#DISABLED PEOPLE HOWEVER DISABLED ARE NOT INFANTS OR ANIMALS. THANK YOU.

[croakings]

i apologize for mithrunposting incessantly but honestly if any of you expected better of me you shouldn't have

anyway i get it and some of the failguy jokes are funny. i can tell that nothing i've run into is even malicious. but also it would be really cool and awesome if there were simply less posts calling a disabled person a failure or baby or a dog or whatever for needing accommodation or extra help, especially when like. hey did you know the source material very on purpose did not do anything remotely like that. critical thinking question: could there be some reasons these phrases are not great, potentially

[guiltywisdom]

Different anon but I just wanted to ask about something in your last answer. You said you wanted to get married so you can foster children. I'm a single dad of one; I'm aroace, but I adopted my daughter after I found her in the trash as an infant (I work with Wildlife Services and someone reported what they assumed was an animal in a trash bag in a ditch, and then I opened the bag and the rest is history). How does the Orthodox Church view single parents who adopt?

Ever since I found Eva my life has changed for the better. I stopped drinking, I stopped gambling, I got back in touch with my family, and I got back into reading and learning about God because I want to be able to give Eva a solid faith background, which I didn't have growing up. I know it's weird. Dudes who adopt while single are a pretty small minority of adoptions. I never thought about having kids at all before her. But I saw her and I felt an overwhelming sense of connection, of protectiveness, and I went from "ugh I hate kids, they're so annoying" to bundling her to my chest for warmth and rocking her and singing to her in under five minutes. I also went from "hasn't prayed in years" to nonstop praying that she would be okay despite the cold and awful conditions I found her in, and she somehow got out of that situation without frostbite despite the bitter January cold. A fundamental part of me has altered and I would never, ever give her up, not for anything in the world. Eva is the best thing that has ever happened to me and I thank God for her regularly.

My sisters have warned me some churches gossip and not everyone will be supportive of a non-traditional family. I know that they're probably right. But I've met some little old ladies who go to the local Serbian Orthodox Church, and they adore Eva and seemed supportive of me raising her. So... what's the vibe of the Church on this? Will it be supportive overall? Is there any doctrine against being a single parent, like some Baptists have, or would it be more or less alright?

(Sorry this is so long. I have so many feelings about my baby girl I always go on long when I talk abut her.)

Oh that's amazing you did that! There is no doctrine on single parents although generally two parents are seen as the ideal but that's more cultural. You'll find a lot of people supportive of your relationship with your daughter, especially if they know the situation and how much you love her. We are told to look after the widows and the orphans however which I think applies here.

For me specifically, I want to get married for many reasons and only one single one being so I can foster. I know caring for children is something I've been called to despite my asexuality but just personally don't think I could do it solo considering my disabilities so that's why I'm waiting until I find someone to marry but I know there are many great single parents out there right now.

My sibling in Christ, I hope you continue to attend that Serbian church and that you find a loving community there for you and Eva.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Of Dust and Ashes

Sorry it’s a few days late. We got a new kitten day before post day and she cuddles. I can’t write and cuddle a kitten AND I will *not* refuse a kitten. Plus, between house viewings for my sister and taking my daughter to hang out with her cousins, my weekend got hijacked. But there IS good news. I’ve got a laptop! So pace should increase and my hope is to be back to a weekly update schedule by Christmas. 

Chapter warnings: Nondetailed talk of death of disabled, elderly, children, toddlers, infants and animals.

Masterlist 

Chapter 33: Town

Clint watched the boy in the rear view mirror. He was long, lanky and far too skinny. With what surely were still trembling hands, the boy gathered what was left to him and walked away, dragging his feet with each step. Part of Clint was angry with himself for giving away valuable supplies to someone he knew was going to more likely than not be dead before spring thaw. It was wasteful in a world that one couldn’t afford to be wasteful in.

What would Dee have done? What would she have said? Would she have given the boy food? Would she have invited him to join them? Would she have hated him if he turned the boy away empty handed?

Clint sighed and pushed the thoughts out of his mind. Instead, he focused on the positive things. He was alive. Dee was alive and Trust would likely be alright. The sun was shining bright in the sky. It was a beautiful day with only the slightest bite of bitter cold to the air.

Sun filtered through naked tree branches and danced over the glossy green needles of the pine. Something large and brown caught his eye in the distance. It was on the side of the road as the small town gave way to the rural fields that separated the smaller village where Sasha’s clinic sat.

“Are you serious?” Clint couldn’t believe his eyes.

Standing on the side of the road, eating at bushes was a large bull moose. He was standing tall and proud. Clint kept far enough away, not wanting to startle the beast as he grabbed his gun and rolled down the driver’s side window. Icy air rolled inside, purging the heat from the truck faster than he thought possible.

After throwing the heat on full blast, Clint leaned out the window and took aim. The moose wasn’t scared. The beast paid the truck no mind as he raised his massive head and made his way up out of the ditch and onto the road.

Clint waited until he was halfway across before taking the shot. He needed this. They needed this. The sound of the gun echoed through the forest. Birds took flight, startled from where they sat. In the center of the road, the moose went down. Legs kicked twice before going still.

“Fuck yeah.” Clint breathed to himself as he pulled the truck closer. “I don’t know what you’re doing here buddy, but boy am I thankful for seeing you.”

Moose were not common in Missouri. Sure, he’d seen one on occasion wander into the state but they kept more toward the northern border. Whether it was the wacky weather or the simple lack of humans to interfere allowing them to expand their territory, he was thankful.

A deer or elk could feed him and Dee for a week or so. A turkey for a few days. A bull moose would feed them for the month easily while still supplementing the clinic.

After grabbing a large hunting knife out of the glove box, he set to work. It was hard and gory work, but he did it as fast as he could. The contents of the body spilled on the ground around him. Removing the antlers was another task in itself. They were large and at one point he smacked himself in the face with them. Trust would enjoy gnawing on hooves and antlers.

With the innards and head removed, the carcass was a bit lighter. Still, it was a struggle to move it into the truck bed. He had thought of bagging up the innards and taking those with him as well. In the past, he had used innards to bait traps and even fish.

Now, it probably wouldn’t work to trap any predators or scavengers. The simple fact is there was too much dead meat laying around for some moose innards to really be of a notice. In the fall, the meat will have spoiled or been eaten and the scavengers would be hungry. The hunting would be good in the fall.

Clint washed his hands and arms in the powdered snow at the side of the road. Now he was a little less miffed about having given away supplies to the boy. There were large smears of red marring the fresh white of the snow. The layer of fresh snow covering the highway was thinner. The sun baked and melted the exposed ground far better than the forest floor and snow always seemed to melt faster on asphalt.

The warmth from the carcass and the blood worked to melt down the snow on the road. In a few places, the black of the asphalt peeked through where blood soaked away the snow.

Clint knew all it would take was a large blizzard and the road could easily become lost to travelers. Part of him wondered how folks up farther north, into Canada were coping. Was their government more cohesive than America’s? Did they manage to get power restored before people froze to death in the bitter winter?

It would be worth exploring. And unlike many, his truck could tame some unplowed roads and heavy snow drifts. Would Dee be up for it? Exploring and checking on the world? Did he want to? Was it a good idea?

He shelved the thoughts for now as he brought the truck back to life. What mattered right now was that he had a whole moose and a solid meat supply for the near future.

When he approached the turn off for the Clinic, he drove by instead. While he wanted nothing more than to get back and start butchering the moose, he wanted to cover his tracks. The sheer lack of traffic left many roads covered in a undisturbed layer of snow and he needed to disturb it. As it was, almost all the tracks on the road were his. It made it rather obvious that someone was stationed in the clinic.

He drove up the road and pulled into a side street. He followed roads, turning at times and backtracking, beating down snow and making it look more used than it was. He pulled into pristine driveways only to pull out and repeat the process. Occasionally, he would get out and try the doors. Some would be unlocked.

Inside unlocked houses he found pasta, flour and grains that had been left behind when the occupants had turned to dust. There were piles of settled dust around armchairs and dining tables. Sometimes, there were bodies rather than dust. Children who could not fend for themselves and were too young to open doors or think to leave the house.

Toddlers trapped in houses with a toddler proof door. Babies in cribs. Dogs and cats without a way out. Wheelchair bound bodies who perhaps knew better than to try. Elderly without the strength to travel a great ways.

The snap had intended to remove half the life from the universe but it had caused so much more loss of life than that. Clint ignored the frozen bodies, often in varying states of decay based on simply how long they had managed to hold on.

He made note of houses with generators, woodstoves and fireplaces. Later he would come back and drain fuel from generators. Wood stacks sitting out were added to the truck. He didn’t have to worry about heat or power at the farmhouse but Sasha did and would greatly benefit from these supplies.

He had no intention of giving it all to her however. If they made extended trips away from the farmhouse, they would need wood and fuel both. Plus, it was a valuable resource for trading for as long as a barter economy lasted.

He spent over an hour making tracks in the snow and gathering supplies from houses and cabins. Occasionally, eyes 45would peek out at him from windows when he pulled up to a house. On one occasion, a man came out waving a gun.

“I’m armed!” He hollered as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Neat.” Clint answered as he reversed down the driveway only to pull in again. “I’m not going to bother you.”

“What are you doing?” Curiosity won out over caution for the man.

“Making tracks.” Clint answered as he pulled in once again, from a slightly different angle.

“Why?”

“So it looks like a lot of people live here and to hide which houses actually have people.”

“Why?” What was the man, two?

“So people who don’t mean y’all well can’t look at the snow and pinpoint what houses people are still living in to steal supplies.”

“You’re stealing supplies.” The man pointed out as Clint got out of the truck. The man didn’t look ready to follow through with his threats and Clint honestly didn’t fear him.

“From abandoned houses. Need some flour or sugar? Pasta? I hit jackpot in a house down the block.”

“Sarah May’s house.”

“Sure. The woman was dead inside so she’s not using it. There was some water too.”

“Oh. Okay.” The man dumbly caught the box of pasta Clint tossed his way.

“Here, help me make tracks. You should probably start doing this too. I’m not always going to be in the area to cover it. How many of you are in the town?”

“A handful of us.”

“Cool.” Clint handed him a few cans of pasta sauce. “Got a bag?”

“Yeah, I’ll get one.” The man was clearly still very confused on what was happening. Clint didn’t mind parting with supplies now that he had the moose in the back. He could afford it. Plus, these people lived near the Clinic. It would be good to have a relationship with them, even if it was just in passing. Strangers get shot.

It was nearing sunset when he had finally called it a day. Randy, the man who braved going outside had helped him, walking paths between houses and shoveling walkways from houses to the road. Clint didn’t promise Randy much beyond a share of the supplies they found. They waved and smiled at a few faces peering out windows but no one else braved going outside.

Clint left boxes of pasta, flour, sugar and a few cans of food on doorsteps of houses that had faces in the windows. Far more houses were empty than had faces and very few had been broken into. The benefit of being rural was simply the fact that most of these people had emergency rations and could hole up and survive for a while.

How many of them would make it to spring planting, he had no idea.

“Are you with the government?” Randy finally braved asking.

“Nope. But they are working on setting things something close to right again.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I’ve got a friend who’s living near here. And I don’t want people coming and killing her for her supplies.”

“People are doing that?” Randy clearly hadn’t ventured out of this small rural neighborhood.

“Yeah.” Clint answered. “A lot of people are, to be honest. Others are gathering people up and using them as slaves, calling themselves Kings.”

“The government is allowing that?”

“Not really. They’ve retaken control of the east coast and are moving West but it takes time. Half the population just up and vanished. Add in casualties from accidents and stuff- they had to pull bodies from all over to have enough to take back the East Coast. They can only push west so fast, keeping in mind supplies, troops and how much power they can maintain. It’s slow but they are coming.”

“I thought they would never come.” Randy admitted. Clint could understand that. It’d been nearly five months since it had happened. In many ways it felt like yesterday. At the same time it felt like several lifetimes ago.

“They will. Just keep hanging on, gathering supplies and staying warm. If you run out of food or water, you won’t make it long.”

“If I run out of water, I’ll melt down the snow like Cathy down the road has been. Haven’t seen her recently but I haven’t been even looking’ outside much. Only reason I looked today was the sound of the truck.”

“I wouldn’t drink snow water.” Clint said. “There’s ash and dust in it. If you have to, filter it as best you can. I don’t know what drinking the ash that the people turned into will do.”

“Good point.” Clint started the truck and threw it into reverse.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Will- Will you be coming back?”

“With supplies for you?” Clint asked but didn’t give him time to answer. “Probably not. But I may come back to drive around again. I don’t know. Kinda just winging it.”

“I didn’t mean to make you think I wanted to use you for supplies.” Randy stammered. “I just- It’s nice to have interaction with a friendly face. Someone human and real.”

“I know.” Clint said and backed out. There wasn’t really anything left he needed to say.

The drive back to the clinic was as uneventful as the drive out had been. He drove by it a few times, turning around on different driveways and pull offs, making the road look more traveled before finely pulling in. Dee was sure to be worried about him by now.

The sun was hanging low in the sky as the truck rumbled to a stop in front of the secluded clinic, lighting the sky aflame with oranges, pinks and reds. The temperature was quickly dropping from a balmy twenty as the darkness of night encroached. Thick trees surrounded the clinic, shielding it away from eyes and making it seem like its own world.

In the window, he could see Dee’s anxious face looking out and was soon joined by the other two. The wave of relief that passed over her when their eyes connected was visible even from this distance. As he killed the engine and set about unloading the cooler and frozen meat, they were surely inside clearing the door.

A body crashed into his back as he leaned into the truck to grab a tomato plant. Arms wrapped around him and clutched him. Rather than grab the plant, he wrapped his arms around himself, holding her arms to him.

“I was scared.” Dee whispered into his back. Her voice was soft and weak with the relief of a fear unrealized. It instantly made him regret the time he spent covering his tracks and gathering supplies. He should have come back first and let her know what he was doing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think.” Clint turned in her arms, wrapping his own around her and holding her tightly to him.

“Where were you?”

“Driving around, covering tracks. It was obvious that someone was coming and going from back here. I didn’t want to lead someone to us.”

“Makes sense” She mumbled into his chest.

“I should have come and told you first.”

“Lovebirds, did you get Trust a cone? He’s been going at his stitches.” Sasha called as she marched up to the truck.

They couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t normal for them to have witnesses to their quiet moments. The tenderness between them usually was private. The intrusion into their moment was enough to snap them back to reality.

“So what did you bring us?” Dee asked.

“First- Cones for Trust. There’s some medications in the bag but I couldn’t find any books that looked useful.”

Sasha took the offered bag from him. “It’s better than nothing.”

“I’ve got some rice, flour, sugar, pasta and canned food too.” Clint added. Sasha nodded and headed inside the house with her bag.

“This is a lot.” Dee said, looking at the pile of bags on the floorboards of the cab.

“It’s not all for her. “Help me unload and we’ll lock what’s going back to the house inside.”

“You don’t trust them?” Dee whispered.

“With food? I don’t trust anyone with food. We’ll leave them more than enough and can even teach them some ways to cook it. But we’re not going to suffer to support them when they won’t put the effort into supporting themselves. I went out. I got the food. I put myself at risk while they sat here safe and sound.”

“I was sitting here safe and sound too though.”

“You’re different. You’re a part of my team. You’re you.”

“And that makes it different?”

“No, I guess not. The fact that I love you makes it different.”

Dee rolled her eyes, the tension leaving her shoulders and a smile creeping up her face. “I love you, too.” she admitted, grabbing boxes and bags of flour, sugar and pasta out.”

“We’ll save about a quarter of the dry stuff for us.” Clint directed.

“Trust is fine. Gave him something for the pain and put the cone on. He should be resting and completing the world’s saddest act.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” Dee laughed as Clint shifted, leaning back against the truck’s window, hiding the view into the backseat.

“Start taking things in while we unload.” Clint directed.

“Did you find any formula?” Sasha asked as she bent down and plucked up as many boxes and bags as she could carry.

“I’ve got a few partially used cans and a few unopened ones. Found them in some abandoned houses.”

“Great- the more the better. I’m not sure Rachel’s going to be able to breastfeed nearly enough.”

“She can’t make enough milk?” Clint asked.

“In theory, she could. But it’s complicated. Her heart has to be in it, she has to give it her all and even then. Women’s minds have gotten in the way of their bodies’ doing what is natural for as long as men have been disappointing women.” Dee couldn’t help but laugh at Sasha’s words. It was true and it sucked.

“Ouch.” Clint said, plopping a bag of flour onto the pile in Sasha’s arms.

As soon as Sasha turned away, he opened the truck door and unloaded everything he was willing to give up before Sasha had a chance to come back out. Sasha returned with Rachel just as they tossed a blanket over what they intended to keep for themselves on the floor and shut the door.

~~~~~<3

@winterisakiller​, @tnystrk-exe​, @nonsensicalobsessions​, @alcoholic-muffin​, @coyotesongwriting​, @usedtobegoodfriend96​, @theoneanna​, @alexakeyloveloki​, @toozmanykids​, @j-u-s-t-4​, @missaphrodite23​, @tinchentitri​, @bambamwolf87​, @queenoftheunderdark​, @xoxabs88xox​, @carissime72​, @myoxisbroken​, @wegingerangelica​, @faemapfae​, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​

[englishtogether]

Reflection paper: Language Acquisition

In all species the brain is the most amazing organ due to its abilities to gain and store knowledge for later use. It could be said that this is a little easier to notice with the human brain; one example for this is how language is acquired. Even though the development of basic skills such as speaking may differ from person to person, usually children tend to know most of the grammar of their native language before turning 5 years old. That is a great sign of how complex the brain is and how it processes elements from the environment to make it its own.

It is important to always keep in mind that children will not speak flawlessly because they tend to use a version of the language that conforms to the set of grammatical rules they have develop on their own at every specific state of language acquisition (Szczegielniak, n.d.). Also, experts think that infants are born with the ability to detect and focus on sounds that are important for any language, but by the age of 6 months old they begin to lose that ability and only focus on the sounds that are important for the specific language they are acquiring in that moment. This could be a sign of how the brain recognizes what is important for this person's environment to learn because is the most used around them. After one year they start connecting specific words to meanings, for example, "Up!" is used to indicate they want the specific person they are talking to, to pick them up.

For the phonology part is very interesting that as the best practice demands, children acquire the most common sounds first, and then the less common of their own language. This does not mean they do not perceive those sounds, only that they do not use it to communicate due to the difficulty level. When they start to try using it, they will substitute the hardest pronunciations for easier ones. Regarding meaning, they will first overextend a word's meaning (every animal is a dog, for example) or on the contrary, they will underextend it (only the family pet is a dog). For morphology, they tend to overgeneralize (use bringed, instead of brought). When it comes to syntax, children tend to omit function morphemes, however, sentences still have a hierarchical structure that helps the listener understand what is being expressed. Finally, regarding pragmatics, they may have problems with pronouns (use of 'you' to refer to 'I') and context at first, but with time, they become better at this.

It is well known that there are different ways to communicate that humans have been developing in order to give more access to the world to people who have some kind of disability; one of those ways is sign language. Contrary to what most people think, babies that are born deaf actually can acquire sign language the same way spoken language is normally acquired. Also, if they are not exposed to sign language, they will create their own signs with systematic rules, demonstrating that communication is innate for human beings, no matter the conditions they are born with. Now, what practices are used to acquire a language? Theories suggest that children can learn a language thanks to different practices such as imitating what they hear and see, receiving negative and positive reinforcement to correct for example, the generalization of the past tense always ending with -ed, and with analogies.

There are several theories when it comes to bilingualism in children, two of them are the Unitary System hypothesis which explains that children at first construct only one lexicon and one grammar, and the Separate Systems hypothesis which is the idea that children build a distinct lexicon and grammar for every language they learn. There are some experts that think learning a second language is a totally different process than learning a first language. One point of this theory is that because learners already know a language, they tend to transfer that knowledge on to the second unconsciously causing them to make several errors. Regarding the sensitive periods to learn a language, phonology is known as the smallest since it is easier to have an accent after childhood years.

In conclusion, humans have shown that acquiring a first language and communicating is innate for them and has several details that connect in order to create a perfect sense of language expression; it is not a simple process that is completed overnight. Bilingualism and multilingualism show that even if brains have a limit, it is not that easy to reach. Thanks to theorists and experts, the world knows a lot about this precious skill that humans possess, but it is safe to say that there is still a long way to go.

 Bibliography

Hickey, R. (n.d.). First and second language acquisition: A brief comparison. [PDF]. https://www.uni-due.de/ELE/FLA_SLA_brief_comparison.pdf

Hilpert, M. (2014, January 13). First language acquisition. [Video file]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=up0yVJWf9zQ

Szczegielniak, A. (n.d.). Introduction to Linguistic Theory. [PDF]. https://scholar.harvard.edu/files/adam/files/language_acquisition.ppt.pdf  

[boythirteen]

undefined

Thank you for not being fed up with me. I feel so relieved I think I’ll be docile and sweet now.

I finished writing my sermon today. I was trying to focus on something other than you but still was looking for you in between. This is the sermon if you have time to read it:

From Matthew 21:12-17 12Jesus entered the temple courts and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves. 13 “It is written,” he said to them, “‘My house will be called a house of prayer,’but you are making it ‘a den of robbers.’”

14 The blind and the lame came to him at the temple, and he healed them. 15 But when the chief priests and the teachers of the law saw the wonderful things he did and the children shouting in the temple courts, “Hosanna to the Son of David,” they were indignant.

16 “Do you hear what these children are saying?” they asked him. “Yes,” replied Jesus, “have you never read, ‘From the lips of children and infants you, Lord, have called forth your praise’?” 17 And he left them and went out of the city to Bethany, where he spent the night.

This story of the temple riot appears in all 4 gospels. 3 of these stories, from Matthew, Mark, and Luke, occur after Jesus rides the donkey into Jerusalem at Passover, just prior to his death. The story in John, though, seems to occur at an earlier Passover nearer to the beginning of Jesus’s ministry. There is some theological debate as to whether or not Jesus would have behaved this way twice, but differences in the time frames of these stories definitely suggest that he did. I like believing that he did, that there wasn’t just a single occasion of Jesus losing his cool and flipping over things in an over-the-top way that he could later regret and wish he had handled with more poise and polite restraint. Because Jesus didn’t regret what he did at all. He did it again! He chose to do it again, as if to model the correct action to take when confronted with societal structures that oppress people and cast them as less worthy of participation in the fullness of life, less acceptable to God, even. He was saying: Clash with these structures! Turn them upside down! Just like our trans forebears did at Stonewall 50 years ago, like we still have to do today. Because Jesus was also saying that clashing with the ruling class is something that needs to happen more than once—that standing up to oppressive systems is an ongoing struggle—as we are still and again confronting a mounting backlash against our many advances toward justice, as protections for trans people are rescinded and new oppressions enacted on a weekly if not daily basis it seems.

I feel like we’ve been over the significance of the temple cleansing lots of times in many sermons. I’ve even preached about it before, but from the story in John, the one that seems to take place at an earlier Passover than this Matthew story we have today. And in the story from John, Jesus uses an actual whip to drive out the money-changers! BDSM Jesus. A notable aspect of the Matthew story, though, is that it includes children shouting “Hosanna.” I want to talk about that in a minute, but first I need to review the table-turning part and why Jesus was so mad.

Pilgrims came from everywhere to celebrate the Passover. They came to the Temple in Jerusalem because it was the center of their faith—the temple. Not one of many but the single, only one. The money changers were there to exchange the pilgrims’ mostly Roman coins into Jewish ones so they could pay the temple tax and purchase sacrificial animals, since Roman money had the head of Caesar on it, a graven image, and wasn’t permitted in the temple. The money-changers charged a fee for this and made a big profit. Also making a profit were those selling the required animals to use as sacrifices for pleasing God, for receiving atonement and salvation. The doves were the most basic, “bargain” sacrifices for poorer people, most especially widows, but with grossly inflated prices at the dove booths in the Temple (like how movie theaters charge for snacks). And the temple authorities were also getting a cut of this. It was a racket. It was a blatant injustice of over-burdening the poor and enforcing a system of worthiness and access to God’s grace determined by who could literally pay for it. And apart from confronting this injustice, I want to believe that Jesus was also challenging the very notion of animal sacrifice as a necessary step to loving communion with God. I do believe that he meant to uproot this tradition, whether or not in deference to the inherent value of animal life, but simply to remove yet another barrier imposed by an authoritative class to “gate-keep” participation in God’s commonwealth.  Like removing the “3 articles of female clothing” rule requiring lesbians to conform to a gender binary standard of acceptability. The religious authorities of Jesus’s day used religious laws to exert control and assign levels of worthiness and acceptability to God that would secure their place at the top-most level, just as the patriarchal system still in place today uses a socially constructed gender binary to secure its dominance and perpetuate the subjugation of women.

In the temple story, it’s also important to note that certain people, those considered “unclean,” such as the blind and lame and anyone, really, with anything thought to be a “blemish” at all, weren’t allowed to make sacrifices or even come inside the temple, except into the outer courtyard. These were the people Jesus healed after flipping the tables, the injustice Jesus corrected by welcoming the outcasts. They came to him and he healed them, and so rendered them whole and acceptable. But something about this troubles me, because it doesn’t comport with a modern understanding of justice and inclusion. It doesn’t fit that Jesus would need to “heal” people with disabilities in order for them to be “clean” enough to belong, or that the emphasis would be on this literal healing instead of on the innate worth of every child of God regardless of physical differences or any other kinds of differences. The necessity of healing implies that the disabilities are legitimate reasons to ostracize people, and that being considered “whole” is what matters. Of course I know that the concept of “healing” is altogether rooted in loving compassion and the very right instinct to alleviate suffering, but something about healing as a metaphor for inclusion—or as a literal action to accomplish it—feels dismissive of the dignity of people just as they are, however much at odds they are with a societal standard of wellness. The work of social justice is to break down barriers, not “fix” people so that they’ll be acceptable enough to be allowed entry. I think of Jesus working within an unjust system and doing what was necessary to open as many doors as possible to the fullness of life for those who’d been most excluded from it, most bereft of love and support. Jesus knew the strictures of society and was pushing its boundaries to welcome in more and more people. But still, it makes me think of our LGBTQI struggle—how some of our leaders felt that we would be going too far to include trans people in the fight for inclusion and equality, how they said we could ease in the trans people after the less threatening LGB people had achieved respectability. I remember Sylvia Rivera standing in front of our MCCNY congregation in handcuffs and screaming at us that our trans siblings were still sitting at the back of the bus. But now, finally, after 50 years, her role in the ongoing struggle for liberation and justice for our people is being recognized and celebrated worldwide. Transpeople are coming to the forefront in the LGBTQI struggle, with allies clamoring to support us in the face of the Trump administration’s attacks. And we are finally, collectively, realizing and admitting and working to change the fact that trans women of color are the most vulnerable among us, and those we must continue to fight hardest alongside of. And soon there’ll even be a monument in the Village to honor Sylvia and her friend Marsha P. Johnson. Remember the pin Sylvia always wore with Marsha’s picture? This one that I’m wearing today.

And all of this is to say that our vision of justice is something that evolves and grows. Our vision today is bigger than it was 50 years ago, maybe bigger even, than Sylvia’s was, however much we owe to her visionary leadership as our guidance and inspiration. Our vision is bigger than Jesus’s was, as Jesus knew it would be, as Jesus prepared us for by teaching us to flip the tables, and to flip them again and again.

Which brings me to the part about the children singing hosanna, the children who recognized Jesus as having this divine and expansive vision.

The word hosanna is from a Hebrew word meaning “save us,” but in the New Testament, its meaning shifts to become a term of praise or thanksgiving for being saved, or in anticipation of being saved. Here at MCCNY, the message I receive doesn’t really focus on the concept of salvation, though. The good news message isn’t that Jesus, or God, saves us from suffering—from the trials and tribulations of life—but that God is with us through the trials, that we can do all things through God who strengthens us. And that our trials and tribulations are never punishments from God but simply are, and “deliverance” from suffering isn’t a sign of God’s special favor granted to “good” people—that all of us are God’s beloved no matter what befalls us or uplifts us. That none of us need to be “saved” or “fixed” or “healed” in order to be beloved and worthy—we simply are beloved and worthy. So the significance of Jesus “healing” people isn’t about a literal, physical healing to make someone “whole,” but is about providing opportunities for ostracized people to belong and so to experience a sense of worthiness—for them to begin to believe in themselves as beloved. To begin to be their truest selves, our truest selves, the beloved children of God. So what we need to be healed of isn’t our difference or divergence from what society considers ideal, but our inability to believe in ourselves, just as we are, as worthy and beloved children of God.

So “hosanna” is an expression of thanksgiving for the experience of worthiness, for the opportunity to practice belief in ourselves as beloved.

That children are expressing this, or that they’re the ones in this story who recognize what Jesus is advocating, feels important to me. It stands out as something unique to Matthew’s telling of the temple cleansing story, a part that has special significance. So what is it about children that’s special?

I think of children as being the most innately aware of who they naturally are. Children haven’t yet been imprinted by society to doubt their belovedness. They haven’t yet been sucked into systemic structures that rank people according to social constructs—these constructs having been invented by a ruling class to subjugate people and erode their belief in themselves, that force them to conform or be outcast. Children haven’t yet been warped by this in order to survive it. And as much as children were among the most marginalized group in Jesus’s day, (and still are in our country today—being ripped from their families and thrown into detention camps, being vulnerable to all manner of abuse, being stripped of healthcare and supportive services) they remained and continue to remain themselves, the models of how best to engage with God, to “become like little children.” Because children naturally resist society’s efforts to mold them into something other than who they truly are.

I have at home a big photo of myself as a child, a little girl then, maybe 2 years old. I’m wearing a frilly dress, probably a pink dress but the photo is black and white. I’m smiling a little, enough to make for a presentable photo of a sweet little girl. But the story I was told about this photo and others was that I pitched a screaming fit and had to be placated to sit still and vaguely smile. What I didn’t want, what I remember so vehemently resisting throughout my entire childhood, was to wear the frilly dress. I can’t imagine that, as a 2 year old, I understood too much about gender roles or how being forced to wear a frilly dress was constricting me into a false identity of “girl.” But still I knew that something was happening to me that meant to take away my freedom to be who I truly was, who was a child who wasn’t at all a girl as society defined it.  And I resisted this with all my might until I just didn’t anymore, when I became a teenager with a maturing body I didn’t want, a frightening and terrible (to me) female body I felt was so horribly betraying me but didn’t know how to make stop. It took me until I was well into my adulthood, after years of waywardness and self-destructive behaviors, self-hatred and drug addiction and self-neglect, to come to a place where I could begin to learn to be myself, to become as a child. This church was where I found the opportunity to experience myself as worthy. It’s where I learned about transitioning—that it was even a possible thing for me to do. It’s where I felt loved and supported enough to actually do it.

Which is another thing about children— their absolute reliance on the support of others. When I was first thinking through how to write this sermon, I got stuck on this part, the need that children have to be taken care of. Because I was thinking of Stonewall, of Sylvia and the others being outrageously themselves, how this was their expression of worthiness in defiance of all that society had tried to imprint on them to tame and control them, how much like wild children they were who just didn’t care what society dictated. And the idea of them needing to be taken care of didn’t seem to fit with this image of courageous defiance and unbridled freedom.

It did fit, though. It does fit, but first I need to talk about “Gentleman Jack.”

Did any of you watch the series on HBO called “Gentleman Jack?” The season is over now but I’m sure there’s a way to see it even if you don’t have HBO. You need to watch it! Miss Lister, the main character, will remind you of Rev. Pat and it will be great! But without giving away too much of the story, it’s about a remarkable lesbian in England at the onset of the industrial revolution. She strides through the show just busting down barriers and brashly confronting the patriarchy at every turn, sometimes with exuberant joy and other times grim determination. She’s also heart-breakingly sensitive. And she was an actual person. She seems to fall in love kind of easily and overwhelmingly, too, as I hear lesbians are wont to do. But there’s a part where she’s fallen in love with someone and wants her loved one to live with her as her wife. She proposes, even, but with the understanding that society won’t know, or won’t explicitly know, what their union truly is. They’ll just be “companions,” because the vision of justice hasn’t yet expanded enough to begin the fight for marriage equality. But this isn’t what struck me, really. What happened was that Miss Lister’s love interest, Anne, who was fully in love with Miss Lister and unafraid to profess this to her, still remained deeply afraid to shake off the strictures of society, particularly the religious ones, and was sent into a kind of self-pitying panic over Miss Lister’s proposal. I just wanted to shake her and drag her to a service at MCC. Miss Lister, too, seemed to want to do this. On more than one occasion, Miss Lister asked Ann why she thought so little of herself. In other words, why she couldn’t believe in herself as worthy. And Anne said she almost could when she was with Miss Lister. Or, in other words, when she felt cared for and supported and could draw strength from the support. Because Anne needed to be taken care of. She just didn’t yet feel real enough or worthy enough to give in to that need and believe that it would be met.

So maybe needing to be taken care of and supported is part of being our realest, truest selves. The trans warriors at Stonewall weren’t just confronting the unjust barriers to their very existence, they were insisting, like Sylvia was in church, that their existence had precious value, that they needed and deserved to be taken care of and supported, not simply named but honored and attended to, and with “names better than sons and daughters.” And this insistence on being cared for and supported is part, maybe the crucial part, of believing in ourselves as beloved children of God­—that we believe in ourselves as worthy of loving attention. That we consider this a given. That being healed means this. I think of the people who came to Jesus for healing, the ones who believed that he would heal them, that they were worthy of healing. And Jesus telling them that their faith made them well, which was to say that their belief in themselves as worthy and deserving of healing is what facilitated the healing, which was their embodiment of their truest selves as beloved and worthy children of God.

So faith, even, is a manifestation of being our truest selves. It’s like a perfect little sphere. Faith is what we have in order to have faith. Being our truest selves is what we do in order to be our truest selves. It’s like a spiritual mysticism that is now beginning to surpass my ability to define it, except to say that being our truest selves is mysterious and important and powerful and seems to be the crux of everything!

But to bring it back to earth, the Old Testament reading from Esther is about this, too—about Esther being her truest self as a representative of her people, the Jewish people, to secure their deliverance from destruction. About being her truest self “at such a time as this” in defiance of protocol and established norms, like the trans warriors did at Stonewall. Because being our truest selves is also a social responsibility, a way to secure freedom for others to be their truest selves, which is maybe the most practical part that we can apply right here, right now on the 50th Anniversary of Stonewall.  

Because if our social responsibility of being our truest selves requires that we defy the social proscriptions that force us into identities and behaviors that just aren’t who we truly are, then the point is to insist on a different world where we won’t have to wear the false identities to survive, won’t have to rise up and flip over the tables to make pathways for our siblings to experience belonging and wholeness, won’t have to find our way back to being as little children but will simply get to be them the whole time, for our whole lives. Like Sylvia and Marsha and all the trans forebears were doing with their tactical chorus line at Stonewall, and so were paving the way for all of us to get to do. Like we’re all doing right now, just being our needy gay selves at church.

Amen

[maybrandon]

Learn About Reiki Eye-Opening Cool Tips

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[heartsofpets]

Teen Tells Stranger Not To Pet Her Service Dog And Has A Seizure When He Refuses To Listen

Hailey Ashmore has several conditions, including epilepsy, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, reactive hypoglycemia, severe allergies, gastroparesis, and asthma.

The 16-year-old from Dallas, TX relies on the help of her service dog, Flynn.

According to Fetching Apparel, Hailey was once a dancer on the varsity drill team, student council member, violinist and at the top of her class. However, with her conditions progressing, Hailey can only take classes online.

She is dependent on her parents, nurse, medications, and Flynn. The condition she grapples with the most is epilepsy, which causes seizures. Seizures are very serious; in another instance, a mom had a seizure and was unable to tend to her infant at the mall.

“To get a service dog you must be disabled to the point where you can no longer function as a normal quality of life without the assistance of service dogs,” said Hailey.

“It takes around two years of intense training and thousands of dollars (if you owner train) to actually be able to call your dog a service dog. A service dog can go anywhere its handler goes, with the exception of a sterile environment such as an operating room or burn unit, a religious building — such as a church, or some federal buildings,” she said.

The job of a service dog is very important to its human. See why Hailey is pleading with strangers to get them to stop petting her dog without permission.

This is Hailey Ashmore and her service dog, Flynn.

Hailey has had Flynn since he was an itty-bitty puppy.

Needless to say, it was love at first sight.

Hailey also struggles with several conditions. “I have epilepsy, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, reactive hypoglycemia, severe allergies, gastroparesis, asthma, and more,” Hailey told Fetching Apparel.

Flynn isn’t just a friend — he is Hailey’s service dog. Flynn can sense when Hailey is going to have a seizure before it happens. This gives Hailey time to respond, get help, and find a safe place.

One day, Hailey was visiting her dad at work. When she arrived with Flynn, a staff member could not resist how adorable he is. They began to pet him, ignoring the giant “STOP” sign he wears. “I immediately told him to stop [petting Flyyn],” Hailey told the Dodo.

“The only time somebody should ever approach Flynn and I is if I am unconscious and/or having a seizure. Besides that, nobody should try to pet or get near him. I wish people could understand that’s what the giant stop sign patch means. If somebody distracts him I can get seriously hurt. If you see a service dog in public please educate your children, your friends, your family, anybody else that they are doing a really important job. Thank you.”

While Flynn was distracted from the petting, Hailey had a seizure. “I am used to him giving me 10-minute warnings, so when he alerted that’s what I thought I had,” explained Hailey. “Out of nowhere, I remember the world going black. I woke up with Flynn on top of my legs and my father cradling my head. On the whole left side of my face, there was a terrible sting that made me tear up.”

Hailey woke up with rug burns on her head.

“My service dog is my lifeline. I don’t say that to be cute. He helps keep me alive just like life support. If he gets distracted this happens. If he gets distracted I can die. Do not pet service dogs. Do not call to service dogs. Do not taunt service dogs. Do not talk to service dogs. Do not do anything to service dogs. Thank you,” she wrote on Instagram.

Many of us are so eager to connect with animals, we often forget that they are protecting their human. Let’s learn something from another’s mistake and be more mindful of other people’s animals!

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Teen Tells Stranger Not To Pet Her Service Dog And Has A Seizure When He Refuses To Listen was originally published on Hearts Of Pets