Please postpone Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is September 11. It happens every year, and each year, I yearn for it to be easier, for the memories to be less vivid, for the pain to be less....real. I don't want to remember, I don't want to relive, I don't want it to be Sept. 11. The pain in my stomach seems to encircle my heart, and pound in my head, and come out in my eyes. As much as I reject them, the memories of the day swirl in me. The morning drive to the airport, the humidity in the air. The delays, the change of plans. The change of planes. The announcement of "a national emergency." The voice of Sue--who says that Jennifer says there is trouble. "Where are you?" "on a plane." "dear God, this can't be happening."
The landing in El Paso. The sight of tanks and army personnel on the field. The quiet of the terminal. The silence and tears around the bar TV's. The hush. Hearing women cry out loud.
The panic. "No rental cars." No more flights. We don't know, sir, we don't know anything.
Should I pray? Pray out loud?
Our father....
The Lord is our strength, and our salvation.

The bus to the Motel 6. Far away from the airport. No, I have no money--no, these boys have no ID, no money. We just need a room--we'll figure out how to pay you.
Room 314. My laptop--cutting in and out. CNN, Fox, ABC--all the same images over and over and over and over.
Matt calls. "are you watching TV?" yes. Turn it off. Now, really, turn it off.
No.
Dear God, NO.
That...is...was...
Mark Bingham?
My Mark Bingham? But, I just saw him... just said "see ya later" he just grabbed my arm and said "with you."
There must be some mistake. Of course, not everyone died--they couldn't. Who else?
Todd Beamer?
Jeremy Glick?
Nicole Miller?
No tears. None.
Disbelief.
I don't know when I've eaten. I don't know when I've been to the bathroom. I don't know when I've slept.
Sue, on the phone. Come home. Get back. I'll stay on the phone.
My mother is safe. My brother is safe. My nephews are safe. For now. The atomic plant is near their houses. A target. I have never had those thoughts, that fear before. I do now.
I wanted to go to a church and pray. I called the baptist church that I had worked with, had done an assessment...and, I should have known by the assessment, the answering machine gave me the service times, told me that Awanas were starting, told me that the wednesday night meal required reservations. That would not be a place to go and pray. They were probably in a bunker, too.
From the motel patio, I heard songs in Spanish, and crying, wailing, praying. I was silent.

I walked three blocks to Applebees. Maybe if I ate, I would feel...something.
This could not be real. As I walked in, a Mexican family was surrounding a child. The pinata was there, but, unbroken. The faces were covered with tears, and fear. And, they began to sing "Happy Birthday." The entire restaurant--filled with displaced air travelers--began to sing "Happy Birthday!" As if to say damn it, YOU WILL have a HAPPY birthday! On this day of unbearable sadness--this child WILL have a happy birthday. We sang as if it were a battle cry. A fight song. A rally. Total strangers hugged the birthday girl, hugged each other, and the waiters offered free margaritas. I thought I should, but, then, I could not imagine anything to celebrate at that moment. Nothing. Mark was dead.
I lay on the bed. An entire day. I could not move.
Then, I heard the voice again. Come home.
I began to call to find a rental car. American Express travel, and Mary said that there was one car in Las Cruces, New Mexico. I am in El Paso.
The man from San Diego shared the cab with me to the bus station. We took the bus, the silent, smelly, hot bus to Las Cruces. I walked to the Avis office. I did not say anything. The man asked if I was the person that Mary had called about. I nodded. He gave me a hug. He said, "I'm sorry." He gave me the keys, and told me to leave the car at any Avis at an airport. I did not sign a contract.
I began to drive across the desert. The sun was streaking across the mountains. The redness of the hills, the rainbows, the sun beaming directly into the car. The radio--playing endless patriotic music...and Amazing Grace...and How Great Thou Art. The voices, the names, the search, the anguish. 16 hours in a non-rented rental car. Calling everyone I knew on my phone. Telling them I loved them. Asking if they are OK. Everyone says they are OK. Everyone is not OK.
I arrive at my little house on Maroa, and my neighbors come out to my driveway, and, they cry, and they hug me, and they welcome me home. Paula says," we knew you were on the east coast..we knew you were coming home on Tuesday morning. We thought..."
And, she cried. Her husband, Matt, hugged me, and cried. Their son, little Matt, hugged me tightly. I told them that my friend was dead. They said, "we know."
And, so, tonight... the 10th of September, I do not want to go to sleep: because, if I sleep, I will wake, and it will be September 11, and for the 8th year, I will remember, and relive, and be saddened all over again. But, I will not be afraid, and I will not be alone.
Sue will be on the phone, Jonathan will send me a text, saying that he is thinking of me today, because he knows that it is hard. And, it is. God, it is hard.
I will think of Alice, and how she lost her only son, her dearly, very loved, lovely son. I will think of Lisa, and how she lost Todd, and how the kids lost their dad.
I will think about the other Don Simmons. The one who was killed in the Pentagon. The man, a civilian, with whom I shared a name, who died at his desk. I will remember reading my own name in the list of victims.
So, I would like to postpone tomorrow, or, even more, I would cancel tomorrow, but, I will be forced to remember it again--on Sunday, when I will have to take off my shoes to board another airplane, and stand in a line, and throw away my water. I will hurt again, but, I will not cry.

Changing the Language--It Matters!

One of the comments that I heard repeated often when I was teaching in Inner Mongolia, ROC, was "when the Chinese wanted to take over Mongolia, and make it Chinese, they outlawed the language of Mongolia, and made Mandarin the official language." In culture after culture, when cultural change was desired, a change in language was necessary. In the US, some would argue that immigrants can never fully embrace the United States culture without speaking English (which is problematic, since the actual "original languageS of the United States were Cherokee, Choctaw, Iroquois, Seminole, Miwok...). But, I digress: I would like to see the culture change to elminate the use of the following words:
1. Nonprofit. First, most people spell it with a HYPHEN, which, it does NOT have. Nonprofit is the term used to describe what an organization does NOT do, not what an organization DOES. It's like calling a hospital a Nondisease facility, instead of a hospital. Or, calling a school a Non-ignorance facility. It just doesn't work that way. I would suggest (along with an army of other professionals in the field...) that we substitute the term COMMUNITY-BENEFIT organization. CBO for short, which could be confused with Community-Based organization, which is OK, too--but, Community Benefit Organization tells the story much better, and even draws curiosity, which is not a bad thing. The IRS coined the phrase nonprofit, and, it's been assumed by the sector, but, since when does the IRS get to create language? Should they not be doing audits, collecting taxes or something?
Word 2: VOLUNTEER. Yep, I hate the word. I try not to use it. It is usually defined as a person who performs a service or a task without getting paid for the performance of the service or task. But, there are many "paid volunteers," such as VISTA, Americorps, RSVP, etc. In the church, the term doesn't make any sense at all. We would do better to refer to people as paid or unpaid, but, that leads one to think that the compensation is the only thing that matters in the equation. In church, people who serve should be referred to as ministers, aka servants. Pay is not the issue: calling and gifting IS. Churches do a theological and Biblical disservice to people who serve without pay in $$ by calling them the V. word. Jesus did NOT seek volunteers, he called people that he knew were gifted, created specifically for the service, and who really had not choice but to follow. It's true still: those who serve in community-based organizations and churches are not volunteers, as is commonly used, but, are the designated, the called, and you could not PAY them enough--ever, to do what they do. Pay is NOT a matter of justice, and paying them for doing repetitive work, or work that other staff do not want to do is a misuse of the gifts of those who show up and are willing to serve. No organization has EVER gotten better service from a person because they paid them$--but, quite the contrary. Bill Hybels is incorrect in his assumption that "volunteers should be paid to do the repetitive work..." But, then again, Bill Hybels and WillowCreek is about 15 years (maybe 20+) behind in their thinking about unpaid service, equipping and engaging people to do amazing service. In the recent "Defining Moments" on "volunteerism" the only thing that was defining was that Charlene and Vernon Armitage knew a heck of alot more about engaging people in service--to the church AND the community, that Hybels has ever known. In this area, he's out of touch with the research, language and current best practices of engaging people. Of course, I have not found him (or others like him) to be open to learning about the profession or the sector, because they assume that since they have been able to build a big church, they must be doing it right. I'm not confused by the "crowd syndrome." Volunteer needs to go away as a noun--but, we need to understand the term better as a verb.
Word 3: Recruit. We recruit to have people do things that they would not choose to do on their own. The military recruits. Athletic teams recruit. The church and community benefit organizations should stop recruiting and learn to do what Jesus did: INVITE and ENGAGE.
There is something wrong with the recruitment mindset: it says that the task is more important that the person. It says "I've got to get this done, and it doesn't matter WHO does it, or what happens to them in the process: the TASK matter! Recruitment is about getting things done. Inviting is about getting People done.
Today, I was thinking that if we believe that Jesus recruited, he did it more like a coach, and not like a colonel. He identified who he wanted, he saw them trained, he knew what was in them, THEN, he approached them and invited them: like Pat Hill watches a high school player, goes to his games, talks to his parents, THEN, makes an offer--
a colonel (or a military recruiter) takes whoever walks in--THEN puts them through the paces, basic training, and if they don't cut it, they are done...and find a job elsewhere. Not what I see as a grace-filled way to engage people. But, then again: what is the end goal? The task, or the person?
When I refer to female students at Fresno State, I am careful to refer to them as women, not as girls. How I use the language shapes how I view them. They are women, and that matters.
I do not teach "colored" students, Orientals, or other ethnic terms: how I define people shapes my view of them, and the view of themselves.
Community Benefit organizations.
Unpaid staff.
Invite/Engage.
Older adult.
Women.
"I once called you slaves, but now I call you Friends..." Jesus.