9/11, Trauma, Children, and My Thoughts

Where my mind took me today...

Today is the 20th anniversary of 9/11. I chose to journal in gray today. It was such a horrible time and our country hasn't been the same since. I do believe that the children of that time period were permanently scarred. We were all traumatized. We were all changed. But for the children too young for words, their worlds changed abruptly overnight with no explanation. They were alive when it happened, but they only have memories of their parents telling them the story every year. They have no memories of a pre-9/11 world, but they were raised in the midst of their parents lives and the entire world being rocked by it. They do not remember a time when Homeland Security was a new concept. But their parents brought them to school/daycare in an anxious haze, listening to the news to find out if the day was Yellow...Orange...or, perish the thought, Red. We didn't even know what that meant. We just knew it was terrifying. Too terrifying to imagine. But before 9/11, so we also could have never imagined was the thought of planes - everyday commercial airlines - crashing into buildings that were an iconic part of the American landscape. Not one, not two, but three planes crashed into buildings. Before 9/11, no one ever imagined watching - in real life, in real time - the New York City skyline crumble right before their eyes. Before 9/11, no one could imagine such catastrophic loss and untamable fear of a faceless enemy. Before 9/11, the faces of brown men with beards, kufis or turbans, jalabiyas, or women in hijabs did not ignite terror in the hearts, minds, faces, words of passersby. Before 9/11, it did not feel unsafe to be American. At least not IN America. Even before 9/11, there were regions across the globe whose inhabitants have no memories of NOT living in fear of or mutual enmity between neighbors. Before 9/11, our lives were not consumed with fear. After 9/11, there was a fundamental shift in America's reality and in her collective consciousness. In the days that followed, there was an all-consuming grief. We mourned the lives lost...a list that grew longer daily. As the days passed, any hope of survivors diminished. After 9/11, whether consciously or not, we mourned the loss of our sense of security and of life as we knew it. We lived in fear of being caught unawares again. Where would they strike next? What would be the site of the next mass grave? In the days that followed, we were united in our shared grief, our shared fear, our shared dwindling hope. American flags were everywhere - stickers on every car, on every porch, in every window. A silent acknowledgement of this shared trauma, a silent nod that you are together through this pain, a silent hug that conveys a message that words could never capture. The flag was the supportive presence provided to families at a deathbed of a loved one, at the funeral, at the gravesite - that presence that says "all I can do is be with you through this." The flag was the way we could all show our love and support for one another. And in the midst of our uncertainty, sadness, fear, and confusion, our children continued to want to play, needed to be fed, saw their friends, and sat with their parents who could not seem to look to away from the TV until is seemed they could not look at it any longer. They watched their parents faces become clouded, distant, pained. Without warning or reason, their parents would scoop them up, squeezing them in a tight hug, and weep. Without warning or reason, their parents would snap at them to leave them alone, to be quiet, to get out of the way because the President was talking. In the weeks that followed 9/11, our sadness and fear became mired by anger. Our helplessness manifested itself in a restlessness: we needed to do something. Our babies and toddlers watched as we thirsted for retaliation; we needed to blame someone...anyone. We needed to relieve ourselves of this discomfort by transferring it to someone/something responsible for this mass destruction of life, property, and peace. In the months that followed 9/11, anyone who looked Arab, had an Arab-sounding name, was a woman with her head covered became the target of the country's vitriol...all the anger, sadness, and helplessness that they were desperate to free themselves from.The country continued to feel afraid, but no longer unified. We began to fear one another. We feared the unfamiliar and the unknown. The adults in the world did not know how to cope with the enormity of what we were feeling, of what we had lost, and of so many unanswered questions. It would border on willful ignorance if we did not acknowledge that this affected how children experienced the world, how it affected our parenting, how it affected our teaching, how it affected our lives. My son was 10 days shy of turning 3 on 9/11. I was in grad school at LSU. When I dropped him off at daycare that morning, I think the first plane had already crashed. I know something had happened because I was glued to the radio the whole way to campus, my unease growing. By the time I got to campus, the second plane had crashed. I was getting my Master's in Social Work at the time, so I was in a classroom full of future social workers and a social worker professor. We were all processing what we were hearing as it was happening. As it became clear that our country was under attack, all I wanted to do was hold my child. Even if we were all blasted to smithereens by the end of the day, I wanted my baby to be with me. About half an hours or so later, we were dismissed from class; I think the university dismissed everyone. I raced to the daycare and got my son. I didn't even want to let him go to put him in his carseat. And then I watched the news. In confusion and terror, I watched scenes play over and over. 

The planes. 

The fires. 

The people running. 

...

The people jumping.

...

The buildings crumbling.

I remember thinking over and over how it looked like a scene from a movie...that as a society we had actually been desensitized to images like this from movies. We had seen famous cities destroyed countless times before. I specifically recalled the 1996 film Independence Day. I knew what I was watching was real but it felt utterly surreal. It was so horrible, but I couldn't look away - until finally the tightness in my chest became unbearable. I was torturing myself, and continuing to watch would do more harm than good. Even when I turned the TV off, the images continued to flash through my mind. The most disturbing for me was the people jumping - knowing they were falling dozens of stories to their deaths, but that being their only hope of survival. I kept imagining the desperate fear people must have been feeling to decide to jump. I imagined the fears of the people trapped in the stories above where the planes blasted holes in the buildings. To not know what's going on, but know that something terrible has happened. To know you are going to die. To know you and hundreds of people you know and work with are going to die. I think about the phone calls that people made to say goodbye. I think about the people who never had a chance to call. I think about the people who called in sick that day. I think about the people who went to work that day despite wanting to call out that day.  I think about the people who happened to be running late. I wonder how time passes when you are awaiting death, surrounded by unfathomable sights, sounds, and smells of death. I was not in New York that day. I had never even been. I did not personally know anyone who died that day. I'm not even sure I know anyone who personally knew someone who died that day...I definitely did not 20 years ago. But I do know that I was traumatized that day. We all were. None of us were the same after 9/11. Things never went back to normal. It was like we lost our innocence that day. But did we know that then...to what extent we were changed? Did we know that 20 years later we still would not be able to take liquids on planes? Did we fully comprehend the collective trauma we experienced? Of course not. What happened that day was unfathomable as well as all the fallout. I was 24 years old at the time. I went to school in an environment where we were able to process and support one another. But what about everywhere else? Everybody else? And what about the children, the very little children, whose lives were fundamentally altered by 9/11. They have no memories of it. They have not memories of anyone who died that day. They have no real memories of a pre-9/11 world. But it happened during their lifetime and it left an indelible mark on their lives. It was a disruption of their life path that altered the trajectory of their development. The survived a trauma that they have no memory of but that irreparably wounded the world they would grow up in. Their parents were traumatized. I have noticed that many kids from my son's generation (born 1998-2000) seem to be troubled, kind of lost, and hurting. I think part of that is because of 9/11. Because we didn't talk about trauma then like we do now, nor did we comprehend the deep wounds 9/11 would leave, we as a society didn't address it properly, if at all. I think COVID has traumatized us similarly, possibly worse because of its literally global impact. The is another generation of kids growing up in the midst of trauma, being raised by parents who were already carrying trauma baggage from 9/11 (and natural disasters like Katrina, multiple mass shootings, racial and political unrest) - never mind what happens in their individual personal lives. How do you even begin to heal the trauma of the world? How do you make everyone aware that they may not be okay and that that's okay? How do we explain to people en masse that these traumas may play a part in the inexplicable underlying discontentment/discomfort that they have never been able to name or understand and that they never remember a time they didn't feel it? We are a world full of hurting people. There is a saying that hurt people hurt people. With the internet and TV being so easily accessible by most, where we can feed ourselves on a never-ending diet of more trauma that we would in our individual lives. We see more catastrophic things, and we can see them over and over. We are bombarded with images and stories of atrocities. How do we counter that? How do we protect ourselves? How do we teach our children to protect themselves? How do we heal our collective and individual selves? I honestly don't know. But I pray for my children...all the children...and all the broken people. I will do my part to heal myself and to share that healing with others and not spread trauma. That is what I can do. 

Agent 355: Making invisible women in history SEEN

For any fans of historical fiction (especially from the Revolutionary War period) or anyone who likes learning about women who belong in the narrative but never made it, I HIGHLY recommend the book Agent 355 by Marie Benedict. I think it may only be available in audio form and only thru Audible. But if you're a member, it's free. 

Agent 355 worked as a spy for the Continental Army, obtaining crucial intelligence that thwarted British efforts to catch the Americans unawares. The author's note at the end explains that we'll likely never know the true identity of Agent 355, but we know that she was a woman and that she played a pivotal role in altering the direction of the Revolution. 

The audio is just over 2 hours and can easily be listened to in one sitting. It is a short story that creates a fictitious tale based on actual people and events. There are elements of mystery, suspense, and romance, but it does not delve deeply into any of these facets. Rather, it provides a glimpse into what might have been and piques the reader's interest in learning more. 

Listening to this book led me to research a bit about Major John André, head of the British Secret Service. Hamilton fans will appreciate so many familiar names mentioned on André's Wikipedia page. And to me, it paints a very human picture of the inescapable collective pain and grief of war, whether you are the victor or the defeated, and how blurred the lines are that distinguish the good guys from the bad.

Not all who are lost wander.

 Is it possible to be lost while remaining in the same place? Apparently. 

I've worked at the same job for 9 years. I've been the mother of 3 kids for 10 years. I've lived at the same address for 11 years. I've been married to the same man for 12 years. I've lived in the same state for 15 years. I've lived in this same body for 43 years. Yet somehow I have lost my way. How, in the midst of so much apparent stability, has my life completely derailed?

Ironically, I think the mounting stability is what allowed the reality of my chronic instability to be exposed. Without the distraction of significant life changes or personal crises to keep me from paying attention to myself, I have become more and more cognizant of just how poorly I have cared for myself over the years. I lived at a pace that was not sustainable. And now that the tornado of college degrees, relationship changes, pregnancies, address changes, and job changes finally seems to have passed and everything has become still, it seems that I don't know where I am. I don't know where I am.

I am now on the journey of getting un-lost. I don't even fully know what that means. Finding myself? Finding my purpose? Finding peace? Finding healing? Finding God? All of the above? Maybe they are all one and the same. 

Knowing that I'm lost is half the battle. Exploring what lies ahead...and what lies within...is both exhilarating and terrifying. All I know is staying lost isn't an option.

Seeing red

I have so many thoughts on the midterm elections...and especially the outcome of some key races here in Florida. I don't believe that anyone should just vote straight across party lines without really considering each candidate and their potential impact on the country/state/community. However, with Republicans dominating all three branches of government (executive, legislative, and judicial), there seems to be a lack of balance of power/checks and balances that was supposed to be achieved by having 3 separate branches in the first place.

I personally find Donald Trump to be a vile human being. He seldom smiles. He's rude. He is divisive. He seems to thrive on conflict and drama. He is vexatious to my spirit in a way that is beyond words. But what causes me the most pain are the people who rally behind him, politicians and citizens alike, continually turning a blind eye to his abominable behavior...or worse, openly supporting it and cheering it on.

The Democrat agenda seems broken down into the special interests of any and every marginalized group known to man, which isn't really a unifying agenda...it just speaks to the volume of marginalized people. But this holding hands-singing Kumbaya-laissez faire-everyone's a winner platform isn't really something you can establish political policy around. In spite of that, at the heart of left of center agenda, there seems to be a common concern for humanity in general. It's impossible to make "be nice to everyone" a law, but it shouldn't be impossible to consider others (whose struggles/needs may be different than yours) when approaching policy.

The Republicans seem unified in the mindset that every marginalized group is just a bunch of whiny, butthurt, snowflakes. I find that people just want to be acknowledged and validated. That doesn't mean you have to agree on anything. You have to be willing to say "I have never experienced that, but I believe you when you say that you have." And you must understand that validating people's experiences/beliefs/needs does not consequently diminish your own. It seems that any time a group speaks out about their struggles, the Right says "suck it up and shut up; not my problem." I feel like there can be no productive discourse because the right immediately becomes defensive and refuses to listen, choosing instead to just outshout the other side or put their fingers in their ears saying "I can't hear you."

Yes, I know it seems like everyday there is another random subgroup in society screaming for attention. It becomes weary. I get it. Everyone is crying about being offended by something, which ultimately diminishes people's capacity or desire to care about anyone. But when did it become kill or be killed? When did people only start listening to others who think like them?

For me, the fundamental reason I have such a low tolerance for Trump supporters is because I believe that not standing up to a bully speaks to their character more than Trump's. I became disheartened and disillusioned when so many people who are supposed to be Christian are celebrating cruelty and judgment and succumbing to fear to the point of losing any semblance of human decency. It is hard for me to see the spirit of Christ in someone who has so little value for life. They say don't become that which you hate. It seems like the fight against abortion has turned many well-meaning people into murderers of a different kind, losing respect for all life except for the unborn and refusing to acknowledge that inherent value in every person. The Right does not exemplify unity, empathy, compassion, kindness, or love. It is for that reason that I shudder at the thought of being surrounded by so many who voted for people who openly support Trump.

I WANT to understand the other side; I really do. But I just don't get it.

Raising a Plant: Finding peace in letting my son grow up

When my mom gave it to me, I'm sure she had no idea the metaphor that this plant would become. I know I didn't. In a small, yellow, plastic pot and with only a handful of bright green leaves, it was a housewarming present celebrating my move into my very first apartment. 

It was January 1999. Kaleb was about 3 1/2 months old. I was 21. I had been a student at the University of Southwestern Louisiana (USL) but sat out that fall 1998 semester to give birth in September. I had always lived in the dorms, but since that was no longer an option, I applied and was approved for an on-campus apartment for families. Mom had offered to keep Kaleb with her in Pineville (an hour and a half from my school in Lafayette), but there was no way I was leaving my baby. He was my baby; I was his mother...wherever I go, he goes. In different ways over the course of my pregnancy and the previous 3 months, we both had to come to accept the fact that this tiny baby boy had been given to ME. I was chosen to be his mother, no one else. My mother and I both had our anxieties and insecurities about this. As my own loving mother, she offered me all kinds of help. As a stubborn daughter trying to become a loving mother myself, I sometimes refused. We both took it one step at a time, praying with all of our beings that God would take care of all of the many unknowns that lie ahead.

With a backpack on my shoulder, Kaleb on my hip, and a truck of hand-me-down furniture in tow, Kaleb and I moved to our own little apartment. The fact that the bed I had was the twin bed I had slept in my entire life since childhood perfectly illustrated my abrupt but incomplete transition into adulthood.

If I remember correctly, the plant was not only a housewarming present, but it was also meant to be Kaleb's. I don't know why she gave an infant a plant, knowing full well I would have to take care of it, but because it was Kaleb's I felt more obligated to keep it alive. Keeping a plant alive was probably just as frightening as being entrusted to keeping a baby alive since the only experience I had had with a plant was an ivy that I'd had for about a year that flourished...then died suddenly. And that was more experience than I'd ever had with a baby. God help us all.

Somehow (surely by the grace of God), I have managed to keep both Kaleb and the plant alive for over 18 years. As I was pruning the plant today and wrapping its tangle of branches around a small trellis, I thought of how much that plant has been through and somehow stayed alive and that it was a testament not only to my care, but also to the plant's own resilience. And I realized that plant is just like Kaleb.

Being a mother is the most difficult job I will ever have. There is no real guidebook. Every kid is different. The rules are constantly changing. What they need/want is constantly changing. How much I'm supposed to do for them is constantly changing. As much as I want to control their environment, there are things that will happen to them that I cannot control. All I can do is help them the best I can and trust that it's enough. While tending to a plant isn't nearly as stressful, it's similar in the fact that I can only do so much and I have to leave the rest to the plant (and God).

Over the past 18 years, this plant has moved with us...from Pineville to Lafayette to Baton Rouge to the duplex in Pineville to the house I owned in Pineville to the apartment in Orlando to the rental house in Orlando to the house we now own in Orlando. It has survived kittens playing in its long vines. It has survived being knocked out of its pot by both Aria and Zain. I usually don't remember to water it until I see it drooping heavily. But there have been times where it has looked near dead and I've added fertilizer. There were a couple time that it was infested with tiny bugs and I had to figure out why and how to get rid of them. There were the times I realized it had outgrown the pot it was in...mostly because I saw that it was no longer growing. There were times that began to take root on the wall and in the carpet and had to be pulled up. It periodically has yellow or brown leaves that need to be pulled off. And last year I cut many long vines and put them in vases around the house so they may continue to grow even if they have become to long and tangly for the plant in the pot. And today I added a trellis to help keep the long vines out of harm's way and allow the plant to grow in a better direction than all over the floor.

This was during our time in Baton Rouge (Jan 2001- Jul 2002) when I was finishing up my MSW at LSU. This plant (and Kaleb) saw visits from many friends and family, including Aunt Annette at Christmas, and Megan (with Caden) and Andy.

We lived in the duplex in Pineville from Summer 2002 - Winter 2004. These were some of the most fun years, when we lived near many friends, we did regular karaoke, Kaleb learned to ride a bike and lost his first tooth. This is where we were living when Katie, our first cat, showed up at our door. 

In all of the plant's experiences, never did it die. Sometimes it looked like it might. Sometimes I felt bad for neglecting it. But with just simple acts of pruning, watering, nourishing, and placing it in the sunlight, the plant has continued to not only live, but flourish. There are times where I see Kaleb wilted, with brown leaves, or taking up root in unhealthy places, but I must not lose heart. For he, too, has everything he needs to be able to flourish. A rough spell does not mean all is lost, and I don't have to have all the answers. He was entrusted to ME to be his mother; and what I lack, God has made up for and will continue to do so.

Matthew 6:24-34
25 “For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body, as to what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 26 Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they? 27 And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life? 28 And why are you worried about clothing? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, 29 yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. 30 But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you? You of little faith! 31 Do not worry then, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear for clothing?’ 32 For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things; for your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33 But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. 34 “So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Reclaiming My Peace ~ Parting Ways with Facebook

I transitioned to Facebook from MySpace back in 2008. Social media had been a way for me to stay connected with my friends in family back in Louisiana, connect with new people in Orlando, and get to know my extended family that is scattered all across the country.

I've lost count of how many cousins I have...however, being that my mom alone has 13 brothers and sisters, suffice it to say there are a lot. And now they're getting married...and having kids. Even with social media, it's hard to keep up with who's who. But Facebook gives me a chance to get to know them and for them to get to know me, so that when we do have reunions we'll already be at least a little familiar with one another.

I have another family, most of whom I haven't even met, on my biological father's side. I have tried to reach out to them, to get to know them, to let them know I even exist. Once upon a time this would have never been possible; if we don't have to remain strangers, then I would prefer we didn't.

Then there are the hundreds of friends going all the way back to elementary school up to the present. I love reuniting with people I haven't seen in years. I enjoy getting to know you as adults. I value all the different things I learn from you. It broadens my mind and enriches my world to see how other people think, what other people enjoy, and how other people do things.

I post in an effort to share a bit of myself. I share honest glimpses into my world to show the ways that my life isn't perfect. I share photos of my kids so that my family will feel as if we aren't quite so far away. I share things that I find interesting, thinking that maybe you will be intrigued as well. I share things that are cute in hopes that it will make you smile or laugh. I share things that I am passionate about in an attempt to educate, not to persuade. I thought that by posting things about ADHD, end of life care, social justice issues, religion, politics, you might see things in a way you hadn't seen them before. You may understand me or someone else you know a bit better. You may find that we are passionate about similar things.

It is always my intention to do good. I try not to gossip. I try not to be hateful. I try to keep my anger in check. I try to keep my mind open. I do try to BE THE CHANGE. I see a world so divided. I see people writing truly HATEFUL things about their fellow man. I try to bridge some of the gaps by showing compassion or empathy. I try to see things from other perspective's. And I try to share various perspectives in the hopes of encouraging empathy to spread.

But something has gone terribly wrong in the world and I don't like being in Facebook land anymore. As cute as the panda videos are, they are not enough to offset the poison that I allow to infiltrate my spirit every time I log on. Facebook is not where I need to put my energy in order to "be the change." It has become a toxic environment for me and I need to do a better job of guarding my heart.

I don't know what my next step will be. I have thought about deactivating my account. I have thought about deleting everyone but family from my friends list. I don't know. I just know that this used to feel good, but now it's more painful that pleasurable.

The poem "Desiderata" sums up so well the life that I want to live. And so much of it stands in stark contrast to what Facebook brings into my world. Facebook has become vexatious to my spirit. There was life before social media...and I'm old enough to remember it. I may have to get back to a life of pen and paper...or at least emails. You reap what you sow. In the garden of my soul, I do not want to reap the fruits of all the contention, animosity, violence, divisiveness, and hatred that I am exposed to online. And right now, I don't have the self-discipline to look away. I get drawn in to the injustices and the unfairness and the lack of empathy. Enough is enough.

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.


Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.


Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.


Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.


Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.


Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.


Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.


Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.


Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.


And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.


And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.




Max Ehrmann, "Desiderata"

Designer Donations, Gay Cakes, and the Irony of Freedom

Fashion Designers Are Boycotting Melania Trump. Shouldn't Bakers and Florists Have the Same Right?

Free association should not be for powerful liberals only.

Stephanie Slade|Nov. 19, 2016 10:45 am

http://reason.com/blog/2016/11/19/fashion-designers-are-boycotting-melania

As one who celebrates and strives for diversity, individual freedom, and respect for all lifestyles, I will not participate in dressing or associating in any way with the next First Lady," wrote fashion designer Sophie Theallet in an open letter this week.
People magazine reports Theallet, who has designed and donated clothes for outgoing First Lady Michelle Obama numerous times over the last eight years, may not be alone: "A source tells People, 'This has already been going on for months. Designers wouldn't lend to Melania, Ivanka or Tiffany, so they either bought the items themselves or wore Ivanka's brand. ... There was a lot of shopping their own closets.'"
Personally, I applaud Theallet's design to disassociate herself with the next occupant of the White House. I see Donald Trump as a shameful human being with few redeeming qualities as a leader and even fewer as a person, and if I were a business owner, I too would decline to serve his administration.
Likewise, I support Bruce Springsteen's right to cancel his concerts in North Carolina in protest of the state's transgender-bathroom policies.
Both are examples of associational freedom—the right to make decisions for yourself about how and with whom you spend your time and energy. This includes the right not to take on a client or project that elevates, in your view, a value you disagree with.
The problem is not that Theallet was willing to dress Michelle Obama and isn't willing to dress Melania Trump (which is, like it or not, a form of discrimination). The problem is just how many people don't seem to think that same freedom should be extended to bakery owners, photographers, and other wedding vendors who object to same-sex marriage on religious grounds.
As Theallet put it, "we consider our voice an expression of our artistic and philosophical ideals." I suspect Barronelle Stutzman, the white-haired grandmother who owns Arlene's Flowers, feels the same way about her craft. But instead of assuming a live-and-let-live attitude on the matter, Washington state has systematically worked to destroy Stutzman's business unless she agrees to take part in a celebration to which she is morally opposed.
There's been a lot of discussion since Trump's victory last week of the apparent disconnect between rural and urban America—between wealthy elites and those who live in what has become less-than-affectionately known as "flyover country." This is a vivid example of that chasm.
Rights cannot be just for those who will use them to uphold the values you agree with. They must also be for those who will take positions you can't fathom for reasons you can't stomach. Free association, and the freedom to live out your convictions expressively in how you make a living, cannot be reserved for rock stars and fashion designers and other powerful liberals, while being denied to regular Americans.
"As a family owned company, our bottom line is not just about money," Theallet writes in her open letter. "We value our artistic freedom." Hear, hear.

I don't think someone choosing not to volunteer their services or donate their product to someone is the same as a business denying service to a paying customer. If your job is to bake cakes, then bake cakes. It's not your job to judge what's on my cake or what I'm using it for...especially if what I'm doing is legal. Doing your job is not condoning a lifestyle or violating your morals. If your faith leads you to oppose same sex marriage, then that should result in your marrying someone of the opposite sex and only officiating marriages of opposite sex couples. So unless you're the minister, refusing to do your job just makes you kind of a jerk. And being a jerk in the name of your morals makes you kind of a hypocrite. 

On the flip side though...if someone didn't want to bake a cake for me, I would probably just go somewhere else. I don't understand why that's so difficult. Discomfort with same sex marriage doesn't make someone a bigot. It makes them a human being who has perceived marriage as it has pretty much been universally accepted until recent years. I don't think it helps garner sympathy or open the doors of communication if you respond defensively or angrily and demand acceptance. Yes, your right to marry is protected by law. But be honest...it is a complete diversion from the social norms that we've all grown up with. I dare say that anyone who is not straight went through a process of understanding and embracing their sexuality. It wasn't like flipping a switch. Don't dismiss or take for granted the process you went through; society needs that as well. It's a difficult pill for many people to swallow, and the more you try to shove that pill down people's throats, the more it comes across that the acceptance of and respect for your perspective/freedoms take precedence over theirs...making you look like a hypocrite.

Freedom seems to be a euphemism for "I don't need to listen to or consider anyone else's point of view. I am 'free' to ensure my own personal comfort at the expense of my neighbors." Or...to quote Eddie Murphy:

But the problem with this type of mentality is that we all are in this together: Individual divisiveness only weakens the strength of the whole (family, team, company, neighborhood, country). St. Paul sums up my philosophy nicely in the twelfth chapter of his first letter to the Corinthians (NIRV):

14 So the body is not made up of just one part. It has many parts.15 Suppose the foot says, “I am not a hand. So I don’t belong to the body.” By saying this, it cannot stop being part of the body. 16 And suppose the ear says, “I am not an eye. So I don’t belong to the body.” By saying this, it cannot stop being part of the body. 17 If the whole body were an eye, how could it hear? If the whole body were an ear, how could it smell? 18 God has placed each part in the body just as he wanted it to be. 19 If all the parts were the same, how could there be a body?20 As it is, there are many parts. But there is only one body.21 The eye can’t say to the hand, “I don’t need you!” The head can’t say to the feet, “I don’t need you!” 22 In fact, it is just the opposite. The parts of the body that seem to be weaker are the ones we can’t do without. 23 The parts that we think are less important we treat with special honor. The private parts aren’t shown. But they are treated with special care. 24 The parts that can be shown don’t need special care. But God has put together all the parts of the body. And he has given more honor to the parts that didn’t have any. 25 In that way, the parts of the body will not take sides. All of them will take care of one another. 26 If one part suffers, every part suffers with it. If one part is honored, every part shares in its joy.

If a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, shouldn't we forge ahead WITH one another instead of IN SPITE OF one another? As long as we keep rejoicing in our neighbors' failures or cutting them off at the knees, we continue to injure ourselves.