Writing, Parenting, and Working in the Mess: Authentic Spirituality and Social Justice

Yesterday I saw the bare ground where my garden was last summer for the first time; today it's covered again by at least four inches of snow, and the snow is still coming down. When I told my soon-to-be daughter, who will be moving here in less than a week, she said she couldn't believe it. Even after her visit during the coldest week of the year here, when temperatures dropped to 20 below (that's without wind chill), she has trouble imagining snow at the end fo March. Living in west central MN teaches us to expect the unexpected. My future daughter has started acting out in preparation for her move next week. She's doing things she hasn't done for years, and she's totally aware of this and even knows the reason--she is testing me and others to make sure we will still care for her if she messes up. I had not expected the conversations we had this week, had not expected to be dealing with some old behaviors so early in the move, even though plenty of people and ...

When I Tell You I’m Adopting a 14-Year-Old Foster Child, Here’s What You Should and Shouldn’t Say, For Future Reference: 1. Don’t tell me what a “beautiful” or “kind” or “amazing” thing I’m doing, and don’t call me a saint. To say these things—whether hesitantly or suspiciously or with complete honesty--is to show a deep and profound disrespect for my future daughter, who, after all, is a human being. Like all of us, she will likely bring both grief and joy to everyone she loves. 2. Don’t say, “I hope you know what you’re getting into,” or some derivation thereof (“Do you know what you’re getting into?” “Have you thought this through?” “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” “Are you sure your heart’s not bigger than your head?”) The answer is, no, I have no idea what I’m getting myself into—but neither do you. Tomorrow you could be diagnosed with cancer or shot or hit by a bus or called upon to act in heroic ways you can’t e...

When Lawrence King, an out 8 th grader in California , was shot by Brandon McInerney, another boy in his class, my future daughter, who is also in 8 th grade, was visiting me for the first time. Larry was shot because he told the other boy he had a crush on him. The murder came after several weeks of harassment based on Larry’s sexual orientation. The week Lawrence King was shot, a group of 8 th grade girls generously agreed to meet my future daughter. They weathered her inability to look them in the eye. They were kind, made jokes, tried to make her feel at ease as best they could. S. is a strange child; she has difficulty making social connections because of the years of trauma in her life. She regularly makes off-the-wall comments. She’s a messy eater, she’s uncoordinated, she’s strange. And yet, at the end of the visit, she said, “I have to move here now. I don’t want to disappoint my new friends.” The week Lawrence King was shot, my cat Snowbee hissed at S. I had warned her tha...