Author: jenzug

Friday Link Love

Grace Based Parenting – Practical Theology for Women
Wendy Alsup reviews this book by Tim Kimmel. Here is an excerpt of her thoughts:

In the first chapters of the book, I had to put the book down and repent, because Kimmel nailed me with his assessment of how many Christians parent—primarily out of fear. I realized that I was more afraid of Satan and the world getting their hands on my boys than I was confident in God’s faithfulness to finish the good work He has begun in them (Phil. 1:6). I had to repent. Then I had to decide if I was going to align my parenting philosophy with my theology. Did I believe God had a good plan for my children? Did I believe that I can trust God with their little hearts and lives?

Kimmel made another important point that challenged me on how I thought about parenting. I wanted to protect my children from outside influences that I feared would cause them to stray. However, my doctrine teaches me that the greatest sinful influence on my children is their own depravity. It’s the sin within them rather than the sin without that most affects them and which I need to parent them through. As Kimmel says on p. 24, “Raising your children in a spiritual cocoon won’t help because Satan operates INSIDE it. He appeals to your child’s heart.”

Bumps, bruise, and uncanny inoculations – Zugito
Bryan wrote a great post reflecting on the challenging week we had navigating Ruthie through a conflict at school. I’ve thought a lot, lately, about how to blog about such things now that Ruthie is getting older. I have her privacy to consider, now, as she’s making friends and becoming more independent. I think Bryan’s post hits the right tone.

Where in the hell is Matt? – Matt Harding
I love digital art – video blogging, photo blogging, digital scrapbooking etc. The internet gives the ability for anyone to create and publish works of art, and this one is definitely worth seeing. If you click through to the Youtube page, you can click on ‘watch in high definition’ just below the video for a better picture.

Also, be sure to watch Matt’s Ignite presentation at Gnomedex on the making of this video. He makes a really interesting point about collaboration – that creating a video of himself (as he did in his first two projects) was not nearly as much fun as creating a video with other people. I think I have a new blog crush.

Real Help

Psalm 3 (The Message)

1-2 God! Look! Enemies past counting! Enemies sprouting like mushrooms,
Mobs of them all around me, roaring their mockery:
“Hah! No help for him from God!”

3-4 But you, God, shield me on all sides;
You ground my feet, you lift my head high;
With all my might I shout up to God,
His answers thunder from the holy mountain.

5-6 I stretch myself out. I sleep.
Then I’m up again—rested, tall and steady,
Fearless before the enemy mobs
Coming at me from all sides.

7 Up, God! My God, help me!
Slap their faces,
First this cheek, then the other,
Your fist hard in their teeth!

8 Real help comes from God.
Your blessing clothes your people!

My Bible tells me this is a Psalm David wrote when he narrowly escaped death by his own son, Absalom. I am struck by the peace David expresses in the midst of the situation, peace enough to sleep. He trusted in God’s protection enough to rest, which then gave him strength to face the enemy “from all sides.”

The second thing I’m struck by is his willingness to let God be his avenger. He cries out for God to slap their faces, for God’s fist to hit their teeth. He doesn’t ask for an opportunity to kick some ass, but stands behind the power of God’s sovereignty.

And then he declares, “real help comes from God.”

My enemy comes from within – my selfishness, my need to be in control, my unrighteous anger. The battle against this enemy within is not for me to fight, and it is not for me to win. My battle cry should be to God, for him to put his fist through the teeth of my anger, to slap down my need for control.

Real help comes from God. When I try to help myself, I feel no peace and I get no rest. I only have stress and anxiety and tension.

Just this morning I was on a walk with my kids, and I caught myself obsessing over being in control. They were running, and falling, and getting wet and dirty, and I picked at them about staying on the path, about staying on their feet, about not touching this or that.

Until it occurred to me, “It’s drizzling out. It’s muddy. It’s wet. If I wanted them to stay clean and dry I should have stayed home.”

I’d read this passage less than an hour before our walk, and I sighed at how quickly I forget. And then I changed course. I prayed for God to ‘kick in the teeth’ of my need to be in control, I took several deep breaths, and I didn’t freak out when Thomas rolled around in wet sand.

I am so different than I was a year ago, two years ago. In times past I would ‘white knuckle it’ through stressful situations that triggered my unhealthy behavior – trying to will myself into doing the right thing, trying to fight my own battles.

I still do, at times, but much less often. And when I do give in to my anger, I’m much quicker to repent, and less likely to feel condemned. Psalm 3 comes to my attention like that really great song that shuffles onto the iPod just as you’re getting weary, the song that inspires you and gives you the motivation to pick up the pace again.

After a week of challenges and set backs, just when I started wondering if I’d changed at all, Psalm 3 kicked me into gear again.

Friday Link Love

Let Christians Vote As Though They Were Not Voting
This article came to my attention at just the right time. I was one of those pesky undecided voters. To make it worse, I’m a horrible decision maker. Regardless of how big or small the choice I have to make (chocolate or peanut butter? this school or that school?), I agonize over my options as if the decision I make now will make or break my entire life.

Some would argue the choice for president meant exactly that – life or death of a nation. But this article reminded me of where my ultimate hope resides. It reminded me that God is sovereign, and his love for us is not weakened or compromised by Man.

So it is with voting. We deal with the system. We deal with the news. We deal with the candidates. We deal with the issues. But we deal with it all as if not dealing with it. It does not have our fullest attention. It is not the great thing in our lives. Christ is. And Christ will be ruling over his people with perfect supremacy no matter who is elected and no matter what government stands or falls. So we vote as though not voting.

Dear Roo & Tug…

One of our goals as a family is to spend more time creating and less time consuming. We’ve recently backed that up by prioritizing our schedules to allow more time for us to create – Bryan, in particular, since I always seem to be able to squeeze a little in here and there.

Bryan’s newest writing project, and one we’ve been talking about for at least a year or more, is a series of notes to our kids describing what this crazy family is all about. I think the idea came after a long season of defending ourselves and declaring what we are not about. That grew tiresome, and I think I lost myself into bitterness for awhile.

As we healed from hurt and made our attempts at restoration, we discovered it was much more life-giving to ourselves and to others to tell stories about what we are for, and why we are for them. Thinking on these things, rather than on all the ways we fail in the eyes of others, turns my heart away from the bitterness to receive the joy God calls me into.

I never considered myself or my husband to be complicated people, but apparently we are in the eyes of some. I’m sure chances are high Ruthie and Thomas will also be seen as complicated souls. I feel the best gift we can give them in this respect, is the nuanced context of our worldview.

With each note Bryan writes – in his classic ease and familiarity and cadence – my head explodes with the knowledge I get to be married to him, that I get to be led by and pastored by him. He is an amazing dad, and amazing husband, and an amazing writer.

(I wish I could see his ears turning red as he reads this.)

So without further gushing, I give you… Zugito.com.

A Moment Diffused Breeds Laughter

Reconciling with children is much different than with adults. When Bryan and I get into a fight, it often takes several long conversations to cover all the rabbit trails of baggage that manifested itself in the actual fought upon issue.

I get to explain my feelings. I get to lay down the foundation of how I came to respond the way I did. I (usually) get to bring closure to each and every point of contention.

Not so with children.

Their nanosecond attention spans do not make an exception for long-winded apologies. Their simplified reasoning skills do not grasp the complex nature of complex relationships. Often when I get caught monologuing, Ruthie will sigh and say, “You’ve been talking for a long time!”

Lately I feel like Ruthie steps off the bus ready to pick a fight. Like a passenger in a car fishtailing toward a tree on the side of the road, I brace myself for 3:30. Sometimes we miss the tree, sometimes we hit it dead on.

Today we wrapped ourselves around it.

If I don’t have something EXCITING, and DELIRIOUSLY FUN, and WILDLY ENTERTAINING waiting for Ruthie when she comes home, she becomes angry. Not just disappointed or whiny, but downright angry. Right there at the bus stop she’ll yell and stomp her feet and declare she’s never going home again. I’m so boring.

I understand her anger. It’s my anger. I gave it to her when she passed through my body. We like to get our way. We like to be in control. When she falls and skins her knee she cries dramatically, but then she throws something or kicks the ground. Stupid rocky ground! she’ll yell. Falling down means she’s not in control, and that makes her angry. I know this, because I made her. She is from me.

I lost my temper with her today. I feel defeated. Frustrated. Hopeless. Sometimes I feel like I’m raising a monster; sometimes a sweet angel. Sometimes I’m the one who’s a monster. My emotions and hormones can’t hold me intact as I bounce back and forth from moment to moment, first drawing her close, then pushing her away.

Today I happened to be hormonal, so I cried. Right there in front of her. I apologized for losing my temper, of course, and then I just started babbling about nonsense. I was mostly talking to myself – talking myself down off that cliff of despair. But she sat quietly and listened.

Ruthie looked sweetly at me with her round eyes and big cheeks, and then? She leaned forward and began to wipe my tears away with the bottom of her shirt. She was so tender, dabbing gently over each tear, wiping softly the trail it left.

I feel this could be one of our greatest moments of communication, a connection, a breakthrough. She is beginning to understand me, and I am able to tell her how I feel. It’s all going to be okay, just like when Bryan and I work it out.

Ruthie finishes dabbing my tears, and I smile at her.

She sits back in her seat and opens her mouth to speak. I think she is going to say something incredibly profound for a five year old (it’s been known to happen).

In her sweet, compassionate, kind voice, she says, “Can I have some chips?”

friday link love

White Girl Guilt
Pasta Queen tells a story about a strange encounter in an unfamiliar neighborhood, and wonders if it means she is racist. I related to her inner struggle, which I’ve expressed here, and here, plus in another essay yet to be published. Here is an excerpt:

“I was standing on an unfamiliar porch, holding a stuffed animal from a Maurice Sendak children’s book, when I saw a man smoking a substance I wasn’t entirely sure was legal walk around the corner half a block away. He was black, so the fear I suddenly felt made me feel like a racist white girl. Sure, I was in a questionably safe part of town and, sure, his manner of dress and body language would have provoked suspicion even if he was white, but he wasn’t white. He was black, and when I’m scared of black men I feel racist even if my fear is justified.”

Planet Money
Between the election and the economic crisis, I’ve been in information overload. It’s very overwhelming. Bryan told me about NPR’s Planet Money podcast, so I started listening to it several times a week while the kids nap. What I like the most about it, is how the hosts break down everything for the most ignorant listener. For instance, he once interrupted a Harvard economist and asked him to explain “for the listeners at home” what the word “dividend” meant. That’s my kind of show.

Here are a couple that have been particularly helpful –
Breakdown of each candidate’s economic policies (podcast), and Was the Money Ever There? (blog post).

The Mentoring Project
Author and speaker, Don Miller, recently launched The Mentoring Project, aimed at helping churches establish mentoring programs within their communities. His video lists some pretty staggering facts about fatherless children as well as mentored children. Don himself was raised without a father, so this project is very personal for him. A donation of just $5/month will support a mentor, which I think is a brilliant business model. Who can’t afford $5/month? Not many people. You should check it out.

Works For Me: Haagen-Dazs single serving ice cream

Haagen-Dazs single serving

I almost left it at just this, a picture. Because really, what else needs to be said? But the point I’m trying to make here, is not that I buy myself single servings of ice cream, because why not just buy the entire half gallon? If I’m going to buy a bunch of single serving ice cream cups, you KNOW I’m going to just eat a bunch of single serving ice cream cups in one sitting.

Not a cost effective way to binge.

No, I buy these to assuage the guilt I feel for not stocking my house with chips and ice cream for the kids. I have no self control. If I buy a bag of chips, I will eat a bag of chips and the kids will ask me where the chips are. So? I don’t buy chips. Same with ice cream.

Why feel guilty? Because I believe in the beauty of moderation. If I could eat chips and ice cream in moderation, we would not be having this conversation. I would like my kids to learn the beauty of moderation, but since I never keep this stuff around they tend to horde snack foods in their cheeks and jacket pockets whenever we go somewhere that has snack foods.

Definitely not a sign they are grasping moderation.

The other day I spotted these cute little ice cream cups on sale at the grocery store for a dollar each, and I couldn’t resist. I bought two – one for each kid. If I eat one, I’ll have to deal with a major melt down (HA! Get it?!). So I can’t eat one. I have to leave them for the kids to have one evening after dinner. They get their special treat, I pretend to still be on a diet, and that, my friends, works for me.

—

Visit Rocks In My Dryer for more Works For Me ideas.

Hospitality and the Inner City

One mild evening this summer I sat on the front steps with a friend, enjoying the warm evening air while drinking a glass of chilled white wine. There was a party at the rental hall next door, and we enjoyed the backdrop of festive mariachi music coming from the open doors.

The rental hall is dark and windowless, which usually drives party-goers and their children out into the parking lot adjacent to my yard where it is cool. As I tossed a ball for Scout to catch, a group of children – boys – wandered over and pressed their noses through our front gate to watch.

The boys chattered with each other in spanish, which I don’t understand, and they continued to point and smile at my dog. Since I didn’t know what they were saying, I simply smiled back at them.

Soon a parent came by to shoo them away, but my friend and I both smiled and waved him off, saying “No, no, it’s fine, we don’t mind.” The parent went off and left the kids with us, and I continued tossing the ball for Scout.

Eventually the boys wandered back to their party, and my friend and I went back to our conversation.

A little while later, I saw the boys creeping along our chain link fence, hiding behind a bush that protruded out into the sidewalk. Suddenly one of the boys ran up to the gate, threw a plastic fork at it, then ran back to his friends as it landed on the sidewalk.

“Hey!” I called after him, coming through the gate and onto the sidewalk. The boys were running away, but stopped and stared at me wild eyed when they heard me call.

Softening my tone, I said “It’s okay.” I waved them back and pointed to the fork. “It’s okay,” I said again. “Don’t throw this at me,” I said, pointing at the fork and shaking my head. I didn’t know if they understood English. “Take it to the trash,” I said, pointing to the fork and waving it away with my hand. “Don’t leave this here, por favor.”

One of the boys walked over with droopy shoulders and got the fork, and I smiled at him so he knew I wasn’t mad. “Gracias,” I said. He and his friends walked away, and I waved cheerfully.

As I sat down next to my friend again, I silently congratulated myself for being gracious to the boy even though he was throwing his trash at me. Wasn’t I wonderfully hospitable to my neighbor even though he was acting rudely? We have, after all, endured beer cans tossed into our yard, broken glass on our sidewalk, and young boys pee’ing through our fence during many of these parties. I even found an abandoned pair of pants in our bushes once.

But as I sat down to write this essay, intending to go in a different direction with it, I’m suddenly struck with a thought – I realize it’s possible the boy was trying to throw a fork for my dog to catch, the way he saw me throwing a ball. And like the detective at the end of The Usual Suspects, I flash back through the montage of clues in my mind with this new realization, reinterpreting the entire scene —

The boys who are mesmerized with a dog who catches balls, the boys who run away suddenly and return sheepishly, the daring boy who is chosen to bear the risk, the unsuccessful toss that was intended to go through the fence, the signs of defeat that I didn’t embrace their efforts.

I am deflated by my tunnel vision, and I want to cry. How arrogant of me! Adorable boys were making friends with my dog, and I shoo’d them off! How confused they must have been with my contradicting actions – first smiling and welcoming them to participate, then scolding them when they tried. I wish I could go back in time and invite them in to play with my dog.

I feel foolish for not realizing their intentions in the moment. Obviously I was dealing with a language barrier, but I still kick myself for not being more observant. I allowed myself to define the moment by my assumptions.

And then I realize, this is Other-ism – racism, classism, cool kids against the nerds, whatever. This is how it starts – judging a person based on what you think you know about them. I made an assumption, and it was the wrong one.

I’d be curious to know about your experience with Other-ism. When have you felt judged? When have you caught yourself judging others?

Teachable Moments

teachable moment

I’m having the time of my life this year with a three and five year old. We go on adventures and treasure hunts, we have conversations, we joke around, we act silly and make things together. I’m sure some of this relative peace is because I’m not so crazy in the head as I used to be, but I also just think kids this age are my thing.

Take tonight, for instance.

Bryan is out with a friend, this evening, so I’m on kid duty all night. As is customary in the Zug Haus, Thomas and Ruthie eventually start fighting while I’m cleaning up in the kitchen. This is a sample of what I often hear:

“I WANT IT!”

“I HAD IT FIRST!”

“BUT IT’S MINE!”

“YOU’RE SO STUPID! I’M NOT GONNA EVER BE YOUR FRIEND!”

[screaming ensues when Thomas pulls Ruthie’s hair].

Feeling tired, I let this go on for awhile, hoping it will resolve itself. But it never does. Kids don’t fight fair, and therefor kids will never resolve arguments on their own. They need direction. They need to practice reconciliation. They need a road map to get them through the conflict.

I come into the living room where they are and sit them both on my lap in my favorite chair. And then I do something quite unexpected… to all of us. I ask Ruthie how she is being unloving to her brother.

Of course she starts shouting at me about Thomas pulling her hair, but I interrupt. I didn’t ask what Thomas did to you, I say. I asked you how you were being unloving to him.

Again she starts complaining about him trying to take away her game, but I interrupt and keep her on track. I say it’s easy to point out everything Thomas is doing wrong, but this time I want her to think about it differently. I ask her again, how are you being unloving to Thomas?

I shouted at him, she says.

Yeah? What else?

I wouldn’t let him play with me.

Hmmm. Thomas, how are you being unloving to Ruthie?

She wasn’t sharing her toy with me!

I know that, but how were you unloving to her?

I pulled her hair and I shouted at her.

Hmmm. Sounds like neither of you are loving each other.

I’m sorry Thomas.

Sorry Rufie.

Thomas, do you want to play the game together?

YEAH!

—

I kid you not, this is how it went down – word for word. Ruthie stood up, was completely sincere in her apology, and offered to share the game. Turns out I’m not fucking them up so bad after all, and that all our rote conversations about apologizing and reconciling and being kind are actually sinking in.

It took me a long time to get here, to this place of patience and selflessness where I can stop what I’m doing and walk them through a situation. It’s much easier (and much more convenient to my own agenda) to yell at them and send them to their corners, or to perhaps to redirect their focus by turning on the tv.

But at my core I’m a discipler, a mentor. I draw from real life experiences to help others see things in a different way. When Bryan and I fight, I’m always quick to point out his faults and the way he makes me angry. But Jesus calls us to a love of a different kind – a love that extends to even our enemies (real or perceived) – because that kind of love is unexpected to a foe and much more persuasive than a fight.

My kids are not too young to learn these lessons, and it’s only through real life conflict I will have the opportunity to teach them. If I ignore the conflict, I’m ignoring a teachable moment. It took a radical shift in my thinking and priorities and parenting style to embrace these lessons for myself, but as it turns out, this agenda is way more engaging and rewarding than the self-serving one I was creating on my own.

Balancing Act

I got up at 5am this morning to get a few bookkeeping things done before leaving for the day. Bryan and I chatted while I worked, I sipped my coffee, and I was fully in a good mood by the time Ruthie woke up at 7am. And now as I get ready to leave, not only are my bookkeeping tasks done, but the kitchen is clean, the dishwasher is running, and meat is thawing for dinner tonight.

This is the most productive I’ve been in weeks, accomplishing more tasks in two hours than I have any other day. I usually try to get these things done while Thomas naps in the afternoon, but by then I’ve completely lost focus. I’m tired, my brain is fried, and I have too many thoughts milling about in my head to focus on spreadsheets.

I can see why some people go into the office early to get things done before anyone else arrives – the mind is fresh, there’s less chatter to distract, and there’s just something about the dark quiet of the early morning that allows for hunkering down.

I’ve been thinking through my productivity level lately, dissatisfied with what I’m able to accomplish. Ruthie’s school schedule has provided the good bones I need for a schedule, but I still feel lost and distracted during certain times of the day.

I think it’s time to iterate.

The gals who run the daycare at my gym work a split shift, first in the morning, and then in the evening. This got me thinking of trying the same thing – that maybe on the days I have computer tasks to accomplish, I wake up at an insane hour that only God and Bryan love. Errands and laundry and household projects can be done later in the morning, and planning and organizing can be done later in the evening when I get my second wind.

This leaves the afternoon lull for writing, or reading, or napping, or some other activity that refreshes me for the rest of the day. Because really, I need to be on my game when Ruthie comes home. She’s a chatterbox and full of energy and needs to interact with me. If I push myself through the entire day without taking a break to recharge my Introvert Battery, the last thing I want to do at 3:30 is see my own children.

How sad is that?

Also, I think this embraces and accommodates What Is instead of trying to change myself to fit into a particular box, only to continually feel like a failure – referring again to this article about working with known behavior rather than trying to change it.

Am I the only person who obsesses about Getting Things Done? Am I the only one who struggles with productivity? I feel like I teeter constantly on the fence between total obsession and compete laziness, usually falling to one side or the other, but rarely walking the middle line successfully.

I hope this new plan allows for greater productivity while giving me opportunities to rest and recharge without guilt.

Friday Link Love

On Being Good Enough – The Word Cellar
“I’m really not that good, am I? Isn’t that the question we all ask? Isn’t that the little voice whispering in our ears all the time? Nudging us right before we fall asleep, when we try something new, when we share our heart’s passion with others?”

Compromising with your kids – Organizing Junkie
“If she can keep the stuff in her room off the floor in some kind of orderly fashion (not just piled 10 feet high on her desk) then she can keep it, otherwise it has to go. Meaning I will remove it from her room and give it away. I’m nice like that :)”

This is basically what I do, but it’s nice to have some validation that I shouldn’t feel guilty about it.

Online Daily Bible Reading Plan
I found this RSS link through Writing and Living. I think I still prefer to hold the actual Bible in my hand when I’m reading it, but I figured somebody out there might appreciate the ability to read the Bible along with all their other feeds. You can choose from many reading different plans there.

Ben Folds in concert

Once again, I’m finding other ways to fulfill my need for eclectic musical presentation and excellent songwriting in the absence of a new Sufjan Stevens album (this summer it was Andrew Bird that that filled in the gap). I’m not sure what the Cat Woman is all about, and clearly the interviewer in the beginning has a grudge against Ben, but the pianos and the smoke and the choral style is stunning.

being prepared is half the battle or why Thomas will never poop in his pants again.

IMG_0583.JPGIMG_0582.JPGIMG_0581.JPG

I am writing this from the parking lot of Thomas’ preschool, sitting in the passenger seat of the car (The driver’s seat does not slide back far enough for me to sit with my laptop. Or perhaps my belly is too big).

Despite the fact Thomas is STILL not potty trained, he started preschool two mornings a week last month. The school is pretty lax regarding their three year olds starting the year potty trained, but state law will not allow teachers to change his pull-up. This means if he poops they call me to come take care of it.

So far I’ve been called in the middle of a run on the treadmill, in the middle of a meeting at the Target Starbucks (which is the consumer’s equivalent of chocolate and peanut butter), and while paying bills at my dining room table.

Do you know how frustrating it is to THINK you have two hours to yourself, only to have a third of that time eaten up by a double round trip commute and diaper duty time? Have you ever stopped running without a cool down, then started up again half an hour later without a warm up? I don’t recommend it – your muscles will coil up like a tightened spring.

I’ve tried sticker charts, I’ve tried candy bribes, I’ve tried fifteen minute timers, I’ve tried going cold turkey – the kid is just. not. interested. in using the toilet. I mean, he uses it sometimes, of course, but most of the time the mere suggestion of sitting on the potty induces a fit of whining and floor flopping of grand proportions.

As I said on twitter one day, I wish I could send him off like a Labrador to be trained by a professional.

The inconvenience of this arrangement nearly caused me to pull him out of preschool. It just didn’t seem worth all the hassle, and he would still have preschool next year anyway.

Until I had a brilliant idea.

Ever since school started and my summer babysitting swap ended with a friend, I haven’t found a decent chunk of time to write. So I decided to kill two birds with one stone and sit in the car with my laptop, writing. If I get the call for a diaper change, I’m merely steps from his classroom, and I’m only interrupted for a few minutes.

Admit it. You are jealous of my ability to adapt.

So here I am, feeling a bit eccentric, yet very pleased with myself for creating a win/win situation (also, brainstorming ways to keep warm). Though as I’m sure you can imagine, Thomas has not pooped once during class any of the times I sat out here freezing my arse off.

What do you think the odds are he would poop as soon as I drive off to get a latte at the Target Starbucks?

IMG_0586.JPGIMG_0585.JPGIMG_0584.JPG

Bipartisan Rant

I really don’t like what politics and religion bring out in people. We are mean to each other – perhaps, at times, without even realizing it.

Please, have an opinion. Please feel free to express that opinion articulately and with conviction. Please engage in strong debate with someone of an opposing opinion. But please, please, please refrain from trashing a person’s intelligence, or looks, or race, or name, or religion, or family, or personality.

Please stop trying to tear a person down and make them feel low. Please stop demonizing a person as if they are a one dimensional character. Please stop lumping everyone who disagrees with you into the category of “idiot.” Please don’t assume people who prefer the other guy are racist… or terrorists.

Please stop creating an environment where others are afraid to express their views for fear of mocking or judgment. If it’s hard for you to imagine how someone could believe what they believe, then ask them why they believe it. You might be surprised they actually have thoughtful, educated, and informed reasons – even if you still disagree.

I listened to an interview with Josh Brolin on Fresh Air yesterday. Brolin is playing George W. Bush in a movie bio about his life. When Brolin was first approached with the project, he bristled, not wanting to be associated with a president he disagrees with so strongly. But as he read the script, and researched Bush’s life, and learned about the man behind the rhetoric, Brolin had a change of heart regarding his attitude. Here are a few quotes from the interview:

“There’s some things, to my surprise, that I respected. I’m glad I’m more educated now.”

“[I had a] cosmetic reaction. I’d written [George Bush] off by the time Oliver [Stone] had come to me, and I’ve since then learned and feel that it’s incredibly irresponsible to do that.”

“And then you start to do your research and there’s things I felt were very positive and very interesting about his life and his milestones.”

I really appreciate Brolin’s ability to step back from the tribal mentality and find something he appreciates about the man. I don’t imagine it’s as easy for him to disrespectfully mock the Bush administration, or republicans, or evangelicals, now that he feels a sense of sameness with them on a more human level.

Making the movie didn’t change Brolin’s political views, but it did seem to awaken him to his own arrogance.

For living in a society and a city that boasts of it’s incredible “tolerance,” what I see in practice is “tolerance” toward those whom we like and who agree with us. What I see, is that we’re ignorant, and we’re arrogant.

Reminds me a lot of the story about planks and specks.