strong, sharp, kind.
Every night, after a bath, some books, and a few songs (her favorites are "Blackbird" by the Beatles, as well as the theme song from Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood), I hold Jolene close to my chest and say a prayer.
It used to be simple—"Help Jolene to know how much we love her, and how much you love her. Keep her body growing strong, her mind growing sharp, and her heart growing kind."
For a while, that seemed like enough.
But this year we've battled so much as a nation–the disturbing rallying cry of white supremacism, more mass shootings, a bullying administration, and the day-to-day battles that every person faces on their own: news of a child's death, a friend getting cancer, another getting divorced.
It's been hard to feel creative, and it's been a challenge to figure out how to address any of this without immediately attracting rampant negativity from those on opposing sides.
After reading several books by Ta-Nehisi Coates, I said to my husband, "I feel so helpless. Can I do more?"
"You're raising Squish," he said. "That's one of the most important things you can do."
It felt small.
But also like a good perspective to start with.
So I started adding to our prayers.
After Charlottesville, I prayed in tears: "Help Squish to grow into the kind of woman who will speak up for others, who will combat hate, help her to know how lucky she's been and how 'to much is given, much is expected.' Help her not to get complacent, help her to actively reach out to and love those who aren't as lucky. And help this world. Fix it. Keep Jolene's body growing strong, her mind growing sharp, her heart growing kind."
After Las Vegas, we prayed for everyone who'd lost a parent, a son, a daughter, a spouse, a partner, a friend.
After the first of many public men were revealed to have been sexual predators, we prayed for the women who'd come forward, for strength, for healing, and for the tide to change in our country.
After my sisters and I chose Rohingya refugee relief for our annual Christmas project, we began praying regularly for refugee families.
After I launched a sock drive at our church for the homeless, we prayed for anyone who was cold, lonely, without a home.
We started praying that we wouldn't get lost in the questions of why we were so blessed and others weren't, but instead never stop trying to make the world better. We prayed we wouldn't get paralyzed or complacent, but instead use our anger and confusion to fuel advocacy, support, and shared responsibility for our fellow human beings. We started praying to be instruments of peace.
And as always, we pray for her body to grow strong, her mind to grow sharp, her heart to grow kind.
And each time we pray that last part, I have hope.
If her body grows strong, she can be active. She can see different parts of the world and learn more about human experiences unlike hers. She can lift people up, she can be someone's arms and legs, she can be dependable. I don't want to take her health for granted, to forget what a gift it is that she can walk on her feet, use both her hands, breathe freely in and out, and respond easily and happily to those around her. I hope she will come to see her strong health as a gift, and use it to help those with less strength.
If her mind grows sharp, she can keep her eyes open to everything around her. She can speak up for herself and others, ask for a raise, report sexual harassment, stay informed on the state of the world and how she plays a role. With a sharp mind she can advocate, think on her feet, keep learning. This, too, feels like a gift. The brain is such a masterpiece, and yet vulnerable to so much—physical trauma, anxiety, depression, sensory overload, fatigue. I hope her brain will be as strong as her body, growing sharper every year.
If her heart grows kind, she can see the world with compassion. She can ask questions before she judges, she can help others even at her own expense, she can be generous with her time, money, and skills. Being kind goes deeper than being nice—I hope her interactions with people will come from a deeper place than just social niceties, from a place where she draws her own hope, joy, and optimism. I hope she won't shy away from things that are difficult, like going to a funeral, visiting someone in a hospital, helping someone move, giving more than she has. I hope these things will come naturally to her, as a person who sees herself connected to the people around her in a vital way.
In a calmer, more stable world, it might be easy to fantasize about my child excelling in everything she does, being at the top of her class, the captain of the team, rising quickly in a prestigious field.
But in this world, I find I don't care about that as much. I want something different, something simultaneously less and so much more: a strong body, a sharp mind, a kind heart.
And for that, I'll never stop praying.
It used to be simple—"Help Jolene to know how much we love her, and how much you love her. Keep her body growing strong, her mind growing sharp, and her heart growing kind."
For a while, that seemed like enough.
But this year we've battled so much as a nation–the disturbing rallying cry of white supremacism, more mass shootings, a bullying administration, and the day-to-day battles that every person faces on their own: news of a child's death, a friend getting cancer, another getting divorced.
It's been hard to feel creative, and it's been a challenge to figure out how to address any of this without immediately attracting rampant negativity from those on opposing sides.
After reading several books by Ta-Nehisi Coates, I said to my husband, "I feel so helpless. Can I do more?"
"You're raising Squish," he said. "That's one of the most important things you can do."
It felt small.
But also like a good perspective to start with.
So I started adding to our prayers.
After Charlottesville, I prayed in tears: "Help Squish to grow into the kind of woman who will speak up for others, who will combat hate, help her to know how lucky she's been and how 'to much is given, much is expected.' Help her not to get complacent, help her to actively reach out to and love those who aren't as lucky. And help this world. Fix it. Keep Jolene's body growing strong, her mind growing sharp, her heart growing kind."
After Las Vegas, we prayed for everyone who'd lost a parent, a son, a daughter, a spouse, a partner, a friend.
After the first of many public men were revealed to have been sexual predators, we prayed for the women who'd come forward, for strength, for healing, and for the tide to change in our country.
After my sisters and I chose Rohingya refugee relief for our annual Christmas project, we began praying regularly for refugee families.
After I launched a sock drive at our church for the homeless, we prayed for anyone who was cold, lonely, without a home.
We started praying that we wouldn't get lost in the questions of why we were so blessed and others weren't, but instead never stop trying to make the world better. We prayed we wouldn't get paralyzed or complacent, but instead use our anger and confusion to fuel advocacy, support, and shared responsibility for our fellow human beings. We started praying to be instruments of peace.
And as always, we pray for her body to grow strong, her mind to grow sharp, her heart to grow kind.
And each time we pray that last part, I have hope.
If her body grows strong, she can be active. She can see different parts of the world and learn more about human experiences unlike hers. She can lift people up, she can be someone's arms and legs, she can be dependable. I don't want to take her health for granted, to forget what a gift it is that she can walk on her feet, use both her hands, breathe freely in and out, and respond easily and happily to those around her. I hope she will come to see her strong health as a gift, and use it to help those with less strength.
If her mind grows sharp, she can keep her eyes open to everything around her. She can speak up for herself and others, ask for a raise, report sexual harassment, stay informed on the state of the world and how she plays a role. With a sharp mind she can advocate, think on her feet, keep learning. This, too, feels like a gift. The brain is such a masterpiece, and yet vulnerable to so much—physical trauma, anxiety, depression, sensory overload, fatigue. I hope her brain will be as strong as her body, growing sharper every year.
If her heart grows kind, she can see the world with compassion. She can ask questions before she judges, she can help others even at her own expense, she can be generous with her time, money, and skills. Being kind goes deeper than being nice—I hope her interactions with people will come from a deeper place than just social niceties, from a place where she draws her own hope, joy, and optimism. I hope she won't shy away from things that are difficult, like going to a funeral, visiting someone in a hospital, helping someone move, giving more than she has. I hope these things will come naturally to her, as a person who sees herself connected to the people around her in a vital way.
In a calmer, more stable world, it might be easy to fantasize about my child excelling in everything she does, being at the top of her class, the captain of the team, rising quickly in a prestigious field.
But in this world, I find I don't care about that as much. I want something different, something simultaneously less and so much more: a strong body, a sharp mind, a kind heart.
And for that, I'll never stop praying.