A Helping Hand

Last weekend, my husband and I decided to take the girls on a hike. But not just any hike. For Atlanta metro residents, climbing Stone Mountain is a rite of passage. Our girls, ages six and nine, are both decorated IronKids, and tackled their first 5k a few months ago. We figured they were probably ready. I hadn’t climbed the mountain since I was a kid, so I did a little research before we left. At only 1 mile to the top, I figured we’d be fine. We packed a picnic for the journey and headed up.

On average, I’m active 5 days a week. I’m a sprint-distance triathlete and a distance runner. This climb was tough. At the halfway point, I was winded. By the last stretch, we were basically climbing vertically. I was speaking words of encouragement through my labored breathing. Our two girls decided to sprint the rest. I was determined to follow. And then we were there, breathing hard but smiling. Our first summit!

img_3133

We ate our picnic and watched all the people who rode the gondola to the top exit and walk around. My husband and I told the girls how proud we were of them. We explained that some of the people riding the gondola couldn’t hike up the mountain and that doing certain things that are hard just because we can is important.

Soon it was time for the hike back down. We hit that vertical descent we sprinted up shortly before, and I panicked. You see, since the last time I hiked this particular mountain, I’ve developed a bit of a fear of heights. And Stone Mountain isn’t your average mountain – it’s a big hunk of granite, exposed high above the tree line. At the summit, it’s sheer rock. I suddenly felt exposed, small, and really scared. 

The mother who had pushed her kids up the mountain with words of encouragement and no fear faltered. My family was ahead of me, with my six-year-old just in front. “I’m scared,” I admitted, pausing to squat and touch the ground with my hands.

That’s when my youngest daughter turned around and offered me her hand.”It’s okay, Mama, I’ll help you.”

I took her hand. And my parenting role up until that moment shifted.

For almost a decade I’ve been busy guiding small children through life. My daughters still look to me with absolute trust to help them through each day, to dispense advice and bandage their wounds – both physically and emotionally. But that is rapidly changing, and will continue to do so. I will soon have teenagers, then young adults, then wives, mothers, contributing members of society.

That little hand reaching out to me on the side of a mountain got me thinking: I always want to take her hand. 

This world has changed immeasurably in my short lifetime – technology, ideology, even societal norms – are different from when I was their age. And as they grow, it  will continue to change.

I think as we age, the push forward can become a bit overwhelming, a bit scary. Kind of like developing a fear of heights. I wasn’t afraid of heights until a few years ago. Experts will tell you that’s common, that it has to do with your equilibrium. Many of the changes I’ve seen in my lifetime don’t scare me. But the future might.

In our current political climate, I see a lot of division between generations. In many cases, family members simply can’t see eye to eye, at a level I assume hasn’t occurred since the 1960’s. And while much goes into a person’s stance on issues at stake, and everyone is entitled to their own opinion, I think sometimes we forget one thing: to take hold of those who may be a bit more steady on their feet.

The vertical descent didn’t bother my young girls like it did me. For the first time, I let my child, the one I’m guiding, guide me. And I hope it won’t be the last time. She could see the path ahead, she could feel the ground beneath her feet, she had a way forward. So I chose to take her hand and walk together.

I told my girls recently that when I’m old and set in my ways, I want them to call me out. If I hurt their feelings, I want to know. If I am wrong, I want them to take my hand and help me see their point of view. To be honest, they already do it to a certain extent. They teach me something new every day.

So to my girls I will say:  Remember our first mountain summit?  We celebrated together. Then we headed down – and I needed your help. You offered your hand, and I took it. Let’s keep that going, okay? Love, Mama

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Future of America

I apologize for taking last week off. Frankly, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t inspire or motivate, because I didn’t feel inspired or motivated. I felt deflated by the endless news cycle and the infighting amongst us on social media platforms. So I took a break – I spent the day I typically blog making my very first Julia Child recipe (chocolate mousse), and brought it to the house of a dear friend, to spend time with people who make me laugh and feed my soul. It was needed, and I highly recommend it. Maybe not the mousse endeavor, but taking time to pause and enjoy life. I think we need it now more than ever.

But now I’m back to the work at hand, the work of bringing you something that I hope will inspire.

Today, I bring you something a little different: a guest blogger.

For the better part of a decade, I have served my church community as a youth leader. This continues to be an overwhelming privilege I never anticipated. I often tell the girls I work with that I learn more from them than they could ever learn from me.

So when I found out one of my girls, now in her sophomore year of college, was attending the women’s march in Washington, I asked if she would report on her experience for my blog. I thought her perspective would be worth the read.

Abby is twenty years old. She is an honors student at the University of South Carolina. She cares deeply about women’s rights. She is also a born and raised Republican. 

And more and more, she is a representation of the generation to come. A generation caught in the middle of two parties they don’t wholly identify with. A generation coming of age in an increasingly volatile political climate. A generation forced to engage in unprecedented ways.

So without further adieu, a look at where many of us actually lie – somewhere in the middle of the storm.

I was unbelievably conflicted when I voted. I received my absentee ballot and filled everything out, except the president. I let it sit on my desk for weeks. I tossed around the ideas of not voting , bubbling in all of the names, and writing in something entirely random. At the end of the day, though, I knew I had to vote, and I wanted to vote. You see, this was the first presidential election I was even eligible to vote in.

Also, I genuinely believe you do not get the privilege of complaining unless you vote.

My decision came down to my future and how I am currently equipped. I am a strong woman, and I stand up for myself. I am enrolled in college and am pursuing a degree in global supply chain management from the only business school in America named after a woman, Darla Moore. The shortage I see in my future is jobs. I want a job, and more than that, I want a career. I believed Hillary Clinton was not going to create the economic climate that would allow me to pursue my dream.

This decision truly tore me apart. I cried when I filled in the bubble next to Donald Trump’s name. But the decision I made was based upon the hierarchy of needs. As a nation, I believe we cannot create effective social change until we have come to a point of economic prosperity. To me, the needs of our nation were not being met.

Three months after I cast that ballot, I attended the Women’s March on Washington.

 img_4103

The rally was incredible at first. I was amazed by the sheer number of people there. There is something truly amazing when so many people come together, especially for a cause you yourself are so passionate about. I had my first ever “I can feel it in the air” experience; the energy was palpable.

The speakers were exceptional. Gloria Steinem spoke and floored me. Her eloquence and clarity in explaining the platform of women’s rights was commendable. Alicia Keys performed and was a show stopper. A nun spoke about acting with love and grace during trying times. Many speakers emphasized that the goal of our presence was to create a women’s rights agenda together, given the current administration, NOT to tear down the existing administration. I was genuinely inspired and impressed. I will never regret going.

However, there were moments where I was uncomfortable. I felt like I was the most conservative person there, aside from the Trump counter-protestors. In addition, there was a lot of hatred towards Christians in the crowd. I am proud that I am a Christian, and I have even worked in ministry. I do not care how you identify on the gender or sexual spectrum, I believe God calls us to show love to one another and reserve judgement for Him alone. Clearly to the people around me, this was not the attitude Christians have. It opened my eyes to the divisions across so many lines in America.

As a Republican, there were two speakers I really struggled with- a woman who had been incarcerated and a young girl whose parents illegally came to America from Mexico. The woman who spoke on behalf of incarcerated women did not impress me. I do not believe that prisoners deserve more rights. To me, if you break the law and go to prison, you do not get to have all of the rights everyone else does. Do I believe there need to be systematic reforms to the prison system? Yes, we can always improve, but no, prisoners do not deserve more. In regards to the girl from Mexico, I want you to be in America if that’s where you want to be. We are a nation of immigrants, and anyone who wants to come here legally and be a productive member of society should be able to do that. But we have laws, and we have to work within those laws. We should absolutely reform immigration. In the meantime, though, we cannot just break laws.

Although I didn’t agree with every speaker, I learned something from each of them – often about myself.

As a whole, I am glad I went. I was a part of history. I made myself and those around me really think and consider what it looks like to be a woman in America. This event also made me incredibly aware of the fact that politics are truly a spectrum. As a nation, we let ourselves become incredibly polarized.

So where do I go from here? My hope is that maybe in the next election I will see someone support both my economic beliefs and women’s rights.

Thank you for sharing, Abby. Your voice is being shaped by your experiences. And your voice  is one that will shape the future of America.