One of my favorite Elvis Presley songs is "Walk a Mile In My Shoes": "Before you accuse, criticize or abuse, Walk a Mile In My Shoes...." Fitting for him, but fitting for every time and place.
Most of you know about my daughter Sarah's class project for her "Intro to Ethic Studies" class in which she dressed up as a Muslim for a few days, did the prayers and rituals, ate only what a Muslim would be allowed to eat, etc. She did this on a college campus that prides itself in diversity, as they have a large international population. I was of course concerned for her safety, warning her to not walk anywhere alone at night, stick with crowds during the day, etc., but I thought I was being overly worried. Then on the third day, she was pushed into the salad bar, yelled at to "get the hell out of our country!" and three boys dumped a large bowl of cottage cheese on her head. No one came to her aide. No one admonished the boys or stopped them. Sarah wiped off the excess cottage cheese from her head and walked out. You can read her reflection at: www.thisisall19.blogspot.com
I grew up in New Jersey, which today is extremely diverse. Growing up in a pastor's house, though, I was very protected and sheltered. I trusted the world to be safe and ok. I felt safe. My friends and I fixed up a clubhouse for ourselves in the backyard of our house in Red Bank, NJ, decorating it with carpet samples, wallpaper samples and furniture from the attic or someone's curb. It was a cozy little place to hang out for a 9-year old. But one day, when I went to the clubhouse, I discovered that it had been vandalized. There was red spray paint all over the walls and carpet, spelling out what I could do to myself but which is anatomically impossible. The wallpaper was shredded, my posters were ripped into pieces, my notebooks and books were torn apart and strewn throughout the room. I remember feeling terror, of course. The world had attacked my own backyard. I was suddenly aware that the world wasn't necessarily a friendly place, that people could hurt you without even knowing who you were, for no reason. I was innocent. I didn't understand. I suddenly didn't feel safe in my own backyard.
I still don't understand. Why do people hurt people at all, much less people they don't even know? Why, when someone is hurting inside, do they decide that it's a good idea to hurt someone else? To share the pain? I waver between being cynical and deciding that it's safer to just not expect anything better from people, and being optimistic and hopeful. I want to believe we can do better. I want to believe the best about people, despite so much evidence.
When I gave birth to my daughter, I felt like my heart was now thrown out into the world, vulnerable and exposed. It's still a hard world for women. We've come a long, long way, but we have a long, long way to go. Extremists always attack women and women's freedoms when they want to win votes. Women don't always support but undermine other women. Women are still blamed for all the sin and problems in the world. The other day, after I'd heard about my daughter's assault in the dining hall, I pulled over and just had a good cry. As I was sitting there, a man came up to my window and knocked on it. He'd read my bumper sticker that says, "Eve Was Framed." He pointed to the back of my car. "I don't believe she was framed at all," he said. Then he walked away. He apparently needed to defend man-kind for some reason, but it was very bad timing. I still ache that my daughter will continue to face sexism and ridiculous, hateful attitudes in this world. I want to throw my body in front of her and protect her from all that. However, she proved to me this week that she can handle it. Not only can she handle it, she has the passion, nerve and confidence to speak out against it and try to make a difference. She is not afraid like I was when these realities started occuring to me in my young adult years. She'll be ok.
I pray for all our daughters and sons in this world that can be so hurtful. I have seen Muslim women in WalMart, in the library and grocery store. I am more inclined now to greet them, look them in the eye, and maybe get up the nerve to ask them what it's like for them to be here in Central Nebraska, or the United States. I know Sarah will go out of her way now to talk to the female Muslim students on campus. Her world has expanded, grown, deepened. Her story is spreading around the community; friends are passing it on to their friends. I pray that we can all take the energy and time to at least imagine what it's like to walk a mile in someone else's shoes, whoever they are, and refrain from hate.
And so it is.
