inspiration

Thoughts On Another School Shooting

/ Laura Phelan / Leave a comment

February 14th, 2018. Valentine’s Day for all. Ash Wednesday for some. Life-altering tragedy for a few.

Yesterday, 17 people lost their lives to a 19 year-old gunman with history of mental health issues at Marjorie Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. Mostly students, the victims are the latest in a wave of public shooting massacres sweeping our nation. Douglas, as it’s known, is located between the high school my husband attended and my own. We know people who went there. For us, it’s close to home.

But here’s the thing. When I first heard the news, I wasn’t shocked. I was barely shaken, to be honest. Instead, I felt hopeless and frankly, annoyed. Also, angry.  I know that’s blunt, but it’s the truth. The fact of the matter is, America just can’t get this right. 

So I helped my girls with their homework, then we went for a quick dinner before our church’s Ash Wednesday service began. During the meditation, a strange alarm sounded somewhere in the sanctuary. And I remember thinking what does that mean? And what would we do if an intruder opened fire here, in this sacred space where sinners were gathered to begin a 40-day journey to the heart of our faith. We’d be helpless. We  would lose people we love. Maybe even our own lives. We would be forever altered, too.

Then, this morning, I sat down to do my Lenten devotional. Last year, I started a tradition with some of my friends of really going deep during this season. Using She ReadsTruth, we dive into a study that always leaves us changed. Today, one of the ancillary passages was Joshua 5:13-15:

13 Now when Joshua was near Jericho, he looked up and saw a man standing in front of him with a drawn sword in his hand. Joshua went up to him and asked, “Are you for us or for our enemies?” 14 “Neither,” he replied, “but as commander of the army of the Lord I have now come.” Then Joshua fell facedown to the ground in reverence, and asked him, “What message does my Lorda]”>[a] have for his servant?” 15 The commander of the Lord’s army replied, “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy.” And Joshua did so.

This passage, and not the news yesterday, is what moved me. 

My guess is most of what you’re seeing today is essays and speeches and lengthy FB posts on one side about how it’s time for sensible gun laws, and on the other side about how it’s time to focus on our families and our faith and our mental health.

But this passage tells us something we need to hear. When asked which side God is on, the answer is clear. Neither. But nonetheless, he sent a representative to fight. In this, He acknowledges the battle. There is work to be done and He knows it. What’s more, in the notes in my Bible, it mentions that, in sending their commander, God’s army was committed to the battle.

So what does that commitment mean for the massacre in Florida and its aftermath? To me, it means God is pro gun sense. And God is pro family. And I think it goes without saying that God is pro faith. But He’s also pro mental health. He’s committed to the battle, but his side is neither. His side is peace, his side is wholeness, his side is love.

Today, many of you are probably ready to dig in your heels about the direction our country needs to take. And here’s the thing. I think you’re all right. We need all the arguments you care to muster. Clearly, this is not a one answer problem.

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I think of our country as a big old pot of stew. We’ve thrown in some poor gun legislation, absolutely. But we’ve also tossed in some unrealistic expectations for what it means to succeed in life and passed it on to our children. Then we mixed in an avoidance of mental health issues for way too long. Boy, have we let that simmer. And we seasoned it all with a 24-hour news cycle that definitely hasn’t helped. And the stew? It’s boiling over. After all, we’re Americans. We go big all.the.time. 

So here’s what I propose. Rather than digging in your heels on your side of the line, and shaking your fist at the other side, do something about it. What does that look like?

Are you upset about gun laws in this country and the lack of legislation you believe would prevent these tragedies? Cool. Learn more about what you can do to help. Join an organization like Moms Demand Action and lobby your local representatives for change. Better yet, run for office. 

Do you think we need to put less pressure on our children to succeed academically and focus more on their overall well-being? Great! What about volunteering at a local organization that works with troubled youth or getting involved in your local school system to promote change?

Is a focus on family and faith your answer? Fantastic. Plan a monthly get together with other neighborhood families and discuss how you can be there for one another. Join or form a committee at your place of worship that’s focused on youth and family outreach.

Don’t miss this. When the messenger told Joshua he wasn’t necessarily on one side or the other, he wasn’t dismissing the battle. There was a battle to be fought, and he was committed to the cause. This is indeed a battle. And it’s up to each one of us to join forces and make a difference.

Soup’s on, America. We all know it’s high time we change the recipe.

Where There is Hope

/ Laura Phelan / Leave a comment

The 6th District feels a little quieter this week. It’s no longer the epicenter of American politics. The race is over. The campaign staffers from D.C. and elsewhere are on to something new. The national media packed up and went home.

So what remains? The people of District 6. We remain. Divided. United. Some say one way. Some say the other. I say we probably lie somewhere in the middle. I find myself saying that often. The middle. The truth? It’s somewhere in the middle. Most people’s political stance? Typically in the middle. So here we are. Kind of stuck in the middle of what could have been and what has always been. A district shaken up, disturbed, and now left to carry on like before.

But here’s the kicker: before is a thing of the past. The future of District 6 began when an unknown named Jon Ossoff threw his hat in the ring for a Congressional campaign. From that moment, there was no turning back.

Before I go on, you may be reading this and thinking; I don’t live in the 6th District of Georgia. What does this have to do with me? I’d argue that if you are an American living in the year 2017, it has everything to do with you. Because our election was a microcosm of the state of America.Unknown-3

I think we can all agree there are many people who are not happy with politicians today – on both sides. Our representatives, through their words and actions, seem to have lost their purpose. They represent money, special interests, and partisanship over their constituents and in turn, their country. That’s a broad statement, I know. But that’s how I see it. The administration talks of fake news and liberal bias, but I look at statements, votes, and donations. It really is a swamp.

Pause mid blog: this isn’t a hopeful read thus far, is it? Read on. It’s coming. I promise.

So here we are – unprecedented Presidential administration, division, unrest. And. And….awareness, activism, action.

I’ve said all along that my great hope out of the current political climate is a new generation of informed voters with compassion and empathy who aren’t afraid to take action. In Georgia’s 6th, it’s happening. Conversations have started that won’t stop now. There’s no turning back. 

When Jon Ossoff threw his hat in the ring, something changed. What I experienced over the course of the runoff  I’ll never forget. Local activism on superdrive. Honesty. Guts. And so much hope. I signed up for a candidate I liked. I got to know a candidate who simply blew me away. This man ran a campaign built on kindness and humility. And he carried it through to the last. I never once heard a negative, derogatory thing come out of his mouth. Jon Ossoff was fresh, honest, caring. And his attitude was contagious.

So people started talking. To one another. About politics. Okay, I’m going to stop right here. You know the old rule that says never talk about politics? I think that is absolutely absurd. And you know what? That ship has sailed. We’re talking about politics. Everywhere. Why? Because we have to. Too much is at stake. And only in a country as wealthy and privileged as America would we ever utter such an absurdity. Or worse – not even take the time to inform ourselves and vote.

But I digress. Fast forward to June 20th. The official Ossoff campaign viewing party. My husband and I show up. The room is electric. Media takes up half the ballroom. The crowd is – well, the crowd is the future. It’s black, white, young, old, gay, straight, a rainbow of nations. When I was boots on the ground for this campaign, sometimes I’d forget to look up. One June 20th, I looked up. I looked around. And I was overwhelmed. This was hope. This was the future to come. This was Martin Luther King’s speech. In a room. All together. Full of hope.

IMG_3299 2When the polls came in and Jon conceded, my hope didn’t fade. Somehow, it intensified. Maybe it was the crowd. Maybe it was my experience over these last months – the people I met, the passion we felt to make a difference. The way conversations about politics transcended party loyalty. Maybe it was Jon’s words about how he truly believes we are more united than divided, words I’ve heard him say – in person – more than once. But I have hope.

No, Jon Ossoff didn’t win. But we turned a +20 red district distinctly purple. Purple has always been my favorite color. Now I think I know why. Because purple is a mix of two colors, red and blue. In it’s boldest shade it’s common ground, equal parts of the best of us all. Purple brings hope. And purple may just be the only way forward.

Happy Birthday, America. Here’s to the next chapter in your history, being written right here and now, by the people.

 

 

The Giant Awakes

/ Laura Phelan / 2 Comments

Hello everyone!

I’m back after a self-imposed social media hiatus for Lent. I made the decision after the constant barrage of negative information started to get the better of me. I was doing my good work – serving on my local elementary school governance council, volunteering with the youth in my church, writing here. But I started to suffer from symptoms of anxiety. I knew the cause. Bad information overload with no real way to stop it. So I quit it. Cold turkey quit for 40 days. It was healing – and awesome.

During my break, an incredible opportunity presented itself.  You see, I happen to live in Georgia’s 6th Congressional district. You know the one, right? Our little district made  news all over the world this week when a Democrat tried to win a long-held Republican seat outright against 17 other candidates. And he almost did.

So during all my extra free time, I researched the candidates for this special election to replace Dr. Tom Price, now the U.S. Secretary of Health and Human Services. I chose Jon Ossoff, the Democrat mentioned above.

As his campaign gained momentum, I decided to follow through with my vow to my girls to not just say but do. To show them the importance of responsibly exercising the right the suffragettes before us worked so hard to win. I attended two functions to meet and speak with Jon, and to hear what he had to say. After that, I joined the campaign – writing postcards with the girls, acquiring yard signs for my friends and neighbors, even canvassing for voter turnout. Me! A moderate! Canvassing for a Democrat in a Republican district!

But here’s the kicker – I wasn’t the only one. If you read anything about Jon, you know that he repeatedly gives credit to the women volunteers that are a part of his campaign. I was overwhelmed by the energy and enthusiasm these women brought with them. And the crazy part is, they aren’t all Democrats. The day I canvassed, I did so with a Democrat AND a Republican. Add me, and we were a virtually unheard of trio before last November. 

Suddenly I thought back to my very first post on this blog, a blog borne out of the results of the 2016 Presidential election:

Do you hear that? It’s the sound of feet hitting the pavement. It’s the sound of a sleeping giant waking.

Jon didn’t win outright Tuesday night. He now enters a runoff with the lead Republican. That was expected. But he did become the face for something more. A movement. This district, the highest-educated Republican district in the entire country, nearly went blue for the first time since 1979 . Seriously, check out the map. Scroll down and you can see the 2016 presidential election results for comparison.

One of my great hopes out of the current political climate has been that it will engage people that were asleep, people who just assumed everything would continue as it was, that their voice didn’t really matter. On Tuesday, we saw that it does.

Jon Ossoff may not win in June. But Tuesday’s voter turnout, nearly 200,000, shows us that people are paying attention. They’re using their voice, regardless of who they voted for.

Which leads me to my new hope. That maybe my social media feeds will start to show less bad information and more real life – people loving, people helping, people speaking up for what they believe with their voices and with their feet. That this is just the beginning of a better America.

 

 

A Helping Hand

/ Laura Phelan / Leave a comment

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!

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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

/ Laura Phelan / Leave a comment

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.

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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.

 

Flying High

/ Laura Phelan / Leave a comment

This week was a big one for my nine-year-old. She auditioned for the spring ballet at her dance studio and got in. This may not seem like an amazing feat, but for her it was monumental.

Two years ago, she auditioned for the spring performance and didn’t make it. It was her first major rejection in life and she took it hard. What a tough thing it is to watch your child experience heartache in any form. She thought the pain would never end.

But I helped her pick herself back up, congratulate those that did make it, and carry on. Over time, the pain receded. She danced in the studio’s production of the Nutcracker the next two years but refused to audition for the spring show. Then, last month, she informed me she was ready to try again.

“You know you may not make it,” I told her. “I want you to be prepared for that.”

“I know, Mom,” she said. “I still want to try. I understand. It’s okay.”

In that moment, I saw the wisdom and the perspective she gained from that moment two years ago. She has carried it with her, celebrating her victories with extra fervor, and facing challenges with an attitude beyond her years. She also has a bigger heart for those who seem left out or hurting. What a benefit to a hard life lesson.

As a society, we are, for the most part, terrified to watch our children fail. Now, as the millennials come of age, we see the effects of the trophy for all, helicopter parenting mentality. Corporations struggle to keep employees, and reality is much harder to face for many young professionals. For this reason, I am thankful for a failure at the tender age of seven for my oldest daughter. It has already shaped her in a positive way.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared to send her to auditions last weekend. But I knew I had to let her go. img_3860

Of course, this particular tale has a happy ending. She worked hard, she gave it a shot, and she got in. This entire week, she’s been on cloud nine. She just keeps saying, “I can’t believe I got in!”

But that won’t always be the case. Now, it’s the spring ballet. Fast forward another 10 years and it’s college. And beyond. She will encounter rejection again. Her heart will hurt. But in those moments I hope she will reach back to her seven-year-old self and remember that she carried on. And two years later, her nine-year-old self made it.

Are you afraid of rejection? Scared to let your kids fail? I say don’t be. Yes, there may be heartache. But there may not be. And even if there is, there are lessons in the pain that can shape a person in lasting ways – ways that lead to love, acceptance, and also to determination and success.

The day after her acceptance letter, I had the opportunity to watch her in one of her ballet classes. She looked so much older than she seems at home, snuggled next to me on the couch. Her legs are longer, her body is stronger. While in class,  I captured this photo of her. Here she’s flying high.

I plan to hold onto this photo for the years ahead, for when she fails or falls. For when she’s hurting. I will remind her that there will be moments of rejection, moments of pain. But there will also be moments of great joy. Moments when she will feel she could just float on air. And I’ll remind her that one time, on a Tuesday in dance class at the age of nine, I saw her do it.

 

 

 

 

One Word

/ Laura Phelan / 1 Comment

In the last 48 hours alone, there’s been an abundance of words. President Obama’s last speech, President-Elect Trump’s press conference, and one Senator testifying against another for the first time in history over a cabinet position. Then there was my youngest daughter’s meltdown about having to wear her hair up for dance and the argument between the two of us that followed. So. Many. Words.
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My guess is you get it. You, too, are surrounded by words. Some are loving, yes. Some encouraging. But some are biting, ugly, even destructive. These words come from others, but they also come from us.

This New Year, my family took part in a different kind of resolution. In conjunction with my dear friend Jess’s website gather&grow, we sat down as a family to do something revolutionary in today’s culture. We chose one word. Just one. 

Jess included a few questions to help us come up with our words and a printable to write them down (you can get them both here). We gathered together with pencils, crayons, and rubber stamps to begin a year-long journey with a single word.

As a freelance writer, words are my livelihood. I’m also a people person who has no fear in addressing a room full of people. I literally live and breathe words. So choosing just one was a tall order. In fact, the idea wasn’t even on my radar.

Then one night over the holidays, my friend Josie came over to bring me a gift and stayed for a glass of wine. In our conversation, she mentioned she was doing the one word resolution, inspired by #OneWord365 and MyOneWord.org. I was intrigued. New Year’s night, after my family was all asleep, I sat alone, admiring our Christmas tree for the last time. The next day, we would take it down and pack everything away. trust

And there it sat. My word. Written in my own hand a year ago at an advent service. I wasn’t even 100% in on this one word thing. Yet there it was. How did I know it was my word? Well, to be honest, it scared me to choose it. It was perfect.

Words are powerful. They have meaning. Throwing strong words around lightly can be catastrophic. I think most of us can agree that regularly watching it happen on a national platform is, at the least, unsettling. For me, it’s terrifying.

So what if we all choose a word?  One word. What would the impact be around us? Why not give it a shot. Do you really want to grow this year? Think of a word you don’t want to choose. That’s probably the word you need. 

Now write it down. Hang it up where you can see it. Ours are on the kitchen bulletin board, on the wall the leads to the coat and bag hooks. We will literally pass those words every day for a year. And my hope is, for each of us, our word will guide us, shape us, change us for the better.

Happy New Year.