My wife and I live in the Portland, Oregon area. We enjoy living in a beautiful region, surrounded by trees, parks, and at the same time close to a thriving urban center. Once the pandemic passes, we hope to open our home again to transgender persons seeking a place to stay while in the area for surgery and postoperative care.
A Call to Worship for the Transgender Day of Visibility
Welcome! I am Michelle Paquette, and my pronouns are she/her/hers.
In our Unitarian Universalist faith we teach that we may each participate in a in free and responsible search for truth and meaning.
Many of us have been engaged in a search for our personal truths, a personal voyage of discovery. This search may lead us to uncover deep truths about ourselves, and bring those truths to the surface.
As we find and live our truths, we may change how we identify ourselves, how we present ourselves to others in appearance, role, and identity. This is a deeply personal act, in which we reveal these deep truths to others, and render ourselves vulnerable to them as part of trying to live our authentic lives.
We ask of others that they also do something in response to our revelation. We ask that they honor our worth and dignity, and accept us as we accept them.
This isn’t always an easy thing to do.
Something I have stumbled over quite a bit in my life is a tendency to commit what I call “acts of assumption.” My mind tries to match what I perceive at first glance against cultural templates I’ve been taught over my life, to try and produce conclusions about a person I see before me.
I unconsciously commit these acts of assumption with every person I meet. If that person then reveals something to me that conflicts with my assumptions about them, there is a bit of an internal conflict. Which is correct, my assumptions or their revealed truths?
It’s not easy to reveal a deep truth about ourselves, only to have it rejected out of hand with a gesture, a remark, or a misgendering pronoun.
It’s not easy to realize that our assumptions are wrong, that the person we see before us is not who we thought they were, that we have perhaps made an unconscious error. Still, it is easy to recover from this, learn, reset our assumptions, and move on. It’s not so easy to have deep truths about ourselves casually rejected, authenticity denied.
In our Unitarian Universalist faith we strive to see the worth and dignity of every person, accept one another, and engage in a in free and responsible search for truth and meaning. I love this about our faith, and I love the experience that this provides me. I love being able to enter into a space where I know I can express my deep truths, be my authentic self, and know that I am in the company of others who honor my worth and dignity, and who accept me as I accept them. Thank you for your gift.
This week, on March 31, we celebrate the Transgender Day of Visibility.
We celebrate the Transgender Day of Visibility in today’s service, which affirms the truth in each of us. As a community, we support each other through each of life’s transformations. Later in the service, we will hold the Ceremony of Renaming for members of the community who are claiming their identities by living with a new name.
Let’s celebrate our revealed truths today, as we worship together.
When we as individuals make choices, we each tend to consider what might be best for ourselves. This is normal and natural, a way we act to keep ourselves safe. Something I ask that we consider, though, is how our choices impact others who share our interconnected web of life.
Today we are faced with the consequences of choices made years ago. As the President said last week; “Elections have consequences.” Now, years ago, each of us may have been considering our tax situation, our own desires, or perhaps our frustration with The System when we cast our votes. Those votes have had consequences, however, that have a much broader impact than ourselves.
These consequences are having a profound effect on me, my partner, and many others in my community.
Today is National Coming Out Day, a day established by LGBTQ activists in order to maintain positivity and celebrate coming out. Most people think they don't know anyone gay, lesbian, bi, queer, or trans, and in fact, everybody does. It is imperative that we come out, let people know who we are and disabuse them of their fears and stereotypes.
There are a few things each person considering coming out really needs to be aware of:
You may lose friends and family.
You’re going to be OK; You are not always going to feel OK, but you’re going to be OK.
If you want to make it, you’re going to have to learn to ask for help.
It’s worth it!
When coming out as a transgender person, there are a few additional things to know:
A gender transition may be too much to bear even for liberal family members.
Should you try hormone replacement therapy… It’s like being a teenager all over again, both good and bad!
Your sexuality may shift.
I’d like to disclose that I am a woman who is attracted to other women, and just last week I was honored to be married to Laurie, my life partner, in a ceremony held right here at Mt Diablo Unitarian Universalist Church, officiated by our own lead minister.
I am also a woman of transgender experience, forced to live part of my life pretending to be a man to try to avoid the abuse this culture heaps on anyone failing to meet narrow social standards.
Now, y’all know at least one LGBTQ person.
The consequences of the individual choices made by others have a profound impact on me. In a 4 page opinion issued October 5, two Supreme Court justices referred to the Obergefell v. Hodges decision that allowed Laurie and I to be married; “The court has created a problem that only it can fix.” They explicitly want to invalidate my marriage and are awaiting the appointment of a new justice who shares their opinion, an appointment made and to be approved by elected officials in our government.
Elections have consequences, indeed.
As military veterans, Laurie and I were were happy to learn that on June 30, 2016, Secretary Carter and the Obama administration approved a policy rescinding the decades-old ban on transgender persons serving in the military, after a study found no real reason, no real impact on readiness for maintaining the old ban.
We were dismayed when the current elected Commander in Chief revoked our ability to serve with a midnight tweet.
Elections have consequences, indeed.
The Department of Housing and Urban Development, in a new ruling driven by elected officials, allows homeless shelters to assign individuals to housing based on their sex as assigned at birth. If I am in a community where shelters operate under this rule, I would be assigned to a mens shelter. I feel that I would rather sleep rough, on the street, than be placed at risk of violent abuse again.
Elections have consequences, indeed.
When we as individuals make choices, I ask that each of us consider not only our own wishes, but the impact of our choices on:
The inherent worth and dignity of every person;
Justice, equity and compassion in human relations;
Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.
Let us consider this further today, as we worship together.
Welcome! I am Michelle Paquette, and my pronouns are She/Her/Hers.
The whole world seems to be afire with tensions and strife. TV, the Web, and my E-mail box are full of conflicting things demanding my urgent attention. How can I juggle so many different things and find my own path? How can I find joy in the middle of all this?
Joy. It’s something I would like to find. Now, happiness is an emotion that brings bursts of intense pleasure, excitement, and satisfaction, but joyfulness…. Ah! That’s a stronger, longer-term state that results in feelings of inner peace and contentment.
I’ve experienced many moments of happiness in my life, but relatively few moments of joy. I spent too much time distracted, the “squirrels” in my mind restless, driving me to constantly worry about what might be, what might have been, all that two-in-the-morning sleepless night stuff.
I really did think that joy was something talked about, but not experienced. Then I learned better. I was so busy fretting over things that I missed the moments of joy in life, skipped right over them while I kept asking myself “What next?” as my mind spun in little circles.
Well, I discovered that asking “What next?” over and over quickly reaches the point where the answer is “I just don’t know.” Circling back and repeating this over and over really doesn’t accomplish anything useful! Silly squirrels!
“Whereas happiness can be easily manufactured, joy comes through setting up the right conditions for it to suddenly appear," says Forrest Talley, Ph.D., a clinical psychologist in California. "Happiness can be brought about by a good cup of coffee in the morning or a funny movie. Joy, on the other hand, is more difficult to cultivate."
The cultivation of joy is an ongoing process that takes time. I had to develop some new habits, new practices, so I wouldn’t miss the joy I encounter on my journey through life.
Joy really isn’t in achieving some distant goal. Oh, that may bring well-earned happiness, but we soon adjust, make this goal our new normal, and will find ourselves creating some new distant goal to be unhappy over not attaining at once. This behavior of reaching, adjusting to, and seeking a new goal even has a name, the “hedonic treadmill.” That doesn’t sound very joyous, does it?
Those goals provide us with a sense of achievement, a feeling of certainty when we can reach them. But between these goals, we spend far more time on the journey.
“I got so focused on the difficulty of the climb that I lost sight of being grateful for simply having a mountain to climb.”
— Oprah Winfrey
I’ve learned some things in my search for joy that I’d like to share.
We can find joy every day, as part of our journey, if we only take a little time to notice it. When we set up the right conditions, we can notice joy, and we can embrace and extend these bits of inner peace and contentment as they arise.
Mindfulness practice, a way to settle the mind, calm ourselves, and focus on the present, where we are. The “squirrels” running around in our minds often distract us from the present, overwhelm us, and lead us to miss moments of joy. Taking a few minutes to calm ourselves, just breathe, and focus on the act of breathing, letting go of the “squirrels” and simply being aware of ourselves, our breath in our body, and nothing more can be very calming. Consider joining our Friday 10 AM meditation, or our Vespers service Wednesdays at 6:30.
If we don’t mind the triteness of it, a gratitude diary might help. At the end of each day, we just jot down a few things that we are grateful for, or that brought us joy, perhaps a few places or activities where we felt calm or at peace. This both encourages us to notice these moments, and can give us ideas of other, similar experiences we might deliberately incorporate in our lives.
It’s a wonderful thing, finding these moments of calm, noticing that which brings us joy and taking a moment to embrace it. Let’s open ourselves to discovering and embracing a little joy this morning, as we worship together.
Hello, I am Michelle Paquette, and my pronouns are she/her/hers.
In 1975, I stood before others, right hand raised, and swore an oath:
I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.
Millions of others have sworn that or very similar oaths, marking the beginning of their military service. We each have our own reasons for going into military service, whether for patriotism, a drive to be of service to our society, for self-improvement, or simply to learn work skills.
In taking that oath, we are dedicating ourselves, our lives to something greater than ourselves, the Constitution that bound our country together and serves as a guiding set of principles for our land and those who live here. We agree to defend these principles against all enemies, foreign and domestic, who might seek to deny or subvert them, and to carry out our duties in this greater task faithfully.
I undertook these tasks, like so many others have. The work was often hard, but the support we gave one another as a team working for a common cause was remarkable and uplifting. I have fond memories of that time, including my years as an instructor, and my time on board the USS Parche, a fast attack submarine which at decommissioning was the most highly decorated vessel in US Naval history, with nine Presidential Unit Citations, ten Navy Unit Commendations, and thirteen Navy Expeditionary Medals.
I eventually completed my military obligations and returned to civilian life, older and perhaps wiser. Not everyone who enters military service has that privilege.
Tomorrow, the last Monday in May, is Memorial Day, a day set aside for honoring and mourning the military personnel who had died while serving in the United States Armed Forces. These people took an oath, dedicating their lives to something greater then themselves, and lost their lives in that service. Whether they died from hostile action, or something as prosaic as a vehicle accident doesn’t really matter. They never had a chance to complete their obligations and return to civilian life, but lost their life in service to our country.
For some, Memorial Day is a day of picnics, perhaps holiday sales next year, or a Monday off of work. For others, this is a day of tears and mourning, for friends or family we will never see again.
We may differ as to whether or not their service was the right choice, or whether the tasks they were assigned were just or worthy. They swore an oath to carry out their duties, without any mental reservation or evasion, and they died while carrying out those duties. They each were being faithful to something greater than themselves, and they lost their lives in doing so.
Please keep them in mind today and tomorrow, as we worship together.
Written for the April 26th service of Mt. Diablo Unitarian Universalist Church
Welcome! I am Michelle Paquette, and my pronouns are she/her/hers.
Laurie and I have been effectively on lockdown since March 10, about 7 weeks now. Yes, we got a bit of a head start on most of you.
We had thought a few months ago that we would be heading off on a road trip this May, traveling across the country to the East Coast, visiting folks from Florida to Nova Scotia, and traveling back home via Pennsylvania and Missouri. That isn’t happening. Instead, we’ve become homebodies.
We are older, and between us have medical conditions that put us at risk should we contract COVID-19. As a result, we shelter in place, order groceries online, and venture out as little as possible. It’s a strange way for me to live, as I tend to be somewhat social and enjoy face-to-face interactions with people. Talking to little rectangles on a Zoom display doesn’t come naturally to me, but that is the only outside contact many of us have these days.
We’ve had to change some of our habits. We can’t run out to the grocery at the last minute to pick up a few things for dinner. There are no more leisurely late lunches at cafes, no outings to museums or urban treks. Our lives are very different now.
While I’d like to say “I’m so over it!”, head outside, and just go back to my daily life, that isn’t really practical or at all reasonable behavior. There are real risks right now, to myself, my partner, and everyone else in the community. Instead, my partner and I have to persist a while longer.
Persistence is defined as firm or obstinate continuance in a course of action in spite of difficulty or opposition. Now, I don’t think that our persistence is obstinate, and the only opposition we have is within ourselves. I find that my internal opposition is largely a function of my old habits. I can’t do this things I used to do, and a little part of me is upset that things just aren’t they way they used to be.
I find that I have to stop and remind that little part of me that this is something we are all doing as part of a greater cause, that others, people I may not have met, are relying on me and many others that they perhaps have not met, to follow these new behaviors, slow the spread of this virus, and make sure that the facilities they need are available for them should they need them.
I try to replace my old habits with new ones. I read more. I prepare more complex dishes in the kitchen, and I stretch my cooking and baking skills. I write more. I’m trying to get past some anxieties I have over communications and reach out to others who may be in need of support.
We can all find new habits to replace the old ones that are now out of reach. MDUUC provides a number of new, virtual activities from online Community Circles to virtual lunch meetups, Vespers, classes, and even our Coffee & Connections Hour after today’s service. (It’s pretty neat, by the way! Give it a try.)
We each may have something tucked away, a relaxing or engaging activity perhaps, something we can use to quiet that little part of each of us that is upset by these recent changes and help us stay in the moment. Let’s discover what inner resources we might have as we worship together.
For the greater San Francisco Bay Area, this is Day 4 of the Shelter in Place order. For my partner and I, this is Day 10, as we got a bit of a head start from my own medical needs. I’ve been quietly recovering from a surgery a week before the lockdown started.
Our days are spent quietly, playing around on social media, catching up on publications and articles, turning on the news to catch up on the outside world each evening. I have books to catch up on, and I enjoy doing a bit of writing as well.
I’ve been digging out my old amateur radio equipment and getting it on the air, although due to my location, homeowners association restrictions, and the construction of this building, I have had very little luck with this hobby activity. I do have some 50 year old equipment I have been restoring, and I have a couple of work tables set up in the guest bedroom that I use for tinkering about with this older equipment. I don’t expect to have any house guests in the near future, so I can take over this space more for myself.
The view from the condo looks out over part of the huge Highway 680 and 24 interchange. Roads that crept along in the morning and evening commute are almost empty, and “rush hour” looks like 3AM on a Sunday morning used to look. I see a lot of trucks and utility vehicles going by, most intent on providing what I assume are necessary services, and a good number of private vehicles from the few commuters left on the road.
The downtown area looks like a ghost town. The parking garages in the urban core are all shuttered, and street parking has been declared to be unmetered through the lockdown. Many businesses are closed, and I honestly am not sure if some will re-open. We’ve heard that unemployment claims are way up.
There’s a Kaiser Permanente hospital near here, as well as a CVS pharmacy and a Target store. We’ve heard that these are all candidates for drive-up COVID-19 testing, assuming one meets all the pre-approval criteria, but have not yet seen signs of the expected tents in the parking lot for such a test setup. Kaiser has already set up 19 drive-up testing sites in the region for its members.
Trying to maintain community contacts is a challenge. Rainbow Community Center (RCC) and Mt. Diablo Unitarian Universalist Church (MDUUC), both groups that I am involved with, have been experimenting with teleconferencing software to handle team meetings and regular group gatherings. MDUUC has been streaming its Sunday service for quite a while, and last weekend did its first “virtual only” Sunday service, with no audience and minimal staff, all practicing their safe social distancing skills, to provide a service that hundreds watched online.
Both my partner and I are quite active on the public side of Facebook, various private groups, and message boards, all of which feed virtual communities. This can help a little, but I find that I am a social animal, and need some sort of human interaction. Not being able to scratch that ‘social itch’ is frustrating, and has me feeling a bit irritable.
I’ve done some committee and board meetings for local organizations via the Zoom teleconference system, which has worked out very well. I particularly like being able to see other actual human beings, and their facial responses to things I say. It feels much more connected somehow than voice, and far better than textual exchanges such as message boards. Well, as long as folks turn on their cameras, anyway! There are always the shy ones!
I have some books I am reading, and I really should get cracking on doing my tax returns, but I am so easily distracted, especially by my kitchen. The past couple days I have made a Russian rye bread, a sourdough banana cinnamon raisin bread, and blueberry cobbler. They all turned out very well. I’ve been cooking full dinners, from corned beef and cabbage to a nice thick crust pizza, along with salads and sides.
I usually also do a hot breakfast, anything from simple steel-cut oats and berries, crumpets and coffee, to bacon and eggs with a hash or potatoes. Some of that cinnamon raisin bread wound up as French toast yesterday. The pantry is well stocked, and I have no problems improvising with what I have on hand.
Life in this odd enforced isolation is good so far, and my partner and I are getting along well and preserving each other’s sanity. I have to confess that I do dread reaching the point where I have to brave the insanity of our grocery store again, a place that is dangerous for our health as senior citizens now, and apparently overrun by panicked shoppers. Just why do you need two dozen onions and all of the beef jerky, anyway?
Welcome! I am Michelle Paquette, and my pronouns are she/her/hers.
I want to tell you a story from my youth, a tale of sacrifice and support. To understand this tale, I need to disclose a few things about myself. I was born in 1953, and reached my teenage years in the late 1960s here in the Bay Area. I am also a person who transcends cultural gender boundaries, that is, I am a transgender person. In my case, as in many others, when I was born the regions of the brain that mediate perception of my body didn’t match the sex assigned to my body. That is, my body didn’t fit my gender identity.
This mismatch occurs about as often as natural redheads do, a normal if infrequent expression of biological diversity.
When I reached my teens, the changes that started to happen in my body were seen as incorrect by the brain’s perceptual network, triggering a strong and persistent sense that something was wrong. The medical folks call this gender dysphoria. Normally, if something was wrong or really bothering me I would have talked to my Mom or our parish priest for guidance, but observation and experience told me that this would be a really bad idea. I had to sacrifice any expression of my authentic self, and hide beside a false front to avoid conflict at home.
Instead, I experimented. I found that growing my hair out helped. If I could dress in a more feminine style, that helped a bit. I was discovering that shifting my gender presentation could be a coping mechanism, but it really wasn’t enough. I couldn’t talk to anyone.
I did read the paper, though. Eventually I read that something radical was happening over in San Francisco. For an extra dime, the bus would take me over to the city.
I put on my flared jeans, my platform shoes (oh, yay 1960s!), and packed a rather BoHo top in my bag. When I got to the TransBay Terminal, I ducked into a restroom, changed my shirt for the top, brushed my hair out, and took off into the city, just another 14 year old hippie chick. I would repeat this trip many times in the next few years.
I found my way to the Tenderloin, and discovered others like me. There were groups that gathered at Glide Memorial, and over on Van Ness at the “Center for Special Problems”. Older women gave me the “Dutch Auntie” treatment, showing me where it was safe to go, where I could rest or eat, and how to avoid being arrested.
The other teens were amazing. I made friends, actual friends! Some were living on their own, or in ‘group homes’ with a half dozen living together in a Tenderloin hotel room. We talked, sharing and caring for one another. We listened to one another. We helped and protected one another.
As the group dynamics shifted, we shifted our preferred hangout over to the Golden Gate Park panhandle and the growing community of nonconformists in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood. There, nobody seemed to care about our nature. We could fold and stuff copies of a local paper for food or a place to crash. Amazing music was everywhere. And best of all, I got to just be myself, with others like me. These were the best days of my youth.
That gave me the strength to get through all the days I had to stay hidden, so my existence wouldn’t upset everyone around me at home and school.
I don’t have to hide any more. The days of sacrificing my own existence to avoid upsets are behind me. I am part of a community where we can support and spiritually refuel one another.
Let’s look at how we do this today, as we worship together.
Last week, while driving through White Pass in Washington, I was struck by the beautiful fall colors in the trees, brought on by a few nights of freezing temperatures. The trees were marking the season, the end of burgeoning growth, a time of slowing in nature in preparation for the long sleep of winter.
This is also a time of year when we humans may pause, gathering in and perhaps celebrating the harvest, and as we pause, remembering the changes in our lives over the past year. These changes may include those with us only in memory, and we can share those memories and celebrate their lives in ritual.
Many cultures have independently found ways to mark the changes that come into their lives and have their own unique ways of honoring the dead.
Here in California, with our strong cultural ties to Mexico and it’s culture, we are somewhat familiar with DÃa de los Muertos. The celebration emphasizes celebrating the lives of the deceased, complete with food, parades, dances and parties. Celebrants believe that on this day, the spirits of the dead return to take part in the celebrations alongside the living.
Samhain ( “s’ouen”)
My own family background includes a substantial Irish component, with my mother’s roots in clan Cusack, from County Meath, Ireland. There, Samhain (“s’ouen”) has been celebrated for many centuries.
It is said that at this time of year the link between this world and the other is at its thinnest, and the dead may return to this world using doors of the sidhe (“shee”) so they could warm themselves amongst the living.
Feasts are held in honor of the dead, with a place set for ancestors who may visit from the other world. After the large supper, the untouched plate of food is placed outside to be left for the sidhe (“shee”).
"i Morti" in Italy
In Sicily, children hunt for treats left by loving relatives no longer around. In northern Italy people leave their homes empty in case the dead want to visit. All over the country, Italians set an empty place at the table for people who no longer sit there.
Obon Festival
A traditional Buddhist festival in Japan celebrated a few months ago, Obon commemorates lost ancestors, whose spirits are believed to return then to visit relatives.
Traditionally, lanterns are hung in front of houses to guide the ancestors' spirits, dances are performed, graves are visited and cleaned, and food offerings are made. At the end of Obon, floating lanterns are put into rivers, lakes and seas in order to guide the spirits back into their world. The customs followed vary strongly from region to region.
Chuseok (chu-see-ok)
Chuseok (chu-see-ok) is one of Korea's largest national holidays, celebrated a few weeks ago, and traditionally marking the fall harvest. Marked with dancing, games and food, Chuseok is also a time for Koreans to honor their ancestors, and during the three-day festival, the living give thanks to the dead for their part in providing bountiful crops.
I note these special days and rituals not to somehow conflate or colonize them, but simply to recognize that the need to remember those no longer with us, and celebrate their lives is a human thing, larger than any single faith or culture.
Today we, as a Unitarian Universalist congregation, continue our own tradition, keeping in mind the many other traditions of our world, as we celebrate That Which Has Been Our Delight and worship together.
Recently, I saw a hillside in the forest that had just endured a windstorm. The direction the wind had blown was obvious, from how the mighty trees that once dotted the hillside now lay. Even though strong, that strength failed in the gusts of wind that they had to endure, and these giants had fallen.
At the same time, I noticed that the open spaces on the hillside were covered with tall grasses, now gently waving in the wind and brushing against one another, supported by one another as they continued to stand, taking in the sunlight, the air and water, and continuing to grow. It didn’t seem fair somehow, that those beautiful trees had fallen, yet the grasses remained. At the same time, I was grateful that the winds had not been able to strip the hillside of life, that the grasses would persist, holding the soil so that other life could continue or re-establish itself.
I’d have to describe that biological community of the hillside as being resilient, even if some of the trees were lost. We individual humans can also be resilient, learning how to move about in spite of strong prevailing winds, learning strategies to maintain ourselves even as time and experience bring wear and tear.
We also find this resilience in communities. Studies of the responses of communities to natural disasters show this in action. We can see how our communities respond with civil engineering such as flood control, better bridges, improved communications, and adapting new practices to improve how the next disaster can be handled.
There are also spiritual and psychological components. The fortunate community will also develop stronger neighborhood ties, built from elements such as sidewalk chats, corner coffee shops, and other elements of the social infrastructure. That social infrastructure can be every bit as important as the physical one.
We each have our innate resilience as human beings. We each have some degree of social competence, problem-solving skills, autonomy, and a sense of purpose or belief in a future. These are not some magical properties gifted to only a few, but traits we all have in common to varying degrees, with varying levels of skill in wielding them.
We may not be aware of these skill and abilities, of course. We might have been raised in environments that did not let us exercise all of these traits, or even discouraged them. We may have been raised to encourage one or more of these traits, or in our life experience wandered into environments that encouraged us to stretch and develop these traits further.
That development may have been what’s called ‘stress-hardiness’, developing resilient traits in response to an adverse environment. A benign or supportive environment can also encourage resilient traits, through various challenges raised to individuals to encourage them to ‘stretch’ a bit, discover new capabilities and operate at the edges of their comfort zone.
Resilience in individuals seems to arise from the interactions of individuals with their community, whether adverse, supportive, or a mixture of both.
Longer ago than I care to think, I was in the military service. Recruit training was a classic example of an adverse environment, tailored to break down old behaviors and habits, and build new ones that would be supportive of the community of fellow service members. It was definitely a shock to my system, but I learned I had far more capacity for resilience in the face of adversity than I had ever conceived of prior to my service.
While assigned to a training command in Idaho, I happened to have a long weekend, almost 5 days, turn up in my schedule. It seemed like a great opportunity to return to the Bay Area to visit family. My partner and I hopped into our mighty AMC Hornet, and taking turns driving, took on the 13 hour journey. We made it, enjoyed our visits, and then were back in the car for the return trip.
Somewhere about 30 miles west of Elko, Nevada, billowing white clouds started appearing behind the car. Warning lights popped on the dashboard, and the engine temperature gauge (remember those?) pegged high. None of these were good signs.
We pulled over, and I got out and flagged down a truck to get a lift into Elko. (This was before cellphones.) We found a shop and got the vehicle towed. After a new water pump, several hundred dollars, and several hours, we were on the road again. Well... For a little while.
The Hornet’s engine is a delicate thing. It turns out that it does not respond well to overheating. About 20 miles east of Elko, the engine started running rough, and those billowing white clouds were back. Another thumbed ride, another tow, and the vehicle was back in Elko, parked on a side street besides the now closed garage.
My resilience was clearly being tested. I was an inch from breaking down in tears when I called my command from a pay phone to explain that I was not going to be present in time for my shift. They were surprisingly understanding, and found a volunteer to take over my class. Even more surprising, an instructor took their day off to drive to Elko, pick us and our luggage up, and take us back to Pocatello. A week later, on my next days off, another instructor asked about the vehicle, and suggested that we take his truck to Elko, and tow the Hornet back to my place!
I hadn’t recognized it at the time, but I was not a lone individual, but part of a fairly tight-knit community of folks who looked out for each other, supported one another, and exercised their problem-solving skills, autonomy, and sense of purpose for the benefit of all in the community, bound together by our common oath. That was a remarkably eye-opening experience for me. Even though my resilience was taxed, the community, with an abundance of resilience, took the difficulties in stride, and supported me, lifted me up, and quite literally got me on the road again.
Oh, and I also became far too familiar with that car’s engine, although I did get it running again.
Here at Mount Diablo Unitarian Universalist Church, we have a community, holding common interests in faith, in our desire for social justice, and in many ways, by the support we give one another, and bound by our covenant. While we are not living our lives under one roof, or forming a commune, I still have a strong feeling of being part of an intentional community here.
Many of the same elements of resilience I mentioned earlier are present within this community. Within the membership and our committees, we have teams that demonstrate and teach social competence, problem-solving skills, autonomy, and a sense of purpose or belief in a future. We have a benign and supportive environment that encourages us to stretch a bit, knowing that others may catch us should we fall.
We have the shared wisdom of our “Doctors of Durability”, our elders with their collected life experience. We have caregivers, tending to our needs both physical and spiritual. We have the energy and enthusiasm of our youth. We have friends.
This is a remarkable place. I think I am prone to taking this for granted far too often, and considering the impact that this community has had on my ability to rebound from adverse circumstances, my resilience, I have to pause and thank you all.
Carol Sue Cain recently wrote something that resonates with me:
Humans are wired for connection and it takes intention and awareness to prevent the effortless connections with people "like" me, from hindering or harming the more difficult connections I need to create with the people not "like" me.
The hope of those more difficult connections, not with people like me, but with people like those I had admired in my past who happened to be Unitarian Universalists, with people who have different insights into life, is what drew me here, and what keeps me here.
Well, what do I find, but that I have managed to become part of another community of folks who look out for each other, support one another, and exercise their problem-solving skills, autonomy, and sense of purpose for the benefit of all in the community. I’ve found myself in community, with a found family and a band of generous and amazing people.
It is these more difficult connections, with people not like ourselves, but sharing common goals and community that give us our resilience as a community. There are many people gathered here, many backgrounds, many paths through life, many unique sets of skills, many beliefs, yet bound together by our common covenant.
Daniel Lerch of the Post Carbon Institute says the key to resilience is understanding that every life and every community is comprised of a system of relationships and the resilience of any one system is influenced by the resilience of every system around it.
Key to our system of relationships is our covenant, which governs how we interact with one another, and defines how the right relationships that tie us together should function.
“We, the members of the Mt. Diablo Unitarian Universalist Church, covenant with one another to act in the following ways in our interactions and in all forms of communication:
We speak and write directly, openly, and respectfully with each other.
We support and encourage diversity within our congregation.
We trust each other’s best intentions.
We respect healthy boundaries.
We honor community decisions.”
Our covenant is our social ‘glue’, defining the ways we interact, and encouraging flexibility, adaptability, and trust over rigid, brittle structure. This covenant eases our making connections with those different from ourselves, which I need in developing my own resilience.
It is through these connections that I am able to explore different viewpoints, different approaches to living life and coping with things I have not been able to do on my own.
I know that when I am near my limits, that often all it takes to bounce back is to chat with a friend, catch a kind smile or complement, an offer to share a burden, somehow touching that web of connections, and I may feel renewed.
That mutual respect and trust weaves us together. It is this web of connection that provides us with resilience, both individually and as a community. This is something we may all practice, and with this, gain resilience for both ourselves and our community.
Remember that hillside. Rather than stand alone against the wind, hoping that we won’t be broken like those fallen trees, let us be more like the grasses waving in the breeze, touching and supporting one another and rebounding as the storm passes.
Rev. Sammons will explore the adventure of getting older, both as a minister now retired and as a person who wants to remember the poets adage: “Birth and death are the landmarks but it’s the field between that’s important.” Rev. David Sammons is the Minister Emeritus at MDUUC.
Rev. Sammons is building his sermon on an excerpt from “The Fountain of Age” by Betty Friedan.
Welcome! I am Michelle Paquette, pronouns she/her/hers.
“Birth and death are the landmarks but it’s the field between that’s important.” OK, where was this advice 50 years ago when I needed it most?
It was impressed on me at an early age that I had a duty of self-sacrifice, a duty to live my life for others, and that actions for myself were selfish. I spent much of my life doing this, living the way others demanded. I essentially marked time, rusting away, soul corroding, waiting for death to ring down the curtain on this performance.
Betty Friedan made the point in “The Fountain of Age” that wearing out is far preferable to rusting out.
Several years ago, I had a crisis of sorts that forced me to re-examine the way I lived my life. I acted. Rather than rust out, I was going to live, live MY life, and see if I could wear it out instead.
Well, so far, so good! I’m definitely alive, definitely enjoying life, and while I may wear out I’m definitely not rusting out.
Oh, the dress!
This is something special just for today. These colors come from a flag designed by Monica Helms, the Transgender Pride flag. I’ve learned that 70% of folks think they have never met a transgender person. Now, none of you are in that 70%! I wear these colors proudly as a transgender person today.
This is the Transgender Day of Visibility, a day to show your support for the trans community. It aims to bring attention to the accomplishments of trans people around the globe while fighting fear and prejudice, by spreading knowledge of the trans community. This is not a day for mourning: this is a day of empowerment and recognition.
This year, we need allies more than ever. No, what we need are co-conspirators! Come and join us at 4 this afternoon in Civic Park, downtown Walnut Creek!
For the transgender communities, today is a day to celebrate our lives, our successes of the past year.
For my trans siblings, we who transcend gender have looked beneath the surface, and have seen depths that most do not realize even exist. We know these depths within ourselves, these places that most may never encounter. We know the strength, the resilience, and the wisdom we hold deep within us.
Now, let us all, together, explore the adventure of getting older, and perhaps find ways to wear out rather than rust out, as we worship together.
