Category: 2020-June

Sets and Props

My mother never failed to shed a tear whenever people talked about Kent State.

I didn’t understand, of course, but I knew enough to know something bad had happened. Years later, I read about the four students murdered while protesting against US involvement in the conflict in Southeast Asia.

I’ve seen the images from the Birmingham Campaign, when police dogs and fire hoses were used against non-violent protestors, including children.

I watched as the residents of Los Angeles went bat-crazy in the aftermath of the “not guilty” verdicts in the Rodney King trial.

Each act, a watershed moment in American history. Tragic. Regrettable. Unforgettable.

Sometimes, people lose their ever-loving minds. Blame should not, and cannot, be universally assigned to “the other side.”

The Ohio National Guard was wrong. City leaders in Birmingham were wrong. The looters and arsonists in Los Angeles were wrong.

What happened Monday night on Pennsylvania Avenue was wrong.

Non-violent protestors assembled in Lafayette Square. There was no destruction of property. There was no curfew violation.

“I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing, and as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical. It is a medicine necessary for the sound health of government.” – Thomas Jefferson, 1787

President Donald J. Trump spoke in the Rose Garden.

“I am your President of law and order and an ally of all peaceful protesters. These are not acts of peaceful protest. These are acts of domestic terror. As we speak, I am dispatching thousands and thousands of heavily armed soldiers, military personnel and law enforcement officers to stop the rioting, looting, vandalism, assaults and the wanton destruction of property.” – Donald J. Trump

He subsequently ordered federal law enforcement officers to open fire upon the protestors assembled in Lafayette Square.

Copyright 2020 The Associated Press

Tear gas. Flash grenades. Rubber bullets.

The Commander-in-chief walked in the aftermath from Pennsylvania Avenue to St. John’s church.

The leader of the free world took his place on the steps and held a Bible in his right hand.

A reporter asked, “Is that your Bible?”

President Trump replied, “It’s a Bible.”

I understand. It was a photo-op.

Bishop Mariann E. Budde of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington watched the scene unfold on television. “He did not pray. We need a president who can unify and heal. He has done the opposite of that, and we are left to pick up the pieces.”

Church steps are not a Hollywood set. The Bible is not a prop.

I know why my mother cried. Me, too.

Not My Child

This is not anything I wanted to write. Ever.

I like Facebook. It’s fun, but my life doesn’t revolve around anybody’s social media updates. A lot of things scroll by on my timeline. Cute. Funny. Sweet. Wholesome. Occasionally, and mildly, inappropriate. A great many things, I dismiss.

Last week. I got a friend request from Raegen Sieck.

Here’s the deal about Facebook friends… I seldom decline. If we have lots of mutual friends, I accept. If not, I look at the profile. Advertisements for high-tech sunglasses and seductive photographs of scantily-clad women are bell ringers. Nope. No thanks. Decline. Decline. Decline.

Vikki Griffin is more selective. She researches every friend request before making a decision. Thus, she has fewer than 300 and I am well over 4,000.

Emily Ruebel, and several more from the Vienna Elementary family, were mutual friends on Raegen Sieck’s Facebook profile. Fine. Great. Wonderful. Accept.

It was time for supper. There are no electronics at the Griffin dinner table. I didn’t give another thought to my newest online friends.

Later that night, I started reading. Raegen Sieck’s posts were surreal.

The Sieck’s oldest child is Lucy, a kindergartner at Vienna. Hold on, Lucy is now a first-grader at Vienna.

Lucy has been diagnosed with an inoperable and incurable brain tumor.

What. The. Hell. Really?

Come on, God. Now, I’m just pissed. A little kid?

The community held a parade. I didn’t tell Sophia and Miles because I’m weak. I can’t wrap my head around trying to explain the situation to our completely healthy son and daughter.

People are buying Lucy Love t-shirts. I’m not. They’re not available in my size.

The Sieck family is off to somewhere for a clinical trial that might save Lucy’s life.

In the midst of everything happening in the world, I have not been able to find a way to tell Sophia and Miles.

I’m overcome with thoughts of a child I have never met while I argue with Sophia about the importance folding laundry.

Miles got a new pair of shoes. The very next day, he came home with muddy shoes. Covered. I couldn’t say much because I was so happy our boy was outside playing instead of dealing with a brain tumor.

For the last week, almost every thought has been prefaced with a singular notion, “not my child.”

I cannot imagine. Just like every other parent in the history of ever, “not my child. Please. Anything but this. I’ll trade places.”

God, I’m sorry for getting angry. I know you’re busy. Murder. Riots. The virus. Storms of every kind.

If you would take a moment and heal Lucy Sieck, that would be great. You like miracles. Now would be an excellent time to remind the world. Just saying.

She’s not my child, but she is somebody’s child.

“Jesus replied, ‘Why do you say, if you can? Anything is possible for someone who has faith!’” – Mark 9:23