a novel

Those who know me know that I'm a crier. It's hereditary. Like closing my eyes during pictures, or finding my arms unconsciously supported in the dinosaur hold, tear ducts that well up at the slightest provocation is a trait I share with my mother. Whether I see my over anxious tear ducts as gift or curse depends completely on my mood and the period of life in which I find myself. (Thankfully I've never had to worry about mascara streaks or blotched eye liner to make them a constant curse.) Currently, life is going by at a slower pace and I am enjoying the time to contemplate most things, including the salt water that leaves streaks down my cheeks. Lately I've found myself wiping moisture from my eyes around 9:45 each morning as I stare down at the faces of 20 or so beautiful children. It is my task to tell the bible stories, to give the lesson, and to share God's story with these children every morning at day camp. Why I would tear up when giving the lesson boggle...

Today is the birthday of this nation, the place where i was born. On days like today we celebrate the gift of equality and democracy, of a government that protects it's people and doesn't just profit from them, of a place where we can feel safe to be individuals. My friends down south will celebrate a similar event just 3 days from now. And yet is this freedom, equality, and justice that we celebrate simply an illusion? 4 days ago my brother got released from a holding cell after being in custody for 20 hours. He was arrested on Sunday for passing the peace to the police officers at a prayer vigil. Earlier that day he'd marched along with many other global citizens in protest at the G20, demanding a democratic process and a global policy that balances social and economic issues. From his account, the police were the victims and the other 700 some prisoners were, like him selves, the tragic heroes. To my ears it seems a tragedy of epic proportions, with the only character fl...