Shame

“Shame!”

My students in Malawi used to say this all the time. “Shaaaaame!” A whole chorus of one word, from my 27 children.

It could be used when something bad happened, as in “what a shame!”

Or it could be used when someone had misbehaved, as in “shame on you!”

I keep hearing that we should never be ashamed of ourselves. Why on earth not?

Shouldn’t bullies be ashamed of their actions? Cheaters? Liars?

Sure, don’t wallow in your shortcomings. But in order to learn from your poor choices, you have to know they were the wrong ones. You have to remember them, too. We remember best those events we connect to emotionally. Luckily, there’s an emotional alarm system we come equipped with.

It’s called a sense of shame.

There are lots of things kids and adults shouldn’t be ashamed of. Honest mistakes. Non-willful ignorance. Their bodies. Social class. Choices that were made without their input, on their behalf.

But lets not try and drum all the shame from our lives. Feel bad! Feel bad every time you think about that thing you’ve done. Until the very idea of even considering doing it again makes you blush.

Then have mercy.

Forgive yourself. But don’t forget.

I hurt someone’s feelings earlier today because I said that I thought shame was important. I shouldn’t have said it to her. It wasn’t the right time or the right place, and I should have given more thought to the situation before I spoke. I didn’t. What started as a carelessly tossed-out critique of an aspect of American culture was interpreted as an attack on a personally held ideal.

Of course I’m ashamed. I made somebody feel like crap because I was too lazy to think about the results of my own actions.

I wouldn’t want anyone to expect less of me.

29

I’m 29 years old today. Here are 29 things that make me happy, right now.

1. There’s some blue in the sky today.
2. Two new people at the study circle last night. Our community keeps growing.
3. Birds chirping outside.
4. Victoria is at the hospital. Milo is going to share a birthday with me!
5. My family is really cool.
6. Vegan eggplant bake. Thanks, Heidi!
7. Making cinnamon toast for breakfast.
8. I have so many opportunities to be of service.
9. I live walking distance from an amazing public library.
10. (And also walking distance from a vegetarian cafe.)
12. (Which has the most fabulous Mexican cocoa ever.)
13. I sometimes get paid to write. This is a childhood dream come true.
14. I have amazing friends all over the world.
15. I’m married to one of them.
16. My children’s class is learning to sing “O God, Guide Me” in Chinese. Or rather, they’ve already memorized it, and I’m struggling to catch up.
17. I can do 20 push-ups now, up from only 8 in mid-December.
18. The days are getting longer!
19. Ayyam-i-Ha is coming up. Then the Fast. Then Naw-Ruz!
20. I’m having Thai food for lunch with my dad today.
21. There are so many people in Lorain county who want animator training that I might have to start two separate study circles.
22. Reliable heat, water, electricity.
23. I’m a prime number now!
24. I have copies of the new Ruhi Book 3s (grades 1, 2, and 3) to pore over!
25. I plan to teach myself all the songs in Book 3 on the ukulele this year.
26. Because I’m getting a ukulele!
27. The fact that we don’t have a lot of furniture in our living room means there’s enough space to do handstands.
28. I live a mile and a half from Lake Erie.
29. It’s my birthday!

Walking Away from Teacher

My youth didn’t know the continents.

I was so surprised. I remembered putting together the continent puzzle in my Montessori classroom at age 5. Asia in yellow. Africa in green. You could take the pieces out and trace them, and then color them to make your own map. Cool stuff, at that age.

I think we must have learned them in elementary school, too. And middle school. You can’t have world history in sixth grade without a little world geography thrown in, right?

But things are different now. Testing has tightened up on the curriculum, and apparently having a globally competitive workforce doesn’t require ever actually being exposed to a globe, so long as you can read and do algebra.

I’ll admit, my initial thought was, “I have to do something about this.” It’s the teacher instinct in me. “They don’t KNOW, I must INSTRUCT them!”

I thought about it. I asked for advice. People told me about all kinds of neat strategy games and activities involving geography, but none of them seemed right.

I finally came up with an idea. Since the story we’d been reading was about a soccer game, I would use soccer as a way of starting a conversation about geography. After all, there are plenty of places where soccer is a really big deal, and the U.S. isn’t really one of them.

Then today, my co-animator called me. I told her about my big idea.

She asked me, “So, did the youth say they were very interested in soccer?”

Well, they didn’t seem non-interested …

But I knew the truth. We had volleyball players, softball players, (American) football players, and track and field athletes in our group. Soccer was cool, but not particularly exciting.

Crap.

It’s hard, sometimes. I’ve gotten good at looking like I’m not a teacher, but it’s much more difficult to stop thinking like a teacher. I learned something important about the group: they were lacking in knowledge about the world outside their own country. But this isn’t school, and there isn’t going to be any high-stakes exam next week. I have two years to help them develop a sense of global awareness, and it doesn’t have to happen now just because I happen think it’s already years overdue.

Maybe they’re interested in computers. Or fashion. Or music. Or the environment. Is there any feasible topic that couldn’t be unpacked in such a way as to reveal a facet of the wider world?

It’s good to reflect. It seems I’ve been neglecting breadth in favor of depth. And it’s been working. They’re more aware of their choices and immediate realities than they were before. They’re learning to read between the lines. But the lines also appear beyond the visible horizon. There needs to be a balance. And just as with depth, breadth will not come without genuine excitement.

It’s tricky, being teacher to a group of children one day, and mentor to a group of youth the next. But maybe that’s how I find my own balance. Luckily, I know that the excitement I need is already there. All I have to do now is learn.

For All My Valentines

Know thou of a certainty that Love is the secret of God’s holy Dispensation, the manifestation of the All-Merciful, the fountain of spiritual outpourings. Love is heaven’s kindly light, the Holy Spirit’s eternal breath that vivifieth the human soul. Love is the cause of God’s revelation unto man, the vital bond inherent, in accordance with the divine creation, in the realities of things. Love is the one means that ensureth true felicity both in this world and the next. Love is the light that guideth in darkness, the living link that uniteth God with man, that assureth the progress of every illumined soul. Love is the most great law that ruleth this mighty and heavenly cycle, the unique power that bindeth together the divers elements of this material world, the supreme magnetic force that directeth the movements of the spheres in the celestial realms. Love revealeth with unfailing and limitless power the mysteries latent in the universe. Love is the spirit of life unto the adorned body of mankind, the establisher of true civilization in this mortal world, and the shedder of imperishable glory upon every high-aiming race and nation.

(Selections from the Writings of Abdu’l-Baha, p. 27)

Pedagogy and Performance

Nia begins: “We would like to share a song with you.”

“It is a song about prayer,” adds Lily.

Jasmine explains, “These are the words of ‘Abdu’l-Baha.”

I hate when people request for my children or youth to “perform” at a function. They’re not dancing monkeys, and they don’t do tricks. But my girls love to share, which is entirely different. We share, not because we’re polished, but because we’re learning.

“Strive,” we sing, “that your actions day by day may be beautiful prayers.”

“Thank you for listening,” Ianna concludes.

The thanks is not an extra. It’s a part of what we’re learning, too.

It’s so funny to me how they all beg to be the one assigned to say that last sentence, “thank you for listening”. (We rotate.) The auxiliary aspects of sharing with others, like introductions, explanations, and thanks, are so often relegated to the adults who deal with children. It’s such a little thing, but it makes my girls feel so grown up to take on these tasks. It helps them to realize that courtesy is a virtue of action, not just one of keeping quiet and sitting still.

When they are older, I won’t need to put so many words in their mouths anymore. With junior youth, I replace many of my answers with questions.

• “What would be the best way to introduce ourselves?
• “What should these people know about what we are doing?”
• “How should we divide the responsibilities?”
• “How can we show these people  the greatest possible courtesy, kindness, and love?”

But for now, wading in the shallows of the adult world, my girls like the safety of ritual to help them practice new skills without fear. I think that’s why “thank you for listening” is so popular. It’s the only line that never changes, week to week.

We’re sharing “thank you” because we’ve learned it.

Every. Single. Week.

Realize that we do a lot of thinking too. What kinds of actions might be beautiful prayers? Can Sockie (the cat) pray? How? Can a plant pray? How? But there will always be a special place for rote memorization. After stretching the mind to the edges of understanding, there is real joy in certain mastery. My teaching, like much of my life, is both far too traditional and far too newfangled for the taste of most adults. But my students are curious, courteous, reverent, and happy.

What more could you ask for?

Pedagogical theory? Well, I won’t perform for you, but I’m happy to share what I’ve learned.

I’ve learned that there must be room in the world for knowing and unknowing. That practice, practice, practice makes practical. That you have to start somewhere, but it might as well be nowhere if you don’t know where it is. And that the most important things must be learned, as they say, by heart.

And of course, thank you for listening.

Receptivity and Little Disasters

I remember on September 11th, 2001, being evacuated from downtown Cleveland. The trains weren’t running under Terminal Tower like they normally do, so I had to catch a series of buses from a neighborhood I wasn’t terribly familiar with in order to get home. Everywhere, strangers were talking to each other. We couldn’t stop. Even the most shy among us had no problem speaking, no way of stopping.

The next day, we all went back to pretending everyone didn’t exist.

In the absence of disaster,  strangers rarely seem to talk. It doesn’t feel urgent enough, I guess, to mention that you read the book the person next to you at the bus stop read, and found the plot to be satisfyingly twisted. Even a stroke of luck (not only did the rain stop just in time, but look, there’s a rainbow!) doesn’t warrant more than a comment, if that.

Luckily, life is full of little disasters.

I’ve learned I can start conversations by helping people clean up the juice their toddler spilled on the floor.

By commenting on the train several of us missed by only a few seconds.

By laughing at my own slip and fall.

By telling two lost and hungry tourists where to find a place to eat.

Little disasters start little discussions. Once you’ve got that, it’s quite easy to grow from a little one into a big one. And big conversations are the seeds from which friendships often grow.

In my dream world, we wouldn’t need to wait for something bad to happen before we could speak to those around us. I won’t pray for trouble. But if disasters big and small are what make our hearts receptive to connection with others, I will use them to the fullest. Bring on the dirty diapers, dropped books, unexpected thunderstorms, and broken pencil woes. If our lives start to suck, at least we’ll have something to talk about.

Of course, we always had something to talk about.

But now you finally want to share with me. How were you to know you had me before hello?

 

Collaboration: a tale of two businesses

Two businesses, one neighborhood.

Both sell coffee, tea, miscellaneous snacky things.

It would be so easy for each to view the other as a competitor.

But because they “liked” each other on facebook, when one business (with very limited space for seating) realized it needed to get rid of its large communal table and find smaller, cafe-style tables, the other business (which had a hard time accommodating study groups and meetings due to having to shift all its little tables around) were able to organize a swap.

People tell me sometimes that collaboration doesn’t work in the business world the way it does in my volunteer activities.

But I have to say, when it works, it works.

And when it does, it absolutely makes my day.

My Girls

My girls have wild, flyaway brown curls, thick dreadlocks, blonde braids.

My girls love to sing, except when they don’t. They love to dance, except sometimes when their parents are looking.

My girls always love to act. They love to do voices. Snobby voices. Squeaky voices.

Sometimes my girls speak in made-up languages, just for joy.

My girls love to pray. Some read prayers. Some sing them. Some recite from memory. One insists on holding a book in her hand as she prays, pretending she can read the words she knows by heart.

My girls flop on top of each other, bodies smashing, feet flying. My girls have learned how to say, “I need you to respect my space.”

When my girls smile, the whole world smiles with them.

My girls will sit in pairs on the floor for 15 solid minutes, helping one another memorize difficult quotations with almost no adult interference.

My girls will pretend not to listen. Pout. Whine. Complain of hunger, cold, stuffy noses, tickly feet, offended sensibilities. But my girls always remember the entire story I’ve told them afterwards. They listen to the important things, because my girls know which things those are.

My girls are rowdy. Picky. Bossy. Shy. Easily angered. Easily inspired.

My girls analyze the moral implications of their everyday lives. In first grade. Fourth grade. Second grade. Homeschool. Preschool.

My girls each have a favorite book, a favorite color, a favorite virtue.

My girls love one another so, so much.

I clothe myself in the hugs of my girls to keep me warm through the week.

Until Sunday comes. And I’m back again, laughing, praying, singing, writing, teaching, sharing, listening, loving, so very grateful for, so very proud of my girls.

The Meeting

The meeting was not going the way I’d envisioned.

I’ve got a style to my meetings, and I stick pretty closely to it. Focused and snappy.

But this wasn’t my meeting. It was my study circle’s meeting, and despite my best intentions I was getting pretty frustrated.

I went to the kitchen for some more tea and a chance to clear my head, which is when I caught sight of Jasmine, playing with the cat near the dining room table.

I sat down next to her. “You bored?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.” It was true, after all. I grabbed a cracker and some hummus and ate it. The hummus was homemade and fabulous. After I finished it, I continued talking.

“You know, the cool thing about all this, is pretty soon you’re going to be older, and we’ll start one of these groups for you at your house.”

No reaction. I thought of one of her friends from the neighborhood who’d been coming to children’s classes for a while.

“We can invite Megan, too.”

Her eyes got wide. “And Christina?”

“Yeah! Because you’re going to get bored with the class for the little girls soon.”

“No way. I’m going to be in children’s class forever.”

“Of course you can still come. But we’ll have a group just for you and your friends who are older, too.”

She thought about that. “Cool.”

The meeting was not going the way I’d envisioned.

But this wasn’t my meeting.

The purpose of the meeting was ostensibly to provide information to young people and their parents about the junior youth spiritual empowerment program. But really, it was to give my study circle experience in explaining it.

They weren’t doing it the way I would do it. But they were doing it. Just as with junior youth, I had to have the courage to quit being a fretful gatekeeper and let them step out onto the path of service on their own terms. And the next time we meet, we’ll  reflect on the meeting, and they’ll learn a lot more from their successes and failures than they ever would have from mine. We’ll celebrate the accomplishment.

And then we’ll get back to work.

Empowerment

The most empowering book I’ve ever read was a cookbook.

Specifically, Vegan With a Vengeance, by Isa Chandra Moskowitz.

When Jef and I first went vegan, he was a homemaker while I worked during the day and went to school at night. I’d wake up at 5:15, go for a walk, get dressed, make myself breakfast, fix a salad or leftovers for lunch, and wake Jef up just in time so he could find his glasses and drive me to work at 6:40. At 4:00 he’d pick me up, drive me home, and fix a quick dinner while I changed into my scrubs and passed out on the sofa. I’d wake, eat lunch, then take the 45 minute trip north to school in rush-hour traffic. Study from 6:00-10:00, then arrive home around 10:35. Wake up the next morning. Start over.

And this worked, partly because Jef is an amazing cook. We played with all kinds of crazy recipes. He knows how to improvise with spices, makes the best spaghetti sauce known to humankind, and chops vegetables so well you’d think they were bred to fall apart in perfect little cubes.

Then we moved.

And suddenly, I’m the one with time to spare. I’m an okay cook. I can stir-fry with the best of them, and my salad dressings are great. But I’m not a wonderful cook. Not innovative. Not confident. I burned some things. Undercooked others. We found ourselves eating out just a little too often. And it was starting to show, in our bodies and our bank accounts.

Enter Vegan With a Vengeance.

Here was a cookbook that spoke to me. Literally. Isa chatted to me like she was sitting backwards on my kitchen chair, telling me her theories of pizza crust making, the trick to getting flavors to stick to tofu, and laughing about the trans-fatty days of being vegan before Earth Balance was in every grocery store in America.

She didn’t take her recipes too seriously. She gave multiple variants on dozens of dishes (wasabi mashed potatoes, anyone?) and encouraged you to try your own. So when she laid down the law about something (prunes are great in chocolate cake, but not in chocolate chip cookies), you trusted it wasn’t because of some kind of celebrity chef ego trip, but because she really did know best.

We talk a lot about empowerment, getting people from a place of passivity and fear to one of leadership and personal responsibility. But we don’t always look around and identify empowerment when we see it, and learn from what works.

Vegan With a Vengeance turned me from “Oh no, it’s really sizzling a lot, I hope I don’t burn it, why don’t I turn down the heat?” to “I know it’s unconventional, but I really think this sauce could use some maple syrup.” I’m still not the best cook on the planet, not even half as good as my husband, but now I’m in a posture of learning, not paralysis.

Who or what has empowered you?

What can you learn from it?

How can you do the same?

P.S- yes, I have Veganomicon now too. Trying out a new soup this weekend!