bits of sunshine

some things i have been reading

i have been reading a lot more this year.  ever since ben and i got the new bookshelves and i unpacked more books and ordered some new ones and found a few at the thrift store . . . i have been reading and reading.  

and i wanted to share some of the things i've been reading with you.

i found The Guardians at the thrift store - and hadn't read a John Grisham novel in years.  this one about a lawyer who takes wrongful death row cases and works to get his clients pardoned didn't disappoint, and i read it in just a few evenings.  

i also found The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter at the thrift store.  this ballad by Sharyn McCrumb was haunting and dark and tells the interwoven tale of many who live in the shadow of the rock named the hangman.  as a murder mystery unfolded, the relationships of those who refuse to give up on one another and the hope that there would be an answer and some redemption kept me reading. 

Everything Sad is Untrue and Elatsoe are both middle-grade novels (which i read just in time to recomend them to you for #middlegrademarch )  

Everythig Sad is Untrue is a true story, written by Khosrou Nayeri.  he and his mom and sister are Iranian, refugees who fled through Italy and Dubai to the United States. he arrived in Oklahoma when he was eight years old, and this book is the story of how Khosrou - who came to be known as David, becuase everyone here could pronounce David - this book is his story of how he told stories like Scheharazade, stories to save his own life, stories to make sense of a world where too many sad things happen, stories to make the sad things untrue.  there must be a better story than the story of his granmother dying and his mother leaving his father and his stepfather beating his mother and the toilets in Oklahoma being so very different than in Iran and the kids at school bullying him for being Persian.  Khosrou tells us, If you listen, I'll tell you a story.  We can know and be known to each other, and then we're not enemies anymore.  listen to his story.  i don't know which parts are true, nobody does.  But what you believe about the future will change how you live in the present.  We must understand the cost of joy. 

Elatsoe is a fantasy written Darcie Little Badger.  she is an enrolled member of Lipan Apache tribe.  each chapter begins with a beautiful illustration by Rovina Cai.  and in this novel, Darcie brings together Apache traditions, time travel, vampires, fossils, best friends, bike rides, and the strong bond between Ellie, her mother, and Ellie's great grandmothers - back to her Six-Great.  Ellie was named Elatsoe after her Six-Great, and she shares some of Six-Great's powers. Darcie crafts a story in which Ellie's cousin has been murdered and it is going to take her gift and all her love to solve the case and keep her family safe.  

if you love middle grade books, i recommend them both.  both are lilting and syncopated and fantastically beautiful.  neither are quite what i expected, and i loved them both even more for that.

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what have you been reading lately?

 

on reading cane river

In 2002, Cane River by Lalita Tademy was on my Grandma Eva's bookshelf. 

That the book was on her shelf, and that she had apparently read it, were both interesting facts.

She is the grandparent who, when I was in junior high, after we had seen a couple - he, black as blackest night, she, white as lily-white - looked me straight in the eye and said, with more force than I had ever heard from her before or since, "Don't you EVER get any ideas like that."

And yet, five or so years later, there was Cane River on her shelf.  And she told me I could borrow it.  

I read the book.  Maybe that's not the right way to say it.  I devoured the book.  It was equal parts eye-opening and affirming of things I already knew.  I was in awe over the amount of history Lalita could find 5 generations back.  I was fascinated by the stories of the women, by how long some of them lived, by the way they kept living and even thriving through the horrible circumstances they were forced into.  I identified with some of the mother-daughter interactions.  I wanted to see myself more in Lalita's family, but knew that I had the capacity to be the snobbish and horrible plantation owners.  I felt shame when reading about the rapes of enslaved girls by white owners and the friends or relatives of the owners.  I was shocked by the pictures of the Lalita's ancestors - how many of them did not "look black" to me at all.  Lalita's grandmother and great-grandmother could have passed for white if everyone in the area didn't know who they were. 



I remember being so sad, my spirit so torn, while reading the end of the book; I read the final sentences while tears coursed down my cheeks. 

I wish that I would have talked to my grandma about the book after I finished it.  But I didn't.  I put it back on her shelf without inviting conversation.  And the words and stories that I had read, I processed on my own.  Words to think on, to digest, to fold into my ways of knowing, my ways of thinking, the things I learned about the world.  

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In 2020, the world is falling apart?  Exploding?  Imploding?  Becoming very peculiar?  

A year ago, I contemplated re-reading Cane River, but didn't dig the book out of the box in the garage. 

A month ago, when lots of friends and acquaintances and a lot of the people on my IG and my Facebook feeds started posting books that would be helpful / eye opening / worth reading, I went out to the garage and dug through the boxes, cut a gash in my thigh on the corner of one, and while blood welled, I found Cane River and a whole stack of books that I will share with you here over the next few months.  Books that I have read over the past twenty years.  

 

After I found my stack of books, my friend Shanna and I decided to read Cane River together (even though we are 1,385 miles apart).  It is interesting to reread almost 20 years later, to revisit Lalita and her family, to see through more years of living and learning, and also to have Shanna's comments as she reads the book for the first time. 

After the Civil War, Lalita's great-grandmother and great-great-grandmother both become land owners.  Shanna's comments, "It feels so weird for them to have freedom now. I never really thought about the confusion and uncertainty (but also JOY) that comes from being able to choose their future and how to use their time. And yet the white/black racist ideas still run deep."  Yes, the racist ideas continued to run deep for the white people and for the freed Black people. 

Because of the interracial rapes and liaisons, many of Lalita's ancestors were 1/2, 1/4, 1/8, 1/16, 1/32 Black.  And yet, any Black ancestor was enough for them to be treated as less-than, to be considered "mongrel" and "evil" and "tainted" and "inferior". 

Some of Lalita's ancestors wanted to keep becoming more and more white - they wanted to erase the blackness.  Others decided to purposely marry darker and embrace the deepening color and the social constructs that came with dark skin.

The very French overtone  caught my attention as I read this time - I guess I always assumed that all the white people in the states always spoke English ... Even though I have learned about the French trappers and fur-traders in the mid- and north-west.  Even though I know the Spanish people conquered parts of the Americas.  I guess I pictured everyone who enslaved Black people speaking English.  But in Louisiana, most of the white people were French.  So, as I thought about this more, I wondered how in the world English came to be the dominant language in the US.  (That is a question to research another day.)

And finally, as I came to the end of the book a few days ago, I was struck again with how the ways people related to each other seemed to ease at the end of the Civil War, but as times became more modern, the discrimination became more and more pronounced, the racism and bigotry and segregation louder and uglier.  I didn't cry this time.  I was too angry, too sad, and too filled with the need to continue working for change. 

There are still plenty of people who tell their white children how superior they are to anyone who is not just like them.  And there are still too many reasons for people to tell their Black children to quietly acquiesce to those who would remind them of their socially constructed place.  There need to be more and more of us who are willing to hear, willing to see, and willing to become uncomfortable as we change the social constructs around skin color, as we change the narrative to love and appreciation.

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God has made of one blood all the peoples of the earth.  Acts 17:26

 

what is in my book stack

In the stack:

The Teenage Brain by Frances E. Jensen, MD

I am slogging through this one.  I read an excerpt from it that resonated with me, so I ordered it.  I am about halfway through it.  And I am determined to finish it.

Best take-aways so far are a reminder of how much sleep teens need and an explanation why and the concept that teens need non-judgmental reminders a lot.  Like loads of non-judgmental reminders.  And we parents need to remember that when our teens forget something, it isn't out of spite or disrespect.  It is that they simply forgot.  (More on this in another post.  Because I am learning.  And because our interactions matter.  So. Much.)  

Hidden Figures by Margot Lee Shetterly

I have not watched the movie yet, but want to.  And when I found this book at The Last Book Store, I purchased it, and will read it before I see the movie.    

Once Upon a River by Diane Setterfield

Found on the free book shelf in our community college library.  It sounds like it might be a lovely read.  I will let you know!

The Keeper of Lost Things by Ruth Hogan

Go find this one and read it!  I loved this book so much!  Just a touch of magic woven through the weaving together of the characters' lives.  I read this in just a few days.  (I also found this book at The Last Book Store.)

Us Against You by Frederik Backman  (And not pictured, Beartown by Frederik Backman)

These two stories are so real and raw and poignant.  I borrowed Beartown from my friend Shanna and read it in just a few days, and then Shanna sent Us Against You to my house, so I could read the next part of the story.  I love the way F. Backman writes.  I feel like I am reading my own thoughts.  

Excerpt:  All adults have days when we feel completely drained.  When we no longer know quite what we spend so much time fighting for, when reality and everyday worries overwhelm us and we wonder how much longer we're going to be able to carry on.  The wonderful thing is,that we can all live through far more days like that without breaking than we think. 

He addresses the hard parts of life and the beautiful parts of life and weaves truth into story.  I'm a big fan.  

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Have you read any of these?  If you have, what did you think?

Any other recommendations for my book stack?
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This post was inspired by Erin and her book stacks - find her blog at imaginarybookstack.com

 

throwback thursday :: isaac reads

{as i have been revisiting my blog the past few days, i found this post in the archives.  i wrote it on may 25, 2015.  for some reason, i had never published it.  but, oh, did it do my heart good to find this and read it and know that now isaac is in ninth grade and he has overcome so much!  he is doing so well in school.  he reads and works hard and is pretty amazing.  and, like i wrote four and a half years ago, i am still so excited to see where we go from here - where he goes from here!  i am so very proud to be isaac's mom.}

on december 14, 2013, isaac asked me "mom, when am i going to be able to read chapter books?"  i had to say, "i don't know."  that almost broke my heart.

he worked and worked at his reading. 

in march of 2013, he got his glasses and we started his eye exercises - which we continued all through the summer.

he worked so hard at his reading and writing all through this school year.

this past thursday, may 21,2014, isaac took a comprehension test on a chapter book.  the first chapter book he ever read.  he read it all by himself.  Geronimo Stilton: I'm Not A SuperMouse.  he got an 80% on the test! 

he also gave a speech, not just talked, but read what he had written, to me, three peers and five other adults.  he read it so well.  clearly.  with emotion and interest.  and he was so sure of himself.  i was, and still am, so very proud of him. 

he went from reading at a late kindergarten, early first grade level this school year, to reading at a third grade level and from only reading aloud to reading to himself - a whole chapter book!  i am so excited to see where we go from here - where he goes from here! 

isaac - you ROCK!

the "first" thanksgiving

often the study of history is like pulling on a thread: some detail catches your attention and leads to something else, another detail.  a narrative slowly unraveling, slowly revealing something behind it, something hidden or forgotten.  - errol morris

pulling on a thread . . .  when we were still living in minnesota, ben worked with a many who had a large forearm tattoo.  a tattoo of 38 hanging men.  of course ben asked him about it.  and he told ben some minnesota history that neither of us had ever heard before.  he told ben about the hanging at mankato in 1862.  when ben told me about this piece of history, he and i did some research and later watched a documentary of a memorial ride from lower brule, south dakota, to manakto, minnesota.  this was a detail that caught my attention.  and over the years, this narrative is slowly unraveling for me.  i choose to continue to pull gently on the thread, to examine parts of this story. 

last fall, i did an exercise in which i researched answers to these questions {what native american tribes historically lived in montana? what tribe's historical homeland do i live on? how many native nations are in the united states? what are reservations and why do they exist? name 10 living native american celebrities, acitivists, and/or political leaders.}  this was very eye-opening and i recommend that you think about doing this same exercise.

also last fall a friend had posted this link {decolonizing thanksgiving} on her facebook - through which i found this article {deconstructing the myths of the "first thanksgiving"}.  ever the unraveling thread.  

a few of the myths that particularly struck me:

myth #1: "the first thanksgiving" occurred in 1621.  fact: no one knows when the "first" thanksgiving occurred. people have been giving thanks for as long as people have existed. indigenous nations all over the world have celebrations of the harvest that come from very old traditions; for native peoples, thanksgiving comes not once a year, but every day, for all the gifts of life.

myth #3: the colonists came seeking freedom of religion in a new land.  fact: the colonists were not just innocent refugees from religious persecution. by 1620, hundreds of native people had already been to england and back, most as captives; so the plymouth colonists knew full well that the land they were settling on was inhabited. nevertheless, their belief system taught them that any land that was "unimproved" was "wild" and theirs for the taking; that the people who lived there were roving heathens with no right to the land. both the separatists and puritans were rigid fundamentalists who came here fully intending to take the land away from its native inhabitants and establish a new nation, their "holy kingdom." the plymouth colonists were never concerned with "freedom of religion" for anyone but themselves. 

myth #10: the pilgrims and indians became great friends.  fact: a mere generation later, the balance of power had shifted so enormously and the theft of land by the european settlers had become so egregious that the wampanoag were forced into battle. In 1637, english soldiers massacred some 700 pequot men, women and children at mystic fort, burning many of them alive in their homes and shooting those who fled. the colony of connecticut and massachusetts bay colony observed a day of thanksgiving commemorating the massacre. by 1675, there were some 50,000 colonists in the place they had named "new england." that year, metacom, a son of massasoit, one of the first whose generosity had saved the lives of the starving settlers, led a rebellion against them. by the end of the conflict known as "king philip's war," most of the indian peoples of the northeast region had been either completely wiped out, sold into slavery, or had fled for safety into canada. shortly after metacom's death, plymouth colony declared a day of thanksgiving for the english victory over the indians. 

i am not anti-thanksgiving.  i am all for a day that reminds people to focus on the good, to get together with the people they love, to list gratitudes, to focus on thankfulness.  but, if we are going to talk about the history of thanksgiving as a holiday, let's tell it truthfully.  

beginning with george washington, some presidents called for a day of thanksgiving to be observed, some did not.  in 1863, then-president abraham lincoln proclaimed that the fourth thursday in november would be set side as a day of thanksgiving and praise.  and so we have our holiday.  

as for me, i'll probably read the article about thanksgiving myths to my kids and husband  and see what conversation that sparks.  and, this fourth thursday in november, i'll be with some family and some dear friends, laughing, counting gratitudes, catching up, playing games, and probably eating too much of a variety of food (especially pie).

and my wish for you?  that you, too, find threads of history that catch your attention, that you carefully pull the thread and learn from the unraveling, that you are not content with the stories you have been taught, but that you set out to uncover and learn and pass on truth.  

go gently, love fiercely, and be wonderful.

love, e

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of further interest :

strong resilient indigenous 

through her native eyes

gregg deal

indigenous in plain sight

indigenous women have been disappearing

 

this morning

this morning i got up at 6:20 and turned on the lamp in the den, walked up the stairs, turned on one lamp in the living room, and turned the thermostat up so the heat would kick in.  i thumped back down the stairs, and crawled back into bed for fifteen more minutes.  

at 6:45, i got up for good, pulled on wool socks and a sweatshirt, and went to say good morning to isaac.  as he headed for the shower, i headed to the kitchen to start the oven and cook up some hashbrown squares topped with cheese and ham for the kiddos for breakfast.  i poked my head into maddie's room (even though last night she said i didn't need to check on her in the mornings . . . i just didn't want her to be late . . . ).

i watched this sweet little short, just because, and then answered a few comments on my instagram and facebook posts from yesterday.  

isaac came up and ate his breakfast while i made a sandwich for him to put in his lunch bag.  as the kids finished getting ready, maddie asked if she could drive her and isaac to school - i checked the weather, it looked like it should be fine weather for a walk to the library mid-morning, so i let her take the car.   

after they headed out, i got myself ready for the day.  then i made my bed, then isaac's bed, then looked at maddie's bed - but it is covered in blankets and clothes and random things . . . so i just picked up some things i could see needed to be washed, left the bed, and took my pile to the laundry room.  

at this point, it was raining/sleeting/snowing - so much heavy wet - and i realized that walking to the library was not what i wanted to do.  so i sat down at my desk and made some notes for the work i need to do.  then i answered some text messages before i began to sort out a few items on my desk.  

i went though a notebook and an old Bible study book and took the few things i wanted to save and glued them into my journal right then.  i added a few bits of washi tape, because washi tape makes me happy.  i threw the excess and edges away.  then i pulled out another Bible study book that i had been working through last spring.  i had missed filling in a few days of the work one week and three days of the last week of study, so i decided that i would work on finishing the book.  

i love having prompts for digging into the Word, and catalysts for thought processes and connections.  the first section i chose to work on today speaks directly to my situation, my moments, my right-now.  and this does not surprise me.  God is good like that.  His Word is living and active and does not return void.  it is milk and honey and bread and meat.  ever and always, He sustains and gives good gifts.  His timing is perfect.  i worked a good way into the lesson i picked up, wrote notes in the margins, read the scriptures, let God speak to my heart, conversed with Him, filled my mind with thoughts to mull over and be encouraged by as i continue this day and the work of this day.

at noon, maddie called to say she and some friends were on the way to our house for lunch.  i stepped out to the kitchen to tidy up a bit and made buttered toast while maddie warmed up soup.  as the three kids ate, i did the dishes and wiped down counter and stovetop.  each kiddo put their dishes into the dishwasher as they finished, so we have a clean kitchen to make supper in this evening.  everybody ate a few oatmeal raisin cookies (so glad i baked them last night!), then i grabbed what i needed, drove them back to school, and headed to the library.

the afternoon will be filled with writing.  and hopefully, the writing i do this afternoon will bear fruit that will nourish me, my family, and many, many others.  

two benedictions for the afternoon:

the Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you;
the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.                   
                                                                                            Numbers 6:24-26

and

go gently, love fiercely, and be wonderful.

with love, e

a week of gratitude :: tuesday

{i began this post last night.  then my mom called.  i was grateful for the chance to talk to her.}

all day today, i was thinking about listening to my children read scripture.

when thinking about what i am most grateful for, i knew i had to share this: one of my favorite things that we do together as a family right now is gather around our table once a week, open our Bibles and an old, old Confession of Faith, and read. 

ben reads a chapter of the confession.  all of the old english.  and sometimes we all nod in agreement.  and sometimes he says to me, "and now you better translate that for us."

then, we take turns looking up and reading aloud the scripture that is footnoted all through the confession.

hearing both of my kiddos (a teen and a pre-teen) want to look up, want to read, read with expression, ask questions, give insight - nothing fills my heart with more joy.

we don't attend a church {we haven't for many years, and that is a story ~ or many stories ~ for another day}, and sometimes, there are some things that i miss about walking in to a church, sitting in a pew, singing hymns, hearing scripture read, being part of a group of people who are together to participate in a worship service.  the thing, though, that i am certain that i miss most is hearing other people read scripture. 

i have read scripture aloud to my children over the years.  ben and i have shared our faith and our knowledge, our questions and our prayers with our kids so often.  we have watched sermon series and series of teaching together.  we have read through books.  we have memorized verses.  when we stopped attending church, it became very real to me that there were no sweet grandma ladies who were going to teach my children bible stories using flannel boards and coloring pages.  if my children were going to learn anything at all about Jesus, it would be through examples of people close to them.  people, well, mainly me, because i spent the most time with them.  and then their dad, and then some other relatives and friends.  i began to make my life very transparent to my children, and to use many opportunities to be a witness to them and to others. 

most recently, ben and i together have picked a time of the week to designate to learning and prayer, and for right now, sunday around noon is often the time, but if that doesn't work for one reason or another, we make sure that we don't  get through a week without having our family time around the table, time with words, time with the Living Word.  because wherever two or more are gathered, there he is, in their midst. 

:: gratitudes ::

this table

these glasses of cider

no less than five Bibles

a girl who loves to take notes and underline

a boy who is willing to read aloud, even though it is difficult for him

a husband who leads us in good ways

martin luther and all he endured

the confession of faith

words written, spoken, and shared

soft hearts

 

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find other gratitude listers in the comments on michelle's blog

on instagram at #gratitudeweek_2016 and #htfgratitude

at hello there, friend, hosted by beth and Lindsay

and more gratitude from me, here, tomorrow

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

go gently, love fiercely, and be wonderful, my friends.

love, e

amazing grace

my reading pile is looking a little different this past week than it did a month ago. 

i like this pile better. 

the middle one, i am revisiting.  i bought it 15 years ago.  i was in the bookstore at USD, buying the books that i needed for my first semester of sophomore year and this book caught my eye.  Amazing Grace.  Vocabulary.  wrestling with words.  reflections.  i love words.  it was an extra $12.95 on top of the more than $300 i was already spending on books, but it was begging me to bring it home with me and read.  so, i did. 

and i delved in to her reflections and thoughts and ponderings and studies of words that had been and are a part of the vocabulary of my faith and the religious traditions surrounding my faith.

one of the words kathleen norris visits is blood.  "the word bless has its origins in blood.  . . . polite, mainstream christians tend to look askance at bloody images of Jesus' crucifixion, or they fail to make much mention of the way in which several of his healing miracles are accomplished by means of his spit.  . . . lots of christians draw the line at There is a Fountain Filled with Blood, composed by John Newton's good friend William Cowper.  the image is so literal - a fountain filled with blood - that . . . it will occasion only feelings of revulsion.  . . . and yet, the end of the song is redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till i die. then in a nobler, sweeter song, i'll sing thy power to save, when this poor lisping, stammering tongue lies silent in the grave. . . . and Jesus emerging on a white horse as the heavens open, with eyes like flame.  He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood and his name is called The Word of God.  . . . blood includes us in the incarnation - not so crazy, after all, but an ancient thing, and wise.  the rhythym of life that we carry in our veins is not only for us, but for others, as Christ's incarnation was for the sake of all."

raw.  gritty.  real.  feelings that i am and have and cling to.  because life is raw and gritty and real, rendered in blood and guts and grace. 

from this book, i learned the ebenezer means stone of help.  as in, here i raise mine ebenezer, hither by thy help i'm come.  this is a direct reference to I Samuel 7:12.  samuel then took a large stone and placed it between the towns of mizpah and jeshanah. He named it ebenezer (which means "the stone of help"), for he said, "up to this point the LORD has helped us!"  ebenezer, a word that a hundred years or so ago, was understood by most people.  as i read this, i realized that charles dickens knew what ebenezer meant - and so, his character, ebenezer scrooge, went from being mr. scrooge, the tight-fisted miser, to ebenezer, the stone of help, to his own family and many around him.  a change of heart to fit his name.  his name was a foreshadowing all along - but how many of us knew that?  another layer of meaning in the story, another layer of meaning in the song added by ebenezer - this word.

words are beautiful. 

and as i revisit this book, i am reading "converting a painful inheritance into something good requires all the discernment we can muster . . . the worst of the curses that people inflict on us . . . can't be forgotten or undone, but they can be put to good use in the new life that one has taken up.  it is a kind of death; the lid closes on what went before.  but the past is not denied.  and we are still here, with all of our talents, gifts, and failings, our strengths and weaknesses.  all the baggage comes along: nothing wasted, nothing lost. . . . wounds open the way to compassion for others."

wounds.  blood.  pain.  compassion.  help.  a rock.  strength.  blessing.

a new life.  not denying the old life, not denying the wounds, but allowing the blood and the blessing to open a new way.  we, the four of us together, are still here, and are moving forward, nothing wasted, nothing lost.  bound more tightly to our ebenzer, who goes before and comes behind, filling our lives with fierce blessing and graceful compassion. 

raw.  gritty.  beautiful. 

amazing grace.

how's school going, you ask

i would have never thought 
that i could tire of reading 

maybe it's not the reading 
maybe it's the critical thinking
and the discussions 

one fourth of the way in 
and i'm tired 

this stack 
isn't the half of it

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

so - i had a post planned for today -

then i read this article: Most of you have no idea what Martin Luther King actually did  - my friend jeannine posted it on her facebook page this morning. 

and then i got lost in the comments.  someone could write a book just using the 800+ comments.  what a treasure trove of knowledge and stories. 

here is one of the comments, one of the stories:

I was on the other side of the fence that separated the races.  As a white boy growing up in the deep south, I was ignorant of what it meant to be black.  Opposite to the background of the author, my grandfather's grandfather had been a slave owner who drank himself to death after losing everything in the war between the states (Sherman burned down the plantation buildings, and the old man never got over it).  

Of course, we lived in a segregated society in the South - it started segregated under slavery and had stayed that way.  I was led to believe that black people didn't want us in their lives and that we dared not enter their section of town - that racism cut both ways.  I don't think that I ever entered that part of town, even driving through, but I knew that the black community had their own schools and that some white people actually hated black people.  The "N" word was used casually, but not usually with malice - it was just like saying "black", "African-American", or whatever other term might be used today (it was "colored" as in NAACP, or "Negro" then - I don't understand why we change terms every time the wrong people finally learn to use the correct term, but in the wrong tone).  Contrary to stereotypes, most white people I knew did not hate black people, but they did see them as different, almost as a different species (an attitude somehow retained by Tea Partiers despite plenty of evidence to the contrary).  In fact, I have heard many old southerners of that generation speak of "good" black people they have known, usually those who worked for them, as one would speak of favorite pets.  Most of us white kids were taught to believe that black people were not as smart and that many were lazy (sports fans know of the old "Blacks can't be quarterbacks" theory).  Kids in White liberal families were taught that they had a duty to help black people, as if they could not take care of themselves  

What Dr King and the other civil rights leaders did (with much help from television) was to break the stereotypes we had learned about black people.  In Dr King, we saw an educated, eloquent, reasonable man who wanted a better world for his children and the rest of us.  In the demonstrators, we saw vast numbers who weren't satisfied with being segregated into their own community and who were willing to stand up to violence to change their situation.  Television brought the speeches and the images of demonstrations into our living rooms, information that local newspapers would not have delivered - if not for TV, how many people would be aware of the "Dream" speech?  It should be noted for younger readers that at that time, few black people appeared in films seen by white people other than those playing stereotyped characters, and black people were almost unseen on TV.  After Dr. King's assassination, we witnessed the funeral on television, witnessing the grief of both black and white national heroes.  These events entered the national consciousness and stirred black people into action and white people from their ignorant complacency.  They inspired a generation and brought much-needed change to US society.  These social changes were not just to the benefit of black people and not limited to issues of race.  Dr' King's opposition to the Viet Nam war helped to change the national discourse on the war.

What did Martin Luther King accomplish?  He didn't do it alone, but he inspired the most radical social change in the US since the Reconstruction.  He and his allies shook a majority of white people from their ignorance, opening their eyes to the great hypocrisy of their "model society."  Dr. King and the other leaders of the Civil rights Movement did as much to break the shackles of slavery as Abraham Lincoln and the post-civil-war constitutional amendments did.  Dr King changed the dialogue on the civil rights movement from violence to passive resistance and created a template for social change used by the anti-war, "women's liberation", pro-choice, and gay rights movements.  All people in the US (except the tea partiers) owe a huge debt to Dr. King.

I hope that nobody is offended by my use of the terms "black" and "white" here.  I do it only for convenience because I'm sure that all readers are familiar with the convention.  The terms refer more to cultures than to skin colors.  I'm actually more of a beige and realize that actual skin color ranges from ivory to deep brown.

and then i got thinking about this book and this one and this one.  i read the first most recently.  after i read it, i wrote this: oh goodness.  read that book.  for all kinds of reasons.  read it. for the story of henrietta and her family.  for excellent writing.  for questions about the ethics of cell study and scientific discovery (in readable, interesting, story-telling).  for understanding of cells and cell growth and the study of all this.  for real people who are affected in so many ways by the choices of others.  for grace unfathomable.  oh just read it!  i read the second sometime in college - i got it from my grandma's collection of books when she passed away.  it's another that i could say oh goodness.  just read that book about.  and the third i read toward the end of my college time.  i often think of that one.  wonder how many "white" people have "black" in their past and don't know it.  wonder how intertwined so many, many people are without knowing it.  wonder how much history is lost because of lies that were perpetuated because of fear.  

we always will have a long way to go toward people living together with grace and in peace.  but there is grace - grace for all of us. 

and to all my friends who truly love people just for who they are as individuals and who treat others with grace, thank you.  thank you for being kind, for loving, for extending grace.  thank you.