Hello, Hell - Can I leave yet?

This is such a bad week. I think it's officially the week from Hell, and it far surpasses any previous weeks that seemed hellish.

Unless some prayers get answered pretty quick, in 2 days we'll be living in a hotel room and everything we own will be in a storage unit somewhere. 

I've spent the past week trying to get the apartment we were supposed to be moving into worked out, packing, listing stuff for sale on Craigslist, and doing a heck of a lot of praying. We learned 4 hours ago (less than 48 hours before moving day) that our application got denied for rental history from 6 years ago that we  fully disclosed when we applied 2 weeks ago. For the last 2 weeks, we'd been told time and time again that anything over two years ago didn't matter.  Obviously some supervisor didn't bother to read that memo.

I don't know what we're going to do, where we're going, or how we're going to get there. I'm trying really hard to avoid falling into full-on-depression-mode or full-on-freak-out-mode. But I have to admit, they're both lurking right there on the periphery.

So, I've been listening to Smokie Norfolk's "God's gonna make a way" on repeat for hours. I'm trying to remember that old saying - when you're going through Hell, don't stop on the road. And I'm working on figuring out what the next step is. I'm thinking more searching for a place to live & store stuff would be a good start.

It's going to be a long next two days. We'll figure it out. As long as we're together, that's the important thing. And I know that we'll come out of this trip through Hell stronger than we were before.

Or at least that's what I'm going to keep telling myself until this is over.

The view from Down Here

I've been mulling on something since June 2011, when I attended my first Unitarian Universalist General Assembly (UU GA).  

As I've previously mentioned, I spent that GA in a scooter.  It was an eye-opening experience - not being seen by the crowds in the halls while my head was basically at waist level, not being able to see the projected words for unfamiliar hymns during worship, having to wait in line for the elevator instead of running up stairs, and waiting for people to come along and open doors when I couldn't find the button to do it myself.

I've been mulling on how to articulate what it was like to people who've never sat in a wheelchair or scooter.  How do you explain such a life changing experience, to a fully-abled person who has never been there?  After over a year, it dawned on me whole driving home from church this past Sunday.

I live in Texas - the land of pick-up trucks and SUVs. I drive a compact car - a Toyota Yaris. Being in a scooter or wheelchair is like driving a Yaris in Texas. Now, this might not immediately make sense to you, so let me explain my metaphor.

 Imagine you are driving along the Texas highway, in a 2007 manual transmission Toyota Yaris.  When you sit down in your car, it's a little lower to the ground than your standard dining chair height.

Toyota Yaris by Carolyn C

You are on open highway - you can cruise along at the speed limit with absolutely no problems. The few times you encounter anyone else on the road, you simply change lanes and pass them by. The folks in the vehicles you pass, both small and large, wave at you. It's Texas after all, and we try to be friendly. :)

Texas Highway by CoreBurn

Then, bam! - you hit rush hour traffic.  It's Texas, so your little car is surrounded by pick-up trucks and SUVs.  You can't see over them, so you don't know how long the traffic jam is going to be.  You can't see around them, so you don't know if you can get over and make it to the exit lane.  You resign yourself to sitting in traffic and being late to wherever you're going.  That's when you start having problems.

Dallas traffic by nffcnnr

This is Texas - the pick-up trucks and SUVs think they own the road.  They're the ones with the huge cattle guards on the front of their vehicles, and they assume everyone who's not in the same category should get out of their way.  They don't check their blind spots - they're bigger, therefore you should automatically see them, right?  They have Hemis' under the hood, so it's fine with them if they cut you off, because God forbid they're behind your small car that might take a little longer to get up to speed.  They have the brand-new, straight from the factory brakes that can stop on a dime - what do you mean your little Yaris might take a while to fully stop because it's older, needs a brake job and you need time to shift?

The lane to the right of you starts moving quickly.  So you put on your turn signal, and start looking for an opening.  Truck after truck, SUV after SUV - they whiz by you, completely ignoring you.  Finally, another small car comes along and lets you in.  You finally can get to where you were going.

That's what it's like being in a scooter or wheelchair when you're in the middle of a crowd.  Surrounded by people standing all around you, walking while you're sitting there, unable to navigate.  Having people suddenly stop in front of you, and you are just praying that the scooter will stop before you hit them.  Unable to dart around the groups of people that cause traffic jams in hallways, you patiently (or more often than not, impatiently) wait until traffic clears enough to get around them.  It's driving a Yaris in Texas, wishing the traffic jam would clear up.

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At large gatherings, and sometimes at smaller ones, people are often told "We're a community that included everyone, regardless of ability.  People in wheelchairs and scooters are not invisible - look down every once in a while."  Often, these exhortations mean little until they directly effect the fully-abled.  Once they or a loved one learn what it is like to be ignored, to feel invisible in the middle of a crowd - then, suddenly they're looking down, recognizing barriers and helping to remove them.

General Assembly is the largest single gathering of Unitarian Universalists every year.  We learn from our mistakes and challenges every year, and make improvements.  In 2012, we had mini-hymn books we gave to everyone in scooters or wheelchairs so that when everyone else stood, those of us unable to stand still could sing the hymns.  

Yet, I wonder - are we making progress in our home congregations?  Are our congregations like the open highway where everyone can move around and we all wave at each other?  Or are our congregations like rush hour traffic?  I know my congregation is a bit of both at times - we've been working on becoming more like the open road than we were before.

Here are some great links that you might find useful if you're wondering if your congregation is a traffic jam or an open highway:

• EqUUal Access's Accessibility Guidelines for UU Congregations (opens in MS Word)
• UUA's Accessibility Manual - .pdf file

The UUA's accessibility manual includes a relatively easy and almost free audit that a small group in the congregation can do to assess how accessible the congregation is.  Best part?  It doesn't audit for only mobility impairments - but an entire gamut of things that you might not even realize are problems unless you know someone with invisible disabilities.

Don't wanna...

There are few things in life that I am adamantly opposed to doing.  Things I find unethical or unjust.  Eating brussel sprouts.  Moving... again.

Since 2006, I've moved six times.  And due to circumstances beyond my control, we're moving (again) in less than two weeks.  I'm much more apprehensive about this move than the previous 3 moves.  And I'm trying to figure out exactly why.

In 2006, I moved three times.  First, into a women's shelter when fleeing my abusive ex-husband.  Then, into an apartment that I shared with my sister.  And finally into an apartment with my (at the time) boyfriend.  The shelter was nice enough - a place to hang my hat while I got my head straightened out some and figured out how to cobble my life back together.  The apartment with my sister wasn't bad - I enjoyed her company, and it was close to work; it was a low-income complex, which wasn't bad if you could overlook the lack of basic maintenance and you didn't get on the wrong side of certain folks (no problem, it was better than where I grew up).  The apartment with my then-boyfriend was a bit worse - maintenance was fine, but after about a week, I was no longer comfortable with my son playing outside unsupervised; it was one of the "bad" parts of town.

We moved out that apartment in a hurry.  We'd been there for a year and half when the young child next door got caught in gang-crossfire.  We moved out less than a week later.  Ever since, we've rented houses from private owners, in carefully vetted neighborhoods - are the schools good? are there gangs? are the residents obviously proud of their homes?

As a result, we've ended up in what I call "vanilla" neighborhoods.  Granted, they aren't entirely occupied by white folks - we occasionally see a person of color other than my husband.  And, when it's been possible, we pay the transfer fee to keep my son in a different school that has a much more culturally and racially diverse demographic, even if it isn't the "good" school.

Now, we're moving again.  And none of us are happy about it.  We're going to be moving back into an apartment after years of living in houses with backyards, neighbors that stay put., having enough room to have both an office and an art studio space.  Not only are we moving back into an apartment, we're downsizing significantly, in the hopes that we'll be able to save up enough to eventually "own" our own place.

So, I'm in the middle of figuring out what is going with us, what is going into storage for use at a future house, and what is getting sold.  I'm in the middle of sorting through my feelings about moving, and I'm getting even more fabulously depressed than I already was.  It's amazingly difficult to find a two bedroom on the first floor at a place that is willing to overlook a lease that was broken to keep your family safe.  And I'm worried - about the neighborhood, about the neighbors, about the schools.  I'm worried about moving my 13 year old son to yet another place that he'll find it pointless to make friends at because he knows we'll be moving again.  We've intentionally looked for a diverse area, where as a white person I'd be in the minority.  And I'm praying that it's safe - that the appearance of safety we saw during the day doesn't evaporate as soon as the sun goes down. 

We can't know until we're there.  And that's what scares me.  The unknown.  The future.  And that I feel powerless to change it.  Transitions are never easy for anyone - I find them especially difficult.  I don't like change - I resist it at all costs, screaming and kicking every inch of the way.  And I don't have a choice in this.  I have to face the unknown, the future.  And I don't want to.  I want to kick and scream.  A lot.

Lord, grant me strength and courage in the face of the unknown - mainly so I don't hurt myself with all the kicking and screaming.

Accessibility at General Assembly

Two years ago, I wouldn't have even been able to tell you what Accessibility Services was.  Last year at General Assembly (GA) in Charlotte, I fought with my husband so that I wouldn't make use of them.  I lost that fight, and it was a learning experience that helped to transform the way I approach the world over the last year.  You can read some of my story as to why accessibility matters in my earlier post, "Why do I bother with accessibility?".

So, for those of you who don't know what these words mean, it boils down to this: Accessibility is about ensuring that everyone can fully participate in community.  It's about removing the barriers to full participation.  It's about educating people who are fully-abled on the daily challenges faced by people with disabilities.  It's about creating the beloved community that we talk about in our Unitarian Universalist (UU) congregations and making a truly welcoming space for everyone.

The GA Accessibility Services team does site visits during the GA planning process to assess physical barriers and identify solutions to them.  They make sure that scooters and wheelchairs will be able to navigate doorways, see what bathrooms have fragrance dispensers in them, figure out if the space has a looping system for the hearing-impaired.  They look at the area around the convention center to evaluate curb cuts, the steepness of sidewalks and how many potholes there are.  They learn if the crosswalks have signals that chirp so that people with visual impairments can safely cross.  And all of that is just the tip of the iceburg!

Due to financial constraints, my family and I decided that if we were going to be able to attend Justice GA in Phoenix, Arizona, this year, someone was going to have to volunteer or get a scholarship.  Since my husband is the president of our congregation, I decided to apply for a volunteer position. There was a huge flood of seemingly conflicting emotions when I got word that my volunteer application had been accepted, and I would not only be able to attend, but I would be working my top choice of positions - Accessibility Services.  

The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others. — Mahatma Gandhi

To be abundantly clear - I did not do any of pre-event site visits that I describe above, or any work on accessibility leading up to General Assembly.  My volunteer application being accepted meant that I got to work at the Accessibility Services table during GA and help anyone who came to us.

After my family arrived in Phoenix and finished registration, I excitedly introduced myself to the Accessibility Services Coordinator - Patty Cameron - who promptly hooked me up with a scooter because I was already in unanticipated pain from the long drive.   I was excited.  I was nervous.  I was thrilled to pieces to be working with the team who the previous year helped make my first GA a good experience, and I hoped that I would be able to ensure this GA was a good experience for those I was serving.  I was terrified that I would inadvertently marginalize someone - I have mobility limitations and although I don't experience marginalization in my daily life, I can relate and generally get it; I don't have a hearing or visual impairment, and I'm still learning a lot about what that experience is like and how not to marginalize it.

The experience of volunteering was more meaningful and fulfilling than I would have ever imagined.  I spent hours sitting at a table, and found it to be some of the most important time that I had at General Assembly.  It was hours of living our First Principle of inherent worth and dignity of every person.  

It was getting to tell the first-time GA attendee with a visual impairment that - Yes, we had something for her! Try out these spiffy full-page magnifier sheets and see if that makes it so you can read the program book and convention center signs.

It was getting to tell the gentleman who was feeling exhausted from all the walking, dragged to our table by his friend, that - Yes, the walkers and scooters are for the people who need them, and we have plenty extras, I promise if you take one, you aren't taking them away from people who really need them, it's ok for you to be a person who needs one just for this week

It was having a woman stop by and tell us thank you because the services we provided made her mother able to enjoy GA, and getting to honestly tell her that no thanks was needed, being able to serve her mother and make for a great GA experience was a privilege.

It was getting to hear people's stories - how they faced the challenges in their daily lives that come with disabilities, why they came to General Assembly, what their fears and hopes for GA and beyond were - and holding those stories close to my heart and cherishing them.

Yes, I had my share of not-so-awesome moments.  I had plenty of opportunities to roll my eyes when I was in my scooter and was cut off by folks who thought it was just fine to rush in front of me.  I got to learn what it was like to have to juggle the sometimes competing needs of different disabilities.  I got to hear the stories of folks in scooters were surrounded by chairs during the set-up of one event, and see the indignant fury in their eyes.  I heard the whispers behind me when I would rise from my scooter to get water from the fountain or walk into the hard-to-maneuver restroom.  Yet, those few and far between less than ideal moments were so far outweighed by the good ones.  

I was giddy when I saw that this year we had lyric books for the worship services - if you've never sung the song in your congregation, and then everyone rises in front of you sitting in a scooter, you can't see the words anymore.  I was thrilled to pieces during the closing celebration when the GA music director confronted head on how the language in hymns is not always inclusive and to paraphrase what Suzanne Fast had told her:

Standing doesn't have to be the strongest word to describe taking a strong position on an issue.  Sitting has a long and proud tradition in protest.  Be mindful of accessibility and inclusiveness in language.

I was humbled by attending the candlelight vigil held near Tent City Jail.  I was privileged to help serve as one of the Accessibility Services liaisons to the Witness Team that night.  The Witness Team was comprised of volunteers from around the country who went through hours of training earlier in the week to ensure that the protest was organized, peaceful and a positive experience of being in solidarity with those fighting in Arizona for basic human rights.  Every member of the Witness Team, the Right Relationship Team and UUA staff that I encountered that night had accessibility of the event on their mind.  I had perimeter control folks volunteer to not only keep the wheelchair and scooter path clear, but to clear a path through the crowd so that people with mobility issues could get to the front area where they would be able to see.  I had people volunteer to be buddies and sit in front with my "scooter peeps" to make sure if they needed to get out through the crowd a path would be cleared.  I had UUA staff and ministers directing the flow of scooter and wheelchair traffic away from the sidewalk that didn't have curb-cuts near the stage.  I had random UUs and people from our partners in Arizona volunteer to be on the look-out for walkers and canes when we gathered as a huge crowd to board buses, got to educate them on how to appropriately approach folks about possible accessibility issues while being mindful of pre-conceived assumptions that fully-abled people have when seeing a walker or cane, and how to direct people that have accessibility needs to the accessible bus loading area.  I was at the vigil, but didn't really participate since I was rolling around making sure that everyone with accessibility issues was taken care of.  In doing so, I had the opportunity to witness interactions marked not by the sympathy and pity that one usually sees in our society in dealing with people with disabilities, but rather an outpouring of compassion, empathy and kindness that makes me believe even more fervently that the Beloved Community is not only possible, but closer to fruition than I usually think.

It was a wonderful experience volunteering with Accessibility Services this year.  I would be honored to serve the GA community in this capacity again.  As a community, we certainly have even more places that we can improve access and inclusiveness.  Yet, I've seen progress in how inclusive our community can be between the last GA and this one.  We're moving in the right direction, and someday, we will get to the point of real understanding and inclusiveness - and we'll get there together.

The greatest thing in this world is not so much where we are, but in what direction we are moving. — Oliver Wendell Holmes

Why do I bother with accessibility?

As I mentioned in my first post, I was blessed by being able to work on the General Assembly (GA) Accessibility Team as a volunteer.  I was very excited to be able to do this work after my experiences over the last year facing challenges directly related to accessibility.
Before I post about what that experience was like, I would like to share a bit of my story - it will help provide some context for that experience.
At the 2011 GA in Charlotte, North Carolina, I first encountered accessibility challenges and was so thankful for the GA Accessibility Services Team (for helping me) and the Equual Access booth (for educating me).  My first full day at GA included me sitting on the floor, crying from the pain, hobbling around the convention center with tears in my eyes, and adamantly telling my hubby that the scooters were for other people who really needed them.  I ended up being forced by the hubby to get a scooter for the remainder of our time there.  I spent the week learning more from being in a scooter - and experiencing marginalization resulting from it - than I did in any of the workshops I attended. 
I grieved after being diagnosed with arthritis and chondromalacia (the femur rubs against the knee cap).  I grieved that I would never again walk up stairs, or do so many things that had marked my life as "normal" again.
I realized that I have my own set of assumptions and prejudices around disabilities and age.  I realized just how many prejudices I had been carrying around that had been unchecked - and how I had been marginalizing others for so long.  I thought arthritis was something that "only old people get".  I'd ignored the congregant in the wheelchair who repeatedly complained about the nursing station in the accessible restroom as impeding her ability to get in and out.  I'd ignored the grumblings I'd heard about the dead batteries in the listening devices we have in the sanctuary.  For so long, I'd look at those people with disabilities, and defined them by their limitations - not bothering to ask their stories, not asking what I was doing to marginalize them so that I could correct it.  I pitied them.  I looked upon them as if they were inferior and didn't even realize that I was doing it.  I had been part of the problem and ignorant of it.  I was able-ist and age-ist.
It took me seven months of depression, grieving and education, to accept that I am a person with a disability.  I came to terms with the idea that my life as I knew it was gone, and that I (along with my family) needed to adapt.  I realized that I needed help managing the pain that was so severe I was taking dozens of over-the-counter pills just to try to minimally function.
As a youth advisor at my congregation and at Southwest Unitarian Universalist District events, many of the youth (and the adults who work with them) in our district have come to understand some the mobility challenges that I have faced.  I've often marveled at how included I've been in youth events, even as I struggle feeling that elsewhere.  Our local youth group cheered when I managed to plug in my own laptop into a power cord on the floor, and when I sat on the floor with them for the first time in a year.  Last year's district youth camp auction was to help raise funds to get a golf cart to increase the accessibility of U-Bar-U, the retreat center where camp is held every July.
I don't use a scooter except at GA; I don't use a walker or even a cane in my everyday life.  If you saw me in my normal environments, you'd likely think that there's nothing different about my abilities than any person who's fully-abled.  That inclusiveness and sharing in the joys of major accomplishments when I'm with the youth - I don't always find that with "the adults".  When I'm not standing for hymns because it's a bad day, I get looks of disdain from those who don't know me.  When I'm limping through the hallway, people think that it's perfectly fine to ask why (it's not - if I want you to know, I'll tell you!).  It's frustrating to go to the worship committee and ask for wheelchair cut-outs in our sanctuary and be told that they aren't necessary (they are - and we now have them).
So with this being my experience over the course of the past year, I looked to the 2012 GA in Phoenix with both trepidation and anticipation.  Stay tuned for the next post....

Update: Post on Accessibility at General Assembly

Youngling Programming

My son, age 13, really, really wanted to come to General Assembly (GA) in Phoenix this year.  He wanted to be there to work for social justice, after years of listening to emma's revolution CDs in the car with me. 

We were initially very reticent to allow him to come with us.  Last year in Charlotte, we'd seen very few younglings (which is what I call tweens & teens) - either they were babies and toddlers, or they were old enough to participate in Youth Caucus (which starts at 14).   There was not childcare available at GA unless you had a hotel that could refer you to babysitting services in the area - and anyone with kids can attest to how ridiculously expensive that would be for an entire week.

Yes, General Assembly is primarily about the business of the Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA), and congregational polity.  However, it's also about creating community for a week, networking with others on issues that matter, and having the opportunity to learn from others.  Those last three are all things that younglings of all ages can benefit from.

Apparently, someone on the GA Planning Committee (or someone who had their ear), realized that entire families would be coming to Phoenix - that the younglings raised as Unitarian Universalists (UUs) would be bugging parents to be able to participate in this historic social justice oriented GA.  We were surprised and grateful to see during online registration that there would not only be a place for younglings at GA, but that there would be age-appropriate programming for them.

Our son participated in "Justice Camp" - programming that was designed for younglings ages 10 to 14.  You can read more about Justice Camp and see pictures by clicking here. Justice Camp was critical in providing our son with a positive experience at his very first General Assembly.  He learned about issues relating to the environment, class, immigration, and the Doctrine of Discovery.  He learned about the vocabulary of justice work.  He helped with the "Beat the Heat" backpack project and did a water scavenger hunt. He played games, made new friends, and even got to go swimming. 

Now, to be fair and give my youngling's voice a chance to be heard, he would have liked more swimming and a little less learning.  He was bored by lecture parts of programming (generally true of him & lectures all the time), but he really enjoyed the field trips and got a lot out of the hand-on learning opportunities they had.  He was so animated when he talked about the presentation by the Phoenix Dreamers, a group working on educating others and calling for passage of the DREAM Act.  And he is really psyched that he has friends in Houston, San Francisco, and a bunch of other places across the country.


I readily admit that I don't know a single youngling under the age of 15 who cares about congregational polity, my own included.  However, I do know younglings through my work as a youth advisor that do care about the business of the UUA, about the Congregational Study/Action Issues, about the Responsive Resolutions that get brought before delegates at GA.  I don't know if next year's GA planning currently includes anything like Justice Camp, but I really hope that it will because: 

• It allows families to make the trip to GA together
• It allows our younglings to begin developing deep relationships before they even get to Youth Caucus
• It's an opportunity to have a hands-on component to learning about our faith that doesn't necessarily always happen in our congregations
• GA becomes intentionally multi-generational - if we want that in our congregations, why wouldn't we expect our GAs to be uplifting that as an ideal to aspire to?
• It exposes our younglings to the idea that even at the national level, we all have a voice and we live our Fifth Principle 
• Attendance of younglings at GA is an opportunity unlike any other to expose them to the idea of congregational polity not only being about congregations being self-governing, but that it's important to have relationships with each other
• GA is an opportunity to experience worship in a completely different setting and context than our congregations

My son will be in Youth Caucus next year if he attends GA in Louisville, Kentucky - but there is so a need for this type of programming for younglings who come to GA in the future, and I really hope that it will be there for them.

Home from General Assembly

I just returned home from Phoenix, Arizona, where my family (along with thousands of others) attended the 2012 General Assembly (GA) of the Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA).  It was a historic GA, our very first Justice GA.  We came as people of faith, from all across the United States, to stand in solidarity with those fighting for immigration reform and against the dehumanizing policies and laws enacted in our country like SB1070.

For my first several posts to this blog, I'll be reviewing what the experience was like, and reflecting upon what I brought home from Arizona.


More than anything else, I have brought home an overwhelming sense of gratitude and privilege.

I was blessed to attend this General Assembly.  I was blessed to be able to bring my entire family, and a youth from our congregation.  We did not have the economic ability to fund this trip, and I was blessed by being able to be a volunteer at GA to cover my registration costs.  The youth that came with us was blessed by receiving a scholarship that allowed for her attendance.  I was blessed with there being programming specifically designed to allow younglings aged 10 to 14 an opportunity to learn, engage in social justice and make connections.

I was privileged to hear the stories of families who are being torn apart by our current immigration system and it's policies.  I was privileged to hear the story of a family who's loved one is in Tent City jail, a man who was unable to be there when his now 3 month old child was born.  I was privileged to bear witness to the dehumanization of migrants and to be there in solidarity with them.  I was privileged to work with the Accessibility Team at GA, and to help make GA a good experience for so many folks who face marginalization so regularly.  I was privileged to be on-site at the candle-light vigil to ensure that those folks with mobility limitations were able to fully participate in it.  I was privileged to get to meet so many from all around the country and hear their stories.  I was privileged to make connections.

I attended GA in Charlotte, North Carolina last June.  It was educational and helped to transform the way that I approach leadership.  I had a completely different perspective regarding accessibility after spending the week in a scooter.

This year, I returned home renewed and transformed.  Working accessibility was more deeply moving and meaningful that I ever thought it would be.  The hallway conversations that I had helped transform the way I view being considered a young adult (YA) and how I can transform our congregation and faith.

May I continue to be transformed by the stories of others, feel privileged to be told them, to be humbled by them, and reminded of the blessings that have been bestowed upon me by others and God.