The mosque at Ground Zero in New York is all they can talk about in the news, the talk shows, the gas station, and for reasons I can’t even figure out, SportsTalk.  Obviously, the proposed building of an Islamic Community center, complete with mosque, has hit a very raw nerve with a lot of Americans.  According to a CNN poll, 70% of Americans oppose the building of this community center/mosque.

Obviously, we haven’t forgotten that horrible day when hate motivated crazy people flew airplanes into buildings, killed thousands and changed the Americans saw themselves and the world.  We learned that some had declared us to be the enemy in large part because of the freedoms we cherish.  It seemed incomprehensible that we could be hated so much for some of the very things that made us who we are.

But now, 70% of Americans want to tell a congregation of other Americans who had  nothing to do with the hate that flew those airplanes into those buildings that they are not free to worship where they want, that they are not welcome to assemble where they want, or say what they want.  Seventy percent of Americans do not want the freedoms and rights we are guaranteed  as Americans to apply to one group of people because some who claim to be believers in the same faith have used it for evil.

I think we should be very, very careful.  When we start limiting the protections of the constitution to people we like, it ceases to protect any of us.  The founders of our country, in part, came here to gain the freedom to worship when and where they wanted to, the freedom to worship publicly and not hide from those who did not agree with them. Do we really want to deny any congregation that right?  How long before someone decides that the safest thing is to deny all religious groups the right to assemble, to build places of worship, or to speak publicly about their faith? I don’t think it’s such a big jump from one incident to the other.

We also need to be very, very careful about hate.  Hate killed those thousands of people that morning, not religion.  The followers of Islam do not have a corner on the hate market, by the way.  There are sadly groups in almost any faith, and none, who have bent their beliefs into something hateful.  One of my favorite West Wing episodes is the one they ran a few days after 9/11, called Isaac and Ishmael.  In it, one of the characters poses this SAT-like question:  “Al Quaeda is to Islam as ——– is to Christianity.  And the answer, scholars?  THE KKK.  Hate groups, both.  Capable of unspeakable violence, both. Claimed by their leaders to be linked to faith, both.  Representative of the real followers of Islam or Christianity, neither. In the same West Wing episode, another character says: “My father had a friend who was in one of the camps (WWII Nazi concentration camps). He said one day he saw someone in the camp praying. He asked him what he was doing.  He said ‘thanking God.” My father’s friend asked him what on earth he could be thanking God for. He said, ‘Not making me like them.’ Bad people can’t be recognized on sight.  There’s no use trying.”

There has been a lot of discussion about what should be built at Ground Zero.  Many people want to make sure that it is a proper memorial to all the innocent lives that were lost that day.  Some of the proposals, though, seem less like a memorial to the thousands of individuals who went to work that morning and lost their lives to hate, and more of a monument to the horrific event itself.  That event represents evil, pure hate and evil.  If we build a monument to that evil and hate, the memories of those innocent lives will be lost.  All anyone will remember is the hate.

Years ago I went with my father to the Arizona memorial in Pearl Harbor. My most striking memory from that visit is the sight of my father standing on the foredeck of the tour boat next to a Japanese man approximately his age.  The events of December 7, 1941 changed my father’s life forever.  Within months, at 17,  he was on a boat in the middle of the South Pacific headed for war.  I’m sure those events changed the life of the Japanese man, too.  Who knows, they may have seen each other, fought each other.  But the monument they stood in front was about brave men to died on that December morning, not about war, or hate.  They were able to stand there and think of the events of that day, of the lives lost, and of the lives changed without hate. The memorial was about the people who died there, their bravery and service, not about the evil of war.

Whatever is built at Ground Zero, it must be a memorial where the people who lost their lives are remembered, including the 70 or so people of Islamic background or faith who just went to work that day, not hating anyone, and died. It needs to be completely American and that means it cannot be built upon hate or fear, or the denial of the rights guaranteed us all.  We do not honor hate and fear.

When my daughter was a little girl about three, we picked her up at her grandmother’s house and she proceeded to throw a little fit.  Not a tantrum, just a frustrated, whiny, teary little fit.  We asked her what was the matter, and she answered with head shaking and more whining and crying.  The more we asked, the more frustrated she became.  Finally, in a totally exasperated voice, she announced, “I want something DIFFERENT!”

Sometimes, I know exactly how she felt.  Lately has been one of those times.  I can’t totally put my name to it, but I want something different.  I want to do something new, or at least something I haven’t done in a while.  So today I went and bought the tools to do something I haven’t done in years and years.  I bought a sketchbook, a set of drawing pencils, charcoal, and watercolor crayons.   I have not drawn anything other than doodles in the margin of class notes and meeting agendas in years, or used a paintbrush on anything other than a wall.

So what on earth am I doing with this box of pencils and this pad of paper?  I  have absolutely no idea.   But when I am out of sorts, I need to create something other than words.   The other side of my brain needs to take over and save me from the world of words.  And don’t get me wrong – no one loves words more than I do.  I love to read them, I love to write them, I even love to fit them into little squares in the crossword puzzle and create them on the scrabble board.

Drawing and painting are different, though.  They have no limits, no rules – at least the way I do it they don’t.   They just let things flow and see what happens.  So, we’ll see what comes out of the right side of my brain.  At least it will be something different!

So author Anne Rice has declared she is “quitting Christianity.”  Apparently, for Anne, at least, that does not mean “quitting Christ.”  For the sake of her soul, and her quality of earthly life, I’m glad for her in that.  But the rest of her statement puzzles me.  She said, ” It’s simply impossible for me to “belong” to this quarrelsome, hostile, disputatious, and deservedly infamous group. For ten …years, I’ve tried. I’ve failed. I’m an outsider. My conscience will allow nothing else.”

No matter her religious affiliation, I’m afraid Ms. Rice will always belong to a quarrelsome, hostile, disputatious, infamous group.  It’s called the human race, and these very failings are the reason Jesus was born, lived as a man, was crucified, died, and rose again from the grave.

Christians, some Christians, are undoubtedly anti-gay, anti-feminist, anti birth control and whatever else.  I’m pretty sure you could probably even find Christians who are anti-donut on Sunday morning (but not many).  However, I hardly think those who call themselves Christians have cornered the market on bigotry, misunderstanding, or narrow points of view.  There are always plenty narrow minded people making noise, including authors who choose to condemn thousands of believers she doesn’t even know because a few that she does know has apparently hurt her feelings and made her feel like an “outsider” (her words, not mine).

Following Jesus, whether you like it or not, means becoming a part of the body of Christ, the fellowship of believers, the family of God.  Like any family, some members are easier to love than others.  Jesus was pretty clear about expecting us to love each other even when it wasn’t easy.  Christians who decide to go it alone inevitably find themselves focused, not on Christ, but on themselves, and they are never happy.

Jesus is where we turn when the world disappoints us, and he doesn’t often let us hide. He points us right back  out there, even when the folks that disappointed us are others who follow him.  Especially then.

I feel sorry for Ms. Rice.  She is shutting herself off from the entire body of believers because some of them have frustrated her and hurt her feelings.  She is setting herself up for a cold and lonely experience.  My prayer for her is that she find a group of fellow believers she can love with the same unconditional love Christ gives us, warts and all.

I can’t believe that  a year ago I was driving home from Arkansas, bringing my Mom to Kansas City.  My brother told me today that he knew he was saying goodbye to Mom when he met us at the Cracker Barrel in Bentonville and transferred her to our car for the trip to K.C. He cried for miles on the way back to Little Rock. I had no clue.  I thought I was finally getting some time with my mother.   Oh sure, I knew her memory was getting fuzzy.  I knew her health wasn’t good.  We could handle it.  We would have time to handle it.

As Bob Seger says, “I wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then.”

It was only six months, and most of the time it was bad.  Nightmare bad.  Crying every day bad. Almost lost my mind bad.  But I miss it.  It was the last little bit of time I had with my Mom, at least a little bitty part of her.

I miss her.  We weren’t always the best mother-daughter act.  She had a picture in her head of the perfect daughter and she was not happy when I strayed from the picture.  I sometimes strayed further than necessary just to be ornery. But she was so good to talk to!  She was smart, and funny, and she loved me.

I don’t have a particular theological view of heaven.  Intellectually, I know it is all about being in God’s presence, and that this life won’t matter any more when we stand before God. In my heart, right now, though, I need to know my Mom is somehow available to me. I talk to her.  I don’t think God minds.  I talk to my sister, and even my Dad sometimes.  If they are a part of God now, I figure it must just be a sort of prayer.

How much things can change in a year still stuns me.  I think I’ve got the bends from changing depth so many times and so fast.  I want to know what I need to learn from all of it, but right now, I’m still spending time in the hyperbaric chamber.

When I was a little girl we moved to a neighborhood in Amarillo, Texas that was far from the public library. However, we discovered something that was, to me at least, absolutely magical.  The Bookmobile.  Once a week, a trailer pulled into the parking lot across the street from our apartment building, and opened the door to a mobile library.  I was usually first in line, anxious to get the next Cherry Ames or Nancy Drew, or discover the “new” classic the librarian, who made a point of getting to know her patrons, had set aside for me.  She gave me The Little Princess, still one of my favorite books.  I came from a family of readers, but I believe that my life-long love of books and reading actually began with that trailer full of books in the parking lot of the local grocery store.

A friend recently Tweeted that, the average suburban child “reads” 1700 hours of picture books before kindergarten.  The actual inner city child, 25 hours.  That simple statistic breaks my heart.  It also has me thinking about Bookmobiles.

So here’s what I’m wondering.  What about a Bookmobile for the inner city, but not one from the library.  I love libraries, but I realize that the whole borrow-return-borrow-return may not work very well for inner city kids with parents who are struggling just to live.  So, why not stock up a trailer with books and give them away, and then come back next week and give away some more.  If the kids wanted to, they could return them and pick up new ones, but they wouldn’t have to.  It would be staffed by people like that wonderful librarian who used to set books aside for me.

So, now all I need is a trailer, books, and money to run the thing.  So, what I really need is a sponsor.  Hmmmmmmm………

I love my geeky/nerdy family.  For instance, last Friday we engaged in an all-day debate via email and instant messaging as to whether the Donner party actually ate each other.  (Conclusion:  sadly, they probably did, though there still stands the chance it was some sort of warped 19th century publicity stunt).

Sara can name the entire British royal line back to prehistory, John talks about Greek and Roman mythology AND American history like it was last night’s episode of Lost, and Sam can quote you any historical sports statistic you can name, and throw in a theological point,  just to keep it interesting.

And then there are us old folks.  I know just enough to be dangerous about history, art, and literature (though I have not, as my daughter has, read my way through all of Shakespeare’s plays).  The family history obsession is probably my fault.  We never took them to Disney World, but we drug them through every roadside history museum we came across, with a few cemetery tours thrown in for good measure.

We don’t call Monty “Mark Trail” for nothing.  If it is outside, Monty knows how it works and whether or not it will kill you.  Sort of a middle-aged Bear Grills, with better sense than to hang off the side of mountains and eat bugs.  At least I hope so.  He also remembers absolutely everything he reads or sees on TV, or hears first-hand.  While this is a sort of annoying trait in a spouse,  it makes him one heck of an interesting person to hang out with.

Seriously, you want this bunch on your Trivial Pursuit team.  I love them, and they keep life interesting.  And I’m proud of the way they use the minds God gave them to look at the world through different perspectives.  Call us if you want to play Trivia!

The title of my new blog was suggested by one of my sons.  It comes from a song, “When Mama Prayed,” which was recorded by Randy Travis.

When Mama prayed, good things happened
When Mama prayed, lives were changed…

It isn’t like every one of them got answered
But the times they weren’t it seems to me were rare
You almost felt sorry for the devil
‘Cause heaven knows he didn’t have a prayer
When mama prayed

This mama does pray – for my kids, for people I encounter at work, for my friends, for ambulances that pass me on the street, and certainly for myself. C.S. Lewis said that he prayed because that was how God changed him.  And I like to think my life is part of the change that happens when Mama prays.

But don’t worry, I’m not just going to blog about prayer, though it may figure in blogs about everything from the meaning of life to the wonder of grandchildren to the love of basketball and rock and roll.  We’ll see.  Saint Paul said we were to pray without ceasing,  so why not?