Feisty Women

I love feisty women. When I grow up, that's exactly what I want to be. Mabel is feisty. Now in her 80s, she still drives her car, still speaks her mind and has colored her hair Lucille Ball red. Go, Mabel! Hazel, a southern belle, adopted this Yankee town for her home when she married a Yankee. She speaks up, laughs a lot, and has a wonderful light in her eyes that spells, "Don't Tread On Me." Go, Hazel! Maureen stood her ground against her in-laws for a lot longer than she should have, perhaps, but she took matters into her own hands. She has traveled to every one of the continents. She even traveled on a Russian fishing boat to research Iceland for one of her novels. She died on an emergency room table and was brought back. "The vows said 'til death we do part'," she said. "I died. We are done." Jewel, a history buff in our town, has spoken her mind clearly and succinctly, for as long as I have known her. If someone takes offense, oh, well. That was not her intent. She is just being Jewel and saying what she thinks. Feisty. These are feisty women and I so admire them.

A friend posted to a list we are members of that I "ran off a preacher man." He didn't share the whole story so I thought it presented the "wrong" impression of what actually took place. That people on the list who do not know me might have the totally wrong idea about the person I am. And then there was the preacher man who said to me, "You need to be a strong wife, the wife your husband needs. Stop complaining." I had asked for some guidance on getting along with my in-laws. It can't work unless both sides are striving for a good relationship. One half of the equation just isn't going to make anything work. And I'd made up my mind I was not going to be told what I could and couldn't do, what I would and wouldn't do. My mama taught me to do my own thinking.

Then there was the preacher man that my friend referred to. When others in the congregation come to you and say, "He was talking about you!" from the pulpit, using me for an example...I thought it was my imagination. But, it felt like "bullying." When he said, "Just because your mama tells you something doesn't mean it's the truth," or, "Don't bring your problems to me. I don't have answers for you," there is a problem, Houston. Because, as I understand it, and I could be very mistaken here, the disciples had so much work to do in speaking and converting people to Christianity they created the offices of elders and deacons to tend to the needs of the people. Someone is supposed to be "ministering" to those who need.

When I spoke to him, one-on-one, as the Bible prescribes (I did this not once but at least twice) he said he had no issue with me. Um...I guess it didn't occur to him that I, a woman, had an issue or two with him and wanted to eliminate the problem. So I took the next step, which the Bible ALSO prescribes: If you can't resolve the issue one-on-one, find someone you both trust to mediate. OK. I went to a man who graduated from seminary, used to be a minister at that church, was then an elder at another church of the same persuasion in another community, and we both respected this man. He refused to become involved. "Haven't you figured out yet that he isn't doing his job?"

Oh. My. The third step of this prescription from the New Testament is to take it to the church. I could see where that would take me...chastised and punished publicly from the pulpit. So I decided it would be better if I walked away from that little church. But there were people there who did not want me to leave. I couldn't stay and be accused of causing trouble or destroying that little church. That's not the way God works, is it? But I did say to one of the elders' wives, "When God asks why they let [this "minister"] do to his church what this man has done, what will the elders answer?" I also told her I would NOT be the one who damaged the church.

I was not attending that little church when the minister left. He did his own damage. And he was removed from that position because of his own actions. I did NOT run him off. I simply stood my ground and defended the women who were insulted when he said they all are liars. Did HIS mother lie to him? Why would he say that MY mother would LIE to me? I've been seeking Truth for all of my lifetime. Surely he wasn't telling my children and grandchildren that I would LIE to them???

Maybe I am on my way to feisty. Cool. I like that idea a lot.

A Dream

                 The sky was gray. It was early morning before sunrise. For some reason I was standing in front of my home…in the middle of the street, a major traffic artery that stretches across the entire United States. I was looking toward the center of town, the business district. The trees were still full of green leaves. It might have been spring or late summer. I looked to my right and saw my house. My family was inside, probably sleeping. I was the early riser at our place. I enjoyed the peace and quiet, the tranquility of early morning spent listening to the birds when they began their singing and before traffic began to move. It was time spent in God’s Country. But this morning I was in front of my house.

                Suddenly a huge flock of white doves took flight from the branches of the tree filled with green leaves. I thought how beautiful they were. And then I heard a voice. There was no one around but there was a voice speaking to me.

                “Cathy, it is the end of the world.”

                In the middle of the street in front of my house, the street that was a highway that is a major traffic artery that stretches across the entire United States, I watched the white doves lift up and away and heard the voice tell me, “It is the end of the world.”

                I dropped to my knees in the very spot where I stood, folded my hands and prayed fervently to my God to protect his people.

                It was a dream. It was simply a dream…wasn’t it?

©2013 Cathy Thomas Brownfield – All Rights Reserved.

Responsibility weighs heavy

Responsibility weighs heavy. When you take the class and apply for a CCW permit, said the instructor, you are saying you are willing to take another human life if it is necessary. For some reason, hearing that put a whole different spin on what my spouse and a former police chief told me when I said I couldn’t kill another human being.

My husband: “If I’m not here and someone threatens you, are you going to stand there and let them kill you? Are you going to let them take your children’s lives?”

Well, of course I would give my own life to save my children.

Former Police Chief: “When you shoot someone coming through your door, make sure the body is inside when law enforcement gets there.”

That was long ago. Now I have grandchildren to protect.

Castle Law is enforced here. If you break down my door in the middle of the night you will find yourself on the business end of a shotgun. If I am traveling long distances alone and you threaten bodily harm that puts me in fear for my life, you will be at the business end of my pistol. You are best off not threatening me. You are best off not invading my home because CCW (conceal to carry) teaches you don’t shoot to wound and stop. You aim to kill because a wounded attacker gets more aggressive. There’s no room for hesitation.

And yet there is all that human stuff. Reflexes, emotions, compassion, all the things inside that urge us to give the person the advantage of reasonable doubt.

I thought I was “just” taking a class.

I thought it was “just” about carrying a gun to insure my own safety when I travel alone or I am home alone when my spouse is away. And it was all of that. And more.

Responsibility weighs heavy when you choose to combat perceived dangers. It’s so much simpler when people respect each other and don’t touch each other’s belongings without permission. You can’t shoot someone or kill them because they are taking your things. You take such actions when you believe your very life is endangered.

Respect. It’s called respect. Why does it seem to be so hard to do?

In my heart and soul I pray I will NEVER have to take another human life.

©2013 Cathy Thomas Brownfield ~ All Rights Reserved

Consequences

Do you ever start to do something, then think, “This is a bad idea”? Is it courage or stupidity that causes you to plunge ahead?

Do you ponder where you want to be in a month, six months, a year, five years?

Do you let fear get in the way of reaching those goals?

“There’s nothing to fear but fear itself.” Who said that? Why?

There are consequences for our actions. What if our consequences are different—and worse—than we expect? What if they are better than we expect?

Sometimes we don’t listen to the little voice inside, even when it’s right spot on. Sometimes we do.

© 2013 ~ Cathy Thomas Brownfield ~ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Melting Pot

I was driving in my car, thinking about how diverse society has become. There is no common ground. It’s not about “our people” now. It’s about cultures of people: Hispanic Americans, Native Americans, African Americans…We have forgotten about “the melting pot.”

I’m told that the color of my skin—white—has given me unfair advantage over others who do not have white skin. It’s even been suggested to me that I need to experience the disadvantage of being lesser on the Great Chain of Being, as if I don’t already know about segregation.

When I was in about sixth grade, a new family moved to town. One of the children was assigned to my class. She missed school one day because she was ill. I took her homework to her door. I wasn’t allowed to talk to her. Her mother politely thanked me. We were never allowed to be friends. I suspect it was because I was the daughter of a laborer who had only an eighth grade education. My family wasn’t “good enough” for that family. I made the leap from that point to, “So I must not be good enough.”

My mother must have experienced something similar. She was at church with the other ladies. They were talking about the refreshments they would serve at Vacation Bible School. Mom told them what she would provide. Frances thanked her for the offer, “But I was talking to the ‘regular’ women.” My mother thought she was one of them until that day, that moment, when she learned she was not.

It’s not about the differences in color, unless it’s the color of the individual’s glasses. It’s about the “haves” and the “have-nots.” The sting of rejection because you “aren’t good enough” can happen to anyone. The burden of being the “ass of society” is not on black women. It’s on poor women. It doesn’t matter what color she is. If she is poor, she is burdened with everything that is wrong because she has no way, no resources, to change anything, including her status in this world.

It is SUPPOSED TO BE about “we, the people,” not “we, the white/black/red/purple/green people. “ It’s not about “we, the English/Irish/Italian/Hispanic/Chinese/Indian” people.  It’s SUPPOSED TO BE “We, the People,” the “melting pot” known as the United States of America.

© 2013 Cathy Thomas Brownfield ~ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED