The 9/11 Hammer

They're beating us over the head with the 9/11 hammer today.

Don't get me wrong. It profoundly affected all of us. This is a good time to look back, remember and reflect.

But watch the context, people.

On the radio this a.m, at the time the first plane went into the first building:

"Let us all remember the events 5 years ago, right now ..."

They go into a song.

The song?

"Born in the USA," Bruce Springsteen.

Do people listen to lyrics anymore?

Later, on a different station ...

(hushed voice) "...9/11. Remember where you were. Never forget." Segues into a song ...

"Margaritaville."

I ain't making this stuff up, folks!

Well, since we are all looking back and sharing ... I was at home, child 1 was at kindergarten, child 2 was playing. The Husband called and told me to turn on the tv. "They think a commuter plane flew into a building." With him on the phone, I turned on the tv to see them showing the video of a plane flying into a building. Was it the first or the second? I don't remember. But I do remember very clearly telling my husband, who was in his car and hadn't seen any of this, with no doubt in my mind -- "That was not a commuter plane."

I called a friend of mine, one of the Smug-Never-Watch-Tv types, since I knew she wouldn't have hers on. Told her to. Called my sister, waking her up. I remember what I said. "Turn on your tv. We're being attacked."

Mostly a blur after that. Was it that night or the next day when the family and friends began going down there, holding up their signs? All desperately searching for someone they loved. After watching hours of this, I had to turn it off. "I can't cry anymore," I remember telling myself. My heart was ripped out of my chest.

Child 3 was born 9 months to the day. 6-11-02. Her middle name means "beautiful."

Abortion and the taboos of talking honestly

We're all for honesty ... except in certain areas.

A hesitation to be completely honest is not always for nefarious, puritanical or "politically correct" reasons. Sometimes, we hold back on complete honesty in discussion because we're afraid that our honesty can be used against "our side," whatever it is. Allow that there may be a gray area, and the other side might grab it and say, "See, this proves our point."

Or, we might hesitate to be honest because we feel that it somehow takes away from a legitimate issue.

Or we might hesitate because we worry that putting our honest thoughts out there might overshadow our deeper message.

What's been on my mind is abortion.

I am very much pro-choice, because I am only one person and I know that I have not experienced everything, good or bad, that life has to offer. I haven't been a pregnant 15 year old. I haven't become pregnant through abuse. I haven't ever felt that getting pregnant was the absolute worst thing that could happen to me. And I have never received the news that "we're sorry. Your unborn child has a rare birth defect. He will never have a good life."

So how the heck can I say that no woman should be allowed to make that choice?

Happily, I have never had to make that choice. Twice, we worried that might have to. Both our second child and fourth had preliminary prenatal tests that indicated there might be a problem. But with both, more extensive testing said everything was fine.

In our heads, we felt we knew what we would do. Neither of us wanted to make a child be born with profound difficulties.

And we had Little Warrior, number 4. For 6 months, everything was great. Month 7, she was diagnosed with cancer.

Even in the very worst of the maelstrom, we were able to say that the only thing worse would have been if she had never been born. Even if her little life had ended right then, we knew without the tiniest shadow of doubt that those 6 months were worth it.

So, here's the rub:

Knowing what we know now, if they had told us while I was pregnant that she was carrying cancer cells, would we have continued the pregnancy?

Knowing what we know now ... oh, absolutely. Completely. No question.

But ...

If we did NOT know what we know now ... if we had not gone through the experience and realized that even 6 months is worth it, would we have continued the pregnancy?

I don't know. We don't know.

And that's the honest truth.

On being subservient

Funny how something casual can stop you cold. I was reading one of my favorite blogs and the writer casually referred to being a homemaker as being in a subservient role.

Huh.

The American Heritage Dic defines subservient as:

1. Subordinate in capacity or function.
2. Obsequious; servile.
3. Useful as a means or an instrument; serving to promote an end.

Of course, those meanings don't really encompass the negative associations we have with the word subservient, which to my mind at least, brings up a lot of bowing and scraping. Ahh, Princeton University's Word Net:

adj 1: compliant and obedient to authority; "editors and journalists who express opinions in print that are opposed to the interests of the rich are dismissed and replaced by subservient ones"-G. B. Shaw 2: abjectly submissive; characteristic of a slave or servant; "slavish devotion to her job ruled her life"; "a slavish yes-man to the party bosses"- S.H.Adams; "she has become submissive and subservient"

I do not bring money -- well, significant money, anyway -- into our family unit. That is true. However, I am the person who pays all the bills. The Husband has no idea where all the money goes; for all he knows, I'm stashing it away in a Swiss bank account. Except that our electricity stays on, and our house hasn't been repossessed, so he figures I'm taking care of it.

To be subordinate would, I assume, mean that someone tells me what to do. Well, The Husband does occasionally tell me that I need to take some time for myself, but other than that, he provides no direction. I sometimes wish he would, as it sounds kind of nice ... no prioritizing, just do as I'm told. Of course, the thought of me taking orders from a spouse is equally hilarious as the idea of him giving me orders.

Don't misunderstand. This isn't some sort of foaming-at-the-mouth, "I love my job as CEO of the home!" I think 90% of the "mommy wars" are boring, same-old, same-old of people trying to justify their lives by putting down others. I call working moms "working moms." I don't think it implies I don't work. I call myself and others of my ilk "full-time moms." It doesn't mean working moms aren't always mothers.

I was just genuinely caught short with the assumption that a homemaker is subservient. The fact that it is an assumption made me want to explore the idea.

Having given it an initial perusal, I can now discard the idea. I am an educated woman who made a choice to retire from the professional world to devote my energies (for this period of my life anyway) to my children, husband and home.

Back to that third meaning: "Useful as a means or an instrument; serving to promote an end."

Well, isn't that all of us?

White Girls With Dry Hair ...

... go immediately to the ethnic section of your area Tar-mart (whichever) and pick up a bottle of "Creme of Nature" hair conditioner. Do not just get any ethnic conditioner, as some have vaseline and such in them, get "Creme of Nature." Marvelous. Butter-soft hair, whatever that means, but you'll say the same thing after use. Good shampoo, I've heard, too.

If You Give a Family Some Leisure Time ...

Okay. Obviously, the Lizard Eater family doesn't do too well on our own.

The holiday weekend saw:

* The Princess, attempting to execute a turn on her bicycle, go face-first into the curb. Amazingly, no teeth knocked, no broken bones, no stitches. But she looks like she was in a bar fight.

* Our tv go dead, dead, dead as a doornail. Quick research said that it would cost $200 bucks each way to ship it for repair, and they might not even be able to fix it. Planned f-ing obsolescence. So, en masse, we went to Best Buy (love that 0% interest/3 years) and joined the plasma generation.
-- Have you ever read, "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie"?--
I had already done the research, knew the make and model of what we wanted, knew they had it in stock. Easy in and out, right?

"It's HDTV. You want to get a high def signal, right?"

Eh, nah.

"Well, do you already have Directv?"

Yeah.

"It's just 9.95 forthe high def signal ... and we give you an instant $200 off the price."

Oh. Okay, then.

No problem, and a nice little perk, right? Except we also have tivo, so we had to upgrade to a HD tivo. Back and forth with Directv about the money issue on this, and scheduling, and whatsiswhatforaaaaaargh!

It was at this time that I got a brilliant idea. We have an old teeny tv in a closet. I've got a metal coat hanger. Tv and antenna. Eureka!

No one liked my idea.

Anyway, an hour and a half later, we walked out with the tv and an appointment for service and some cranky kids. Got home, set up the tv and realized.

Now I need a cabinet to put it on.

Okay, now where was I? Oh, yes, one more thing:

* The Husband injuring himself.

We freecycled the old tv, offering up its broken self for someone who knows how to fix tvs. Got a taker. It's about 200 lbs, so The Husband graciously helped him get it in the car. That actually went okay, but when The Husband was exiting the car, the cord somehow wrapped itself around his ankle and he went flying, catching himself on his wrists, and hurting his elbow. He's now waiting for an MRI.

Back to school, back to work. We don't do well with free time. We obviously need supervision at all times.

Quick Product Endorsement

Just got some Good Hair Days Magic-Grip Hair Pins. If you have long hair, and you like to wear it up in buns or twists or whatever -- run, do not walk, to a Sally or Ulta and get some:

http://www.goodhairdays.com/plastic-bulk-hairpins-chignon-pins.htm

They're like old fashioned "beaters" but much better.

I love that a hair pin can make me happy. Normal is so delicious.

Recent Amazon Order

• 1 of: Antagonists in the Church: How to Identify and Deal With Destructive Conflict
• 1 of: Never Call Them Jerks
• 1 of: Well-Intentioned Dragons: Ministering to Problem People in the Church

I have no patience for this.

I hate to be holier than thou, but I just want to slit my eyes at people, tell them to BE the change that they want to see in other people, and explain that life is a very fragile gift and to start treating it with more care.

And to get over themselves.

Radical Hospitality

Today, the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, it is probably not just random coincidence that my web-surfing took me to two great earlier posts concerning hospitality:

http://gloryinthemorning.blogspot.com/2006/07/saying-shibboleth-or-are-you-suitable.html

http://peacebang.blogspot.com/2006/07/i-respond-to-searching-and-bill.html

These concerned how welcoming we are to newcomers, but combined with the anniversary, they got me to thinking about deeper issues of hospitality.

Back up ... a couple of years ago, a lot of UUs were talking about a book called Radical Hospitality. I didn't know the author, but I searched for it on half.com and found a book with that title.

When it came, I quickly came to realize that it was a different book of the same name.

This was a book about a fundamentalist Christian couple who made a habit of taking in homeless and indigent people and letting them live in their home. People off the street.

Now that, my friends, is radical hospitality.

Where is the line between really reaching out, and being irresponsible to self/family?

Last year, my heart bled, as so many did, watching what happened after the levees broke in New Orleans. I conferred with my husband and we quickly decided to offer up a large room in our house for any "refugees."

We looked for a way. There was one site that had simple listings. List what you offered, someone in need could contact you. Anyone.

Backpedal.

Our denomination was attempting to do something similar, but "taking care of ourselves." If there was a Unitarian Universalist family that needed a place to stay, they'd set them up with one of us. But you needed to be a member of a UU church in order to get help.

Hmm.

I don't fault our denomination ... to ask your members to take in complete strangers with no references is pretty risky. We'd like to think that everyone is sweet and good, but there are news reports that say otherwise.

I don't think that I would do anything different. We had three kids and an infant. How do I ensure their safety with someone living down the hall from them, no personal references?

Wait. I changed my mind just as I was writing that. Yes, I would have been worried about my kids. Our bedroom is downstairs and their's are up. But you know what? We could have slept up with them, and given our bedroom to someone else.

Of course, it's a small bedroom, and the better plan would have been to give the entire upstairs playroom to a whole family.

Damn. I don't know what I'd do. I don't know where the line is.

But I'm pretty sure I'm not even remotely close to it.

Damn.

The toilet paper is sitting on the counter

...because the springy-toilet-paper-middle-thingy has been purloined.

Little Warrior has taken it for her own. It is, apparently, the greatest toy in the world. It can be used on the air return to make great noise, it can be held and squeezed, it can be made to jump up and down, it can be used to hit a willing big-brother on the head, it can even be a doll.

LW is the fourth child and we have toys on top of toys on top of toys.

But this is the best.

Ours Is No Caravan of Despair

For the the September UU Blog Carnival, Rev. Sean asked for submissions to the question:

“What gets you through the hard night?” More specifically, what is it in our faith tradition, that brings you the strength and/or comfort you need to face difficult times? Are there theological concepts, specific words, hymns, practices that sustain you in trying times?"

Hard night?

The night of January 18th found my husband and I in a hospital room with our 7 month old baby daughter.

That morning, she and I had gone to playgroup at our UU church, and from there, an appointment with the pediatrician for a strange lump on one side. Perhaps it was just gas, I had thought.

After that was, as they say, a blur. Bits and pieces come into focus: creeping along the freeway during rush hour, trying to get her to the Children’s Hospital. A doctor here, an intern there, words like “mass” and “Wilms’ Tumor.”

And cancer. Cancer, with a capital C.

It was late, that night, when we got to our room. She had not been formally diagnosed yet, but when the elevator doors opened, there it was, in black and white. “Pediatric Oncology Floor.”

I didn’t want to let her out of my arms, and I slowly danced with her, careful of the iv in her little hand. One song kept repeating itself in my mind:

Come, come whoever you are
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving
Ours is no caravan of despair
Come, yet again, come.

Ours is no caravan of despair, I kept reminding myself. No caravan of despair. Ours is no caravan of despair.

The blur continued over the next 7 months. Chemotherapy. Being told the tumors had had “minimal response” to the chemo. Surgery, where they removed a grapefruit-sized tumor and 1/3 of one kidney and an orange-sized tumor and ½ of the other kidney.

The night of the surgery, her father and I bent over our daughter’s crib in the ICU. It was loud and cramped. Even with sedation, she slept fitfully. We began singing low,
Come, come, whoever you are
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving
Ours is no caravan of despair
Come, yet again, come.

She is off-treatment now and we pray that “it is all over.” We hope to begin our new normal.

We are Unitarian Universalists. Our religion is one of hope. When one person has despair creeping in, may we always be there to offer another view. On one of my nights of quiet despair, a fellow UU blogger reminded me that “Weeping may endureth for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” And at another low moment, a friend who had lost her son to leukemia told me, “You will live through this.”

Ours is no caravan of despair.

Come. Yet again, come.

Back on the Horse

I just agreed to go back in the pulpit. September 17.

Huh.

No Man's Land

Right now I am in a no man's land because the future will affect what this period of my life comes to be seen as.

Path A: Little Warrior's cancer is gone, and we are on the path of the rest of our lives, where we will look back and say, "Yes, she had cancer when she was a baby." The cancer will merely be a relatively short portion of our family story, duly noted on medical charts, a painful but gradually muted memory.

Path B: We are in a honeymoon/lull right now, and at a certain point in time, we will be back on the cancer-go-round, with all of the fear and worry that comes with.

I am trying to live my life, as best as I can, believing that we are on Path A. As I have already learned, there is no such thing as preparing for the worst, so one must enjoy the wine and roses as long as they last.

With time, it will get easier.

So long as we can stay on Path A.

Still unbelievable

I look down sometimes, like when she's sleeping after a long day of wreaking havoc, and I still can't believe it all. I mean, she's just over a year old, in the big scheme of things, she's just barely been here ... and she's already had cancer. Cancer, with a capital C. It just doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem possible.

Drunk Baby

Not only is Little Warrior a mean-ass drunk, she's the kind of drunk who says, "Watch me climb that radio tower!"

This was discovered yesterday when LW received the sedative Chlora Hydrate for the first time. Google tells me Marilyn Monroe had a 'script for this same drug.

Waking up from it, she bit, kicked, screamed to get down ... but was still 'drunk,' so she couldn't even crawl. Nonetheless, she knew that she could walk and climb. "I'm finnnnne," she slurred. At least, I'm pretty sure that's what she was trying to say. She cursed me a bit, too. And speaking of 'bit,' I have the bite marks to prove it all.

Reason for this was an echocardiogram, which came back normal, yay.

But I didn't let her drive home.

The Days of Wine and Roses

Yesterday was The Husband's and my 16th wedding anniversary.

We got married the summer before my senior year in college, for no other reason than we wanted to. As adults and parents, we look back and said, "Stupid kids." But we are glad we were, because we both have doubts whether we would have gotten married had we waited for both of us to graduate. Too flippy. Too young.

But we did marry, in a lovely ceremony in a lovely UU church. His stepmother lit the main taper. His stepfather, a Methodist minister, did the ceremony. We both walked down the aisle with both of our parents. I think my mother would have preferred the traditional way of just my father walking me down the aisle, but paaah. Even at that age, I had a feeling that it wasn't right for just my father to be giving me away. And at that age, it was definitely being given away.

We walked down the aisle to "Morning Has Broken." We left to "Here Comes the Sun," a song that grows in meaning for us each year. Especially this one.

Of course, our personally-written vows, while sweet, were written by a 21 and 22 year old. Something about loving each other and still being individuals.

Ah, the vows we could write NOW.

In any case, the marriage "took" and here we are now. It is common to decry young marriages, which makes The Husband and I just look at each other in wonder. We have been blessed, as we have grown up together and not grown apart. The idea of being who I am now and getting married to a person who also has his own way of doing things ... I can't imagine. We joke that you should get married by age 24 or not at all. (joke, joke!)

Yesterday was the perfect anniversary. I sent him a dozen rozes and a little teddy bear to his work, something I've never done before, but I wanted to do the gesture that a lover would. Not just a partner.

"I knew what I was going to get you two months ago," said he.

I opened the bag. It was a bottle of wine. Hmm?

"Is that all?" he asked.

There was also a slip in the bag notifying me that I was now a member of the Specs wine of the month club. (Really good, I highly recommend it for oenophiles.)

The last time he got that for me was Christmas a couple of years ago.

"I remembered that that was a VERY good year for us," he said. We briefly discussed all the great things that happened that year. "So, I decided we needed another year like that."

So, for today, we have wine and roses.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
--Ernest Dowson

Let's Do a Key Lime Flip

Someone visited my blog today by searching for +shot +tastes +like +chocolate. Isn't that lovely? I'm glad about the folks that find me through searches about Unitarians or babies with cancer, but it's nice to see that someone looking for something so fun came across my path.

In that spirit, I have a new drink I've flipped for. Pun intended. I think this will be the official "drink" of our 2006 Halloween party.

You can imagine how great it feels to be planning a Halloween party this year.

Key Lime Flip
1/2 cup crushed graham cracker crumbs
1 1/2 cup Vodka
dash of vanilla
1 1/2 cups light rum
1/2 cup lime juice
3/4 cup cream of coconut

Rub rim of chilled martini or parfait glasses with a sliced lime. Press into graham cracker crumbs. Combine the rest of ingredients in a pitcher with some ice to blend. Strain into the rimmed glasses. Enjoy.

By the way, if anyone has any fabbbbulous finger foods for parties, pass 'em on to me.

Breast Cancer Barbie

Kristina Collins just blogged about Mattel coming out with a breast cancer Barbie. She reports that she and other writers on the Young Survival Coalition have a few suggestions for the Mattel Company.

-Barbie should be bald and have assorted wigs included instead of the bouffant hairdo.

-Barbie's skin should be more grayish and she should be at least 10lbs overweight from steroids.

-some accessories in the box should also include a little toilet to throw up in, many prescription bottles that she can't keep track of and clippers for when she needs to buzz her hair.

LOVE those ideas and even more, the humorous spirit behind them.

In perusing some pictures over the past year, I came across a picture I made of Little Warrior right before surgery. To say that her abdomen was bulging is understatement of the year. The rest of her, bone skinny. Our mental photographs must be softer than reality -- looking at that picture, I burst into tears. LW is asleep in front of Sesame Street and it took all my will to not go scoop that fat baby up.

On "Worship"

I don’t go to church to worship. At least, not in the traditional sense.

This is the conclusion I came to, after a comment by PeaceBang. I am glad that there are those who come to our churches to worship. I think that all forms of spirituality enhance the experience for each of us. Okay, maybe not sacrificing a chicken. But then again, I’ve never been privy to that particular experience.

However, if going by the standard definition of worship, that’s not why I go to church.

Per the American Heritage dict, worship is:

1. The reverent love and devotion accorded a deity, an idol, or a sacred object.
2. The ceremonies, prayers, or other religious forms by which this love is expressed.

I’m not a Christian and I am a theist only in the broadest sense of the word “God.”

So what do I worship?

I don’t.

PeaceBang noted that “your post validates my sad conclusion that we are, in fact, worshiping ourselves.”

Tee-hee. I’ve been president of our church. BELEEEEEVE me, I don’t worship our church. Of course, anyone who has been a church president who doesn’t run screaming into the night … oh, I’m sorry. That’s another topic.

But getting away from worship and into the heart of the matter … so, if I don’t worship a deity and don’t worship my church, why do I go? Is it just for community? Just to be around like-minded individuals, and can’t I do the same thing going to a meeting of the Sierra Club?

Nope.

I go to a Unitarian Universalist church, because I believe that is where I can take my spirit, my soul, for its learning. I can learn to be a better person at my church. I can think about what my purpose is here on earth at my church. I can search and find answers to the questions that call out from my heart and not feel that I must keep them separate from the questions that call out from my brain. I am a Unitarian Universalist because that is the only thing I can be. I cannot say it better than A. Powell Davies:

"Why should any of us be confined within a single area of religious culture? When I read Amos and Jeremiah, I say 'Would to God I were a Jew.' When I read the Parable of the Good Samaritan, I say 'Would I were a Galilean.' When I read the 13th of 1st Corinthians, I wish with all my heart that I might be a Christian after the manner of the Apostle Paul. When I think of Buddha and his Eightfold Path, I say, 'I, too, would be a Buddhist.' And when I remember the trial of Socrates, I say in awe but with exalted spirit, 'Oh that I might be so brave a humanist.' And thus at the end, there is nothing I can say but that, like Emerson and Channing, I want to live with the privilege of the illimitable mind.”

I have not had the experience of God/Christ being a saving grace in my life. But when I have most needed salvation, it has come in the form of a song, or a phone call, or a message written in my blog. (Thanks again, Rev. Christine.) It has come in a passage of a book. A poem. A package of diapers dropped off by one of my fellow congregants, because the congregation heard that we couldn’t use cloth dipes anymore, due to the chemo.

I realize that to some, this is not salvation. But it has been a deliverance for me. I have been pulled back from the brink. When my heart felt as though it were being ripped apart, these things provided the needle and thread to sew it back together. When my soul was tormented with questions for which I had no answer, my church – my religion -- provided the salve.

According to harvardsquarelibrary.org, Robert Ingersoll, nineteenth-century agnostic, said, "He who loves, worships.

By that definition, I worship. But to try and parse “who” I worship...

Well, that’s just missing the whole point.

No More Elevator Speech

Forget “the elevator speech.”

Aack! The emperor has no clothes! That sacred rite in Unitarian Universalist circles, The Elevator Speech, and you think I should forget it?

You betcha.

Have you been “witnessed” to, by an evangelical Christian? Growing up in the Bible Belt, I have, on several occasions. You know what? It’s not about theology. It’s a personal narrative, called a “testimony” in which the person explains how a relationship with Jesus has changed their life.

Contrast that with our theory of the “elevator speech” – a short description of what Unitarian Universalism is.

A testimony is often moving, even if you’re not buying what the person is selling. It is a story of how a life has been fundamentally altered.

Has your life been changed by being a member of a UU church? Mine has.

If someone asked me about my church, my response would not be about our principles and purposes, or how you can “believe anything,” (do people really still say that?) …

“I go to such a wonderful church! The people are amazing. And I’ve been able to really explore and deepen my own spirituality.”

Keep the elevator speech – it’s a great exercise for you to figure out how to define this religion on your terms. But maybe, at first, keep it to yourself.

And speak from your heart. WITNESS.

I found some great instructions for how to craft your personal testimony. I’ve made a few changes, replacing “Christian” with Unitarian and such.

Personal Testimony

One of the most helpful things Unitarian Universalists can do is write out their personal testimony. This exercise will help you think through in your own mind what your church has done in your life and will prepare you to share your story simply and clearly with others. Sharing how you found out about UUism is one of the best ways of witnessing. It is particularly helpful in presenting UUism to relatives and close friends, usually the most difficult people to whom to witness.

In sharing the story of your experience:

1. Make it personal—Don't preach. Tell what involvement in your church has done for you. Use the pronouns "I", "me", and "mine".

2. Make it short—Three or four minutes should be enough time to deal with the essential facts.

3. Keep your church central—Always highlight what belonging there has done for you.

Please note: If your testimony includes a previous negative church experience, do not mention the name of that church or denomination because it creates needless antagonism in those who are listening to your story.

Try writing down your personal testimony just the way you'd tell it to a non-UU. Make the story of your finding it so clear that another person hearing it would know how find out about Unitarian Universalism. Tell a little about your life before you found UUism; then tell about your finding it, how you came to trust it, and something of what it has meant to belong — the feeling of being around people who also want to explore “meaning,” assurance of their support of you on your journey, and other ways your life or outlook has changed. If you have been a UU for some time, be sure that your testimony includes some current information about the continuing effect of your religion and church in your life.

As you prepare your story, reflect on opportunities to share it. Think of two or three people whom you would particularly like to tell about your church in your neighborhood, at work, or at school. Then take the first opportunity to share your testimony with them.

In conclusion, remember that you do not have the power in yourself to convince anyone of spiritual truth. As you think of those with whom you desire to share your personal testimony, be sure to consider whether this is an appropriate topic to share with that person.

Witnessing is a style of living—you are a witness at all times. Loving others and showing your genuine concern for them are practical ways to communicate Unitarian Universalism. You also witness by your life. Actions are often more revealing than words. Your actions, however, are not sufficient to communicate to another the message of Unitarian Universalism. You need to witness by your words—to identify openly as a Unitarian Universalist and to tell others about the benefits of membership. One of the most effective means of communicating this to another person is the story of how the church has worked in your life—your personal testimony.

Okay, so parts of that are a bit heavy-handed. But still …

What is your personal testimony?

Random Musings from All Of This

In order to not see God as a capricious, mean being, I had to let go of my vision of a personally-involved God.

Ironically, it was not because LW got cancer that I was forced to that realization. It was because of the successes with the surgery, and the (hopefully) success against the cancer.

What sort of an egotist would I be, to say that the reason she got well is because of the prayers she received? When I am familiar with so many others who get even more prayers, but die?

People say that the big question of religion is "why does God permit suffering?"

I don't think so.

It's "why does God permit indiscriminate suffering?"

I sometimes wish that I could choose the blue pill. ("Matrix.") But I didn't, and I can't.