Archives For Community

In the 1980s, anti-gay hysteria reached a fever pitch. By 1996, attitudes toward homosexuality had changed little, with only 27% of Americans in support of same-sex marriage. But by 2011, the majority of Americans favored same-sex marriage, with young people overwhelmingly supportive.

How does a culture transform at such an unprecedented rate?

Perhaps we hold the answer in the palm of our hands…

smart phones and same-sex marriage

Photo Credit: gailjadehamilton via Compfight cc

I grew up in a rural town in the heart of Illinois. Black people were an oddity, homosexuality was a locker room joke, and an immigrant was someone who moved in from one town over. Now, my sister is married to a Black man who is both a brother and a friend, and two of the most trustworthy and caring men in my life have been gay.

And in 2004, I met an immigration attorney.

I was completing my post-doc residency, a young psychologist eager to debate anything including immigration and foreign policy. Meanwhile, the small immigration law office down the street needed someone to provide psychological evaluations.

Someone cheap.

Like an unlicensed post-doc trying to feed a growing family.

Almost a decade later, I’ve completed over two hundred evaluations. And I don’t debate immigration anymore. Because immigration no longer exists for me as a concept to debate. Immigration is immigrants. Immigration is people. Immigration is a living, bleeding story.

Immigration is a man who came to our country legally. A man who works seventy hours a week to support a family in the U.S. and ailing parents back home. A man whose wife was brought to the country illegally when she was five years old. A man whose wife is now a legal resident but is being removed from the U.S. as a penalty for how she arrived. A man whose children will not be able to function without their mother. A man who is having panic attacks and lives his days powerless to hold his family together.

Immigration is no longer an issue I debate. Immigration is people I value.

And I think a generation of people is beginning to feel the same way about homosexuality and same-sex marriage.

Homosexuality Isn’t an Issue, It’s People

Technology has begun to connect us in previously unimaginable ways. In my once isolated rural hometown, you can stand in the middle of main street with a smartphone and video chat with almost anyone in the world. Across the globe, our lives are becoming deeply intertwined and the cast of characters in each of our stories is expanding exponentially.

And it’s changing everything.

For many of us, our stories have become inseparable from the stories of our gay relative, lesbian friend, or our questioning co-worker or barista or Facebook friend or blog subscriber or Twitter follower or son or daughter.

When we let people from other “groups” into our lives—and even more importantly into our hearts—politics begins to fade, and we experience humanity in a whole new way.

As one.

This sense of unity was described by astronaut Frank White as the overview effect:

“I was looking out the window, and as I was looking down at the planet, the thought came to me, ‘Anyone living…on the moon would always have an overview. They would see things that we know but don’t experience, which is that the earth is one system, we’re all a part of that system, and that there is a certain unity and coherence to it all.’ And I immediately called it ‘the overview effect’.”

But I don’t think we need to orbit the earth to experience the overview effect. We merely need to enter into the cosmos of another person’s heart.

A generation of people has launched itself into the hearts of others, and there is a growing sense of unity and coherence amongst people. And as a result, for many people, homosexuality is no longer an intellectual or theological concept to debate.

Homosexuality is people we know and love and cherish.

Trading in Our Egos for Unity

In the next month, the Supreme Court is likely to announce its decision regarding the definition of marriage. The debates will be, I’m afraid, increasingly vicious and dehumanizing, because violent debate is the only kind of debate that exists between egos.

Our egos tell us our worth exists in comparison to other people. So our egos have a huge stake in maintaining a sense of division. Our egos will cling to our differences and strip others of their dignity, in order to clutch on to a fabricated sense of superiority. Our egos will relish the bitter debate.

But I hope.

I hope a generation of people who have experienced a sense of connection and unity and coherence will give birth to an entirely different kind of conversation.

I hope a generation of people will zip the lips of their egos and speak with the tongue of their hearts.

I hope a generation of people will speak out from the calm, quiet place within where fear is wilting, egos are withering, and grace is blooming.

I hope a generation of people will reach out to each other with grace.

Because grace is always an invitation.

Grace pulls us together, instead of driving us apart. Grace transforms our dialogue from a battle into a homecoming. Grace turns our most contentious debates into subversive acts of love and belonging:

They become an opportunity to love,

to joyfully enter into the story of another,

to make peace,

to listen with patience,

to reach out in kindness,

to give create something good,

to be faithful in relationship,

to be gentle in our differences,

and to control ourselves instead of everyone else.

Regardless of what we believe about homosexuality and marriage, I hope we will trade in our egos for that kind of unity.

I hope.

———

Comments: You can share your thoughts or reactions at the bottom of this post.                

Audio: To listen to an audio version of this post, click on this link: How Smartphones Paved the Way for Same-Sex Marriage (Audio) [If you would like to save it to your device for later listening, right click the link and choose the option to save.]

Free eBook: My eBook, The Marriage Manifesto: Turning Your World Upside Down, is available free to new blog subscribers. If you are not yet a subscriber, you can click here to subscribe, and your confirmation e-mail will include a link to download the eBook. Or, the book is also now available for Kindle and Nook

Preview: Next Wednesday’s post is tentatively entitled, “Breaking News: Global Uprising, No Going Back.”

Disclaimer: This post is not professional advice. It should be read as you would read a “self-help” book. For professional and customized advice, you should seek the services of a counselor, who can become more intimately familiar with your specific situation. Counselors can be located through your insurance network or through your state psychological association.

Boston Bombings

Photo Credit: chuddlesworth via Compfight cc

My wife runs marathons, and she finishes them in about four hours. Last October, I stood at the finish line four hours and nine minutes into the Chicago marathon. I know the joy of friends and family cheering on their loved ones.

On Monday afternoon, in Boston, that moment of joy and those people of joy were shattered by violence and lots of hatred and a couple of relatively small bombs.

On Monday afternoon, I guess I felt a little shattered, too.

Shattered, yet grateful my devastation was one of empathy, rather than flesh and bone.

I arrived home late on Monday night. My children were still awake but fading quickly in their beds. I kissed their foreheads and murmured prayers and after their eyes finally closed, I stood looking into the dark of their rooms and I felt grateful for breathing children and legs that work and the momentary safety of home.

As I watched them, I felt a depth of love for my children and my wife that doesn’t happen on a typical Monday night.

You may know the depth of love I’m talking about. I hope you do. It’s Love with a capital “L” and it cracks you open and it connects you to everyone and everything. In the depths of that Love there are no grievances too big for forgiveness, no brokenness too ugly for grace, there are no strangers and no enemies. It’s a love tenderized by pain and it’s a Love with the power to bring us all together.

I think we can honor the victims of this tragedy by giving ourselves over to this deep-love. And by clinging to it. But, over time, we won’t. I won’t.

I will dishonor the victims of Boston.

I will dishonor the victims by swimming up from the depths of that love and living once again in the shallows of my ego and self-interest and humanness.

I will dishonor them when my awareness fades.

I will dishonor them when my gratitude evaporates.

I will dishonor them in a hundred little ways: when I once again take my legs for granted, when the new scratch on the kitchen table is once again more important than the joy that put it there, when the stranger on the street no longer feels like the stranger that might die with me tomorrow, when all the petty endeavors of life become, once again, bigger than my love.

Indeed, I will dishonor them when my love swells and crests and finally recedes.

I will dishonor the victims of Boston because I’m human and because humans forget. But this time I’m resolving to remember a little bit longer than I usually do—a little bit longer than I remembered Sandy Hook.

I’m going to remember with prayer.

I’m not going to pray because it erases the past. And I’m not going to pray because I believe it guarantees healing or restoration for the physically and emotionally wounded. And I’m not going to pray for justice because I think it will ensure the guilty are captured.

I’m going to pray for the victims, because prayer keeps me aware. And as long as I’m aware, I’m loving. And as long as I’m loving, then terror loses.

You see, you can bring criminals to justice with law enforcement, but you can only bring terror to justice with love.

When terror looks upon Boston and sees a city drawn together, terror loses and love wins.

When terror beholds strangers coming to the aid of one another, terror loses and love wins.

When terror sows connection and a sense of belonging rather than fear and division, terror loses and love wins.

When terror plants the seeds of gratitude and gentleness in the heart of a father, terror loses and love wins.

I think the best way to honor the victims in Boston is to bring terror to justice, one loving moment at a time, one prayer at a time.

For as long as I can remember.

———

Comments: You can share your thoughts or reactions at the bottom of this post.   

Disclaimer: This post is not professional advice. It should be read as you would read a “self-help” book. For professional and customized advice, you should seek the services of a counselor, who can become more intimately familiar with your specific situation. Counselors can be located through your insurance network or through your state psychological association.

Pain and conflict

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On a frenetic Monday morning, I arrived at my office with my thoughts whipping and cyclonic, scrambling to stay ahead of life. When I opened my office door, I practically tripped over my surprise.

Sitting in one of my office chairs was an enormous beach ball, with a note attached: “Just a visual reminder. We love your blog!” (Have I ever mentioned if you can work with thoughtful, caring people you should work with thoughtful, caring people?)

As my laughter died away and my smile lingered, my mind returned to problem-solving mode: the beach ball needed to be deflated before my first appointment.

I sat on the ball and the air began to hiss in expulsion. Slowly. So slowly. As the ball hissed and the clock ticked, I looked around my office at all the trappings of my effort to stay ahead in life:

Three diplomas—representing ten years of my life.

A framed clinical psychologist license—representing another two.

A shelf full of books—representing years of information consumed in an effort to feel interesting.

And I realized: “No amount of schooling, studying or scrambling gets this done faster.” As the ball slowly deflated, I sank to the floor, but I also sank into my own humanity. And I thought: this beach ball is a lot like our pain.

It’s an equalizer.

Competing to Be Unequal

The dictionary defines “equalizer” as anything that makes us alike in value, rank, or merit.

We spend most of our lives avoiding equalizers like the plague, and I think our favorite way of fleeing from equalization is competition.

Competition is our way of saying I’m up here and you’re down there and we are not equal.

And yet.

Regardless of how hard we try, in the end, pain and loss and suffering come for every one of us and they expose all of our competition as one big game of charades. Our pain eventually topples our sense of power and inverts our sense of control.

Suffering is the great equalizer. From herniated disks to surprising loneliness to shocking divorces to unexpected diagnoses, every single one of us will eventually be equalized by pain and suffering—our hierarchies will be erased and the truth revealed: we’re all just humans existing on the same level playing field.

Most of us live in fear of this eventuality. Many of us get depressed when faced with the prison of mortality and our frail humanity. But I think there is another way.

I think we can allow our pain to lead us home. Several nights ago, my sons showed me the way.

Two Equalized Little Boys

The snow was coming down all heavy and slushy and darkness had descended, when our doorbell rang. Standing on our front porch—looking wet and tired but still hopeful—was a young man from the local college. And he carried a shovel.

He told us he had walked many blocks, knocking on doors, hoping to work for a few extra bucks. He told us we were the first door that had opened to him. He asked if he could shovel our driveway for five dollars.

With a grimace, we pointed to the driveway and said, “As you can see, we shoveled recently, and we actually don’t have any cash on us right now.” His eyes got sad—but his smile only flickered—as he wished us well and turned away.

But as he stepped off our porch, my five-year-old son leapt off our couch. Tears welling up in his eyes, he asked frantically, “Can I pay him?” And without waiting for an answer, he ran for his bedroom, returning moments later waving a ten-dollar bill and desperately asking, “Is this enough?”

Watching the scene, my nine-year-old cracked, too. He ran to his room and pulled out his own ten-dollar bill. He returned, shoving it into the hands of his little brother, and said, “Let me pay him.”

Together, they raced to the front door, shouting at the young man to stay, terrified he would get out of ear shot.

My five year old carries a lot of pain. We see it in his deep-solemn eyes all the time. And much of the time, I think, he ends up competing to keep the pain at bay.

But on a snowy March night, he let his pain lead him home.

Going Home By Making Our Home Here

Our pain can lead us home by leading us to create a home, right here in the middle of this broken humanity.

We don’t have to wait until our pain is inevitable and unavoidable—we can choose to let it out of the dungeons of our hearts.

Now.

And we can let in the pain of a fractured humanity.

Now.

And we can let the pain be the common ground upon which we meet each other, separate but equal, different but equally broken, unique but sharing in the suffering of life.

Pain can make little children empty piggy banks for a stranger who doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore because they share the common ground of disappointment and loneliness.  It can lead us home by making every stranger a brother or a sister in this struggle we call living.

When we allow ourselves to feel our pain—when we allow ourselves to feel at home in a world riddled with pain—it will not make our pain disappear. But it will redeem it.

Because redemption isn’t always about making our pain go away—sometimes it’s about choosing how to live it.

My boys showed me how I want to live it…

like a welcome mat,

like a front porch light on a dark night,

like a lighthouse on a stormy sea,

like an invitation on a lonely day.

I want my pain to invite everyone else home.

Can you imagine a world of people equalized by their pain? Can you imagine a world where our sense of home doesn’t end at the front door? Can you imagine a world where every painful moment is redeemed by an ever-expanding community of people surrendered to their humanity?

Can you imagine?

Has pain ever equalized you and drawn you closer to the people you love? Share your experience or any other thoughts in the comments section at the bottom of this post.

———

Free eBook: My new eBook, The Marriage Manifesto: Turning Your World Upside Down, is available free to new blog subscribers. Click here to subscribe, and the subscription confirmation e-mail will include a link to download the eBook. Or, the book is also now available for Kindle and Nook. As always, thank you for reading; it’s a gift. Sincerely, Kelly 

The Mess: The messy places in life—and the messy places within ourselves—present us with a choice. Because the mess is where our shame collides with grace. We can choose to succumb to shame. Or we can fight back. Come visit The Mess, and join the rebellion against shame. 

Preview: My next post will be this Friday and is tentatively entitled “Why Couples Shouldn’t Do Couples Therapy (Says the Couples Therapist).”  

Disclaimer: This post is not professional advice. It should be read as you would read a “self-help” book. For professional and customized advice, you should seek the services of a counselor, who can become more intimately familiar with your specific situation. Counselors can be located through your insurance network or through your state psychological association.

UNOCI Conducts Disarmament Operation in Abidjan

Photo Credit: United Nations Photo (Creative Commons)

Republicans. And Democrats.

Progressives. And Conservatives.

Christians. And Jews. And Muslims and Hindus and atheists.

NRA members. And peaceniks.

Americans. And people of every nationality.

You. And me…

The coffee pot is loud at our house. And my kids sleep with their doors open, comforted by the glow of the hallway light. So when I creep downstairs at 5:30am to begin the morning ritual of coffee and writing, I ease their doors shut to ensure they won’t be awakened by its deep growl.

This morning, before closing their doors, I watched them a little longer than usual. I watched the slow-rhythmic rise and fall of covers above lungs. I watched the long eyelashes and round cheeks and soft hair sprayed in every direction.

I stood and I watched them and I realized: in a world ravaged by an us-versus-them mentality, my children are a them to someone.  To all of the nameless souls on my block and in my town and scattered across the globe, my children are an out-group, an other.

And I thought, “Oh my God, my children’s safety is not dependent upon how I treat them or the protection I afford them. The security of my precious little ones rests precariously upon how other people treat their out-group.”

And I shivered because, frankly, we are nurturing a culture of hatred for the out-group.

In America, we just spent more than a year vilifying, demonizing, slandering, and tearing down the other half of the country. The 2012 election cycle was a curriculum in how to simplify, objectify and then nurse our anger toward “the other side.”

From pulpits across the world this week, religion will be preached as an exclusive club: paradise for those who are in, and hellfire and brimstone for everyone else. The in-group is judged to be of infinite value, and the out-group somehow deserving of damnation.

And as the tragic events in Newtown, Connecticut, became known to the world last Friday, we quickly began to draw the dividing lines again. In-groups and out-groups. Us versus them. The gun debates. The mental health accessibility debates. The separation of church and state debates.

Please don’t misunderstand me. As we move through our grief and begin to emerge from the depths of our pain, debate is desperately needed. Those three children I watched this morning all attend school, and I am desperate for new policies to maximize their safety.

But the truth is, how we debate will ultimately be more transformational than what we debate.

My third-grade son came home from school on Monday and reported that many of “the older kids” spent recess angrily debating a ban on firearms. I think he was confused by his peers promoting peaceful policies in a spirit of anger and divisiveness.

As we move forward and seek to redeem this massacre by affecting substantive change, we must keep one simple principle in mind: if the way we debate perpetuates an us-versus-them worldview, our very efforts to achieve peace and security will actually lay the foundation for more violence—the kindling for hatred. We must remember:

  1. Hearts and minds aren’t changed by facts; they’re changed by relationships. If a heart isn’t already soft for change, no amount of fact will sway it—there is always a contradictory fact with which to reply. Hearts get softened for change in relationship, when we come to know and appreciate the stories of others.
  2. No one tries to destroy their in-group. Murder is a relational crime always perpetrated against another soul, and we don’t attack people with whom we identify. Thus, the creation of out-groups lays the foundation for violence. If we debate, we must remember we are all a part of the same in-group—humanity—and we must cling to it as our primary identity.
  3. Peace is dependent upon the kindness we extend to our out-groups. Even when group distinctions can’t be avoided—after all, they are necessary for our specific identities—we must learn to exist peacefully with the other. When relating to our various out-groups, it is essential to replace our us-versus-them mentality with an us-and-them worldview. Because the way in which we debate can actually ascribe dignity and worth and value to them, the people in our out-group. And when we view the “other” with a sense of dignity and worth, the potential for violence bleeds away.

Us-versus-them kills people. And we all participate in it at some level and it’s time for it to stop.

Is all of this an over-simplification? Yes, absolutely. We are dealing with a complex problem, so any single solution is an oversimplification. And as soon as I start to pretend my answer is the solution to the problem, I have simply created another in-group—the group of those people who agree with me and possess the solution—while everyone else remains a problematic out-group.

So, please, don’t take my solution. Instead, regardless of how much you disagree with me, take my hand. And let’s live our personal, political, and religious identities with such grace that it renders the massacre at Sandy Hook truly senseless.

Question: Telling our stories is the best way to join each other in kind-hearted debate, even amidst very conflicting opinions. Share your thoughts in the comments. Better yet, share your story. Tell us how your experiences have shaped your opinions and beliefs. Your vulnerability could pave the way for real change. 

Dear Reader, I have a “Christmas Eve” post ready for you but I pre-empted it in favor of this post. So, I will post it tomorrow as this week’s second post. Ironically, I wrote it before Sandy Hook, but the themes are relevant to the aftermath of this tragedy. And I hope it gives you hope.

First Day of Third GradeIf I woke up this morning and my nine-year-old son was lying cold and shattered in the city morgue, I would want to die.

It would feel like something dark with sharp yellow talons had punched its way into my chest, clawed out my heart, and thrown it like a fastball against the opposite wall. The pain would be complete, an un-nameable thing, reaching into and past the depths of my soul.

The pain would shred my mind and I would want nothing more than to escape it. It would be selfish and cowardly, because I would still have a wife and two lovely children who love me and need me. But I would want to leave myself, to leave the bottomless pain.

In that kind of darkness, words are meaningless. Even the most tender of words rings hollow. Explanations? Reasons? Solutions? Debates about how to avoid future pain? Meaningless. Worse than meaningless—salt in the wound of devastation.

Talk about redemption? An insult to the depth of our sorrow.

We talk a lot about redemption here at UnTangled. Because it is a good thing, maybe even the best of things. But there are times and places in which the word should not be uttered, at least not for now. We find ourselves, as Americans—and as citizens of the human race—in one of those places this morning.

At a time like this, words—even words about redemption—only deepen the pain. At times like this, the only thing that matters is presence. Being together. Reaching out and grasping for a hand, any hand that’s offered in love. Leaning into the one, or the One, that will hold us up.

At times like this, simply putting one foot in front of the other is the epitome of courage, and it’s really the only thing we can ask of each other.

And so I’ll ask.

Can we be together instead of divided? Can we lend a hand rather than a cliché? Can we wrap each other in an embrace instead of a debate? There will be time for all of that later. For now, can we simply lend each other the strength to take one more step forward?

This post is a Tuesday Tip.

Related Post: How to Annihilate Your Out-Group (The Way Jesus Did)

Several weeks ago, I was riding the commuter train into Chicago. I was raised amidst farmland, and trips into the city still give me butterflies. So, as the train approached the Loop, I put away my phone and prepared myself to disembark.

faded billboard

Photo Credit: boxchain (Creative Commons)

I gazed out the window into the crumbling industrial district on the western edges of the city. My eyes were drawn to the side of a large, forlorn building, where a billboard had long ago been painted onto the brick façade. The paint was faded and chipped and I squinted to read the words:

“Advertise Here!”

I wondered to myself why the advertising space had fallen into disuse.

Until my gaze returned to the inside of the train.

Where almost every passenger was looking into their laps. Staring into their mobile devices.

We can’t even be advertised to communally anymore. Because we’re all looking down, inward, nurturing our customized lives. Is it any wonder that we get used to having what we want, when we want it? Is it any wonder we end up isolated and lonely? Is it any wonder every other person begins to feel alien and other?

What is the answer? To download a social media app?

I don’t think so. I think the answer is to look up again. I think a sense of community thrives on everyone looking at the same things. And we are losing that ability.

So, today, look up.

  1. Leave the phone at home. Wait for the panic about that to pass, and then just do it!
  2. As you go through your day with your eyes up, attend to the people who are passing in and out of your life.
  3. Give them names. If you have any kind of opportunity, actually ask them their names.
  4. Tell a story to yourself about who they are and what they’ve been through today. Make them come to life again in your world.

You may just feel your heart breaking open for people again. You might discover they are the same kind of different as you.

Question: When you put your phone away and attend to the world, what do you enjoy about the experience? What makes it hard to do so? Share your thoughts in the comments section.

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TUESDAY TIP DISCLAIMER: The Tuesday Tip is not professional advice. It should be read as you would read a “self-help” book. For professional and customized advice, you should seek the services of a counselor, who can become more intimately familiar with your specific situation. Counselors can be located through your insurance network or through your state psychological association website.