A Chorus of Compassion

Why it matters more than ever that we don't give up on each other.

On one of the last times I was with my friend Becca before she died, she casually mentioned two of her (many) previous pets, Liberty and Justice Frall. “I’ve never told you about them? I gave them those names just so I could call to them from the back door, “Liberty and Justice Fralllllllll!”

I opened my book, The Ministry of Ordinary Places, with a story about my unlikely friendship with her, shaped largely by our regular coffee dates.

It wouldn’t be unfair to classify this assemblage of two opinionated verbal processors as a glorified vent session, with plenty of comic relief mixed in. We were both political junkies (recovering and otherwise), so the upcoming presidential election was foremost on our minds, and the fact that we didn’t agree on a solution only added punch to our discussion. On top of that we were both experiencing near-terminal church-related funk, the racial tension of our country continued to be revealed, religious people were damning each other to hell over a legion of issues, and there were new rumblings that we might be on the brink of war. It was a lot…Time after time, we circle back to a few key questions: Why is this world so messed up? Why does God choose to fiddle around with the likes of us? What on earth can we do to make this sad and beautiful world a little softer for everyone?

I miss Becca every day. I miss her sly grins, no-nonsense words, and ridiculous wit. But she’s on my mind more than ever because of this contentious election, in the midst of a global pandemic. (She would have the BEST cultural commentary right now!)

At 20+ years my senior with not much in common between us (on paper) we were never supposed to be good buddies. She wasn’t interested in the “tomfoolery” of things like the Enneagram, not when there were new episodes of Jeopardy! to watch and short stories to write and movies to attend with her “cranky friend,” Elaine. When I broke all the rules and diagnosed her as a fellow 8, she was fine with it, as long as it meant we could go back to talking about Portugal, the theater, or her decades spent running a small-time marina.

We were two women of salty opinions and abundant hot takes. We often didn’t agree on topics like politics, and even had a few legit arguments. But these differences didn’t break us. They made us both more compassionate, empathetic humans.

It’s one thing to draw a hard line in a crowd where everyone’s already standing on my “side.” It’s another thing to be willing to zip my lips and keep listening. That’s my work right now. Some days, it feels impossible. But if Becca was sitting across from me right now at the Electric Brew, she would push me to ask better questions. She would force me to admit that perhaps there isn’t just one way of seeing and being in this world.

---

My kids are on Fall break this week, which is unfortunate, because they only began regularly attending school three weeks ago. This year, there are no road trips to be had. We have nothing but time on our hands.

I’m making a solid effort to bring some fun and relaxation into our lives, which has been good for all of us. Friday, I’m taking them with me to vote.

We talk politics often in the Martin abode. It’s no secret to them (or to the internet, really) who I’m voting for and why. The boys watched both debates with us. (Ruby had no patience for it and went to bed. Silas had insightful commentary throughout, such as, “Joe Biden looks just like Alex Trebek!”)

Dragging them with me to the poll is the next logical step, though my decision is sure to ruin them. They’ll squawk and fuss. They’ll think it’s a pointless errand, and that they’d rather have just stayed home.

I’m okay with all of that. Not all important things are fun.

But I want them to grasp the importance of civic engagement. I guess I want them to remember their mom voting.

Even more, I want them to be able to move through the world with their own big opinions and civic passions without disintegrating into low-boiling disdain for anyone who doesn’t see the world as they do. (This is no way to live. Ask me how I know.)

I want them to make a habit of cultivating friendship with people who see the world from a different vantage point. When the temptation to settle into the comfort of an echo chamber arises and all they hear is melody, I want them to remember the complex flavor of harmony.

Call me idealistic, but when I’m emotionally healthy enough to believe there’s still hope to be found here in the soup of humanity, I’m inclined to believe it will arrive not as a monologue, but as a song.

You sing your part.

I’ll sing mine.

It’s not the actual notes that matter so much as it is the key.

You know me. I’m still Shannan. I’m still fiery, with a default set to anger. My favorite job in the world is getting all of us riled up against injustice because if we aren’t feeling some rage right now, we aren’t paying attention.

So, of course there are some non-negotiables. We have to continue to do the work of becoming wholly anti-racist. We can never let our guard down in the fight to value and protect the humanity of everyone, especially the vulnerable among us.

Jesus says to welcome the foreigner. Eat with the outcasts. Stay low to the ground with the humble. And so, we will. We will keep trying. This is not permission to disengage or throw our hands up in utter defeat.

But it’s emotionally lazy to let ourselves think we are the only ones getting anything right. Or that we simply don’t need each other.

Here in America, the clock is ticking toward a high-stakes election. We’re all a little tense. Today, tomorrow, the day after that, we push through fear. Ask questions we’ve never asked. If we are people of faith, we allow our faith to inform our decisions rather than bending our beliefs around what seems easiest, or even best.

Regardless of the outcome, the day after this all shakes out (Lord, SHAKE IT OUT!) we will still be here in the same dirt, trying to figure out where to go next. My shoulders relax when I imagine a world where we still like one another, where we somehow find the courage to link arms and carry on, together.

So, here’s to finding the key of empathy. Here’s to a chorus of compassion.

Here’s to liberty and justice. For all.

---

This & That

:: My beloved friend Emily P. Freeman came to my neck of the woods a couple of weeks ago. We said SO MANY WORDS in our short time together. Some of them filtered into this beautiful podcast episode, How to Stay Grounded During Election Season.

:: I’ve come to you with a few different virtual conferences I’ve been part of, but Tethered is TOTALLY free. Even better, the stellar lineup of speakers hit topics like grief, loss, embodiment (that’s me!) and other matters of the heart and soul we just don’t talk about enough. Free access to all content ends October 26th, so sign up now!

:: This short opinion piece explains why most of you probably aren’t as fixated on the election as I am.

:: I’ve been loving this thoughtful book of litany prayers written by a collection of some of my favorite authors (including many People of Color.) Rally: Communal Prayers for Lovers of Justice and Jesus

:: On that note, I’m trying to source book links away from Amazon. (They make it hard to walk away!) Are you familiar with Bookshop.org? When we buy books from them, we get the double benefit of supporting independent book stores. (You can even designate the store you want to support!) I will be using Bookshop affiliate links moving forward. You can, too!

:: When the season changes, I start craving comfort food. Bri McKoy recommeds this as her “hand’s down go-to” recipe for a classic roast chicken. My last attempt was lackluster, so I’m looking forward to trying this one. (Bri always comes through!)

:: Cory and I recently watched a movie after the kids were in bed, something we don’t do very often. I can’t recommend The Florida Project highly enough. We both loved it and I thought about it for days. It reminded me of people I love, in such a dignifying way. (Warning: language is spicy.)

PS - I swear this email wasn’t sponsored by Jeopardy!