I have been fuming a little about a couple of things that are happening in the UU blog world. Not the people saying them, just some of the "stone skipping over water" depth given to a comment or two swirling around out there. This makes me stop mid teacher-recruitment-email and say to my husband things like "what are they thinking?" I mean really....?" he types a few more words, then pulls his gaze from his screen to my face and says "What?"
"Oh never mind, just....you know. Ah!"
I am headed out for a long walk, whenever I put together our teacher teams for the upcoming year for our Sunday morning programs I do some deep prayer about who will be the best fit, both with the age group of kids and the other adults on the teacher team. I've found that a good fit can make for an amazing experience for the children and the adults. Even though we have no building and we tuck our classrooms into every dingy spare corner we can glean from the Masonic Temple we meet in, our classrooms become holy places. Our children are holy beings, our teachers, holy guides. We make it so just by coming together. The prayer helps.
But I have two comments that I just have to put down so I can let them go:
White people have a different experience of race than do people of color, at least living for the last 25 years with my husband (an Asian American) has led me to believe this. He says in this country he wears his race on his face every day, the white among us don't. He tells me it's different. We dishonor his experience to say so. And yes this comes from one tiny comment in Peace Bang's rant from yesterday: "When I visit a Methodist or Episcopal or UCC or Baptist church, am I looking around to see how many half-Jewish people of Eastern European descent there are? What is up with that?"
Maybe she's not, but the racial mix of the group does matter to my husband. He can tell you exactly how many non-white folks there are in our congregation each time he visits. No he doesn't care what the race or ethnicity of the UUAs president is, but he sure as hell cares if that Latino man is in our seats.
OK, only one comment. The other one doesn't matter as much now that I've laid that one down.
Now, off to walk the path with the clouds and drizzle. Holding the dear faces of each of the children I know from our ministry in my heart and my hands. It is good work, if you can get it.