I Refuse to Disappear

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I refuse to disappear! All my life, I have experienced forces and people and systems that wished for my disappearance. As an advocate for victims of violence in the court and criminal justice systems, powerful people just wanted me to go away. As a child advocate, the foster care system definitely wanted me to disappear. As chair of the Little Rock Commission on Children, Youth and Families, the city power brokers wanted me gone so that they could pretend rather than acknowledge the reality of caring for the real needs of children and families.

As a pastor, I spoke truth every week, often controversial truth that the congregation might resist. I was never one to shrink back or hide. I was never willing to disappear when proclaiming the Gospel compelled me to speak. I was always fairly brave.

But I digress. The past is the past, and even now, in retirement, I often feel very much like people want me to disappear. I am resisting the way people do “placement,” that is the way people place me in a category called retirement. It feels as if others are most comfortable acknowledging my past career but forgetting that I still have talents and gifts and creativity. So here I sit — placed in one of three slots: 1) a carefree retiree that enjoys a traveling, active lifestyle; 2) a retired “old person” who can’t really do much anymore; or 3) a shut-in who is too disabled to be an active part of society.

But sitting has never been for me. I’m terrible at it. I have never allowed others to set me aside. I have never allowed people to insist on my disappearance.

These days, though, it’s a struggle. Invitations to preach or speak or teach are few and far between. It is true that I have health issues that slow me down. It is also true that a part of retirement includes challenges. But I want to resist being dismissed as irrelevant. I want to urge people to pay attention to my abilities. I want to continue my career in ways that are possible and appropriate for me. I do not want to disappear.

I refuse to be small and quiet. I refuse to hide my fire. I am still capable of disrupting the universe. I am still going to do the next right thing. 

I love these words shared by women just like me who simply won’t disappear. And I love the writing of Glennon Doyle who speaks a lot of truth, inspiring and uplifting truth. She calls out to women, especially, inviting us to be the persons we want to be even when outside forces try to hold us back. “It’s not a woman’s job,” she writes, “to get smaller and smaller until she disappears so the world can be more comfortable.”

Amen, Glennon!

One Step Past Possible

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All journeys begin with one step, just one step, usually into the unknown. Each step that follows goes farther into a journey that most often is made up of twists and turns and sometimes stones in the road. It takes a little faith, embarking on a journey.

Still, faith does not make things easy. But faith does makes them possible. Mildred McAfee says something very wise about moving forward in faith. She says “If you have a great ambition, take as big a step as possible in the direction of fulfilling it. The step may only be a tiny one, but trust that it may be the largest one possible for now.”

Tiny steps remind me of the book microShifts by Gary Jansen who suggests that transforming your life happens one small step at a time. The book’s message makes it quite acceptable to take micro shifts toward something in your life. As for me, microshifts are important. I have made dozens of microshifts to get comfortable with the idea of a kidney transplant.

Microshifts are still shifts, and that means change that we sometimes fear. Faith slips in on us at this point. There’s a tiny verse in the Gospel of Luke that those of us who are followers of Christ grab onto. We believe the message because we want to. We hold the message close to our hearts because we need to. 

For with God nothing shall be impossible.

That’s it. Luke 1:37. Simple and clear. Without superfluous language, Luke asserts that nothing is impossible. And about the “with God” part. Well, I’m guessing that Luke adds that to remind us that faith includes a contract between us and the God of the possible. 

So I am thinking today about what is really is possible, globally and personally. For instance, is it possible to end hate-motivated violence? It is possible to end racial divides? Is it possible to make sure schools are safe places? Is it possible to protect the earth from the effects of climate change? Is it possible for this nation to hold free, fair, respectful political campaigns and elections?

Global questions like those are endless — so many questions, so few answers.

But then I also ask what is possible on a personal level. What’s possible for me or you? Is it possible to live out our faith on the margins where hurt prevails? Is it possible to carve out time for contemplation, meditation and prayer?

And then there’s the question I often ask myself. Is it possible to envision a day of better health? I am thinking specifically about a kidney transplant. Right now, a transplant seems to be one step past possible, meaning that it’s just a little more than possible that it will happen. The possibility , however small, brings up feelings, emotions that have begun to escape from the place inside me that had them locked up. 

I finally believe that a kidney transplant for me is probably going to happen. The stars have aligned. A brave and magnanimous donor has been evaluated by Piedmont Transplant Institute  in Atlanta where both donor and recipient (me) will have the surgery. The National Kidney Registry will search for matches among paired exchange program participants. Even surgery dates are being contemplated. It’s real! After almost five years of wondering, and doubting a transplant would ever happen, a transplant is imminent.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that I feel panic and fear. My heart beats a bit faster these days. I am taking lots of deep, cleansing, centering breaths. My heart is preparing for a surgery that could well offer a new sense of freedom for me. By coincidence, blasting through my speakers I am hearing one of my favorite old country tunes, Martina McBride’s “Independence Day.” It is reminding me that I lost a certain amount of independence the day I got sick in 2014.

So today feels a bit like an independence day is coming for me. It feels like independence to think about a future of not being tethered to a dialysis machine for eight hours a day, every day. It feels like independence to not have permanent tubing emerging from my body. It feels like independence to be able to travel without the strain of taking large medical equipment and multiple boxes of dialysis supplies.

As with anything medical, things can go wrong. There are numerous disqualifying factors that could still preclude a kidney transplant. But right now, living donor and recipient are fully evaluated and the transplant is at least one step past possible. This is a good place to be.