The Blindlady's Blog

Welcome to Shelley's Blog, probably not your typical blog, no real "blog rules," but we think it's interesting. This blog will touch on a variety of subjects and life-experiences that don't necessarily have to do with blindness. It's mainly reflections.. 

9/29/07

A Word About Prejudice

Yesterday, I heard an ad on the radio about bigotry. I've heard lots of them, but this one really got my attention because it depicted people with prejudices against white people. Prejudice takes place in all cultures, nut just mine, but we’re often blamed for it.

I wouldn't be surprised if I get some anger mail from some who read this, but that would only serve to further illustrate my point. I'm not perfect and I'm ignorant on some things. It hurts me any time I see someone being persecuted because of whatever it is that makes them different,  but I am sick and tired of being accused of racism just because I blow it and say or do the wrong thing.

A few years back now, we attended a small, multi-cultural church that I thought was well-integrated, but there were times I felt like I was getting the cold shoulder from some people because of some apparent offenses I committed.

It started with a Christmas play we produced about Scrooge from the prospective of a tight-knit ghetto neighborhood. Someone got upset because of the portrayal of the scrooge character as a boy. I used the wrong phraseology. My character was the boy's great aunt. She quotes his father. (Mind you, this was a scene from the early 20th century.)  "That's my boy, your father say, tears in his eyes. That's my boy in the best colored school in the whole USA."

Someone got upset because I actually used the word "colored." UNTHINKABLE!--I guess. I was really hurt. I didn't hear it from the offended people themselves, but from someone else. This person dropped out of the play's cast because of this. Afterward, it seemed like people expected me to offend them again, assuming whenever I said something that I’m “not supposed to say” that I was racist. It’s like Pollyanna said in the Disney movie, “If you look for the bad in people expecting to find it, you surely will.”

It's amazing to me how terms come in and out of style. It's like there's a whole list of things we're not supposed to say, even if we are portraying an African American. I suspect that in a few years, just saying "black" isn't going to be acceptable. Personally, I never have been comfortable using the word black. It sounds a little harsh and tainted with negative attitudes that some white people still have.

Why is this happening when I have tried so hard to communicate love to everyone?  Someone help me out here. This was the 1920s. Wasn't that term used in the 1920s? Can't I be historical without hurting someone's feelings or offending their sensibilities?

Then, there was the time we were taking prayer requests. My son, who by the way is African, was in Eastern Europe desperately trying to find a job. I had requested prayer. I said, "People in Ukraine won't hire blacks." A lady whom I know by name basically yelled at me saying she was offended and that she didn't want to hear another word of it. I was crushed. I was talking about my son and what he was facing. Apparently, I didn't have the right to do that.

I suppose I could have couched it in better terms, but I thought I was among friends. I thought this wasn't an issue and I thought it was a good idea to speak out against prejudices and pray for such situations. I know there are white people who think black people shouldn’t say they feel sorry for white people. What’s the difference? Who decides who gets to say what?

I think the core problem here is this movement in our country that no one should ever be offended. The more unwritten rules they make, the worse it gets and most people seem to be easier and easier to offend. It doesn't bother me if someone calls me "Whitie" or "Honky", so what's the problem? I am not saying it's acceptable to refer to one-another in derogatory terms, but we've gone too far the other way to the point that it’s counter-productive.

I heard a discussion once about the song Swany River. Apparently, some African-American people thought they should take the word, "Darkies" out of the song because 'that's racist." Excuse me, but isn't that song depicting an African American singing to his fellow slaves? I'd never use that word, but it didn't end there. Then they changed it to "Oh brothers how my heart grows weary" It was determined that even that was still a stereotype, so they changed it to "Oh how my heart grows weary." which really throws off the rhyme scheme of the chorus. WHERE DOES IT END! And who is and isn't authorized to sing it.

This kind of attitude is only going to further alienate people from one-another and further damage the rift a lot of us dearly want to repair. There are white people who use this too-easily-offended phenomena to justify their own racism, "See, you can't say anything to these people or they get all upset." Would it have offended Rosa Parks if she heard me use the word "colored?" Would it have offended Martin Luther King?

I sealed my own social coffin when I sang a Christmas song I wrote in 2006. It was written from the perspective of a young slave and her cynical father who tells her that Santa Clause is only for white children and that he "doesn't like our kind", The song implied that if Santa understood what slavery was, that he would visit this man's children on Christmas Eve but that Santa was actually prejudiced. This is what the father believed anyway. 

The little girl prays for Santa to come because her mother told her God isn't prejudiced, that in His eyes, she was like any other child. Of course, Santa comes through, loading her front step with toys and candy for her to distribute to the other slave children. I made the horrible mistake of singing this song at our Christmas service. I almost ran out of the building when I finished. I guess they didn't see the tears in my eyes as I sang out of hope that my love for my friends and their ancestors. I could feel the icy tension in the air. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into until it was too late. I can’t talk about it. I was condemned and I suspect that in the eyes of some in my audience, I'm now someone to be resented and avoided.

I was so frustrated because I loved these people I attended church and fellowshipped with. I thought we were a family. I thought we felt safe with one-another. Are we not supposed to remember the awful scourge of slavery? Are we not supposed to expose the damage it did--especially to children--and acknowledge that a lot of healing still needs to take place?

Am I supposed to walk around on eggshells in front of my African-American friends? Excuse me, but this is racism against me. Some of my relatives are from the South and there are similarities between white Southern culture and black culture. They eat many of the same foods and when I played the black Aunt in the story, I was talking a lot like my Great-Grandmother did. At least that performance was well-received.

Incidentally, there are plenty of whites in the South that face discrimination. Ever heard of "white trash?" The truth is that people who practice bigotry don't like anyone who isn't just like them and there is classism among African-Americans in the South. I think a lot could be accomplished if people in the South rose up against terrorist organizations such as the KKK. It is a messed-up cycle there that is terribly hard to break, especially if no one has enough courage to face these people down.

I believe that the only way we're ever going to get this issue resolved is when it ceases to be an issue. If I am only supposed to do or say certain things--and the rules keep changing--how are we going to establish common ground. If people feel they have to walk on eggshells, they're not going to be comfortable with the idea of friendship. I am all for doing my best to bless others and not curse them in any way, but I think this is all getting just a little extreme.

I was in the music store one day, being waited on by an employee there who happened to be black. While we were standing at the counter, two black youths entered the store.  They were being a little rough with the equipment on display. When the man helping me addressed them, one of them said," Man, you're so white." I've also heard that some young African-Americans look down upon their friends who obey the rules in school and get good grades. They consider this "white" also.

Really now: If I'm understand this correctly, doing good, respecting others and getting good grades is unacceptable to some people of color. I thought they wanted equality. Do they want people to think that black people should be seen as trouble-makers and lacking in intelligence? I thought this kind of thinking needed to be turned around. If I told one of these youths he was being "black" because he's doing what he knows is wrong, would I not be displaying a racist attitude? I'd probably never hear the end of it. Sometimes, I want to throw up my hands and say, "Dear God! what on earth do these people want?"

Many people in this country experience prejudice, Hispanic people, deaf people, short people, old people. The list is endless. I have a dear friend from the south who talks with a decided drawl. She tells me, and I've seen it--that people assume she's slow because of the way she talks. This woman is probably more intelligent than I am, possessing a world of knowledge about a wide variety of subjects, but she is passed off as a stupid hick.

Then there was my roommate in college. She was a recent immigrant from Viet Nam. Her parents expected her to bring home straight As. She was up for several nights in a row working on a term paper, going over every word with a dictionary in hand to make sure everything was perfect—and it was. In fact, it was too perfect. Her professor, who was supposed to be a Christian told her she cheated and had someone else write the paper because, “You’re not capable of this caliber of work.” Though he said it was a paper worthy of an “A”, he wasn’t going to give her one because she cheated. Now if that’s not oppression, I don’t know what is.

If you want to see oppression, spend a week with an obese person. Those people are some of the most discriminated-against people I know. You wouldn't dare tell a black joke in public, but it's perfectly alright to tell "fat" jokes right in front of obese people. Do you have to buy 2 plane tickets when you travel? No, but obese people do. Can you imagine what would happen if black people or any other ethnic group had to buy two plane tickets? There would be an outcry the likes of which has never been seen--and rightly so. 

Obesity is considered a disability in this country, but obese people are the only ones who are not offered appropriate accommodations. If you occupy two seats on the bus, you don’t have to pay two fares.

The most common excuse for demeaning obese people is that they brought it on themselves by overeating.  Well, then guys who break their necks skiing shouldn't get disability benefits either. After all, they chose to be reckless. People who fry their livers with alcohol shouldn't get liver transplants covered by insurance if this logic applies.

People are prejudiced against me in some cases, but it's not going to ruin my day or my self-esteem. They sit there and talk about me as if I can’t hear them and you won’t believe some of the things they say to my face. If someone doesn't want to hire me because I'm blind, I assure you, I don't want to work there. I don't want to be where people cannot muster enough maturity to accept me. I think prejudice is a sign of immaturity.  Obese people pay out-of-pocket to the tune of $35,000 for gastric bypass surgery.

I've been kicked out of restaurants, denied taxi service and forced to take a room in the smoking section of a hotel because of my Seeing Eye dog, We were once thrown out of a B&B Inn, but you'll never hear about that on the news because of the color of my skin--or lack thereof. I'm about a white as they come.

A lot of people need to change their attitudes. I believe there's a lot of racism that needs to end, but it's far from one-sided. If we really want to advance civil rights in this country, it's going to happen a lot quicker when people feel comfortable with one-another and no longer have to worry about using one of those off-limit words or phrases. 

I have a niece who is of Jamaican heritage. When I've talked to her about these issues, she cannot understand why people are getting all upset over words.  When I'm watching a movie with her where stereotypes and racism are portrayed, I point them out to her and explain why they are racist. 

Should I teach her to be angry and bitter at the words some well-meaning people use? Should I put her self-image in jeopardy so that she can be properly indoctrinated and think as some elements of society believe she should think? Is this going to help her achieve success in life? Is it a good idea for her to learn to be suspect of every white person she meets?  

my niece is of Jamaican descent. this stuff doesn't bother her. I do point out, when we're watching TV, the things that people do and say that reflects prejudice. I want to affirm to her that she deserves to be treated respectfully and as an equal. I also think she should be expected to act like an equal. Bill Cosby said it himself when discussing racism,. "If you want to be equal, ACT equal."

Should my niece learn to be offended when I say that in Ukraine, they won't hire people of your ethnicity? or should she see it as a blight we need to do something about by setting a good and loving example instead of spending all our energy making sure no one ever gets offended over anything. Pretty soon, no one's going to be able to say anything to anybody. We are going backward, not forward, when this mindset prevails. 

Should we fill my niece's head with all this stuff so her African-American friends won't accuse her of being "White" because these things don't get in her way?  Sometimes, it almost seems like people want to stay oppressed or continue to see themselves as such. Then, they have something to be angry about. And someone please explain to me, why aren't African-Americans talking about black gangs shooting one-another and trying to put a stop to it? It should be just as outrageous for a black person to kill another as it is for a white person to kill a black person. It’s all hate, no matter who the perpetrator is.

My niece is 12 years old. She loves the Christmas song I wrote. She's learned the thing by heart and sees nothing wrong with singing it. I told her I could not sing it. I told her what happened when I did. This made her very sad for my sake. She can sing it, but I can't. Even though we are relatives, she walks in a different set of rules than I do. Brothers, this should not be.

See now: if the world was run by blind people, the skin thing wouldn't be an issue at all. My good friend Johnny Greene--who is African-American, often said, "It's not the skin that's the problem. It's the SIN!" Johnny lived with us for nearly three years and in all that time this was never an issue. I think that is partly because he knows my heart, accepts me as his sister in Christ and he is very secure in who he is. I've never had to worry about doing or saying the wrong thing in his presence. That is because his security is in Christ, not in words. He loves Jesus and he loves people and the rest of it really doesn't matter to him.  

We recently visited our son's biological relatives in Ghana, West Africa. His sister brought me a gift, African clothing. I went and put it on and came down for them to see. "Oh!" they said. "You look just like an African woman. I laughed. "I don't think so." Pointing to a very white wall, I said, "This WALL is darker than I am."

I wouldn't dare say this at home among most of the black people I know because some of them would assume I'm making fun of them. I was making fun of me and the folks in Ghana recognized this and laughed along with me. Let's face it. I REALLY stood out in that country and we might as well admit it. This stuff doesn't seem to be an issue with anyone I met there, and we're talking about a country that was once a major export point for slaves. 

We're supposedly so far ahead of many countries. We're not. We could do a lot better than this. People don't want to live in a world of hypersensitivity. It's horribly uncomfortable, not conducive at all for building friendships and understanding.  I fear that if this kind of thinking in our nation continues, we're going to regress back decades from where we are now. We've accomplished so much and there is much left to do. We stand to lose everything we've accomplished if this underlying tension continues to be fed.

9/24/07

On Depression

Yesterday I went to the "doctor." That's what everybody calls him. When you have a back problem, you see an Orthopedist. When you have a stomach problem, you go to the G.I. specialist. When you're having a baby, you regularly see an OB.GYN, When you have a bad case of flu, you see the family Physician, but when you have chronic depression, you go see "the doctor."

Once I arrived at "the doctor's" a little early and was standing out in the hall, waiting for them to open the office. 

A gentleman came out of a suite across the hall from my doctor and said, "Gee, I don't even know what they do in there." The sign on the door says, "Cascade Internal Medicine."  I guess that if you put "Psychiatrist" on the door, half your patients will chicken out and ditch their appointments. I have mental images of people sneaking up the elevator, down the hall, jumping behind those big hospital trash bins on wheels when someone is approaching and lurking around the corner until the coast is clear to run into the doctor's office, breathing a sigh of relief.

The typical mind-set concerning psychiatry is really unfortunate and we must lay part of the blame at the feet of those who think a Psychiatrist" should be at the most, a last resort. I must say that at first, I wasn't wild about it myself. I also found out that if you're in the hospital because of a mental health issue, no one comes right out and says it. People are less likely to visit you during your stay. I don't know if they think it's contagious or if some freaky person with matted hair, abnormally-long fingernails, foaming at the mouth is going to come along and attack them.

Me, I tend to be a blabber-mouth because about this disorder I have because I think it should be talked about. There are a lot of people out there who never get treated and spend their lives in much more misery than if they had sought help. Some of the most successful people in history had depression, Abraham Lincoln, Charles Spergon, Fanny Crosby, (a very prolific hymn-writer) Steve Martin, the Apostle Paul and James Roberson, (A well-known evangelist.  Obviously, Christians are not exempt.

Mental-health issues still have a uncomfortable stigma. Treatment sure beats being sick, but a lot of people are ashamed because of the attitudes of those who do not understand what is really happening. A lot of people don't believe me when I tell them I have chronic depression. 

"But you're so happy most of the time and you sing and you're always creating something. I can't imagine you depressed."

It is possible to have depression and still laugh.

Depression runs in my family and since I got just about every mutation in the family gene pool, of course, I wound up with it. Actually, it was years before I was finally diagnosed in 1984. I was 24 years old. It started when I was about 9 years old. Before that, I was plagued with insomnia. Back then, children "didn't" have mental health issues. My depression developed in the course of my parents' divorce and it got worse as I got older. Everyone thought I was just lazy because I didn't do homework. What I couldn't get across to them was that I couldn't concentrate long enough to remember what I had just read.

The one thing I regret about being born back then was that I went for years knowing something was wrong with me, but I couldn't figure out what. Today, good doctors and other professionals keep an eye out for symptoms in the children they care for, especially if the child is having a difficult home or school life.

When I was finally diagnosed by a physician that had the disorder himself, it was like a new lease on life. I was against taking medications, but that didn't last long as I got better almost immediately and I experienced strange new things such as sleeping through the night, being able to concentrate and no longer having bouts of severe fatigue or inexplicable crying spells.

People don't realize that serious depression is not mental at its core. It is physical, with symptoms that may include nausea, loss of appetite, severe headaches, trembling, diarrhea, loss of coordination, irritability and tiredness. You know it's bad when you don't even want chocolate ice cream because the thought of going down to the freezer to get it seems too difficult. 

So often, loved-ones just don't understand that the person suffering can't "just snap out of it." No one wants to "snap out of it" more than the person who is suffering and they'd give anything to overcome it.   That ladies and gentlemen, is why depressed people commit suicide. I told my "doctor" that I felt like someone was holding me under water and I couldn't breath and would do anything to break the surface, including stepping in front of a Mac truck.

Recently, I got back in the habit of going to the health club. I do 20 minutes on the treadmill or the elliptical trainer to get my heart going. Then I do about another 20 minutes of light weight lifting to build up a little stamina. I feel pretty well most of the time, but this is a real boost. When I exercise, I have more energy, less anxiety. I sleep much better and I wake up feeling rested without that overwhelmed feeling that sometimes plagues me, especially in the morning.

So, when I saw my Internal Medicine guy yesterday, I asked him, "Do you ever prescribe exercise for people who have depression?"

His answer,

"I used to, but I quit because I couldn't talk anyone into doing it. Out of hundreds of patients, I think only one actually tried it."

I told him he ought to feel a little freer to nag them a little as they would probably feel much better. It doesn't just make you feel better physically, it adds a sense of accomplishment.

I'm no diabetic, but it appears to me that living with depression is sort of like living with Diabetes. You have to be careful of a few things such as excessive stress, neglecting treatments such as medication or being too idle without any direction. For some folks with depression, even their diet effects them. I am never going to be completely free of symptoms, but when I follow the doctor's orders, I generally feel pretty well most of the time. 

I neglected to tell him one thing. One of the best things I can do when I'm having difficult symptoms is to do something for someone else. It gets my eyes off myself. Depression can really put me in a state where I become too self-absorbed and create for myself, a viscous cycle. Another therapeutic activity is laughter. They say Norman Cousins literally cured himself of a severe illness by laughing. You don't have to explore this website very far to discover I have a quirky sense of humor that I exercise on a regular basis. It isn't just something I like to express. It helps keep me well.

Another thing that helps some is dressing up really nice. When I have to go somewhere and don't feel like going, that's what I usually do.

When I was in the hospital for my disorder, a bunch of us were chatting one evening. Someone got on the subject of imitating others. So, one guy got up and imitated some movie character. To his delight, it got quite a few laughs. I don't know exactly why, but I started doing my Barney routine.

"Oh GOODY! I just love being stuck in this hospital with nice friends like yyyyyyyou!" (I can't stand Barney)

People were doubled over laughing. So was I. Then this lady got up and started acting like some British snobby lady.  One of the nurses came along to see what was so funny and they begged me to imitate Barney again.  After everyone recovered, the nurse said, "This is what I love about this job. I see people come in here feeling really bad. They start getting treatment and a little rest and I see their true selves come out and the next thing you know, they're laughing and having a great time and you can tell they're feeling a lot better."

Now, going into the hospital for this wasn't easy, but I was in a situation where I didn't have anymore options. I simply was not stable enough to be alone. Fortunately, I had once visited a friend who was hospitalized in a good mental health unit. It was a warm and friendly place full of people who could be one's neighbors or co-workers, just ordinary folks. I asked to go to this particular hospital and I can honestly say it was a pleasant experience.

I met all kinds of people there from every walk of life. It was reassuring to know I wasn't alone, that all kinds of people could struggle with the same thing I had. It was also great to know that mental health units aren't just for people who need to be locked up somewhere. In our unit, you were free to up and leave if you wished. Of course, they wanted you to sign papers first, stating you were advised not to leave, but no one would stop you from just up and leaving the building.

My mother came ot visit one afternoon, bringing my 7-year-old niece with her. My niece couldn't figure out what was going on. This was a hospital, but no one was in bed, wearing a gown, wearing a cast or toting an IV pole. Finally, she looked at me and asked, "How come you're in the hospital but you're up and dressed and everything?" What do you tell children about this kind of thing? I said, "My brain hurts and the doctors are helping it stop hurting."

I'd say that's depression in a nutshell. In many cases, it is a disorder of the brain NOT the mind. There is a difference. The mind is the sum total of feelings and thought processes. The brain is where those processes come from. Fix the brain and you can greatly improve the thoughts. Some people get depressed or have other issues because of drinking or drug abuse, but a lot of folks just have the disorder because their nervous system doesn't produce enough of the right chemicals. 

My niece asked me further questions over time. She was staying with us one day when she happened to find me eating out my morning medications. When she asked what they were for, I explained to her,

"There is a disease called Depression. It makes you sad all the time, makes you so you can't eat and you throw up or you can't sleep. It makes your body weak and it makes you feel so sick and so bad that you want to die. some people have something wrong with their brains that makes this happen. My medications fix my brain so that won't continue."

It's very hard for people who haven't experienced something like this to understand those who have. I'd encourage the reader that perhaps, the best thing may be not to try to understand, but just accept me as I am and be there for me, I'm someone who happens to be ill at the moment and you can't expect me to jump up and feel better anymore than you could expect someone with a broken back to just get out of bed and dance. If you can accept the fact that this is simply a disease like any other medical condition and not blame me, that can go a long way toward helping me feel better. The thing I need most is permission to have these difficulties without criticism, which is only likely to further compound the problem. A lot of people who have depression feel guilty, like they're to blame. I know I have, but you wouldn't barrage someone because they had a heart attack or cancer.

Historically, it is especially bad for a Christian to have a disorder like Depression or Bi-Polar Disorder. Some Christians are the least accepting of all, although public understanding is improving. Some believers think they can lay hands on someone and cast whatever demon causing the problem out. Of course, that rarely works and only serves to produce more self-blame. All it does is put further pressure on the victim to masquerade, cover up their symptoms and not talk to anyone about it.

While in the hospital, I overheard a young patient and his father talking. It went something like this;

"Can't you make more effort here to get yourself well. This is costing us a lot of money."

"Dad, did you come here to visit me or make me feel worse?"

I was very sad for this young man, but glad to hear him standing up for himself. 

We are sometimes told that depression is caused by sin. Well, if that's the case, everyone should have depression because everyone sins. That just does not compute. Christians should be supporting, not "fixing" their loved-ones who desperately need a little acceptance and a lot of support.

My dear husband said, "I don't understand all this, but I'm here for you." That was all I needed to hear. 

So, while we're on the subject, some people don't know what a mental health hospital unit is like. If you'd like to read more about this subject, CLICK HERE

1/24/08                          Reflections:

It struck me as odd, the way some people responded to the prospect of my upcoming marriage to Paul. The organist at church for example, “Oh, isn’t that wonderful. Now he can take care of you.”

I wanted to throw up. I said, “No, that’s not why we’re getting married. We are because we believe God has brought us together.”

What is this that people think I need taking care of when honestly, I could run circles around most of them any day. I’d love to see one of them travel 30 or 40 miles on city buses, changing buses two or three times. If the weather didn’t get them, the confusion would. And how about shopping while you can only make out about half the labels on the food? And I can do this, though it takes longer than asking for help.

Biblically, spouses are to care for one-another. We are called to be equal. “Well, why did you take the bus to church? Can’t Paul drive you?”

Of course he can drive me, but he’s my husband, not my chauffer. Out of respect, I don’t ask him to drive me somewhere unless I have to.

I love it when the “Shuttle” (our local name for the city’s paratransit) pulls up to my house and the driver is stunned that I live there. A lady on the Shuttle once asked me if my mother lived there. Apparently, blind people can’t afford nice houses.

I once had a lady ask me if I had someone to dress me in the morning. I said, “Yes, I have a lady come in. She helps me go to the bathroom too.”

Then there was the woman on the elevator where I once rented an apartment, “You are partially-sighted,. Aren’t you?” When I answered yes, she came back with, “I thought so. You dress to nicely to be blind.”

I’ve come to the conclusion that people are either still amazingly ignorant, they just don’t think or there’s some agency somewhere putting out literature that teaches we’re helpless and have the scourge of all mankind. It’s like it’s so terrible to be blind or visually-impaired. I’d much rather be blind than stupid.

It’s all relative, I suppose. I was watching a documentary on TV about morbidly obese people, a far more serious disability than mine. I can came and go as I please. People think I’m reasonably attractive. They’ll talk to me and many will ask some very worthy questions. The people in that documentary couldn’t even leave their beds. Getting the to a hospital was a major undertaking that included an ambulance designed for large animals, while I think about the worst thing that eve happened to me was when I stepped smack into someone’s freshly-lost cookies.

I slid and nearly fell in it. (This was pre-dog.” Here’s a dozen or more people standing there while I’m trying to nonchalantly scrape the stuff off my shoe by dragging it up and down the sidewalk, stifling gags, praying I won’t have to add to it. I don’t know how those people kept from laughing. Here I am, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to stay on my feet, gagging like crazy, eyes wide. It really was quite funny. Well, I think it is anyway.

If they’d realized, of course, that I was blind, six of tem would have rushed in to rescue me and said helpful things like, “You just stepped in vomit.” Well, I know good and well I stepped in vomit and didn’t need anyone to tell me thus.

One of the things that really drove me nuts when I got my first dog was all the people rushing ahead of me, rearranging the world so I didn’t have to stumble over a pebble or some other threatening object. It happened so frequently that my dog took to stopping to wait for them to move the upcoming obstacle. Half the time, they held us up with their environment-fixing and I missed a bus more than once because of these would-be do-gooders.

Certainly, they mean well and you fellow blind-mates all know the age-old problem, the fact that people see us as sub-normal and in need of rescue.

I was walking down the street once and came upon a group of engineers, surveying a construction site. They saw me coming and quickly stepped into the street. Talk about overkill. I asked them to return to their places, explaining that I needed this opportunity to let my dog work out the problem. They stepped back on the sidewalk, teetering on the curb. I said, “That’s not where you were, now come on.”

Some of them snickered. I must have really shocked and embarrassed them and I suppose I should have left well enough alone. I get so weary of these people who are certain I’m heading for trouble because of some obstacle ahead. They were good sports and I think they were pleased to see that I knew exactly what I was talking about. I thanked them heartily.

The fact is that the average sighted person misses things I can see plainly. This is because they aren’t being observant. I wish I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard someone say, “Oh, I didn’t see that.” Like the time my dog was making water and a well-meaning woman rushed over and threw the harness over the dog’s head. Needless to say, I was a bit alarmed and the dog wasn’t too happy about it either. She looked at me like, “Why do you let this stuff happen?”

When I explained the situation, the woman answered with, “Well, I thought you were having trouble with the harness.” How she came to this conclusion, I’ll never know. I wasn’t even holding it. I said, “Can’t you see that little yellow trickle? She’s trying to pee!”

“Oh, I didn’t see that.”

Sure; I miss things and I often need help looking for a particular address or reading a label on a product in a store, but I’m certainly not alone. On the whole, frankly, sighted people really aren’t much better. I am speaking of averages. Many people are good observers. My husband is excellent and always has been. We all do the things I have described. It’s just that people are watching me, expecting some mishap.  They believe that we have them more often because that is exactly what they are looking for.

 For all of us, we will generally see what we expect to see. I’m just as guilty.

I think the corker has to be the bus driver who “helped” me board the bus. When he pulled up to the stop, he put on the hand brake, stepped out of the bus, put his hand on my back and tried to propel me forward. When I got to the top of the stairs, I asked him to quit pushing me. “I’m not pushing you.” He said, a little ticked off. 

“Then what is your hand doing in the middle of my back?” I asked. The other passengers snickered. That wasn’t the end of it. The driver wanted me to sit by the door. That is where blind people are supposed to sit and—apparently--the land will be forever cursed if we don’t.

 I slipped into a seat where I could put my dog underneath, despite the driver’s adjitation. Once he saw that I actually knew what I was doing, he went back to his job. An elderly man leaned over and whispered to me. “That was very well-done honey. You should stick up for yourself when someone treats you like that.”  He chuckled at the driver’s ignorance. It’s refreshing to know there are people out there who understand the method to my madness.

 While at college, I often had a long wait for the Shuttle to drive me home. On one afternoon, they were so late that I went looking for a phone to find out why. There was an office, occupied by a lady who was somewhat acquainted with me. She always spoke to me in that sappy voice reserved for blind people, toy poodles and two-year-olds.

“Do you need me to dial it for you honey?” she asked. I said “No, thank you.”

After I got off the phone, she said. “You know, I think you do really well.”

I responded in an equally sappy tone. “Well I think you do really well TOO.”

She never spoke to me like that again.

7'/15/07

"Don't look to me as a role model. I'm no role model."

I've heard athletes, especially those who have faced an arrest or some other kind of scandal say this. "I'm no role model."

Excuse me, if you sign a multi-million-dollar contract making you highly visibie, get a multi-million-dollar deal with Nike and all the financial benefits thereof and the national recognition, that privilege comes with a price. If you have elected to put yourself in the limelight, guess what, part of fame is being a role model, especially if you're an athlete that many children and young men look up to.

It was a done deal, good or bad once you signed. If you don't want to be a role model, it's probably time for you to find another job. I am so sick of hearing statements like this from intelligent people who take such an incredible cop-out as this. When you are successful in public life and therefore gain recognition, the world can't help but watch. You're all over the news, sports pages and interview shows. You appear in magazines and sign autographs. If you think people shouldn't find the need to look to you, think again.

Whether you think you're a role model or not, you have chosen this by accepting the perks. They don't come without responsibilities. Everything you do will be scrutinized, like it or not. Everything you do may be emulated, like it or not. What you are really saying is, "I want to be irresponsible and don't care what kind of example I set." but you do not have the right to say, "Don't follow me. I'm not a role model." You cannot have your proverbial cake and eat it too.

Any nine-year-old can see through that lie and yes, it is a lie, a lie to yourself and your team, if you are on one. You don't have the luxury of deciding whether people should or shouldn't look to you. You do decide what kind of example you set, by default if not by choice. In the end, it IS your choice. If you want the fame and the cudos, the very least you can do is to honor the public according to how they esteem you and if you're not willing to do that, you are teaching thousands of children and adults that you can get by in life lacking character and integrity and it's okay to do as you please, no matter who it hurts or offends.

If you choose a path of irresponsibility, don't kid yourself into thinking people aren't going to take notice and voice their opinions. No, people shouldn't worship you and no, they shouldn't expect you to live an exemplary life. Perhaps not anyway, but they STILL will do so because you have chosen to allow yourself to be showcased. It is unfair of you to ask the public to look the other way when something you do or choose comes to the public's attention. If you don't want people to see you as a role model, then you don't deserve the recognition. It's unfair and immature of you to expect your fans not to emulate you or to look the other way when a scandal comes to light.

11/3/08        "What’s Your Dog’s Name?"

“What’s your dog’s name?”

I hear it all the time. I can’t go anywhere without someone walking up to me asking, “What’s your dog’s name?” 

Someone help me out on this!

Being without a dog nearly six months, I’d forgotten just how frequently strangers open the conversation with this question. What is it that they have to know my dog’s name? For that matter, why don’t they ask my name first? Maybe they’re more comfortable talking to the dog. At any rate, it gets old after awhile. When people ask me—sometimes anyway—I say, “MY name is Shelley.”

Why do people think they need to know my dog’s name? What would you think if I walked up to you and asked, “What’s your cat’s name?” Wouldn’t that be just a little bit weird. Not, “Hi, nice day. How are you doing?” like normal people, whatever those are. That’s the way “normal” people are greeted and how I used to be greeted before I had a dog.

Do they need to know the dog’s name so they can talk to him? Honestly, that is exactly why some want to know the dog’s name. People forget or just don’t know they aren’t supposed to talk to my dog, There are some folks out there though, that will push the envelope as far as they can. They try to sneak a pet as they pass by and almost wet their pants when I say, "I saw that."

 Do they just want to know if it’s a cute name or something stupid like “Rover” or “Chief.” 

Or, maybe they keep a journal of blind people's dogs' names.

Dog Name List

1.  Blind guy with beard has dog named Amber

2.  Blind lady in the red coat has a dog named Jasper

3.  big blind guy down the street's dog's name is Cajun.

I’ve gone back and forth over this issue. For awhile, I was quite unwilling to give out my dog’s name—that is—after I had to listen to some guy at the train station talk to my dog for nearly a half hour. This was in New Jersey when I was training with my first dog. The instructor admonished me not to give her name out.

In more recent years, I’ve gone ahead and told people my dog’s name after being encouraged to do so by a guy at The Seeing Eye who inferred that I was rude in not telling people my dog’s name. Well, he wasn’t exactly gracious either, but I felt guilty. I feel guilty no matter what I do.

If I give out my dog's name. It might tempt people/e to talk to him. One lady at the store said rather curtly, “Well! Excuse me if you’re so bleeeeep important!” Of course, she’s never plowed into objects and bruised herself because someone across the room from her distracted her dog.

So, if I just say, “His name is Walden.” The first thing out of some mouths is “Hi Walden!” and Walden forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. Then I have to tell them not to talk to the dog and they think I’m making a big deal out of nothing. When I don’t remind them not to talk to the dog, they tell me they already know they shouldn’t talk to him.

I’ve given this a lot of thought, too much I suspect, and I’ve decided I’m going to take it on a person-by-person basis, but I’m not going to let anyone dictate how I manage my dog, no matter how experienced they are with their own dogs. I did it yesterday on the bus. Two people in unison asked my dog’s name.

I said, “Why do they ask me my dog’s name and not mine?

A lady sitting across the aisle quickly asked my name. Sometimes, I feel like people are trying to manage my life. They disapprove when I correct my dog. “He can’t help it. He smells my dog.” The same people disapprove when I have to correct him when they have distracted him. I can't win.

I feel like I’m on display to a world of people who can pick me up and handle me like a conversation piece or figurine or something of that nature. Okay, that’s a little bit of an exaggeration, but I do live in a fishbowl. It’s worth living in because the pay-off is more safety,. confidence and freedom to go anywhere, I'm not really safe without my dog, no matter how careful I am.

I think some people want to know my dog’s name because they’re more comfortable interacting with him than me. Of course, it’s a lot like, “How old is your baby?” 

Now, I experienced this a lot when I fostered an infant. I’ve heard young mothers complain about this. “Everyone asks about the baby, but not about me.” 

The bottom line, I think, is that there’s not much difference. It’s a curiosity to see a dog on the bus or in a hotel lobby. A beautiful baby is a curiosity as well. So, now I sometimes give the curious person my name. Sometimes I tell them the dog’s name and other times, I ask them why they need to know. This is about control with me. I admit it. However, that control is born out of the very unpleasant experience of my dog being distracted with disastrous results.

People often ask if I have a lot of trouble with kids. You’d be surprised at how little trouble I have with children, while adults will walk right up without even asking and start showering my dog with affection. Adults don’t want to be told what to do and I am no different. The only thing really different between them and me is that I happen to be sitting in a restaurant or walking through the mall with a dog. In fact, yesterday, someone was petting the dog while we were walking. I turned aside and the dog-petter suddenly realized I could see her. 

There was this guy once who had a nine-stage fit because I wouldn't tell him my dog's name. He bad-mouthed me, told me how rude I was. He wasn't exactly polite. This went on for five minutes. Are you going to give out personal information to someone that controlling? Not me.

What I find intriguing is that when people realize I can see what they're doing, they get embarrassed and apologize. Why is is alright for them to pet my dog, as long as I can't tell they're doing it? It seems as if as long as I can't see, I don't deserve normal boundaries.

Then there are the "dog trainers." 

"Oh, it's alright. I train Seeing Eye dogs." as if this is an excuse to distract my dog. I generally set them straight.

"Really, Seeing Eye dogs? How wonderful! So, welcome to Seattle. Are you on vacation?"

"Huh?"

"Vacation. You are from New Jersey, right?"

"No, I live here. I work for the one in Portland."

"Training Seeing Eye dogs."

"Yes."

"There is only one Seeing Eye. It is located in New Jersey. The place in Portland is called Guide Dogs for the Blind of San Raphael. Portland is their satelite location. If you were really a guide-dog trainer, you would know that Seeing Eye and San Raphael are trademarks, like McDonalds or J.C. Penney. You're lying."

"Oh,"

Then, there is "Oh, I wasn't going to talk to him. You can tell me."

"Yes, you might not, but the person behind you listening might."

I can’t afford to let others define how I live with my disability and manage it. The dog is an integral part of that management. If I were going to do the equivalent of a dog distraction, it would likely be walking up to someone, yanking off their glasses and examining them for a few minutes. How weird is that?  I have no right to do so. They don’t have the right to distract my dog and at the end of the day, there’s little difference between the two, except that it’s socially acceptable for them to yank off my four-legged glasses, as it were.

2/10/09

If you told me ten or twelve years ago that I'd end up going to Africa, I would have laughed. I didn't think five years ago that it would be possible, but we went. I wish more people, especially disabled people, had the opportunity to visit a third-world country. It's a real eye-opener to just how good we have it in this country.

We went to our son's birthplace, Ghana, in West Africa, a beautiful coastal country that is a haven for tourists, especially from the UK. It takes about a day to get there, a nine-hour flight from Seattle to Amsterdam, a four-to-six-hour layover and a six-hour flight to the city of Accra. 

I've been through the airport in Amsterdam several times now. You'd hardly know you're out of the states. I mean they even have McDonalds there. The airport in Accra is quite another story. So is the weather for that matter. It was dark and after 7:00 PM when we stepped off the plane, but it was still eighty-seven degrees there. Then there's the airport itself, rather austere, kind of looked like a prison, without bars of course.

We quickly discovered that everything there is built out of concrete. I was relieved when we found the driver who was to meet us at the airport. We'd sent $1,600 out in cyberspace to a total stranger to pay for the house we rented. The van they had is very nice, air-conditioned and clean. It sort of came with the house, for a nominal fee. By the way, if you ever visit a developing country, rent a vacation home. (They're generally known as villas.) They are cheaper in most cases, than a four-star resort. This is especially good for group travel.

We went down a highway past some nice-looking motels and clusters of shanties. It was hard to see anything in the dark, but we had glimpses of how most of the people in that country live. We drove for about fifteen minutes, turning onto another road, then another, which brought us to a rather formal-looking gate where a guard waved us through.

I could see huge houses lining both sides of the street. I thought, "My heavens! those are big houses. Ours probably isn't anything like that." We went through another gate and backed into a driveway. When I got out of the van, I realized that our house was as large as the others. I surmised that the pictures I saw on the Internet weren't taken with a wide-angle lens. Hence, the house was substantially bigger than it looked in pictures. 

There was a large arched porch that was really more like a patio, all tiled in white tile, decorated with beautiful rattan furniture. We stepped inside to the welcoming waft of air-conditioned air. I wasted no time looking around. I was delighted to find a bedroom on the main floor. There was a lovely living and dining area. The kitchen was better than ours here at home, complete with computerized stainless steel refrigerator and just about every small appliance known to man. apparently, many people there build their washing machines into the kitchen as we would a dishwasher.

The main-floor bedroom had its own bath. So did the one at the head of the starts. I nabbed that one for us. The bathroom was truly beautiful, entirely tiled with an oversized, walk-in shower. There was a second living room upstairs and a hall bathroom near what became Felix's room. It's hard when going to such a different culture, to know what to expect. I was blown away. 

There was a housekeeper who also did the cooking. Miriam was a sweet lady, I think she's in her mid-thirties and a young man named Joe drove the van. He would take us anywhere we wished to go. We just paid for the gas. And we did a lot of going. We only took one long trip, but we did an awful lot of around-town driving.

We'd go down a nice paved road lined with office buildings and shopping centers. Then, we'd turn off onto a road that wasn't even graded, passing shanty-towns and slap-shod market stalls. Then after rocking and rolling on that road for a half-mile or so, we came out onto another highway lined with gated neighborhoods like ours.

Now local food is cheap, though the travel bureau recommends that people avoid raw produce. We wanted some familiar things, so we went to a western-style supermarket and spent the equivalent of six months wages in Ghana on food. We had all things familiar, Kelloggs rice crispies, bakery donuts, ice cream, instant coffee. The stuff costed twice what it cost at home.

I was surprised to find that they do houses the way we do in the way of gated communities, tract homes with several styles repeated throughout the neighborhood. Actually, the house next to ours was identical on the outside.

The kitchen, which was completely quartered off with a door and bedrooms are always closed off to cool the rest of the house more efficiently. The doors always remained closed, which made the kitchen a rather warm place. Hence, the kitchen and hallways are not air-conditioned. We were there during the 'cold' season. I can't imagine what that kitchen must be like during the summer.

Miriam really rose to the occasion, cooking up American style and Ghana-style food, served side-by-side over rice or pasta. She was amazing. I tried the Ghana staple known as "fu-fu." It's a doughy substance I could not swallow. I hate to spit food out at the table, but I would have lost my cookies for sure if I hadn't spit that stuff out. 

We would sit out in the front yard at night sipping cokes and talking. There was some lovely outdoor furniture there. The fence of every house is dotted with lighting. The gate had LED coach lamps. Everything would suddenly go dark. That was interesting. Like a domino effect, generators would start kicking on all over the neighborhood. When they run power off the generator, everything runs at full strength. I think the power went off five or six times during our stay.

That was no problem. The problem was when we lost water pressure and couldn't shower or flush the toilets. Felix took a bucket of water to every bathroom to fill the toilet tanks with water, should we need to flush. There was cold water in the kitchen. I boiled some and combined the two in a five-gallon bucket, which Miriam graciously transported to the downstairs bathroom. I took a plastic bag, punched a few holes in the bottom, filled it from the bucket and held it over my head to shower. It worked pretty well. In fact, I had water left over. The water was out for about a day.

I was actually sick for most of our stay. I was in the throws of a bad cold before we arrived and I ran a fever for four days straight. I suppose it was adrenaline that kept me going. Normally, I would have been flat on my back in bed but I wasn't about to miss anything after traveling all that way. The Malaria pills made me vomit. After five days of that, I gave them up, deciding I'd rather have Malaria.

I think the most wonderful thing about Ghana was the people. Felix's family were delightful, especially his sisters, who stayed with us in the downstairs bedroom. Meeting "Auntie" was almost surreal. (Felix's biological mother,) A quiet woman who speaks no English, but heartily embraced me. I was near tears. I had prayed for that moment for so long, wondering if it would ever come.

One of Felix's older brothers, Michael came, along with Felix's nephews. Delightful young men and Michael was a God-send. There had been some friction in the family. His first mission was to iron things out, which we did successfully. I'm thankful he took the imitative to do this. It made the rest of our stay much more pleasant. I went into the kitchen to find one of the young men standing in front of the sink singing a hymn. I joined him.

He was a young believer in Christ who wanted to go into music ministry. He told me he writes Christian songs, so we talked for a bit about our respective musical endeavors. I encouraged him to pursue his desire as we could never have too many young people who are willing to be ambassadors of Christ, especially those from around the world. What a moment that was.

We drove to Felix's birthplace, which was very different from the city. The family home which had seen three generations of their family was traditionally styled, a group of single-story buildings surrounding a courtyard. We were ushered to a living room with louvered windows of both sides, which created a soothing cross-breeze. There's a custom there that when someone comes to visit, the first thing they offer is a cup of cold water. They handed each of us a chilled bottle of water.

We made a total of three stops at the homes of various relatives and went home with three bottles of water each. When I ran out, I called out, "Hey, why don't we go visit someone. I'm out of water."

I quickly discovered that Felix's family actually a family of royalty. A lady who was referred to as "The Queen Mother" put ceremonial bracelets on each of us. She had on a beautiful white dress. She looked angelic to me. The interesting thing was the crowd that turned up for our arrival. I think word got around the village that Americans were coming, something that apparently doesn't happen very often there.

Another custom was to tell everyone what one does for a living and so-forth. I liked this and it was interesting to hear everyone's responses.

I had asked Mansah if we should wear traditional clothing. She said yes, so we did, and turned out to be the only people in traditional clothing. Oh well, the clothing is beautiful and comfortable.

Speaking of clothing, we visited the city market. My main mission was to buy clothing and fabric, if I could find it. We might as well had huge signs around our necks reading, "We are Americans!" because we were thronged with vendors holding merchandise up in our faces and enticing us to visit their booths. We quickly discovered that the best thing to do is to smile at them and pretend to be deaf.

I found these outfits, tunic and matching pants with fancy embroidery around the sleeves, hems and cuffs. And so the dickering started. mansah told me I wasn't going low enough in price. I said, "Okay! Watch this."

"How much?"

"Fifty sidoo"

"How about Thirty? Will you take thirty?"

"I will sell for Forty sidoo."

"No, thirty."

"Forty is as low as I can go. What is your best price."

"Thirty."

"How about thirty-eight?"

"Thirty."

"Come on. What is your best price?"

"Twenty-five. You know, there's a booth down that way that sells these. I think I'll go there." (as I'm walking away.)

"OH NO! Ma'am! You can have for thirty!"

It worked with everyone, except "The Oh! No! lady." who happened to be selling some beautiful fabric.

"SIxteen sidoo. I normally sell for eighteen."

"How about fourteen?"

"Oh Nooooo." she would say in sort of a desperately calm voice as if her heart might break if she had to lower the price. "Oh no! Oh nooooooo."

I could not resist this lady and I was seriously thinking of encouraging her to give the rest of the vendors, "oh noooooo" lessons. When I got too foggy-headed to dicker, we went home, but not before stopping for a coke, which came in a glass bottle. Coke tastes so much better in a glass bottle. I brought the bottle home.

I could go on here about our experiences but this would soon be a huge blog. These are the highlights. Suffice it to say I was not ready to go home just yet when it came time to leave. I wished we had a month there instead of a week, but we didn't have the funds to stay longer. We were already discussing the possibility of returning even before we left. It will probably be five or six years before we can return as we do intend to stay longer.

By the way, if you ever go to a country like that, rent a house. In Ghana, they call them villas, I suppose this is because by Ghana standards, they are on a rather grand scale. It was actually hundreds of dollars cheaper to rent a villa than to stay in a hotel and eat at restaurants. It was something I stumbled across on the Internet when checking out hotels in Ghana. Having a cook and a driver was still quite economical. Ghana is a beautiful country, lots of exotic-looking trees and nine-zillion exotic birds. The people are lovely. I didn't meet anyone there I didn't find myself endeared to.

Going to a foreign country is a real educational experience, especially if you are among nationals as we were. The ladies still walk around with huge baskets on their heads and people weave in and out of slow traffic trying to sell you all kinds of things. I think the hardest thing was seeing the poverty as we were whisked down the road in a nice air-conditioned van with bags and bags of food most people there could never afford, going into the market and splurging the equivalent of several months wages on clothing and jewelry.

That is the way it is in developing countries. Ghana is greatly influenced by Christianity. We did not see one cigarette the entire time we were there. I think it is this Christian influence that has so blessed the character of the people we met. People came from neighboring houses to introduce themselves and chat a little. We were definitely noticed.

Before our trip, Paul told me, "The travel bureau says to try to blend in with the locals. Dress like them, etc."

I said, "I don't even blend in at home. How am I going to blend in where I'm the only pale face in the crowd?"

The sisters had brought me a beautiful African outfit, which I dawned and modeled for them. "OH! one of them said, "You look just like an African lady!"

I laughed. I said, "I don't think so  You see this wall? It's darker than I am."

This got a hardy round of laughs. Issues like skin-color or how one addresses people according to their culture doesn't seem to be an issue there. Around here, so many people are on this campaign of hypersensitivity. Certain races of people can only say certain things about people from other cultures. This reinforces discrimination in my opinion. Over there, I can joke about the whiteness of my skin and not offend anyone. I think that if we weren't all caught up in how we should 'label' one-another or what we should or shouldn't talk about in their presence, America would be a lot more like Ghana.

Those people were at one time, enslaved by us and the British. I'm sure there are tensions somewhere, but I never saw them. We were graciously and sincerely welcome wherever we went. Those people treated us like family. It appears that they have gotten past the bad history and don't let those past atrocities interfere with the daily life. Ghana is an automatons republic that is governed by nationals. I think this has something to do with their outlook on other cultures or people-groups.

Life here would be so much better if we had their attitude. I felt like I really stood out in a crowd there and we did, but I never felt out of place. We are wasting a lot of energy in this country on things that happened hundreds of years ago now and while those things should never be forgotten, they should never consume our lives and cause rifts today. It is how we handle it that causes rifts and there is guilt on both sides of the issue.

When we first started corresponding with Felix, he seemed to see us as superior. That is our fault as WASPs. However, there isn't the anger and hatred I still see here in America. If they can do it in a country where the ugly reminder of slave barracks are still standing on the beach where they used to herd slaves onto ships, why can't we?

2/14/09    Of 9/11

I was thinking about this today. I wonder if it ever occurred to those hijackers and the infamous Mr. Bin Lodin that a lot of Muslims worked there in the WTC? They expect us to believe it's a peaceful religion when they kill their own. By the way; Why isn't Mr. Bin Lodin strapping a bomb to himself and blowing up something? He's a coward who sends sincere young men to do his dirty work. Some leader! 

I can't say too much about them though when we have our own WASP citizens here burning flags and how'bout the KKK? Now there's a terrorist organization if I ever saw one. 

By the way folks; I got sort of profiled on our trip to Ghana. My husband and son were with me. They went on through security, but I was pat-searched. I was tired. My body tremmers much of the time, even when I'm tired and when people don't know about my vision impairment, they think something's up.

Personally, I'm glad they searched me. No one ever died from being pat-searched in the airport. all this business about not offending anyone because there's some sacred law somewhere that says no one should ever be offended--I guess--is compromising our ability to protect ourselves. I think those who protest should shut up and go find a job or some constructive way to spend their time. Our freedom and safety doesn't come without a price and if it takes the occasional thorough search, so what? I didn't miss my plane.

I know who I am. What they do at the security counter is not going to threaten me or offend me. I'd like to see us just let these security employees do their jobs and thank God they're trying to look out for us. Where are the liberals who are always sitting international laws? Did they forget that most of the world has had to have tight security long before we ever did? I thought they wanted us to go global. Hmmmmm...--except if it adversely effects them.

2/24/09        For the man who is shopping-impaired, my thoughts.

I can't count how many times I've heard some guy say, "I don't know what to get my wife fro Christmas or birthday. I don't know what she likes. I don't know her size. I don't know what color she likes." on and on and on. 

Now, I'm assuming that most of you husbands actually live in the same house with their wives. If this is so, then, please forgive my insensitivity, but what is the problem? You don't know what she likes? What does she have displayed in your home, art glass, dolls, (my favorite), figurines, paintings or prints? How about her closet. Does she not keep her clothes in there? All one need do is get a pen and paper. Go IN the closet and read her sizes on the labels. Take note of the colors you most often see. Take note of the styles. Take pictures of items you often see her wearing.

Then, go to your local better department store. You will find a womens' department staffed with people who are more than happy to take a look at your information and help you choose something, That's what they are paid to do and don't think we ladies don't ever need their help. It's their job.

"Oh, but that might be too embarrassing."

Really? Give me a break!

When you go get a new part for your car or buy building materials, do you not make note of what you need? what size, brand, serial number, etc? If you can walk up to the guy in the hardware department wearing the uniform and name tag and ask for lumber or parts or whatever. Are you ashamed? Do you slink out of the store unable to ask the guy for help?  Of course not. It's pretty typical and nothing to be embarrassed about. The ladies' department at the store is the same. Different items, but the process is the same.

And I can't believe how often I hear people say of the knick-knacks around the house, "Oh, but she's already got some Royal Doulton or Fenton glass. She wouldn't want another piece?" Of COURSE she would. That's why she already has the ones she has. As long as you don't get an identical item, I promise you, she will be pleased if it's an piece of what she is already collecting.

With all the information you have, even if you're shy about approaching someone in the lingerie department or gift shop, you can always go online and email someone you won't have to actually face in the presence of others. There's a store online for everything your wife treasures. Same goes for daughters. With all the things we have access to nowadays, there is no excuse in my opinion. If you have her size, color and style, what's the problem?

When you take on a new project at work, do you not do some kind of research? Take pictures, notes, talk to others? This is no different. If you're still unsure of yourself, call up your wife's closest friend, sister or mother and get their help. Most of them, unless they are absolutely socially dysfunctional, will probably be glad to be in on such gift-buying.

Another thing you can do, painful as it is; go shopping with your wife. Watch her. You can tell by the look on her face if she likes something. You can get really bold and actually ask her what she likes. Ask her to show you. Some women may not readily answer because they aren't used to voicing their preferences or they may not want you to feel bad about not knowing or they might think they don't deserve what they really like.

Surely there is at least one avenue among all these suggestions that will work for you. Most men who don't know what to get their wives just never try, which is a sad thing because you are missing out on what could become a wonderful part of your relationship. If nothing else, you could take her shopping, say "Honey, I have "X" dollars to spend. Pick out whatever you like. TAKE her. Do NOT send her. There's a huge difference. Sending her implies you really aren't interested or just want the easy way out. Is that's how you won her heart? Does she not deserve to have her heart won all over again?

If all these things are available and you don't try them, frankly, you are without excuse.

Now, my husband doesn't always get it right, but he does the vast majority of the time because he takes notice of the things I buy myself. He watches me and he knows my facial expressions well enough to know when I see something I like. By the way, guys are hot always the easiest to shop for either, but most of us women are willing to risk making a mistake. It's better to try and make a mistake than not to try at all. If you don't take any risks at your job as far as improving things for your customers or project, just how long do you thing you're going to keep your job? 

So, excuse me as I'm writing this in the middle of a serious PMS episode, but this business is only as difficult as you make it, Unless you have a wife who just doesn't like anything. I haven't met one of those yet. And so what if she takes the thing back? It's not your fault if she takes it and gets a refund or another item. You can always ask what she might have preferred. If you fail, it's better to fail than not try at all.

This isn't going to be easy if you're not willing to set aside a little time and just go shopping with her and observe what she looks at or tries on. I love dolls as you all know and I have a house full of them. Most people wouldn't dream of buying one because, "She already has so many." My husband knows better and buys one because he knows I like getting them and he's not likely to miss the mark. 

Now he's not the surest about which doll to buy. Once, he took me to the doll show, told me to keep an eye out for something I like and he'd buy it, and he did. It was a wonderful day for both of us. It really blessed me that he took an afternoon out for my sake.

So, think of it gentleman, as a research project. Take plenty of notes, pictures if necessary, especially if you have one of those digital cameras. Do your research and go forth armed with the right information and if you feel lost in the sea of merchandise, clerks, friends and relatives will be able to help you.

"Oh but what will the think of me???" You may ask yourself.

They'll THINK, "What a great guy. He must really care about his woman!"

Remember this; Small appliances, vacuum cleaners and other utilitarian items are OUT. Buying that sort of thing is like her buying you motor oil for your car or renewing subscriptions to the morning paper or buying a pack of nails.  Pretty mundane and no reflection on what you really like in the way of gifts. Buy things you know she doesn't "need" but frivolous things you know she'll love. They say, "You're worth a splurge honey."

Remember, like me, everyone likes to give advice, so you can't miss by asking for help. Be brave men. She'll love you for it!

2/25/09    How to spot people who are not going to make the first round for American idol.

I love watching this show and I must confess, like a lot of other people I like to watch some of the bad auditions. Now there are plenty of ordinary-looking young people trying out who do well and who do poorly, but there's a third type that are generally destine to lose and here's how to spot them. It's sort of a formula.

They're almost always dressed up in some weird or over-the-top costume. They spend four or five minutes before the camera  while waiting for their audition with the panel talking about how great they are.

Then they make this grand entrance and the question comes, "Who are you as good as?"

Routine answers are Whitney Houston, Moriah Carey, Josh Groban and so on. And then, they go into some of the worst singing and dancing ever seen on TV or anywhere else for that matter. 

When they are asked to stop, many beg for 'another chance' as if their outlandishly bad performance will suddenly and miraculously improve. They plead and beg and often, go ahead and sing some other song worse than the first one. 

Common excuses are, 

"I just learned this song." 

"I have no formal training." or

"I wasn't warmed up when I came in."

"I'm nervoud."

When turned down, some will go so far as attacking Simon. It's almost always Simon. They exit and spend another two minutes or so cussing Simon out in front of the camera, blaming him for the fact that their voices would scare off most any large predatory animal or stop traffic.

It's amazing. The most interesting part is that the worse they are, the more Simon gets chewed out. It's never anyone else. Just Simon, as if he is all three members of the panel. 

Truthfully, I believe Simon is doing them a favor. If they can't handle his blunt honesty, they have no business breaking into a field where such talk is common and only the thick-skinned will survive.

I think that if some of these people would videotape themselves and watch it a few days later wouldn't dream of trying out. Most people never hear or see themselves until after the fact and only then, realize that Simon was telling the truth and in some cases, told it relatively mildly compared to what I might have said.

Oh by the way, Ever watched some other Idol shows on YouTube? You think Simon's tough? You should see this guy they have on West African Idol. He makes Simon look like a pansy. The music industry is highly competitive, dog-eat-dog world, full of people who make Simon look mild. 

Even if people who are turned down are good, no one will want to consider giving them a contract based on their conduct after being turned away. I sit there and think, "Even if that person was good, I'd never consider working with someone who cannot handle an honest assessment of their talent, or lack thereof.

There was one guy on last season. You may remember him. Ronaldo, I think his name is. He was one of the costumed ones and he didn't sing well at all. However he was gracious and sweet, quite endearing if you ask me. After he was turned away, he spent his time in front of the camera thanking Simon for giving him the chance to audition, even though he wasn't accepted. He courted it a real privilege. Now THAT's someone I'd hire.

5/19/09 Ministry?

I was talking with an old friend of mine today who told me his former pastor, who will remain nameless, has been known to hoard funds and not pay his body guard. He hired a body guard because of the death threats on his life from gay community extremists.

A decade or so ago, something similar happened to another pastor. His integrity turned out to be somewhat hallow. I happen to know this because I talked to him. He was arrogant and very unkind to me.

It really troubles me to see people who speak out for what is right and take a purely biblical approach to social issues turn out to be arrogant jerks, and I don’t use the term lightly.

It seems to be a pattern, a pattern that becomes a tool of Satan by default and an excuse for those who are homosexuals to tout our faith as hypocritical and hateful. Frankly, in some respects, they’re right.

I’m beginning to think that this isn’t quite the way God would have us handle it, majoring on homosexuality to the exclusion of other issues of critical importance.

How about abusive people, alcoholics, those committing adultery, stealing from their employers and liberal educators brainwashing our children. How about hierocracy in the church? Why are we so focused on one problem when there are equally serious issues I rarely hear anyone speak of in the pulpits today.

I’ll tell you why and I think the evidence is beginning to speak for itself. It is because some of the zealous would have to address their friends, colleagues and in some cases, their own behavior.

 Judgment begins at the house of God. If our closet isn’t clean, who are we to clean someone else’s. I personally believe homosexuality is a sin. So are a lot of other things I see the church tolerating. I've sinned, zillions of times, and I will continue to do so, despite the fact that I strive to honor God. 

The time I referred to when I was rudely treated was during a radio talk show. The pastor who hosted it wanted people in favor of no-fault divorce to call in. Well, like a fool, I did. According to my biblical understanding, when Moses permitted divorce, it involved a man writing his wife a certificate of divorce and sending her on her way. This looks mighty similar to no-fault divorce to me. 

I said I thought it was better than dragging our dirty laundry through the court room. He said, “What you’re really saying is that it makes divorce easier.” And conveniently cut me off and went to a break. How interesting.

What I wanted to tell him is, “There is nothing easy about a divorce. You tell me “God hates divorce.” Well, so do I. In fact, I don’t know anyone who doesn’t. Besides, you’ve never had to go through one. You’ve never had your spouse threaten to destroy your belongs or threaten to have you arrested or tried to choke you when you said something he or she didn’t like. When you have faced such thing for five or ten years running, then come talk to me about divorce. By the way, that scripture was written to men, NOT women.” 

The scripture was written to men who were mistreating and cheating on their wives. It wasn’t for women because in those days, the woman had no say in the matter. 

I wrote this man a letter requesting to talk to him. He had his co-host call me because, “he was a very busy man.” It seemed to me that if he had enough time to do talk shows, he could find five minutes somewhere to talk to me, but it’s plain he didn’t want to talk to me.

Interestingly enough, when I explained the situation to the co-host, he was speechless. It must be nice to hide one’s self away from those who would call for your accountability.

It wasn’t long after that when this pastor had to step down. He was framed. I don’t believe the accusations made of him were true. However, it’s pretty clear to me that God called him to answer for his self-righteousness.

I have come to believe that we have no business trying to straighten out others when our own lives aren’t in order. This goes especially for leaders because the Bible says they have more to answer for than the rest of us.

If we want people to believe that God is kind and forgiving, we have got to be sure we’re inviting them to a clean house with o skeletons in the closet. I am not talking about watering down the gospel or refusing to confront sin. I am talking about simply holding ourselves to the same standard to which we hold others.

3/27       On the Gay issue

 I heard someone say, “If you believe God, you have to stop being gay in order to be saved. I’ve heard Christians say it. I’ve heard Gay activists say it. I don’t believe it’s true. Now that will probably shock some folks, but hear me out. 

When I came to Christ, I was a troubled, selfish and immature teenager. When I walked away from the altar, I was still a troubled, selfish and immature individual. I found though as I continued to seek God, that He would put his finger on something in my life and my heart would change. I found I didn’t need whatever it was that I hung onto. I found areas of sin in my life and the desire to let God deal with and change me. This process will go on the rest of my life. I’m thankful He never gives up on me. 

So, If I came to the foot of the cross as a homosexual, I’d still be one after praying to receive Christ. I believe that before long, I would desire to leave that lifestyle and do so successfully. The bottom line is that we are all sinners in need of God’s grace. Many of us cannot see the seriousness of some of our sin until the Holy Spirit points these things out to us. 

Now my biggie lately is complaining. I recently was reminded by God’s word that complaining is a sin. By His grace—and let me tell you it takes a lot in this case—I’m overcoming it. Having my friend Johnny here has helped me and convicted me. He is thankful in all things, no matter how bad or trying. There is so much joy I life when one is not complaining. 

So, I suppose some out there could throw a bunch of scriptures at me about the abomination of homosexuality. Lying, cheating, sleifshness and greed are also abominations and we’ve ALL done at least one or two of them.  

I heard once, the testimony of a woman who was gay. She came to the Lord’s altar and said, “Lord, I’m a homosexual, but I want to receive you into my heart and be forgiven of my sins. Teach me to hate it as you hate it. She did not immediately leave the lifestyle, but when she did, she did so with enthusiasm, NOT regret.

I’ve spoken and written on this issue before. Homosexuality aside, we are ALL sinners, ALL equally guilty and ALL hopelessly lost without Christ. This bottom line trumps any contraversity concerning the gay issue.

As Corrie Ten Boom said, “The promises of God are for sinners only. AMEN!

3/29/09        My Crutch

I hear non-Christians say things like, “Oh, you’re just using God as a crutch.”

I say, “So what?” What’s wrong with a crutch. I sprained my foot about four years ago. It was too painful to walk on, so I was on crutches for the better part of two weeks. It would be foolish of me to walk on that injury when I have perfectly good crutches in the basement.

I don’t want to walk alone without God either. I heard, I think it was Barry McGuire say, “No, Jesus isn’t my crutch. It’s more like a body cast.”

Right on Barry!

 When you think about it, everyone has a crutch somewhere in their life. It might be drugs, their spouse, work, compulsive shopping or some guru like Oprah. The truth is that we were designed to depend on God. When we don’t, we’ll naturally try to find something to fill the void in our lives. People mock Christians because they themselves know they are sinning and floundering on their own and, therefore, feel better about themselves by ranking on others. Pretty childish if you ask me.

 There is NOTHING wrong with having a crutch, Of course, all crutches besides God are not always dependable. The Lord says His strength is made perfect in my weakness. I believe that those who mock me are troubled in their hearts. I’ve never heard comments like, “God is just a crutch.” From happy, well-adjusted people. Have you?

Christian Superstitions

4/7/09

Now, it’s my understanding that Jesus Christ is the truth, and the truth sets us free. Looking at some Christians, you’d never know it. How about this one; “If you pray for patience, God will give you a trial.”

Most of us, when we pray for patience are—guess what?—we are IN A TRIAL already! If you pray for patience, you get God’s help to be patient. I think that often when we ask God for patience, what we really seek is understanding, the lack of which often creates a trial. When I pray for patience, I often ask for understanding.

Then, there’s this one—and this is probably going to get me in trouble with someone—“In Jesus name.”

Now there’s nothing wrong with ending prayers with “In Jesus name”. It’s biblical. But I see people using it like a magic word. “God, give me as new car, in Jesus name amen.” It doesn’t work that way. We don’t get the luxury of assuming that if we take in Jesus name on something, that God’s going to bless it. What really shocks me is hearing people reminding God of what He said in His Word, mandating he fulfill it. I think God doesn’t need to be reminded of what He wrote.

Often, when I pray I close with something like, “Lord, I thank you that we can come before your throne of grace and we are covered by the blood of Christ, who we trust and glorify. Amen.”

Wordy, probably. But I want to be sure I’m not using the name of Jesus flippantly, that I state my understanding that all things are subject to God’s will. If we pray in Jesus name, and we should, I think it’s a good idea to not do so lightly.

Another one is demons. Now there are extremes on both sides. There are Christians that couldn’t recognize spiritual warfare if it bit them on the nose. They never stop to consider that what they are wrestling with is not really flesh and blood. However, a lot of others blame everything negative on Satan or demons. If someone takes your parking place, it’s demonic. If you catch a cold, it’s the demon of post-nasal-drip. If someone is unkind, they have a demon. Seriously. I’m really not exaggerating. I’ve heard such statements with my own ears.

Anyone who has spent any amount of time on this website knows that I live with chronic depression. Would you believe that on several occasions now, people have tried to cast it out, which would mean that I’ve been oppressed by a demon since age nine. If I said this to people, they’d waste no time telling me this is actually true, as if God would allow the innocent to be possessed. Funny thing; I don’t feel oppressed. It doesn’t stop me from serving or glorifying God. It doesn’t hamper my daily life. I’m a believer. Satan has no rights on me.  Jesus conquered him at the cross. I think that is more than sufficient.

I’ve faced quite a number of situations where Satan and demons were definitely operating. I had a neighbor once. I only heard him speak on two occasions. Two backyards away, I could hear this venomous voice speaking the most vile profanity I think I’ve ever heard. It gave me a chill. I met a man once that, if anyone used the word God or Jesus, would immediately shut down the conversation.

It’s definitely something that should be handled with prayer that God would bind the demon’s power. Even Jesus said, some will only come out by prayer and fasting. However, Satan gets far too much credit for what are often peoples’ shortcomings. And what does this look like, a guy who loses his temper blames it on Satan. Gimmy a break!  Another man, (and I’m really not trying to pick on men here) told me that our youth were making too much noise during a Wednesday night service by playing a boisterous game of volleyball outside the sanctuary. He claimed it was satanic. I told the pastor. He put the man out.

Who hasn’t had trouble with anger anyway. Hey, Jesus had anger. Remember him driving all those hucksters out of the temple with a whip—a whip he made right on the spot? Remember how he took on the religious establishment?

So, proceed here to the subject of “deliverance”. Apparently, God cannot deliver you all by himself. You have to wait for someone who has a deliverance ministry to come to town. I’ve seen these things in action. Typically, people come out with more problems than they started with and when there’s a hiccup in life, they run to the deliverance person, thereby avoiding responsibility for their behavior. I’m quite certain Satan rejoices when he sees this because he knows people get addicted to it and I’ve seen people who can hardly function without regular trips to the deliverance minister.

How about this one; “If you give offerings, God will increase your bank account.”

This one typically comes from wolves in sheep’s clothing who are out to fleece the flock for their own gain. People just don’t get it when any rank sinner can see right through it. This superstition is causing unbelievers to avoid us because it appears to them we’re all just out for money. Satan is laughing all the way to the bank, literally.

Many have testified, and I am among them, that when they contribute regular tithes and offerings, their remaining dollars seem to go further and what they thought they couldn’t live on turns out to be more than enough. Sometimes, I’ve gotten unexpected checks in the mail or an incredible bargain at the grocery store. However, I think giving to get is a sin because our focus is on goods, not God.  It is about simple trust in God to meet all our needs.

These are all superstitions. What better way for the enemy to prevail than when we become bound by what we claim to be biblical truth. God doesn’t need a deliverance ministry or faith-healers OR money. Can you imagine the Amen who spoke the Universe into existence being hampered by financial matters? 

In James, it does not say, “If you’re sick, go to a healing meeting.” It says we should call the elders for prayer. Yes, I believe that some have a gift of faith that can facilitate healing, but what a cruel God we’d have if you had to wait for the itinerate healer to show up.

I’ve experienced physical healings on a number of occasions. They have always occurred when a brother or sister in Christ has prayed for me, including my husband. By the way, God always heals, just not necessarily in the way we think He should. Sometimes, God uses adversity to get our attention and turn our hearts toward Him.

Our bodies, we will leave behind when we die. Our spirits go with us. For this reason, I believe that God is far more interested in healing hearts. It’s important to bear in mind that physical militias are much more difficult to live with in some places in the world where a lot of physical healings occur. Many afflictions are a social death sentence. This is not to say we shouldn’t ask. My point is, do we want a healing so we can serve God and His people, or do we want a healing for the sake of convenience?  I’m not saying we don’t deserve healings. What I am saying is that God knows what is best for us. The Apostle Paul, one of the greatest men who ever lived, asked God three times for a specific healing. It never came. The Lord told him that His strength was sufficient. If that’s good enough for Paul, it’s good enough for me.

I’d encourage the reader of this article to seek God and His kingdom without the system of really silly beliefs. Grow in grace and the knowledge of our Lord as the Bible commands—and ALL these things shall be added unto you. In other words, trust God and don’t be bound by spiritual superstitions. When we are controlled by them, we actually limit our receptiveness to God and miss out on many of God’s blessings.  The truth has set us free. Let’s keep it that way.

4/7/09

Humble Gardeners

Yesterday, God gave us something to help keep us humble. BOY did it work. Last week, my husband hired a new lawn service. He came home yesterday to inform me that the crew had torn out his favorite shamrock plant, a rather sizable thing, and my dusty miller. I hit the ceiling. "SIGHTED PEOPLE!"

I wondered how they could mistake a neat row of dusty miller for a week. Paul immediately got on the phone to respectfully express his displeasure while I went out to see if the bush I'd planted in Gus's honor was still there. Thankfully it was. So was the dusty miller. Now we had a problem.

I ran back into the house, hollering for Paul, hoping I could circumvent the conversation. He wasn't on the phone. I hoped he hadn't called yet. I said,"My dusty miller's still out there, right in back of the tulips."

He gasped "OH NOOOOOOOOO! I'm a SIGHTED PEOPLE?"

Sorry Paul, but I couldn't help laughing. 

He had to call the guy back and apologize. He told me later he'd seen clippings of dusty miller in the yard waste bin and assumed the worst. It didn't occur to him to check the flower bed. I told him, "No! That's from when I trimmed it back last week."

I don't know who felt worse, me or him. Needless to say, we did a fair amount of groaning and lamenting. 

4/23/09

Attention all animal rights activists:

It’s been recently revealed that in many locations throughout the U.S. and the rest of the world, that innocent animals are being slaughtered by the millions! Yes, it’s true and it’s legal. People are pulling their legs off and sucking out their brains without the benefit of anestetic. We have video footage of small animals screaming as they are dismembered.

There are far more of these animals being senselessly killed for the sake of prophets than any other species. Some of these animals are even being burned to death.

On the endangered species list, guess who is at the top? It’s Man. After all, many learned scientists claim that we are highly evolved animals. You can go to jail for two years for killing a cat or starving a dog, but you can make millions destroying unborn children.

If you really care about the rights of animals, you should at least be interested in considering what a double standard exists in our world. You can’t pull a leg or an ear off of a cat and not be penalized if caught.

Animals should be treated with kindness and understanding. Those who are cruel to animals are potentially cruel to people. If you really care about the rights of animals, then there should be the other of all outcries over the cruelty going on behind closed doors, or are unborn babies even lower than spotted owls, salmon or seal pups?

Who is going to speak up for the rights of animals in the future if we continue to kill off potential animal rights activists?