of course, will be different for so many of our scholars. Including my girls.
This is the part where I leave space for you to fill in the ranting, raving, or rejoicing of your choice: ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
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If you’ve been hanging around a while, you’ve already realized that I filled that space with prayer dots for mine and yours and all of ours.
Here are some more:
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Those are for the future.
I spent a chunk of yesterday listening to a politician. Yes, on purpose! Raphael Warnock is the pastor of Ebenezer Baptist Church, which implies some very large shoes to fill. He’s also the democratic candidate for the unelected Georgia seat in the US Senate.
An encouragingly large herd of folks showed up in Zoom-land to explore volunteering with the campaign, which faces many of the same challenges that schools are facing just now.
We chatted about phone calls and text messages. We learned more about Dr. Warnock’s experience and his views on pressing issues. And we pondered the legacy behind this particular campaign.
And we did all of that in the shadow of loss.
The Rev. Joseph E. Lowery. The Rev. C.T. Vivian. Congressman John Lewis. All since March of 2020. All close advisors to Dr. King and leaders for civil rights in the USA.
We have lost more than iconic leaders, though. At least I hope so. I hope we’ve lost the notion there is one history in our world that tells the story of everyone. That there is one teller of that story. That there is one next chapter.
Rather, we each have a piece of that historical story to tell. And we each have a piece of that story to write. Now and in the future.
And, if I’ve learned anything at all from the last three years, which I’ve spent increasingly spattered in paint, it’s that we have the power to live and write our stories with intention.
It’s 100 days until the national election in America. This is my intention:
At least once each day I will take action toward a nation, and a world, in which everyone’s story matters.
I have no idea what all that will look like yet, but you’re invited to join me. Each of you in your own way.
Today, I’ll make dots for real peace on the canvas which will eventually be home for my painting known as Dance of the Critic and the Muse. (She appeared in my head this morning but I’m still sketching.)
And, Bill and I will eat chicken wings for dinner.
How, you may be wondering, are chicken wings an intentional step toward a world in which everyone’s story matters?
It’s like this… those chicken wings will help to pay several of our friends who are attempting to cope with the pandemic in ways even more immediate than new school shoes. They’re feeding their families. And paying their rent. And working to keep a small, local business afloat.
And, since we’re being honest, eating those chicken wings – and the extra-crispy fried okra that goes with them – will also let me rest a bit more so that tomorrow I can head off to see my favorite physical therapist so that my hip will get better so that I can do even more things toward the world I believe is possible.
Just in case you’d like to join in and are looking for some inspiration, your version of chicken wings counts, too!