Rallying for Life…as Women March

menom-march-button

“Those are the weird people in Menomonie,” said a teenaged girl, after my daughter explained that the group gathering at the University clock tower was getting ready to march.

I’m pretty sure my daughter was grateful I wasn’t in the crowd yet.

To be honest…I was scared to go.

I know the sentiment of many people in our community and I worried I would be misunderstood. I’ve never rallied, I’ve never marched, I’ve never been a physical part of any movement whatsoever, and I’ve watched and listened to the anger rising in this country because we’ve stopped listening to one another.

The details of the reasons I felt compelled to walk would be of little importance to the people who assume I’ve taken sides.

My husband and I had a bet about whether anyone would drive by and try to splash me, or yell at me or throw things at me. He said there would be honking in support and I said there would be angry yelling. We were both right. Plenty of people honked in support (for which sign I don’t know because there were so many), but there was anger too. One man revved his truck engine at a stoplight and another yelled out the window and flipped off the group as he drove by. There have been angry rants on Facebook since, and no doubt even posting this blog will move me to a new place in people’s estimation of me.

I truly don’t take offense to that young lady’s assessment that weird people were gathering, because she’s probably right. I am one of the weird people…practically everywhere I go.

What makes me weird is my inability (or maybe my unwillingness) to fully align with mary-poppins-mrs-banksa group.  I am a white, Catholic woman who believes in pro-life…for everyone…coaches a diverse boys high school soccer team in a Wisconsin football town, writes books, and runs a kitchen employing seasonal workers at the Colorado Renaissance Festival.  I would say I am a conservative Democrat/ liberal Republican. I work hard to love saints and sinners alike and I oscillate between the two camps on a daily basis. It’s complicated.

As a family, we occupy this weird space in the world, and there isn’t another family anywhere who is going to understand us. Maybe that’s why I am slower to judge the complications and uniqueness of each family and the choices people make, including the choices people made this past weekend.

I’m grateful to be alive at this point in history when it is possible to have the freedom to be so complicated…and to march for it. I marched on Saturday (with my Protestant friend who has been a staunch Republican…and felt strange surrounded by so many Democrats). Like I said, it’s complicated.

It was a rally for me from the beginning. Some who marched were there to protest, but I was there to rally around the freedoms  I cherish and to put into action my vow to defend those freedoms for every person. Every. One.

img_4146

The reasons I walked are unique and I have no doubt there were 2.9 million unique reasons any particular marcher felt the need to show up that morning. Unfortunately, reporters have to pick headlines and quick phrases to define what the march was. I wanted to write down, as specifically as I could, why I was among the marchers this past weekend.

  • I walked for my daughters. I wanted them to see I’m willing to physically show up for something I believe is important and I think all people are important. They both have incredible freedoms because they are American girls in 2017…I want them to know they have a right to celebrate those freedoms and they should always feel safe enough to speak up for what they believe.
  • I walked for those who’ve adopted children from around the world and who may not look like the little faces they feed.
  • I walked for my friends and family, and their children, who struggle with their freedoms because they are gay.
  • I walked for the women I know who have been physically, sexually or emotionally abused.
  • I walked for the stay-at-home dads who battle stereotypes because they believe in fatherhood and supporting the work of their wives.
  • I walked for my family members with disabilities and for those who are currently receiving government funding to live in assisted living situations. I want them to know I believe they deserve protections.
  • I walked for my friends in bi-racial marriages whose children have been, quite recently, targets of racism.
  • I walked for my friends who are public school teachers because I want them to know their talents and their services are valuable and worth defending.

Walking for women’s causes is complicated and many of the issues have only one thing in common: a woman cares about it. Not even all the issues I care about were represented on Saturday and many women I love didn’t feel welcomed or comfortable to march at all.

Several friends of mine don’t like the rhetoric reported by women they feel are in opposition to their beliefs. In a Facebook post that is making the rounds through feeds of women I know who support more Republican values, there were questions about the differences between the women who marched and those who didn’t:

In the post it’s written: I’m not a disgraceful woman because I didn’t march.

I completely agree. There is nothing disgraceful about the choices afforded to women in this country. That is precisely why I rallied. I didn’t protest. I didn’t carry a sign. I could barely bring myself to pin on the button, but I was compelled to show up and we each have a right to march or not…to carry a sign or go empty-handed.

Also written: You waste your time complaining about women’s rights in the US. You should spend your energy defending the rights of women around the world…those are places where women are really mistreated.

The marching energy was a rally cry…inspiring legs to keep moving for all people. It is true, American women have an incredible freedom in this country unlike anything afforded to women in the history of the world and with that freedom comes a great responsibility. My personal commitment is to remain responsible to both the vulnerable here in our country and to those suffering around the world.

Because I am a devout Catholic, I liken my march this past Saturday to that quiet walk I take every Sunday when I accompany the diversity of our church to the altar for Communion. I know there are vast opinions and philosophies from pew to pew, yet we gather each week around the guiding principle of love. Each relationship with Jesus is unique, each level of sinfulness personal, and we are asked to love instead of judge. Loving looks different for each of us.

My efforts to love meant I walked this weekend. I walked for the weird people who walked alongside me, and the vulnerable who couldn’t attend. I walked for those women who disagree with me and I also walked for that teenage girl who may never understand why I walked at all.

Copyright Choosing to Grow 2017                                     www.meaganfrank.com                                        @choosingtogrow

Daily Pilgrimage

bridge to winter.JPG

I’ve never participated in a pilgrimage, or at least not an official one.

This morning, I was reading about a pilgrimage that took place both yesterday and today. Despite the cold and snow near Chicago, thousands of observers made a pilgrimage to commemorate Our Lady of Guadalupe in Des Plaines, Illinois.

Pilgrimages are a human symbol of our desire to end up some place holy. To physically move from one place to another. Until today, I had never really considered that maybe I am on a pilgrimage daily.

This morning, when I set out on cross-country skis for the first time this winter season, I had pilgrimages on my mind.

I started to think about the holy place to which I was trekking and I remembered gratefully the hundreds of times God has met me there.

You see, there is a wall that freezes into thousands of icicles this time of year that is along my ski trail. It is a holy place for me. It is quiet and peaceful and I stand in awe of God’s creation each and every time I find myself standing before it.

pair of eagles on pilgrimage.jpg

It is a perfect distance from my car, and if I’m lucky, I’ll catch a glimpse of one of the eagles that lives in the nest that is across the river.

The other thing I was thinking about while on my personal pilgrimage today was the instruction of a devotional I read over the weekend.

“Be surprised. Watch for Jesus in your life; watch for realities you don’t usually imagine.”

Each day I wake with an expectation of how the day will go. Sometimes I write lists I expect I’ll complete. Sometimes I jot those “to-do’s” as I pray through my morning. Too often I get frustrated when I seem so unproductive and when my list grows instead of shrinks.

In my prayer journal today, I jotted down those things I expect to happen, but I set out on my day with a new intention to embrace the unexpected…the surprises.

My first surprise of the day came on the trail.

I expected to see the ice wall today. The surprise came when I realized that the eagles I pray to see each and every time I am on that trail, were both perched at the top of a tree above the wall. Can you see them? Had you noticed them when you first looked at my picture?

We are all on a pilgrimage each and every day. We are journeying some place holy, on purpose, but God has so many surprises for us along the way. It could be a person who interrupts us as we walk through a store, or a child who asks for us to listen to an important story. God knows I love eagles, and he gifted me with their stoic presence this morning at the wall I expected to see. They were the surprise I thankfully noticed.

May your pilgrimage today bring you to the place you are seeking and with plenty of joyful surprises along the way.

Copyright Choosing to Grow 2016                                     www.meaganfrank.com