Becoming: A Book Review

obama bookThis is one of the best books I’ve read in a long time . . .  and I read a LOT of books.

At first, it reads like a long chat with a girlfriend.  No weighty four-syllable words or policy discussions.  A friend curled up at the other end of the couch, pausing occasionally to sip from her glass of wine, and sharing stories of growing up in a close-knit family and vibrant but struggling neighborhood, academic and job successes and challenges, the well-trod paths of career discernment, job changes, marriage, miscarriage and infertility, mothering, daughtering, dreams and losses — all conveyed in a relaxed tone of voice, mostly optimistic about possibilities, and occasionally shaken by tough realities.

Eventually, of course, the path begins to take direction and the focus sharpens.  A husband with political ambitions, gifts, and speed.  One minute Michelle Obama is objecting to a run for the statehouse; the next, she’s negotiating with a Secret Service detail over concerns for her daughters’ safety not compromising their freedom and flexibility as young girls, at least not too much.  (She relates with great humor a hilarious scene in which she and high-school aged Malia make a determined dash for a locked door so that they can escape the confines of the White House and celebrate the Supreme Court marriage equality decision outside, enjoyed the rainbow-hued lights playing across the mansion’s façade in at least some proximity to the crowd gathered to celebrate.)

Of course, it doesn’t all happen in an instant and, as often occurs with such books, many more details emerge with respect to the Obamas’ earlier life in politics than regarding the later, presidential years.  The first years, from the statehouse to the Senate to Iowa, are marked by resistance, mistakes, naivete’, and a developing political eye on her part, helped along by the growth of a dedicated and brilliant support team. But the latter years are fascinating as well, as Mrs. Obama develops the projects that will mark her tenure as first lady, focusing on children’s eating habits and health, a direct response to challenges in her own family; on military families, as she comes to know a world previously hidden from her view; and on girls’ education, a commitment founded in her conviction that the South Side of Chicago as well as the rest of the country are packed with young people as intelligent and gifted as she and her brother, with young people who lack neither brains nor determination, but need the opportunities and support system that paved the path for a young Michelle.

Her thoughtfulness about her choices, and her light but deft touch as she notes the particular challenges she faced as the first black First Lady and as a mother of youngsters and then teens in a political fishbowl, are likely to illumine the way for anyone seeking to clarify her goals for the next stage of life, whatever it might be.  As a 65-year-old white woman trying to sort through what I hope my next ten-to-fifteen years might look like, I find a lot of wisdom in these pages.

And finally — as Michelle Obama reflects on her last day as First Lady and the changes in our country since — well, she brought tears to my eyes.  As the good-byes are said peaceful transition of power occurs, she observes that the joyful diversity that marked her husband’s to inaugural celebrations has been replaced by a stolid, white, male “optic,” (a word that’s often been noted by her team in connection with her own efforts), and gives up on trying to smile.  And as she looks back at the atmosphere which has enveloped our country, she experiences the heartbreak that many of us share.  (On a related note, today’s news includes a report that the Trump administration is rolling back regulations regarding school lunches — legislation on which Michelle Obama quietly worked hard, part of her legacy in promoting healthy lifestyle choices for children.)

I don’t RE-read that many books, but I’m going to start over on this one as soon as I can.  Energy, commitment, determination, humor, and grace.  I am impressed, moved, and inspired.

 

 

 

 

A Prayer for Tomorrow

A work in progress . . .  after a day like this, I would usually re-write the entire service.  But the congregation I have been serving this summer has just learned that its pastor’s medical leave has been extended indefinitely, and he is going to speak with them tomorrow ~ his last opportunity to preach and share with them.  So I have been working on the Prayers of the People off and on all day . . .  it may look completely different sixteen hours from now . . .

God of All Peoples,

When you came among us as Spirit Wind, you did not come to a small group of like-minded people who knew what to expect.  You came as a surprise of power and a mystery of awakening to people of all sorts from all places in the world as they knew it ~ people who came by different routes, people who looked different from one another,  people who spoke different languages from one another.

You called us, this conglomeration of all peoples, to gather as your church.

You called us to follow the way of your Son, who was never intimidated by illness or disarray, and to align ourselves with your healing presence.

You called us to follow the way of the prophets, who again and again called your people to the justice which is care and provision for all peoples, to the kindness which embraces all peoples, and to the humility required for ourselves to become instruments of the way you set for us.

And so we pray for Pastor — and for his family, that they may recognize and deeply know the community, the hope, and the healing, whatever those things may look like, that come across the winds and the waves of life with your Son.

We pray for the people of Charlottesville and of our nation, for the killed, the injured, and the heartbroken, that they may know the determination of a nation set on hope and justice grounded in the abundant love and care of God..

We pray for our leaders, that they may find the patience and wisdom and courage to guide us toward peace at home and abroad.

Grant us the patience to gather in community and to seek and offer healing, even and especially where healing does not look like that which we ourselves seek and prefer.

Grant us the strength and confidence to condemn racism and violence wherever we encounter them.

Grant us the courage to pursue justice and peace, in our community, in our nation, and in our world.

Help us to become the people you want us to become ~ people who follow the One who rose victorious over death and who reigns over the new creation of heaven and earth into which we are all called.

 

Talking About Race

I wondered, yesterday, about posting a few sentences about my discomfort in speaking in a varied racial context.  It’s a difficult topic, one with which I have become less, rather than more, comfortable over the years.  As with pretty much everything, the more you learn, the less you know.

I grew up in a family (in a rural, all white, Midwestern community) in which overt bigotry and discrimination were not tolerated.  I remember well the shock I felt when I discovered in junior high that my maternal grandmother was vocally and unrepentantly racist.  My mother was long gone by that point, so I couldn’t ask her about it; all I could manage at that juncture was to absorb that my extended family and my immediate family were two distinct entities with respect to questions of race.

But the lack of overt racism in my family concealed something just as insidious — an unarticulated attitude that “there are no differences among us,” which disguises, at least for white people when in the majority, a belief that “everyone is the same to the extent that everyone is like us.”

As the decades passed, I learned differently.  Even in our universal longings ~ for love, for kindness, for peace, for justice ~ we differ in that we hope and speak and act from different experiences and different perspectives.  My own dream is always to celebrate our distinctiveness while growing in relationship, but I am finding it harder to know how to do that in honest and generous ways.

My own primary experience of having been the “outsider” was my six years of teaching in an Orthodox Jewish school, in which I was one of about five Christian teachers in a faculty of about 50, and in which every student was either a Conservative or Orthodox Jew.  It was a period of learning to listen and hear differently, and learning to understand in my bones and heart rather than merely in my intellect that my community and individual perspectives were not family rooms in which to lounge with the relaxed confidence of being a member of the dominant culture, but posed significant challenges to all of us in this world.

When I served a church in the same neighborhood as the one in which I participated yesterday, our congregation was joyfully diverse ~ but we only had two years before we closed, and had only just begun to explore our back stories together.  My last and present churches are nearly 100% white in communities similarly constituted, and questions of race barely ripple the surface.

The more we learn, the less we know.

 

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