Girl Power, ANB and RBG

Ally and I believe in girl power.  We believe that girls (and women) can do anything they want to do.  I used to tell Ally:  Girls can do anything boys can do, except pee standing up (which isn’t exactly true, it’s just a bit complicated).  When we lost RBG on Friday, we lost a champion for equality, a champion for women, a role model for all.  I really like thinking that maybe Ally and Ruth are in heaven chatting it up about politics and women’s rights.   Maybe Ally ran to Heaven’s gates and welcomed Ruth, told her that her mom admired her.  Maybe Ally showed Ruth the picture of me dressing up like her for Halloween, and maybe they are both talking about how this is the 100th anniversary of women’s right to vote and acknowledging the shame that we’ve only had this right for a short time in our country’s history.  These images bring me comfort   Either way, two of the strongest females on the planet are no longer suffering, and I am reminded of how thankful I am of all the people in my life who have inspired me to live fully –regardless of my gender. 

I’m thankful for my strong mom, who raised me to be an independent thinker.  Although she didn’t go to college herself, she basically put three of us (me, my Dad, my sister) through college, quizzing us and encouraging us, typing my Dad’s papers.  She never complained, and she always worked as long as it took to do  what she had to do.  She stayed up late many nights making homecoming dresses and my sister’s wedding dress. Mom was basically the glue to our family, always loving us and letting us know we were special and loved. She made us feel like we could do anything.  In fact, she still makes us feel like that today.

I’m thankful for my Dad, who never made me feel that girls were second class citizens.  When I was in high school, he tried to talk me into applying to West Point.  I didn’t, but he believed I had that potential. Dad had two girls.  I used to wonder if he wished for boys, but now I know that he didn’t. He was a great girl dad. Dad loved sports, and he loved to coach and work with kids. Growing up, he never once acted like he missed coaching boys.  He worked with us on running, softball, basketball, and he never ever gave my sister and me the impression that women’s sports were inferior.  Thanks, Dad, for showing me that I could do anything I wanted.  And although I’m a teacher, which is historically a more female-dominated career, I chose this career because it is what I wanted to do. And of course, my Dad always encouraged me, even on my hardest of teaching days. 

I’m thankful for Mrs. Teegarden, my elementary librarian.  When I was a kid, I was an avid reader.  Mrs. Teegarden encouraged my love of reading.  She gave me big books, books that were probably too hard for me to read.  She tried to challenge my curiosity and intellect.  She gave me Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Little Women, and other challenging books.  When I wanted to read about famous suffragettes, she helped me find books about them — Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Lucretia Mott.  (Yeah, I’ve always been this way.)  Mrs. Teegarden showed me, even at a young age, that a girl could be smart, and that was okay. 

There are countless other people in my life (and in the world) who have encouraged me — people who have made it clear to me that gender is just that — a part of who I am.  But gender does not exclude me from doing what I want to do.  Both Ally and RBG have taught me the importance of girl power, and therefore I will continue to advocate for women as a tribute to  these two amazing humans.  I hope you will, too.

*Note:  ANB is Ally Noel Baier, my beautiful daughter who died on May 3, 2020.  I will write more about her in later blog posts.  She was an amazing kid– smart and funny and kind.  She died too soon, but she will live on in my writing, through the Ally League, and through the many things her family and friends do in her honor.

My Thoughts on Prayer

grayscale photography of praying hands

I read a friend’s post on Facebook the other night, and I was immediately compelled to respond.  He wrote:  “Can you pray for someone without being religious?”  This got me thinking about the nature of prayer and where I stand on this issue.    

The concept of prayer is troubling to me.  I grew up (mostly) in the church, and I grew up praying.  I knew how to recite The Lord’s Prayer when I was five or six.  Back then, my understanding was that you pray to God for forgiveness, or share your sins when you pray. Prayer was like a conversation between you and God, and sometimes God was like your parent more than a friend.

  Many people I know today really, truly believe in the power of prayer — the power, that is, to change the outcome of a difficult situation.  I am not mocking this position.  I wish I could believe this.  I’ve recently gone through a pretty tough life event, thus my thoughts on prayer have changed.  Today, I feel that expecting prayer to magically solve a problem is negating the true power of prayer.

Lately, when I do pray, I don’t talk of sins or forgiveness or any of that.  I figure if there’s a higher power out there, he/she/it knows what I’ve been up to.  He/she/it knows I’m trying to be a decent human and that I also make mistakes.  Instead, I just talk.  I express gratitude.  I ask for help or strength or compassion.  I never ask for things.

I don’t like to throw around the term “I’m praying for you” because it seems insincere — at least when I say it.  I may not “pray” for you in the traditional sense, but I will send you all the love and good vibes I have.  I will come visit you in the hospital.  I’ll text you and see how you’re doing or take you out for coffee.  I’ll bring over a meal.  This is because I think prayer without action is worthless.  Mindless prayers to a God who can’t control the outcome anyway seems pointless.  People who offer “prayers” but can’t even bother to text you to check on your welfare seem inauthentic.   I know that for many Christians or spiritual folks, this seems harsh.  But let me explain.

On May 3, I lost my favorite little person.  I lost my fifteen year old daughter.  I had hundreds of people across the country, people I knew as well as strangers, praying for her.  I prayed.  My church prayed.  Her friends prayed.  But still, cancer would not desist.  Prayers didn’t work — at least not in sparing her life.

During this challenging time, I didn’t always pray in the way that I did as a child.  I didn’t ask for tangible things. But I did pray for strength.  I prayed for her to know she was loved.  I told God or the Universe or the Divine —  whoever is out there — that I was grateful for the love and kindness of people who were supporting us through this challenging time.  I prayed for peace — for my daughter and for our family.  During this time, instead of just praying, people brought food.  They sat with us.  My neighbors walked with me every day for several months.  Friends called and texted and emailed and sent cards.  These kindnesses were all forms of “prayers,” even if these prayers aren’t what we were taught about in Sunday School. 

Prayers are more than just words: prayers are actions.  Prayers are acts of solidarity, support, and empathy — love sent out into the universe on a person’s behalf.  So back to the initial question:  Can you pray and not be religious?  Here’s what I think:  Yes. Absolutely.  Because sometimes even the smallest gesture is a prayer, letting you know that you are loved and you are not alone.

Why Write?

I think I first recognized the power of writing in 3rd grade.  My teacher, Mrs. Erickson, assigned a creative writing assignment — a story starter.  I don’t remember what I wrote about, but she liked it.  And she called me to read my story aloud.  Well, back in 3rd grade, that was tough.  If you know me today, you wouldn’t believe it, but up through high school I was shy — sometimes even painfully so.  My fear of speaking out made reading my piece difficult, but I did  it and enjoyed the accolades as my fellow students laughed at my story.  After that, I was hooked on writing.

Fast forward to 6th grade.  As a pre-teen, I faced the typical girl drama and emotions.  I got mad at friends (okay, usually over boys) and didn’t know how to deal with these feelings.   I don’t remember the specifics of this particular incident,  but I was fighting with my best friend.  To be fair, I wasn’t really fighting.  I was nursing a wound that I hadn’t shared with her.  I was too timid back then to be honest and say, “Hey, you hurt my feelings.”  So I wrote her a note.  I said everything that was in my heart.  I let her have it — said all the silly and irrational and painful things a 6th grader represses.  I folded that note (the way we folded notes back in the 80s) and I saved it.  Later, I ripped it up.  I eventually got over being mad at my friend, but I remembered how cathartic it felt to get out all of my feelings.  The process of writing — getting all my feelings out — helped me.  

As I grew older, I decided to major in English.  I believed what John Keating said in the movie Dead Poet’s Society, “No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.”  I still believe this.  I remember sitting in my college dorm room, reading the YA novel Running Loose by Chris Crutcher (still one of my all-time favorite books) with tears running down my cheeks.  Although I had grown up loving books, this was the first time a book touched me in this way.  But I think that the best writing moves you, makes you laugh, makes you think, and inspires.  And for me, writing is the way I understand and process the world.

Today, I use writing in many ways.  My work requires me to write.  I write short social media posts that are meant to be funny.  I share anecdotes about my family to not only vent but to also make my friends understand that they are not alone in their family fails and mishaps.  I write educational blogs because I’m a teacher and I’m extremely passionate about the importance of education and educators.  And I write to work through the deep pain that I’m trudging through every day.  (More of this in later posts.)  Writing has always been like therapy for me.

I started this blog because I feel myself about to burst.  I feel I have words that can no longer just rattle around my head and heart; instead, these words are meant to be shared.  I  have experienced unique joys and hardships in my life, and I hope that I can reach someone out there if I’m brave enough to share these stories.  Thank you for joining me, for checking out Crysta Clear.  I hope that my experiences may resonate with you in some small way.