Is that the sun or is it your smile?

True confession, I plagiarized that blog post title. I totally stole it from my dentist, who happens to be a writer. Yes, you read that right, my oral health practitioner is a writer. My tooth doctor blogs. My cavity healer tells stories.

"I didn't know you had a dentist," you might be saying.

Valid point. Before noon today, I didn't. So you can imagine how relieved I was when Dr. Snavely told me that his office is not a judgemental one. He assured me of unconditional acceptance after I told him it's been a while since I'd last been to the dentist. (Six or 15 years, however you want to count it.) It was a relief to know that I wouldn't be reprimanded for my sinful oral health behavior. Seriously.

And then Dr. Snavely invited me to wear dark sunglasses. That's the part I liked the most. Those shades protected my eyes from the florescent lights while looking straight up to the ceiling during the exam. But they also protected my dignity in light of such pathetic preventative dental history. I could write a whole meditation on my personal dental life story, but we'll save that for later. (Or you could chat with my mom). The dark glasses kind of covered it all up, at least metaphorically. Or at least they helped me relax.

It has been six years (or 15 however you count it) since I'd last seen a dentist before today, and dang, things have changed. Not only was Dr. Snavely kind, gentle, and non judgemental -- he was all high tech. He has this camera on the end of a stick that shows images on a computer screen right in front of you. So as he describes the condition of each tooth and surrounding maladies, you can see it live on the screen. It is an information geek's dental daydream: to observe the inside of your mouth in live time with dynamic commentary by a trained expert who can explain the status of your inner mouth in terms you can understand.

You're right, I don't have a dentist. I have a decay whisperer.

Which brings me back to the issue of plagiarism. You see, Dr. Snavely not only practises dentistry, he also writes about it. Like all writers, he seeks to understand it, to explore it, to share it. Today I ran across a piece whereby he mentions a couple teeth whitening methods in a post called, "Is that the sun or is it your smile?" (Title, here.) How could I not steal that blog post title? How could you not want a dentist who would write that? Plus, I seriously didn't know that teeth whitening was available to regular folk like me but now that I am dental empowered, I'm thinking about it. I'd like to have sparkly white teeth.

All this to say, if you're in Greater Des Moines and looking for a dentist. I have a recommendation. Check it out: http://www.snavelyfamilydentistry.com/2011/05/is-that-the-sun-or-is-it-your-smile/

Thanks for coming over to the Charmer Blog.

Cheers, T

The Invisible Grandfather

Hello friends, thanks for coming over to the Charmer Blog. I don't write many poems but last week one came to me after visiting my grandfather (Milford Mork Sr.) for the first time in many years. The format is extended Haiku, as I call it. Each verse is 5-7-5 syllables. I think. It's a draft. Here goes:

The Invisible Grandfather

99 years old,

he rolls to the locked front door.

Knuckles knock for out.

Others sit content.

He wheels forward, forward.

Hands, feet clumsy sync.

Food placed on his lap

where he might see. Head bowed down

perpetually.

As if he’s sorry.

Sorry he can’t lift his face.

Sorry, no muscles.

Who is this old man?

The teenage caretaker knows

more than I, his blood.

For I don’t see him.

He doesn’t hear me. We are

both nonexistent.   

Thug on the bus? No.

There are violent protests in Cairo.

There is death in Benghazi.

There is one stupid movie that is probably a proxy motive.

There are extremist Christians and extremist Muslims playing their parts.

There is at least one U.S. presidential candidate commenting before facts unfold.

And there is a mother in Des Moines, Iowa, who is worried because her 13-year-old white boy plans to ride the city bus home from school today for the first time. 

She realizes that her worries are perfectly silly, and minuscule, but this is the thing. She's not worried he'll get lost. He's a master at bus routes. She worries because her son has moved into the scrubby teen boy age. His hair is long and covers much of his baby face. He wears undead t-shirts and clunky sneakers. He doesn't talk much, even if you hazard him a "hello." His own mother mostly doesn't know what he's thinking, let alone other passengers on the bus. She's worried that others will think he's a hooligan.

When Trayvon Martin was shot and killed in a Florida suburb while returning home with a bag of Skittles, I heard my friends-of-color talk about their fears for their own teenage sons, for how they might easily be mistaken for a thug. I saw the statistics that backed up this worry. (Statistics, by the way, that are on my side.) I'd never considered this fear before. But as my son grows older and loses his obvious adorability, as he fumbles to figure out how to chat casually with people around him, as he tries his hardest to appear bad-to-the-bone, as he seeks to sow his wild oats -- and yes, for him, taking public transportation is his version of freedom -- I worry. 

I worry because the world seems too quick to shoot accusations, and so slow to listen. So quick to hate, and so slow to listen. So quick to call a press conference and slow to . . . let's all say it together: listen.

My thoughts and prayers go out to all who were killed in Benghazi, including the ambassador and the staffers, and the Libyans who were injured while trying to protect them. And I urge all of us, including all candidates for political office, to get the facts.

I can't help but to offer kudos to Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and President Obama for their spot-on handling of this delicate situation. My thoughts and prayers go to all public officials, citizens, and candidates.

If you happen to see a kid on the bus with death mask images on his t-shirt, don't worry, he's harmless. Like most everyone, he wants to go home.

With love, T

School Office Conundrum

One of her toddler dresses was the color of watermelon. Green and pink with white zig zag piping and black dots like seeds. It had a matching hat. I miss those cute little girl smock dresses my daughter used to wear. We pass through a department store children's section and I still long to buy another one today. She was cute then.

But you know what? She is fun now. As it turns out, the teen years offer as much innocence and inadvertent humor as the pre-school years when my girl would wonder about things such as, "Why are we going the right way?"

These days the funny material comes from her newest thing: working the principal's office during first hour in school. Answering the phones. Helping the secretaries. Filing paperwork. Coordinating students. Typical office stuff. My interest is surely self serving because I've done so much office work in the past 20 years or so. But still, she cracks me up with reports like:

"Mom, they gossip a lot in that office."

and

"Mom, people call crazy mad about the bus company and I have nothing to do with the bus company."

and

"Mom, we had to pass out student ID's this week and it was a madhouse."

and

"Mom, it took me a while to figure out how to transfer calls and I think I hung up on some people."

Sounds pretty normal to me. I have mixed feelings about her office work. On one hand I'm glad she can get the experience. On another, I hope she gets a dose of it then runs as fast as possible in the other direction. I'm reminded why I rarely answer my own phone anymore. My tenure of office work plum burned me out of answering phones, never knowing what the caller was going to say, always knowing that I had to figure out on the spot a way to answer even if there wasn't really an answer. You spin a response on the spot. Receptionist linguistic Olympics. I think I've really made it because I don't have to answer the phone in my current job. For my daughter it goes something like this.

Her: "Roosevelt High School, student speaking, how may I help you?"

Caller: "The bus is late! I want to talk to the principal!"

Her: "The principal is on another line with the bus company."

Caller: "The X@#!% bus is late, I want to talk to the principal now!"

Her: "The principal is on another line resolving the issue with the bus company right now. Can I put you into her voice mail?"

Caller: "The X@#!% bus is late, put me on with the principal!!!"

Her: "But if I put you through, the principal will have to discontinue her conversation with the bus company and thus, not resolve the issue, which is probably the very same issue you are calling about." (OK, she didn't really say that but just thought that response out loud to me.)

That was her first day answering the phones, also her first day of 11th grade.

The only problem is she answers phones during first period, which is the same period that I usually call the school to say that my kid will be late (most always because of me being late in getting her there). Do you see my conundrum? My kid is now the one answering the phone line you call when your kid is going to be late. And the reason your kid is late is because you had to pour another cup of coffee, feed the cats, change your shirt, sleep five more minutes, check Facebook, or whatever valid reason.

The other day my daughter told me that one of her classes was discussion non-verbal communication and political speeches. The teacher showed convention speeches of Paul Ryan and Bill Clinton. They observed the uses of hand gestures and eye contact. "Those guys like to point," she said. But towards the end she was loosing interest in the long speeches, she said.. She was falling asleep in class and apparently wasn't too impressed by Clinton's spellbinding command of relevant factoids. I admit to unabashedly watching every minute of the Democratic National Convention I could, like an idealistic big-eyed puppy who cuddles up close to the we're-all-in-this-together mentality.

Since my daughter and I were on the topic of convention speeches I mentioned that Iowan Zack Walls would be speaking. "He's the one who testified at the Iowa legislature about having two mom's," I said to my speech-analyzing daughter. "Remember, it went viral on You Tube."

She said Paul Ryan was charismatic and could really hold a crowd. "Paul Ryan talked about marriage a lot," she said.

And then it was a slow motion moment. You know, when you see something click. When the air shifts and the person you're with stops and thinks "wait a minute" in a cartoon bubble above her head.

"Wait a minute," she said, "What do they say about marriage?"

As in who can and who can't, who's legitimate and who's not, who's in and who's out. As in, she got to that glorious place beyond the non-verbal communication and wanted to explore the real communication. What are they all really saying? She knows and loves gay cheerleaders, got a good dose of anti gay bullying talk at the ELCA Youth Gathering, plus we watch Glee and have friends at church in committed relationships. So civil equality genuinely holds her interest.

I think in that moment, she realized that a single word can mean two things, depending on who says it and what their record is. Details matter. Marriage on prime time this week was way different than marriage on prime time last week. And I didn't even get a chance to chat with her how different again marriage is in the Bible. (Put it this way: definitely not one man, one woman.)

My lunch break was going long and I had to rush back to my office. I would've loved to continue the conversation because for that moment, she was into the discovery.

I remember another adorable toddler dress. It was light blue denim and had layers of ruffles. Like a denim wedding cake she wore with sneakers. The dress was play-in-the-dirt sturdy so she could rough around while still looking cute. She always was that blend of girly and its anti. A be-ribboned cheerleader who slobs around on weekends. She used to painstakingly dress up her Barbies and then methodically rip off their heads. Presently, we have a box full of decapitated dolls in the garage. We have a house full of dilapidated hair paraphernalia tucked in corners and drawers.

Who knows what children think or how they'll turn out? I have a lot of hopes, but really I have no idea. For now I'm simply enjoying the ride, grateful for every moment. These days when I need a little laugh all I have to ask is this: "So how was the office today?" I might get a some gossip, the transcript of a nutty phone conversation, or I might hear something like this:

"Mom, I like office work but I don't think I'll sign up next semester. I'm taking a class instead."

Huh? It took me decades to get to that place.

Thanks for coming over to the Charmer Blog. Wishing you all the very best. xoxo

Cheers, T

I Tweet Obama

Hey all,

I wanted to invite you to my "I Tweet Obama" Twitter event on Saturday, September 1, 2012, approximately 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. I'll be attending the rally at Living History Farms in Des Moines (dang, just down the street from home!) with my good buddy, Julie West. I'm still figuring out the hashtag to go with, so stay tuned. (Suggestions welcome.)

Follow me on Twitter: @terrimorkspeirs

Not in the Twitter world? No worries, if you take a look to the right of this blog screen you'll see that my twitter feeds into my blog. (I'm a nerd.) And I'll hook it into my Facebook too.

So we are off!

Obama skeptics, fact check me.

Obama supporters, retweet me.

Twitter masters, critique me.

Americans, join me.

In celebrating this awesome thing we call democracy.

Cheers!

T

Back to school: of notebooks and daydreams

Back to school shopping has evolved in our household.

This year we bought notebooks with a front cover image of One Direction, a British boy band consisting of five irresistible mop tops. Last year our notebooks featured Justin Bieber, if you’ve ever heard of him.

The year before that we purchased brooding notebooks with images of Edward Cullen, the impossibly beautiful vampire from the “Twilight” series. And before that, we brought home notebooks depicting the Jonas Brothers, a family pop trio of cuteness and hotness. I’m sure you remember them.

I recall my own school supplies of long ago with depictions of Barbie, the Partridge Family, and yes, the Bay City Rollers.

The themes of our school supply purchases are like a child’s daydream. A backpack full of budding discovery. A locker full of emerging hopes. And a shopping bag of full-blown marketing to parents, for those notebooks also hold the dreams of mothers like me.

No matter who is pictured on my kids’ notebooks I still want the same thing and maybe you do too: We want our kids to have it all.

But there’s more to our parental dreams.

click here to read more on Living Lutheran (thanks, Living Lutheran!). . .

Maybe parenting is like a sling shot.

Maybe parenting is like a sling shot.

You wind it up, pull it back, pull it, pull it tight, and then BOING you let it go soaring through thin air. No longer in your control. All the while you were winding you thought that was the hard part, only to find out that no, the hard part is letting go, the hard part is watching.

My pregnancies were spent in the subways of New York City. I worked full time because I thought I had to, although in hindsight I'm not sure I did. Bob and I were in the rare position of having cheap housing and low expenses while living in one of the most expensive cities in the world. I suppose I worked because I wanted to. I wanted to be important, and to be important you worked. Or so I believed. Truth be told, I'd simply  never not worked, although these days I'd sure like to give that a try.

My OB-GYN clinic was located equidistant between our home in Brooklyn and my office in Manhattan. I arranged that on purpose so I could take the subway to appointments and then get back on and head on into work, no matter how big my belly was. I'll tell you that the thousands of other people who shared my R-train route were generally very kind, always embarrassing me by offering me their seats if I was standing, grabbing on to a pole for balance. Being from the Midwest, I would have preferred that me and my fleshy beach ball go unnoticed, but that doesn't happen in the city. Same thing when my belly weight threw me off balance and I toppled like a weeble on the corner of 26th and Park Avenue South, in my navy blue maternity office-wear. I was hoping to quietly wobble upright unnoticed as the zillions of people around me marched like ants to their workplaces. But for one thing, the laws of physics wouldn't allow me up, and for another thing, those nasty New Yorker's simply came to my rescue and pulled me up. I headed to my my 8th floor desk space  with one of those classic knee scrapes a 3-year-old kid would get on a playground.

When my babies were three months old, respectively, I went back to work. I felt lucky because I knew many other women who had less time. Still, I should have stayed home longer, even a couple months longer, but that's another blog post. Of course the question hit me: what's the point of having kids if you're going to hand them off to someone else? I mostly brushed off these questions and a wise colleague advised me that kids need you more when they are teenagers, so work now and save up the career capital until later.

Even as I had questions, the most amazing childcare provider emerged. A new friend in Brooklyn, who like me, was from Minnesota. She understood perfectly the whole Midwest-to-East Coast dynamic. Plus, get this, she was a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist. Yes, my daycare provider was a practicing mental health counselor. Her skills constantly came in handy for all of us. She became first in a long line of people we've enlisted to care for our children. For the most part, it's all worked out surprisingly well. (I really don't know how anyone can say they do anything independently. It's metaphysically impossible.)

I no longer believe in so called "career capital" but my colleague was right. I feel like for the past 15 years all Bob and I've been doing is winding up the sling shot. We thought we were doing the hard part, but we were just pulling tight the energy so we can soon let it go, sending it into eternity. Everyday is less control, and loss of control is -- well, I don't know, isn't that a basis for mental breakdown? Hello parents of young children, you're all headed for inevitable insanity. No, I'm not saying that, but maybe to some degree I am. No, really, this is just how it is with me.

It has taking me 15 years to come face to face with parental loss of control, as our kids prepare for 11th and 8th grade, as my daughter learns to drive, as my son becomes more mysterious, as we are a few short years away from college and the (inhale) empty nest. My friends tell me the loss of control continues as children find partners, lose partners, have their own babies. "My son, the father" is an essay by Anne Lamott that I'll be using next Monday, in the first night of teaching my composition class at Des Moines Area Community College. Even now, witnessing my own kids taking care of younger kids is something I'm not fully prepared for.

My young niece is experiencing parental loss of control far too early as today she is being induced because her baby was diagnosed in utero with a terminal condition, anencephaly. She and her partner will lose their baby, who they've named Charlie King Ball, at birth, which will be within the next 12 hours or so.

Maybe parenting has to be like a sling shot, creating a force so strong we cannot contain it. Because if we could contain it, we would. And children, apparently, sadly, cannot be contained.

With love, T

Learning to fly. Learning to let go.

The Roosevelt High School cheerleaders, varsity and jr varsity.
Wish we could all see the fifth stunt group, to our left,
who apparently didn't fit into the frame.
It's fun to see the new girls learn to fly and the veteran girls teaching them.

There's something about this picture I really like.

I think it's all the reaching up. The pushing up. The stretching up. The looking up.

All the upward movement by the base juxtaposes with the flyers, who seem (understandably) rather tentative by comparison. Don't get me wrong, these flyers look awesome, but they're not on their toes like the back bases are. They're not looking upwards, like all their supporters are.

What the flyers are doing is looking out and revving up the audience -- while not letting on to their precarious situation. The flyers are totally dependent on a highly synchronized team to ensure their safe propulsion, trick, and landing.

The team moves perfectly together by counting. In this sport, precision is required otherwise a flyer gets dropped, and possibly seriously hurt. When a flyer falls to the floor, her trust in the base is broken. When trust goes down, the base can't get the flyer back up.

A reliable base who never allows the flyer to get hurt makes for a spectacular show.

I love all the symbolism in that. The teamwork, collaboration, and the idea that when someone succeeds we all do. Blah, blah, idealistic, blah. Imagine my son's hands making the motions of endless yacking, opening and closing his palms like clapping clams.

Girl child with one of her many cheer coaches,
and one of her many cheer awards. We are so very proud of her.

As you may know, I haven't been all that supportive of my daughter's cheerleading passion. I'm still not. But I am trying. This year I believe that great God almighty has taken pity upon this confused mother and made the English teacher the cheer coach. (How's that for grace?) That helps my state of wondering if cheerleading is the subject on which to spend so much time, energy, and money. Bob and I are doing back flips to finance the cheer habit and provide transportation, as girl child is now on three teams.

But what do I know? I'm lucky if I can get through any day without bloodshot, baggy eyes to meet my deadlines du jour. My goals often include recovery from sleeping with the most active subconscious in the world, which is not really sleeping. It's more like resting your brain on a bed of thumb tacks.

So when your kid finds her passion, something she loves to do, something she's good at, something she has access to, something others look to her for leadership -- you should raise yourself upwards and shout THANK YOU! to the heavens and earth. Even if you don't totally understand it. Even if it's not what you had envisioned for your child.

Right?

I'm trying, I really am. But honestly, I'm the most tired cheerleading mother you'll ever meet and I still have a hard time letting go of my preconceived notions of what passions my daughter should keep. You can imagine how giddy I was when my daugther informed me that this year she'll be the principal's assistant every day first period. (Mrs. Danielson and Girlchild kind of hit if off last year when Girlchild recruited the English teacher to be the new cheer coach. The Principal and my kid are thinking yay, a cheer coach. I'm thinking yay, a potential letter of reference for college applications.) My red eyes grew big with joy and all I could say was "I like! I like!" I think she did that intentionally so I'd lay off on my other concerns. It was a brilliant plan that worked perfectly.

Queue my son's clam-clapping hand motions to indicate yacking.

Still, if you want to join me in supporting all these upwardly mobile girls, find me every Friday night starting soon at the Roosevelt High School football games. I'll be the one cringing at the violent body contact on the field and reveling at the beautiful synchronicity on the sidelines. Then promptly going home to bed.

Thank for stopping by my blog. I wish you a wonderful weekend!

With love, T

The possibility of a bicycle booty call

Hello Snake Charmer Friends! Are you out there? Why would you be as I haven't written forever? Gosh, in the good old days of unemployment I was writing everyday. And you were all good enough to humor me and say nice things, or at least not say mean things.

About six months ago I decided to quit writing. I decided writing wasn't good for my mental health as it became yet another problem solving task clogging my brain. I graduated last December after a two-year fury of writing 100 pages for my book (book? what book?) in the nooks and crannies of my time. Right after graduation I pushed forward with 20 more pages and then just stopped. It's an effort to clear my mental clutter.

Some of you saw the picture I posted on facebook (against my better judgement) of my son at six months taking a bath in the kitchen sink among the dirty dishes. He was happy as a clam, pink and pudgy, smiling straight at the camera while sitting the suds. He totally didn't care about the chaos around him. I remember Bob and me feeling so tired that neither one of us could walk 20 feet to the bathroom to prepare his bath. Instead, we finished with supper (probably hot dogs or an equivalent dish), left the dirty dishes, and filled up one kitchen basin with soapy water for the baby. It was like a continuation of the long awaited dinner hour time together, and a procrastination of the much dreaded child bedtime hour.

Now that baby is 13-years-old, and metaphorically those dishes are still in the sink. A kid grows up no matter how distracted you are from mothering. You wish you could make more money, work less hours, travel to new places, get a full night's sleep, take dance lessons, read more books, look better, be cooler, and whatnot. Wishes are endless. Meanwhile all your kid does is grow up and grow away.

I can't remember the last time my boy smiled like he did in that picture with him in the kitchen sink. Wait, yes I can. Just last month he smiled. Bob and I have figured out the secret to get a teenage boy to smile. While bike riding we pull just ahead of him and then coordinate one, two, three to give him a synchronized booty call, lifting our behinds from the bike seat and wiggling to the glory of our son. Yes, a parental booty call in unison will make my 13-year-old smile big, just like in that sudsy picture of long ago. I'm pretty sure it's a smile of disgust, but we'll take it. I offer this parenting advise as a free gift to the world.

Unemployment hasn't been my personal issue for over three years now, so I don't know why I keep referring to it. (First paragraph, approximately four topics ago, in case this post is confusing to follow.) I guess it's just one of those deep-as-the-ocean experiences that you never forget. It all ended so badly, like a long overdue break-up with a horrible boyfriend. But the good thing about unemployment is it opens the door to a whole new group of friends who know exactly what you're talking about, unlike the people who secretly believe it will never happen to them. Shout out to all my friends who have ever lost a job! Love you!

Actually, the truth is I am writing and I'm writing a lot, in my new position of gainful employment. So I guess you could say I'm a professional writer. That's cool. I'll take that. It's not my own creative writing, but these are minor details. That will come when it's time. (I'm working on my capacity for zen wisdom.)

A couple months ago I was able to whittle out an essay from those lastly written pages from my poor little book project. A generous friend helped me edit it so I could submit it to a literary journal. I said it before and I'll say it again: I don't care if it gets rejected, which it probably will; it's a miracle that it got submitted at all.

The problem with not writing is that it has the opposite effect that I'm aiming for. I wish to clear my mental clutter so I quit writing, yet writing is the exact thing that clears my mental clutter. Kind of like a chicken and egg thing. Makes sense? Of course not, my thinking is cluttered.

For now, I've got a kid going to sailing camp, a kid who can cook, a kid who is learning archery, a kid who makes me laugh, a kid who is amazing with kids, a kid who wants to do international relations (ahem, I didn't influence that), a kid full of possibility, and a kid packed with opportunity. The incredible thing is this: these kids generally like me. Not a bad deal for a mother who has spent most of her mothering years feeling pretty much overworked, overbooked, and overwhelmed.

By now you, if you've made it this far in the post (thank you!), you are probably wishing I'd stick to my new policy of not writing. Still, I thank you for coming over to the Charmer blog and I wish you a lovely weekend full of possibility.

With love, T

What freedom feels like

After the fireworks, this is the route
we took home to escape the crowds.

Not to bore you with another spectacular bike ride story, but sheesh, talk about an extrasensory experience. We left at dusk on July 3 and required tweenboy to join us, at his great disappointment.

We three rode through the woods and when we entered downtown ran smack into the full moon, an over-sized golden circle rising above the tree tops into the blue twilight sky. As we whizzed past people lined up to watch the fireworks I kept shouting out, look behind you! full moon! like a biker dork on parade. 

Arriving at our favorite destination these days, Mullets, we ordered two beers and one soda pop. We mingled among the multitudes who showed up with their blankets, lawn chairs, strollers, and wagons to wait for the show to start. Fireworks over the city were a hit. I'll agree with my friend Anne who says that Des Moines's skyline "is the cutest." The fireworks were spectacular. Everyone clapped. 

We escaped the traffic clog on our bikes, riding back through the Gray's Lake bridge path (photo), lit up in neon. People in canoes were scattered about the dark water. One canoe was setting off these miniature hot air balloon thingies. Yes, fire and all. Riding back home through the woods, it was pitch black except for two of us had headlights, lighting the way for all three of us. Plus, we could see rogue fireworks bursting all around us. Besides that, it was total darkness, the moonlight did not reach the path. Still, we hummed along at a pretty good speed. It's amazing how many other bikers were out too. All we could hear, though, were the ear splitting sounds of crickets, frogs, and nighttime critters. It was still about 90 degrees and when we arrived at our trail head, a soccer field. Sweat and salt dripped down my face. A huge sprinkler was on, inviting us to stand in it's spray. We did.

It was all ridiculously joyful. Tweenboy said he liked it all except for the bike riding part. Bob decided our bikes were a good investment.

I concluded, this is what freedom feels like. Made possible in part thanks to one paid day-off from work, a great city, a bike-obsessed husband, and a hilarious son.

Happy 4th of July to you all!

Psychosomatic or just plain psycho

Water Fire events are held
in summer on the canals in
Providence, Rhode Island.
I've only seen it in pictures and TV.

"Where you came from is gone. Where you thought you were going to never was there. And where you are is no good unless you can get away from it." Flannery O'Connor

For almost all of our 15 years together, my daughter and I have shared a love for the word Providence.

We love the place. A city in Rhode Island that we've only driven through twice, when she was one year old, to and from a Cape Cod vacation she hated. She cried sleepless in our beach side rental nearly the whole week, driving me and Bob insane for the constant screeching and the frittered thousand dollar investment.

We love the old television series, set in the city of Providence. About a beautiful yet big-hearted family physician, her quirky sister, and their many collective boyfriends. (Our favorite boyfriend was good guy firefighter, Burt, played by the actor would go on to play the role of Mad Men's Don Draper.)

And we love the theme song of the television show, the sweet but haunting tune, In My Life, by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. The lyrics start, "There are places I remember, all my life though some have changed. Some forever not for better. Some have gone and some remain."

While we love the Beatles rendition the best, the song has been covered many times. I like Bette Midler's version in the movie For the Boys. We adore the Providence show's version as recorded by Chantal Kreviazuk. When we watch the DVD's of Providence (sadly, which don't include all the episodes) my daughter will queue Kreviazuk's version on her iPod and we listen through shared ear buds through the opening credits because for some reason the DVD version doesn't include the original theme song and we can't stand the song they inserted as a replacement.

Apparently Ozzy Osborne, Johnny Cash, and the cast of Glee have also covered the song, but I haven't heard them yet.

Providence is defined by the Merriam - Webster dictionary as "divine guidance or care." According to this source the word is often capitalized, as if it's a proper noun. Providence. I often wonder if that's the reason we like the show and the song, because we like the word and what it could mean. Although I honestly don't know how a three year old could possibly consider "divine guidance or care." That was the age of my daughter when we started to love the word, Providence.

But what do I know about little children and what do I know about divine guidance?

When I think about all the tender times of intimacy with my daughter, I also think about the postpartum depression that came after she was born. Now, well over 15 years later, I think about it more than ever. Postpartum depression is defined by the Mayo Clinic as this: "Many new moms experience the baby blues after childbirth, which commonly include mood swings and crying spells and fade quickly. But some new moms experience a more sever, long-lasting form of depression known as postpartum depression. Rarely, an extreme form of postpartum depression known as postpartum psychosis develops after childbirth."

I wanted a child yet I remember bursting into sobs in the shower just after we got home from the hospital. Baby sleeping in next room, I stepped into the bathtub and a rush of reality crashed into me. How drastically my body had changed. How dramatically my daily routine had changed. How little control I had over my own destiny.

In those same early days I would look down into the bassinet and see my baby as an object, not as a human, but as a strange appendage of myself that I felt needed to be removed, like a cyst or a tumor. "But it can't be removed," I remember telling myself in a most methodical thought pattern, "because it's illegal to remove it." It was incredible to me that something that I had created, that I had spawned, was also a resident of the state. That the an outside rule of law had any kind of say over this thing that I myself had created. And that I, indeed, did not have the right to do whatever I felt was best, even if it was to get rid of it. It was like saying my little finger had a bill of rights, when I should be able to treat my little finger in a way that was best for it and me. I think for a short time, my postpartum depression was probably bordering on psychopathic thinking. When you're all out of whack it's hard to control your mind.


Whenever I hear those stories of babies abandoned in garbage dumpsters or killed in public bathrooms, my heart aches and I wish there was some way I could reach out to the mothers. And I can't believe a first stop for these traumatized young girls is often jail. They need to be wrapped up in love and care and treatment. 

So here I am 15 years later, postpartum depression gone, Providence prevailing, and my body is all full of hives. I think. There are itchy red bumps on my legs and arms and I can't figure out what's going on. It comes and goes so I can still go to work and function through the day. But my skin looks like a newly plucked chicken, red dots on pink. Did I eat something bad? Is it an allergic reaction? Is my liver quitting? What?

Benadryl didn't even make a dent in the rash so I'm steering towards natural solutions. I'm applying and  ingesting vitamin E and it's helping. But I don't have any solid reasons why this rash except for one possible theory: about ten days ago my daughter got on an airplane and flew to New York City to be with my in laws for three weeks. It's not that big of a deal, good grief she flew alone when she was ten years old. She's in good hands. She's getting treated like a queen. It's her summer vacation. She's almost 16 years old. I'm working and I'm tired and I need a break from driving her to and fro. This circumstance doesn't seem hard to understand.

Yet these red bumps appeared about the same time she left. Psychosomatic rash? Super late recurrance of postpartum depression? Repressed anxiety? Stupidity?

I've had this saying for a long time that when I'm home, I want to leave. And when I leave, I want to return home. In other words, when I'm with my kids, I want order. And when I have order, I miss my kids. Why is it that I must choose? Why can't I have both?

As usual, I don't have a good way to end this post so I'll lean on John Lennon and Paul McCartney:

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more.

I'm praying for deepest, richest, widest, and biggest dose of "divine guidance or care" for you all, for all you love, and for all you can't understand. And hoping these psycho red dots go away. Wishing I could be present, here and now.

Peace and joy, T

I'm Published!

God could use someone like you. 

That was the official slogan used by Luther Seminary to recruit new students. But when we were there, I liked the satirical slogan better:

God could confuse someone like you.

It was written by student editors of the seminary newspaper, our neighbors and friends, who also came up with a whole separate slapstick issue the school newspaper, poking fun at all sorts of things, reminding us all that if we took this God-stuff with too much solemnness, we're pretty much doomed. Think John Stewart does the seminary newsletter. Both real and satirical issues of the newsletter came out monthly but in all seriousness, the satirical version seemed to speak more profoundly.


I was reminded of this when yesterday I read of the essays in this new book that just came out, a book that I feel so very privileged to be a part of. . .READ MORE 

Holding infinity

If you haven't already figured it out, I am now part of the Steve Jobs revolution. I am connected to the entire world simply by the devise I hold in the palm of my hand. I can access a zillion apps, many for free, because I pay a monthly sum of money. And the best thing is, I have live-in tech support (two teenagers) to show me how to use it and answer my questions.

I own an iPhone.

I put a very bright yellow protective case around it so I can find it in the bowels of my purse.

Three guesses on which app I got first: NPR. Yes, now I can listen to all my favorite news programs on demand while I walk or clean or eat pizza. As if listening all day wasn't enough. Actually with my new job where I really am writing, I can't listen to it lest my brain explode, so I crave it even more at night. Last night I did my laundry while listening to my all time best radio crush, Tom Ashbrook.

The other day I had 20 minutes to spend before picking up girl child from competitive cheer and so I pulled up Damien Rice's "The Blower's Daughter" and went for a walk. That song has been in my head because the kids are all listening to a song by Jason Mraz that is OK, but it seems to need to the same kind of climatic rise that Blower's Daughter does. It does not, and it disappoints me. On the way home I made girl child listen to Blower's Daughter (yep, hooking up my new toy to my car thingie) to try to explain this to her. I told her to pay special attention to the cello. She was kind enough to act interested.

My writing lately has focused on teenage unemployment, at-risk children, domestic violence, teen suicide, and gay bullying. That's what happens when you write for a nonprofit organization and a church magazine. If I had more time, I'd tell you about my projects because I am grateful for all. My only lament is the fact that I really don't know when I'll be able to get back to that liver book. I've decided that maybe now is not the time, since I enjoy sleeping so much. Anyway, in the meantime, I have my silly little hand-held toy.

Next lesson from my children: how to use my voice mail. Gotta go, it's time to set up today's NPR play list and get on my weekend.

Thanks for coming over to the Charmer blog!

With love, T

Glad you came

me and my very own ragamuffins

When you live in a mid-size city with teenagers you drive a lot. Because the city is too small for robust public transportation. And the city is too big to walk or bike to the all the daily places you need to go.

You spend a lot of time in the car.

We have a system. On the way "there" (where ever there is) girl child sits in the front seat. On the way back (from there) boy child sits in the front seat. It's the genius plan the ragamuffins came up with to solve the endless fighting about who gets the front seat. You can't imagine what a big deal this is.

As we spend so much time in four-wheeled transit to and fro, mostly I make our trio of humanity listen to a steady flow of nonstop public radio. You know, those calming voices of war and strife. I give a thousand thanks for Iowa Public Radio. But every once in a while I let the front seat designee choose the music and sometimes I like it.

Our song du jour is a peppy tune that's easy to dance to, if not for sitting in a square box, put out by a British boy band, apparently. It's called "Glad you came." It's just a nice song.

"I think this would be a great funeral song," I say to the kids. "You know, like a celebration, like everyone's glad this person existed. I want this for my funeral."

"What a great idea, mom!" they said. No they didn't. They pretty much didn't say anything. I was talking to myself.

"No, actually, this would be a great birthing song, you know, celebrating a new life that has come into the world," I say. "Get it? I'm glad you came."

"Yeah, mom, I love that idea!" the kids say in unison. Just kidding, they didn't really say that.

Boy child actually had ear buds in so he didn't hear a word I said. Girl child shares my fondness for this song, but I'm sure she's not associating it with transitioning from the before and to the after. I'm pretty sure the boy band doesn't mean that either. Still, it's nice. Reminds me that I'm glad my kids are here, and to be perfectly honest I wouldn't have always said that. There were many times I wouldn't have said that. And even these days, when it seems that every second is sucked into getting them here and there, I'm not always sure.

But for a few minutes, when we blast this song on the Pioneer system in my new little car, I believe it a lot. We especially like the Glee version of the song (as we often do).

Sending this with lots of love, this mother's day, to all of you who care for children, who contribute to children's charities, who help with the care of children, who teach children, who give us jobs so we can support our children, who befriend me so I don't strangle my children, who advocate for women's health so we don't die from bearing children. Yup, it takes a village. Sending a special shout out to my mom, Diane Mork, and to all the people who do the same for her. I'm glad you came.

Enjoy this 2 minutes and 45 seconds of happiness. . .

Thanks again

Thanks to everyone for participating in the Religion & Media blog tour with Dr. Mary Hess last Friday. Your questions and comments were fascinating! If you were a lurker, I thank you too. For a simple wrap up, I want to offer these links:

Mary Hess' blog, Tensegrities.

The blog tour continues this week with Mark Vitalis Hoffman, Associate Professor of Biblical studies at Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Of course you are all welcome and encouraged to participate or track the conversation.

If you missed the day Mary Hess stopped by The Snake Charmer's Wife, you can still check out the discussion. Comments are always welcome. Click here, scroll to bottom, click the word "comments."

And finally, you may wish to consider the new degree program, an M.A. with an emphasis in Media & Religion, a partnership between Luther Seminary and Gettysburg Seminary, core faculty including Mary Hess. (I find this so tempting, but I should probably wait a while before putting my family through another degree program.) But I encourage YOU to check this out! It looks like students can work online and intensive (which was the design of my MFA program). Think about it.

Cheers!

Let the discussion begin

For the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg Blog Tour on Religion & Media, Dr. Mary Hess responds to questions posed by The Snake Charmer's Wife. Please add your voice to the conversation! Click on the word “COMMENTS” at the very bottom of this post. And see the specific question Dr. Hess would like to hear from you about at the end of this post. On Friday, she will respond to your comments. Facebook me or send me an email if you have questions: terrispeirs@yahoo.com.


Check out Mary Hess's blog, Tensegrities.

(1) How can churches protect and encourage GBLTQ youth?In Iowa, we just buried another young man who committed suicide because of bullying after he came out gay. This boy happened to be a member of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, the denomination I share with many SCW readers (though not all). Many people in my congregation, St. John's Lutheran Church in Des Moines, are concerned for the spiritual and physical protection of GBLTQ youth. What are your recommendations for steps churches can take in keeping these kids safe and loved, especially in the face of hate messages from other Christian sources?

Mary Hess:
This is such a crucial question! Some of the best things churches can do have to do with being active in digital environments already. So, proactively being present in facebook means that church members can keep their ears open for people who seem to be crying out for affirmation and support, and church members can be wise voices that stand up and squash bullying.

We need to reach out and create safe spaces for youth, in particular, and many youth aren't ready to come anywhere near a church. So reaching out in digital environments is really crucial, as is supporting efforts by more "secular' organizations.

I also think that churches can be much more effective than in the past, at connecting people to good resources. I like the "Believe Out Loud" site, for instance (http://www.believeoutloud.com/), and I love some of the videos that were made as part of the "It gets better" project (http://www.itgetsbetter.org/).

There are also resources that are not focused so much on religious themes, but education about GLBTQ issues more generally. I think the GLSEN is awesome (http://www.glsen.org/cgi-bin/iowa/all/home/index.html), for instance.

I think it's also crucial to remember that for every person who is willing to come out, there are many more who are still too afraid. So the basic messages inside your church -- the things you say when you think there are no GLBTQ people around -- are even more important. Are you respectful of people's integrity at all times? Are you building spaces in which everyone is able to be fully themselves? Are you supporting listening spaces where people can experience what it is to listen for understanding? (I love the Public Conversations Project resources, for instance: http://www.publicconversations.org/)

Here, by the way, is one of my favorite prayers on this topic: http://www.religioused.org/tensegrities/archives/5914

(2) What do you make of theYouTube video: "Why I hate religion but love Jesus"?A young man, Jefferson Bethke, created this video arguing that "Jesus and religion are on opposite spectrums," when people don't practice what they preach. The video, titled "Why I Hate Religion But Love Jesus," had already surpassed 2 million views just two days after it was posted on Jan. 10. And the controversial topic generated an onslaught of more than 30,000 conflicting reactions in the video's comments section, according to the Huffington Post. What's the take-away for faith communities?

Mary Hess:
I thought that video -- and the phenomenon that grew around it -- was fascinating! Clearly Bethke struck a chord which resonated across the net. I don't know how many -- but clearly in the hundreds -- video responses were created and posted. I remember thinking, when I first saw it, that it was such a Protestant lament. And sure enough, several days later there was an explicitly Catholic response posted (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ru_tC4fv6FE&feature=youtu.be <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ru_tC4fv6FE&feature=youtu.be>). But even that response didn't really resonate with me. I would have preferred one in which a diverse community of people gathered in the midst of social justice work to talk about how they love Jesus and how religion has helped them to embody that love.

I think one big take-away has to do with recognizing resonance, and then building on it. In other words, rather than trying to"manufacture" interest in something, keep your ears and eyes and heart open, and be willing to share what you're thinking and feeling. We need to help our church members learn how to create and produce digital stories (resources here: http://www.storyingfaith.org/). That means, among other things, helping church members to learn their own stories -- not simply their own individual stories, but also the stories of our faith community, and our God stories. We need to delve into the Bible, and into our traditions, and see what lives there, and what we need to bring new life to.

One of my more favorite recent books is Elizabeth Drescher's lovely little meditation "Tweet if you [heart] Jesus" -- which talks about "practicing church in the digital reformation." We need to become much more adept at doing this!

(3) Tied up in these two questions is a conversation around why the dominant voice of Christianity seems to be such an extremest one. Is this just my perception? How can we put out there the loving/welcoming face of the church as opposed to "Do as we say or you're going to hell"? (This question comes with thanks  from Maryce Ramsey, Washington DC)

Mary Hess:
It's not just your perception, but I think it's a perception that is tied to popular news media. And that, in turn, has to do with certain kinds of 24/7 television news media. Fewer and fewer news organizations have the ability to actually investigate news, and they rely more and more on pre-produced, or spontaneously-produced (ie. talking head commentators), content. Thus the arrival of the bloviating opinionator – whose only cost is their salary, and whose “stickiness” (in terms of the length of time eyeballs remain on them) is often tied to their ability to produce “jolts” of adrenaline.

One reason why our news media are so full of disasters (or concerns about anticipated disasters) is that such stories are a routine source of adrenaline production. What is an alternative? Well, we know that individuals “shouting” can produce “stickiness,” but so can humor – and humor often provides for more complex engagement. Witness the ways in which The Daily Show with Jon Stewart covers religion.

Frankly, I think the messages of the mainline church are often more complex and ambiguous than the 15 second soundbites that typical “news” programs allow. I think we do better in the long run by cultivating relationships with the writers of television shows that have long narrative arcs. In those series – and here I think about shows like The West Wing, Battlestar Galactica, The Simpsons and so on – in these shows we have more opportunity to encounter representations of religion in all of its complex messiness in the midst of relationships, and to show the context in which mainline churches operate.

But beyond that strategy – which is long term, and requires thoughtful cultivation of relationship with writers – we ought to be putting out our own stories via digital media. This blog is a good example of how you’re connecting with a wide variety of pastoral leaders who are sharing the good news – both of Jesus Christ, and of the mainline church, in all sorts of ways.

(4) I've been thinking about the intersection of religion and media in terms of the "religious right" and the "religious left." Radio and television helped give rise to the religious right. In today's media landscape, younger people--who are wary of religious institutions and generally regarded as more liberal in their religious beliefs ("left")--are more likely to lean toward new media technologies and have those influence or reinforce what they think and believe. So is being on the religious left or right becoming increasingly influenced by how one engages various media, and therefore, is there a generational divide, and will that divide increase or decrease over time? (This question comes with thanks from Deb Bogaert, Virginia)

Mary Hess:
I don't think it's about the religious right or left so much as it is about differing practices with regard to media.

The example I find myself using most often to talk about this has to do with how Christian churches dealt with the advent of television, at least in the United States. Christian churches tended to respond in one of two ways. Either they were deeply excited about the possibilities for using television to spread the gospel widely, or they were deeply worried about the ways in which television content was damaging and potentially destructive of Christian faith.

At first glance those two positions might seem very different from each other. But if you think about it, both pretty much assume that the creator of the content controls its meaning. In the first instance Christians saw television as a way to pipe their content to many more people over a much wider area. In the second, Christians saw television as piping negative content directly into people's homes. Television was the "pipeline" through which content was poured, and the person receiving the content was considered to be a pretty passive recipient of that content. So more conservative evangelical churches helped to create the entire Christian broadcasting and publishing world, and more liberal Protestant churches focused on media literacy education, which was going to somehow "inoculate" people against negative content.

Frankly, I don't think either approach was all that successful in the long run. What we've learned, instead, is that media -- whether television, film, digital media, etc. -- are environments in which meaning is made, and the producer of a message does not control its reception. Media literacy educators learned, for instance, that far from "inoculating" people against negative content, we tended to inoculate them against religious community -- because people didn't want to 'give up' the television they loved, and were far more willing to turn their backs on religious community.

So a thoughtful approach to media today takes very seriously the "agency" of the audience. Scholars of digital media speak about "participatory culture" -- by which they mean that consumers of media are very often the producers of it as well. Spaces such as YouTube, Spotify, flickr, facebook, and so on are the focus of more and more of our attention.

I believe that Christian communities -- indeed, any religious communities -- need to venture into these spaces and reflect on how religious meaning is made there. Rather than boycotting them -- which is something many Christian communities have suggested that we do (a stance which reminds me of early media literacy educators) -- or entering into them entirely uncritically (a stance which reminds me of Christian broadcasting) -- we need to support people in learning how to produce their own messages in these media, and in doing so learn how to be critically engaged with them (which is actually the stance of current media educators). (See, for instance, NAMLE: http://namle.net/).

And a question from Mary Hess to you:
Where do you find yourself most theologically engaged these days? What are you doing or reading or singing or listening to or watching that gets you thinking about God or reflecting on your faith?

Thanks! To comment or ask more questions, just click "comments" below.

The competition

On the occasion of our 18 year anniversary coming up on Monday, I'm reflecting on the competition, the women who almost beat me out for Bob's attention so long ago. To name a few of them: Ginger, Mary Ann, the Mandrell Sisters, Bobby Jo, Billy Jo, and Betty Jo. There's more.

Sorry, ladies, I won.

Quite honestly, I truly could not even begin to compete with the women who I was up against, so it was pure grace that got me where I am today. And pure love, mercy, and kindness that got both of us to 18 years. We're two people who got lucky together. Blessed beyond belief.

Also, on the occasion of our anniversary, I'm posting my senior reading, some excerpts from my forthcoming memoir (super, super forthcoming) about Bob's liver failure. It was a time when I felt competition from another strange source. (Heads up for the bizarre alert.)

I'm ever so grateful to Bob for his willingness to be the subject of my writing, and the object of my life. Not something that just any man could do. And mostly, I'm grateful to Bob and our shared circle of love, how I plan to dedicate the book (if it ever gets to that point).

With love, T

Patching up the bleeding heart

Continuing on my long road of a bleeding heart career path, I'm pleased to introduce you to my new employer as of Monday, Children & Families of Iowa. We have a deal: I write grants for them, they help me and my family be together, stay healthy, live in a house, and go on vacations. Plus, I get to sleep better at night because I have this thing about always worrying about the sorry state of the world and my place in it. For example, I can't get images of Syrian children being shot in the knees, intentionally, by the Syrian army, many who are defecting for reasons such as this, out of my mind. Yet what can I really do about that? The answer, I think, lies in a twist on that Crosby, Stills, and Nash song: If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with.

Constant fretting about suffering children is pretty much a recipe for insanity. Maybe that's why I'm predisposed to searching the nonprofit sector for paying work. It seems like double dipping, possibly make a difference and pay your bills. (Although, trust me, I'm not at all suggesting that the nonprofit sector is any kind of utopia. I wish it didn't exist. I wish we lived in a way that bleeding heart organizations  were unnecessary and their accompanying egos and politics were moot.)

Yet, These days, simply being able to pay your bills is something for which to be enormously grateful. And that I am.

To get an idea of what CFI does, check out the cover article of a recent newsletter: "CFI Family Therapist Helps Mother Deal with Daughter's Rape."  I don't have any kind of profound comment for that except: more please.

Forever and always, my news of fresh employment comes with deepest gratitude to all of you who have helped me along the way, and there are many of you, including so many good folks at MovetheFood and the Des Moines Area Religious Council. What I really wish is that none of us had to work, and we could all simply live in creative community, making things such as sculptures and essays and children and cocktails. Until that happens, forever and always, I am committed to doing what I can to help others resolve issues of employment, unemployment, underemployment, and unhappy employment. A note for the arrogantly employed, you're not my audience.

I'd like to start right here by offering this resource of a life coach, from a wise and wonderful former colleague and friend. She does most of her coaching long distance, via phone or skype. If you are trying to find what makes your heart bleed, what makes you sleep at night, what kind of deal can you strike to pay your bills, maybe my friend can help you sort some things out.

With love, T

Not good for peaceful sleeping

Has anyone out there read the classic novel, "The Handmaid's Tale" by Margaret Atwood?

Last night, page 89, I was ready to hang it up for all the bleakness. There are some grisly scenes involving giant meat hooks, and I'm not one to be entertained by impaling human flesh with anything. Think: the Taliban joins forces with Focus on the Family and creates a society kept in check by teenage boys with big guns. I believe I had nightmares.

The setting is futuristic where environmental degradation has created a world in which most women are infertile for all the poisoning and pollution (and certainly men are infertile too, but it's illegal to call men infertile, it's always the women's fertility at issue), so most women are "unwomen" and most babies are "unbabies." The women who by chance do carry working ovaries have the option of becoming a Handmaid, a role of sexual slavery, bearing children for upper class military families, submitting to strange rituals in conception and birth so that the Wife-class of women receive the babies as their own.

And whoa bessy, can Margaret Atwood concoct strange rituals. Although in the author's notes she insists that everything she put in the book is based on truths from different times and places.

So this morning, page 93 brings on "the ceremony," what this society calls the process of conception, for lack of a better phrase. Bizarre. Later the reader finds that the birthing process is equally strange. I'll let you read for yourself the details but I'll say that it's three mostly clothed human beings, united in a most peculiar way. The most opposite of intimacy you could possibly get, which is actually the point of the entire society, to ban human interaction on pretty much all levels.

It's strange, alright, but I couldn't stop reading. And now, on page 163, the reader discovers what the Commander of the house wants most, what is most contraband, what is most forbidden, what is most lacking. I won't give away any spoilers here, in case you haven't yet read the book, but I will say it's pretty surprising. Margaret Atwood is genius.

I'll close with this review from the Washington Post Book World: "A novel that brilliantly illuminates some of the darker interconnections between politics and sex...Just as the world of Orwell's '1984' gripped our imaginations, so with the world of Atwood's handmaid!"

At page 163 the reader still doesn't know what happens to unwomen and unbabies. This reader isn't sure she wants to know. This is another book that I'll probably never watch the movie rendition. Too visually graphic for my taste. But a real page turner, although I've decided to only read it during daylight hours. "The Handmaid's Tale" does not make for peaceful sleeping.

Your thoughts?

On May 4 we welcome Dr. Mary Hess right *here*

Dr. Mary Hess explores
religion and media on many levels,
for example, check out
 her treatment of  the Trayvon Martin case.

I'm thrilled to announce that on May 4 The Snake Charmer's Wife will participate in a blog tour featuring the incredible Dr. Mary Hess, Associate Professor of Educational Leadership at Luther Seminary, St. Paul, Minn. 

This is how it will work: I've been invited to submit questions on religion and media based on Snake Charmer readers' interest. Mary will respond, I'll post here, and then throughout the day on May 4, you are invited to comment and Mary will continue respond to your comments.

Got it? Ok, so here are the questions I submitted:

1.) How can churches protect and encourage GBLTQ youth?
In Iowa, tragically, we just buried another young man who committed suicide because of bullying after he came out gay. This boy happened to be a member of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, the denomination I share with many SCW readers (though not all). Many people in my congregation, St. John's Lutheran Church in Des Moines, are concerned for the spiritual and physical protection of GBLTQ youth. What are your recommendations for steps churches can take in keeping these kids safe and loved, especially in the face of hate messages from other Christian sources?


2.)What do you make of theYouTube video: "Why I hate religion but love Jesus"? 
A young man, Jefferson Bethke, created this video arguing that "Jesus and religion are on opposite spectrums," when people don't practice what they preach. The video, titled "Why I Hate Religion But Love Jesus," had already surpassed 2 million views just two days after it was posted on Jan. 10. And the controversial topic generated an onslaught of more than 30,000 conflicting reactions in the video's comments section, according to the Huffington Post. What's the take-away for faith communities?


3.) Tied up in these two questions is a conversation around why the dominant voice of Christianity seems to be such an extremest one. Is this just my perception? How can we put out there the loving/welcoming face of the church as opposed to "Do as we say or you're going to hell"? 

4.) Exploring the intersection of religion and media in terms of the "religious right" and the "religious left." Radio and television helped give rise to the religious right. In today's media landscape, younger people--who are wary of religious institutions and generally regarded as more liberal in their religious beliefs ("left")--are more likely to lean toward new media technologies and have those influence or reinforce what they think and believe. So is being on the religious left or right becoming increasingly influenced by how one engages various media, and therefore, is there a generational divide, and will that divide increase or decrease over time?


If there's yet another topic you'd like addressed on May 4, let me know. Meanwhile, be sure to check out Mary's powerful blog, Tensegrities.

Mary Hess Bio: 
Mary Hess is Associate Professor of Educational Leadership at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota. Since 2003 she has written the blog Tensegrities(www.religioused.org/tensegrities/). A Roman Catholic Layperson with eclectic interests, Hess received her B.A. in American Studies from Yale University; her M.T.S. is from Harvard University; and her Ph.D. is from Boston College. She served as a core member of the International Study Commission on Media, Religion and Culture. She serves on the editorial board of Journal of Media and Religion, Religious Education and Religion and Education in the Public Sphere. Visitwww2.luthersem.edu/mhess/web/Home.html to learn more about her publications and teaching.


Cheers, Terri