Faith

Faith, by its very definition, is hard to pin down. It is the belief that something is predictable, even if there is not conclusive proof of that likelihood.

Faith is not believing that the sun will rise tomorrow. That's pretty much a scientific gimme.

Psychologists refer to it as object permanence when the brain knows that a thing exists even after it is out of sight. Babies don't develop it for a while, which is why peek-a-boo is such a popular game. Like a goldfish circling in a bowl, every time through is a new experience. To know that the sun is shining even in the nighttime is not faith, it is object permanence.

Faith is more often used to explain a belief in the existence of a supernatural being, or a deity. People have faith in God, some have faith in more than one. I grew up Catholic, so we had faith in God, but spoke often to the saints so as not to bother the boss with our more mundane problems. Big stuff, like births and deaths and scary accidents and sicknesses, those merited a direct appeal to God. Lost car keys? St. Anthony can handle that.

I wonder how much of what we call our faith is really nothing more than an adult's Christmas list. Please God, let me get this job. Please God, save my marriage. Please God, let me win the lottery.

We bargain with God, too, which makes me think we don't have a lot of faith if we have to try to bribe him with our promised good behavior. Please let me get this one thing and I promise I'll go to church every Sunday. Please God, let me live through this and I will devote my life to charitable acts. Please God, let me make it home alive and I promise I'll never drink again.

What use has God for these paltry offerings? Faith is not rewarded based on the barter system. Faith is rewarded by life, and sometimes the strength to get through it.

Faith is its own reward, sometimes. I have faith in a power greater than myself, although I no longer adhere to the old white guy with a beard persona issued to me in my Sunday School lesson books. For a crowd that fought so hard against pagans and witches and such, they sure pictured their version of the deity as looking a lot like Merlin from the King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table stories. Just sayin'.

My version of my higher power is pretty personal and yet universal. I believe there is a power for good in the universe, and that it might be the universe itself. I believe in the power of this beautiful planet to heal itself of our insults and damages. I believe in the magnetic pull of the poles, of the ebb and flow of the tides and the changing of the seasons. I believe that rain falls down and it is good. Rain falling up would be problematic.

I believe that the more in tune I am with the heartbeat of the planet, the more at ease I am as I go through my day. I live where I see the ocean every day, and I treasure that. I hope to never live far from salt water again. The salt of the ocean is the same as the salt in my tears and in my blood. There is a balance, and when I do not try to fight it, when I do not try to bend the world to my will, but work with the natural flow of things, I can get much more accomplished.

Some say that God created this world for us, but I am more inclined to think that we were created for this world. We were created to learn and study and love and explore this great living orb. We were created to enjoy it but to preserve and care for it, too. Only I think we got that screwed up. We have become that rare creature that soils its own nest. We have work to do, I think.

I have faith in human kindness, in our creativity and our capacity for love and compassion. Some might say that is not a real faith, because I have seen those things exhibited before me with my own eyes. But I think faith comes when I believe that all people are capable of those things. That is not an easy jump. That is universalism at its core - to believe that there is inherent worth and dignity in ALL human beings. Even Hitler. Even Jeffrey Dahmer. Even Karl Rove. Somewhere inside, perhaps buried so deep that it cannot be found, somewhere there is something of value. There is a heart that beats and a childhood memory of happiness and joy. As adults we often spend a great deal of time making ourselves un-loveable, un-reachable, and very much alone. But I do believe that there is some good, and some God, in all of us.

I guess it goes back to what I was talking about earlier - how in tune we are with God's plan, with nature's plan, with the order of the universe that determines how we feel and how we are perceived by those around us.

I am tired now and need to sleep. That is part of the cycle that is life. We have a natural wake/sleep cycle as we have a natural eat/work cycle. The tides go in and out, the sun comes up and goes down, the world spins happily on its axis, secure in its perfection. May I awake tomorrow rested and ready for another day. May I work in harmony with the world instead of trying to run things. May I do God's will with my day as opposed to my own. Blessed be.

Footnote to the day

We had a little roast chicken for supper tonight on the leftover risotto from the other night. Quite yummy.

The liver, though, I cooked up in a little water and put in Quinn's supper dish. She loves me very much.

We have now pinpointed just what it is that gives her toxic belches and farts. I am so glad I sleep with a respirator covering my nose and mouth. L is not amused.

I'd like to thank the academy...

OK, I'll admit it. I have often looked at those little awards and decorations and such on the edges of other people's blogs and wondered how and why they got there. I figured it must be something that happens after you do this for a long time and lots of people know you or think you're smart. Notice I said "or" there, not "and." Some of the people some of the time, but not all of them all of the time, you know. But I digress.

So I read MrMacrum's blog this morning and was admiring his new award, this scribbler thing and thinking well he gets that stuff because he's a really cool writer and he writes fiction even and is doing that whole write-a-50,000-word-novel-in-one-month-crazy-person-thing. Man, that's nuts. I'm doing NaBloPoMo, but compared to 50,000 words that go together in one thought process, that's baby stuff. I'm lucky if I can string 500 words together in a single thought process without getting distracted.

So anyway, one of the rules of getting that spiffy award is you have to name five other bloggy friends whom you think are deserving of such accolades. Well, that's pretty cool. But then he named me. Me? Like he thinks I should get an award? I know people who are more inclined to think I might need a distemper shot than an award. I have family members who I am sure will lament the notion of me getting an award. "Don't encourage her," they'll say, and roll their eyes.

There are some rules to the award thing. Oh, I said that. Well, there are. The award originated at the blog of this high school journalism teacher, which is as noble a profession as one can hope to achieve in one lifetime, particularly if one is a masochist. Who never wants to make any money. Or be famous. Or any of those things generally associated with success by American standards.

The rules are (as copied directly from the site):

• Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.


• Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.


• Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.


• Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List. That way, we'll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives This Prestigious Honor!


• Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

So, Like Macrum, I am now at that point in things where I have to figure out which rules I have met and which ones I have left to meet. I linked to him and his site, I linked to the award creator's site, I signed the linky list and left a comment, I posted the rules.

Now comes the awful part. Naming five people I think ought to get this cool thing. See, I like lots of bloggers. I read tons of them each day, probably to the detriment of my so-called life. But I like to read, and I like to write, and I like to learn how people think and how they communicate those thoughts. I will leave people out of this list who ought to be on it. I am sorry. I hate rules.

Jen at Never A Dull Moment is one of my favorites. She balances two kids, life, some artsy-crafty things and a husband and still manages to blog and be funny. She gives me a eye into what the life of a mom is like. I am in awe of what she and her peers do every day. Amazing.

Robin at Around the Island is another favorite. Her photos and stories of raising two small children in Tel Aviv fascinate this Irish gal from New England. And her photos are stunning.

Queenie over at The Queen's Blog, who writes every day to pay the bills and still works in her spare time to hone her craft and get better at what she does. She exemplifies to me what the term "craftsman" means.

Rob at Depthmarker, a new blog buddy, I enjoy reading the musings of a rock-and-roll electrician from the brotherhood living in the middle of redneck hell. He's a crazy bastard with a gift for words.

And then there is this guy over at Cthulhu's Family Restaurant. He's another new buddy. I haven't a clue what his name is, but I like the way he writes. He tends to be more conservative then I am, and he's a veteran, and he's from the Boston area, all of which mean something, and I like the way he thinks. He's nearly as eclectic in his topics as I am, which also helps me think maybe I'm not nuts.

OK, there's five. I think that means I met all of my award-related obligations and I can post the little gizmo over there guilt-free. If you didn't get named and are hurt by that, I am sorry. I'll mix it around again the next time I get tagged for something.

Rememberance Day

I had planned to write something profound and moving about this Veteran's Day, but I was this video over at A Spot of T and it said more than I ever could. I do hope she does not mind that I lifted it wholesale from her site.

Thanks to our vets for their service. And thanks to those who serve now. We are all in your debt.

Please remember to take two minutes at 11 a.m. this morning to stand silently (if you are able) in honor of those who have served in our armed forces.

Gluttony

Sesame-ginger seared swordfish steak with sauteed shitake mushrooms, steamed broccoli spears and lemon-truffle risotto.

When I created this evening's dinner, I commented to L that perhaps I should blog tonight about Pride, one of the seven deadly sins that I am pledged to discuss this month. It is a very pretty plate, after all, and I am quite pleased that I made this whole dinner from my own imagination. (OK, I did have lemon-truffle risotto before at a restaurant, but it wasn't as good as this was, and I had it with scallops and something that wasn't broccoli. I don't remember what it was, but it wasn't broccoli.)

Then she took a bite.

"Gluttony," she mumbled around a mouthful, " because I could eat six of these."

So gluttony it is.

We live in a gluttonous society. Everything around us screams "more!" "Super-size it!" "A huge meal for six bucks!" "And you don't have to get out of the car!"

I am not sure whether I would call myself a glutton or someone who is really, really fond of pleasurable nerve responses.

I love food that tastes good. When I find some, I often eat more of it than I should. Often, my definition of what "tastes good" is perhaps more generous than is healthy for my waistline. Some foods, like this evening's meal, taste good because they hit all of the taste buds in a complementary fashion and leave a marvelous lingering sensation on the palate. Some foods, like mashed potatoes and gravy from KFC just taste good because they are salty, greasy, fast, and consumed hours before my period hits. Other foods taste good because they remind me of happy times or loved ones. I have a recipe for boiled chicken breast meat, potatoes and onions in a gravy made from the cooking stock and toasted flour that tastes not much without lots of salt and pepper, but it reminds me of my old French aunt-in-law from many years ago, and I love it. It makes me remember her love, and that can't be bad. Too bad she didn't love me with salads, though.

Food is probably the first thing I ever used to hide or squash my feelings. Sad? Have some ice cream. Hurt feelings? Have a candy bar or a cookie. Lonely? let's cook something!

As I grew older, I found other things to better stifle my feelings of inadequacy in alcohol and drugs, and those were far more efficient (and usually cheaper) than food.

When I got sober, I ran from my feelings in other ways, most of which I have addressed over the years. But occasionally I still revert to food to stifle things when I get too bad/sad/depressed/overwhelmed/etc.

Is that gluttony? I'm not sure.

wikki defines its origins in Latin as "Derived from the Latin gluttire, meaning to gulp down or swallow, gluttony is the over-indulgence and over-consumption of food, drink, or intoxicants to the point of waste..."

Aha. Waste. That was one of the things that originally hit me in my first consideration of the vast and complex concept of sin. It is wasteful.

I would also be inclined to believe that gluttony is harmful. Not to others, generally, although if someone goes hungry because of another's gluttony, that is bad, but gluttony hurts the glutton. We know all too well the price obesity takes on the human body. We also know how costly it is to society when you factor in health care costs, preventable diseases and everything else. It is bad, bad stuff.

But am I willing and ready to give it up? I don't know.

I suppose I can be ready to moderate things a bit. This evening's meal may have looked decadent, but each plate had an 8-ounce piece of fish, maybe a cup of risotto (rice and broth) a cup of steamed broccoli and an ounce of mushrooms. It was low in salt, low in fat and high in those good fish oils that doctors are always talking about. All of the portions are reasonable, and there were no seconds. The fact that it tasted so good made it feel like a forbidden pleasure, but really there was nothing to regret in the whole thing. And it was filling. I ate mine and was full. L ate most of hers and declared herself full. I call that a win.

Is tasting good a sin? Does pleasure come into this, or is gluttony just shoveling food in as fast as possible? I'd like to think that my enjoyment of food, even when I consume too much, is not about gluttony so much as it is about enjoying flavors. I enjoy pleasurable sensations. I like good flavors, I like nice smells, I like a good backrub, I like a beautiful sunset. Those things don't seem sinful. They are using the senses that nature equipped us with.

Who knows. This may all be one grand and complicated justification trip to keep me from attending Overeaters Anonymous meetings. I've been to those meetings, and I kind of liked them. They often just irritated me, though. I know what it feels like to have food run my life, to have food make my decisions and all that stuff like alcohol did all those years ago. My food does not control me today. Notice that I did not say "any more." Today. For today, I have a reprieve. How or why I don't know, but for now I am ok. I will do the normal recovering drunk thing tonight and thank my higher power for another day of sobriety, and I'll thank him for not letting food run my life today too. It is a gift I didn't work to get, and I am aware of that and am extra grateful. For today I ate mostly reasonable portions of mostly healthy food (ok, lunch was a bust, but supper was fantastic!).

Gluttony has been avoided, though through no real effort of mine. I am grateful.

And now, before I forget what I did and someone asks for the recipe, here it is:


Lemon-truffle risotto
takes 30-45 minutes or so
1 cup aborio rice
2 tablespoons white truffle flavored olive oil
1 cup chopped onion
3 cups chicken broth
juice and most of the zest from 1 lemon

Oil and onions in a heavy-bottomed pan, medium heat to sautee until onions are translucent but not brown. Add the rice and stir for a few minutes. You want the rice to be coated with oil and a little toasted from the heat, but not burned.
Add 1 cup of the chicken broth, making sure none of the rice is sticking to the bottom. Stir frequently until the liquid is mostly absorbed. Add the second cup of broth and keep stirring. Before you add the third cup of broth, grate the zest into the pot and squeeze in the lemon juice (watch to keep the seeds out!). Then add the last of the broth and stir until it is all absorbed. I started cooking the swordfish when I added the last of the broth. I started cooking the broccoli around then too. If you need directions on how to steam broccoli, you have no business trying any of this. Print out the page and hand it to whomever cooks in your home. And stay the hell away from the stove.

Ginger-sesame-crusted swordfish steak with sauteed shitake mushrooms.
takes about 10 minutes
two 8-ounce swordfish steaks
2 ounces shitake mushrooms, stems removed and sliced.
1/2 cup raw sesame seeds
2 teaspoons powdered ginger
1 teaspoon powdered garlic
toasted sesame oil
soy sauce
1/4 cup vegetable oil

In a shallow bowl or a plate, combine the sesame seeds, garlic and ginger. Make sure they're mixed around well.

Put the vegetable oil in a large frying pan and turn the heat to medium-high-ish (you don't want the oil to smoke, but you do want the fish to sizzle.)

Rinse and pat dry the swordfish steaks. Drizzle with a tiny bit of the sesame oil, rub it around to coat lightly and dip both sides into the sesame seed mixture and place immediately into the heated pan.

After about four minutes, turn the steaks and put the mushrooms in the pan to cook in the yumminess there. My stove is not level, so I have a convenient corner of the pan where all the liquid goes, so that's where I put the mushrooms. Drizzle some soy sauce (not much - maybe 1 tablespoon per steak and another for the mushrooms) and stir around until the mushrooms are soft and coated in the soy.

After four more minutes, flip the steaks one last time to re-sizzle the part with the soy sauce on it and get ready to serve.

I put the risotto in the bottom of a large pasta bowl dish and placed the steak on top with the mushrooms across it. I then drizzled a TINY bit of the toasted sesame oil over it, arranged the steamed broccoli and called it good.

It looks absolutely elegant, but was really pretty easy. Even cooking the risotto, which takes between 30 and 45 minutes and does require some watching ad stirring, it was not a lot of work. I was able to do some dishes in between the prep steps, and it all came together pretty well.

When dinner was done, Quinn the wonder dog helped with the dishes. Sometimes they like to get up and run off so she has to hold them down to make sure they are scrubbed thoroughly.

Porn, judgment, and a gratuitous pussy pic

Read it if you dare. (There is actually nothing dirty in this post.)

I belong to a list-serve for queer and supportive people, and it is based in Maine. We number somewhere between 120 and 150 on any given day, and we represent all walks of life. We are gay men, lesbians, bisexuals, transgendered people and straight allies. We are young and old, retired professors and blue collar working stiffs. We have all kinds of levels of education, skills and spelling, much to the chagrin of some. Occasionally, we make mistakes.

Yesterday was one of those days.

By some kind of typing error when responding to an on-line personal ad for a man seeking a man, one of our members posted a photograph of, well, his member. Full color. Up close and personal. And he apparently was very happy to meet us all.

Most of the people on the list have never met each other in person. This is the same crowd that kind of got together this past summer for the big gay weekend. Luckily for this guy, he was not one of the participants. He now wants to crawl into a cave and stay there for a very long time. To say he was mortified is an understatement. He now wants to meet nobody on the list.

The mistaken exposure caused a flurry of reactions and accusations and general mayhem. At my house, I nearly spit coffee out my nose. I cautioned L and since she is down with whatever flu-bug made me miserable for the last two weeks, she merely grunted and avoided her e-mail altogether for most of the day until she felt fit to do battle with nearly 100 new messages.

The conversation on the list ranged around until it seemed to settle into a general discussion on pornography and whether it is a blight on society or a personal choice. Some of the members thought that the single photograph constituted pornography and were offended. Others argued that a single penis does not porn make. Then there was some discussion about porn being a bad evil thing that subjugates women and is all about men using women for their own selfish sexual gratification.

Long a supporter of the First Amendment, I jumped in to defend and argued that not all porn is bad, that some women like sex and that's ok, and that people ought to not judge anyone else's business. Haven't we had this conversation recently? I also did not like the way some of the women seemed to be blaming all of society's ills on the patriarchy. Yes, it still exists today, but that does not necessarily mean that all men are shits or that all women are victims.

Well, someone called my message "extremist" and asked politely that I shut up and let sane people discuss this matter without my loudmouthed interference. (Moi?!) You can imagine my eyebrows going up at this point and my eyes narrowing just a bit, and you'd be about where I was. I sat back and let the folks talk. I understand that I can be a loudmouth and that some find that intimidating. But after three hours, I started composing. Because it took so much time and energy to compose and write, I am going to copy it here to meet today's NaBloPoMo requirement. I wonder how many other blogs spend this much time discussing sex and porn. Gotta balance out the knitters, I suppose. I think I know now why my mommy blogger buddies haven't added me to their blogrolls yet, too.

Here is what I wrote:

Since it was requested that others reply to my post, I sat back and let them. I think it bears noting, however, that while I held back, X, the one who asked that other (presumably more rational) people comment without my interference, has posted multiple times on this issue. Felt like a double standard from where I sit. I certainly hope everyone responds to this piece who would like to or who feels they have something to add to the discussion.

I will now reply to all of the bits of this argument that I think I can address. What started small has branched in many directions. I expect that there are some who will be offended by what I have to say. That usually happens. I do not intend to offend anyone. I am speaking my truth, and I know of no way to dull the edges of that truth so that it does not hurt. I am sorry that I lack those skills.

First, defining pornography is difficult at best. What is attractive erotica to one person might be judged to be offensive to another and deemed "pornographic."

Second, the term "pornography" carries with it enormous judgment in our society. After watching the discussion on this list today, I am reminded again that our society on these shores was founded by Puritans. We are far more repressed about our sexual expression than our European cousins. And thanks to my education by R this morning, apparently our Japanese peers are far more relaxed about sex organs than we are.

I happen to believe that not all pornography is bad. I know there is some that is flat-out awful, degrading, horrible stuff. I also know that Shine Louise Houston is a genius who writes, directs and creates sex-positive, lesbian-positive porn. Whatever she has most recently produced is always on my Christmas list. Period.

Which brings up another thought - pornography can be art. And the other side of that coin says that some art can be pornographic. Art by its nature is the expression of the thoughts, feelings and message of the author. Mapplethorpe is the easy example in this case. Was it art for him to put a bull whip in his ass and take a picture? I happen to think so. It was his expression of anger at the sexual repression so prevalent in our society.

Now back to my original post, which was labeled as "extremism." It stated:

not. all. women. are. victims.
This is a truth. Even among those women who have been victimized, there is a movement to redefine their status as "survivors" instead of "victims". I happen to adhere to that philosophy. You can be a victim for as long as you like. Or you can chose to become a survivor. I find the latter far more empowering.

This position caused me no end of difficulty among the women who taught the one "woman's studies" course available at UMF when I was there. They spent nearly all their time complaining about how women have been historically oppressed by the patriarchy and NONE of their time doing anything about it. Far from an empowering experience, I found my venture into Women's Studies to be an exercise in depression. Light a candle rather than sit and curse the dark, I say. Lead, follow or get out of the way, but for god's sake quit whining. It is not productive. Contribute if you can, but if you can't, then please don't distract those of us working to make progress. If you still need to process the victimization, then please do. But understand that I am not a therapist and can not likely offer much assistance.

Encouraging women to empower themselves to me is not extremism. It is common sense and sound advice. Encouraging healing and progress is only extreme if you are interested in maintaining the victim status of women.

some. women. like. sex.
This is a truth. Some women do not like sex. Some women find all sex that involves penetration to be rape (Dworkin), even masturbatory penetration. Some women find sex toys offensive, and deem them as instruments of oppression. Lots of women do not.

I happen to believe that our bodies are given nerves for a reason, and it we were not supposed to feel pleasure from certain acts, then we would not have nerves there designed to tell us that's what's going on.

I understand that some women do not like certain sexual acts, and that is fine. I don't like them all myself. But I don't judge anyone else for liking something that does not interest me. As humans, we are blessed with a wide variety of tastes and preferences.

Again, women liking sex is not extremism. It is human nature.

some. women. like. porn.
This is a truth. Some women like porn.

Like I said before, not all porn is bad.

Since porn and objectification seem to be linked, I will now say that I believe that not all objectification is bad. Some people get off on being objectified. Like all forms of sexual expression, it is not for everyone. Some people like to be flogged. Some people like to be teased. Some people like to be ordered around and dominated. So long as it is safe, sane and consensual among the parties so engaged, it is not my business, nor anyone else's to judge it.

The fact that some women like porn is not extremism. It is truth.

not. all. pictures. of. naked. women. involve. their. subjugation.
This is truth as well.

Some women very much like to be photographed while naked. Some women (and some men) are turned on by the thought of someone being aroused by their naked image. In these instances, who is being used? The person posing naked or the person whose arousal at that image is causing the model to get turned on? One could argue that the model is the one in control of that situation and the consumer of the image is the one being fleeced of his/her money. The fact that a person is willing to part with cash to look at something they can never have is very arousing for some exhibitionists.

I am not denying that huge amounts of the naked images of women out there DO involve the subjugation of women. Indeed they do. But not ALL of them, and that seems to be the prevailing opinion being argued. Any time you (or I) use broad generalizations, there is generally an exception to the rule.

The fact that some women enjoy showing off their bodies is not extremism.

For many many years the women's movement has worked hard to make sure that women are allowed to make choices and decisions about their sexuality and their reproductive lives, and then clobbered women who make choices that "the movement" does not approve.

This also is truth. Feminism's matriarch, Betty Freidan labeled lesbians "the lavender menace" because we did not conform to her and the old guard's preconceived notions of what was appropriate sexual behavior for women.

Citing real and true historical fact, however unpopular those facts might be, is not extremism

Sounds more like "we have given you the freedom to make the choices we choose for you."
That's not liberation in my book.

That is my interpretation of the above historical truth. The oppressed becoming oppressors within their own community is not a new phenomenon.

The only thing extreme here is that I, as a woman, have said it out loud and in mixed company. I have spoken the shameful secret of the dysfunctional family. We are not nearly as progressive and enlightened as we would like to think.

Dawn

My post elicited some very interesting responses from the list. Now I am curious what kind of responses it will elicit here.

Oh, and as promised, here is the gratuitous pussy pic:

Piglet is my hero

Thanks to the inspiration I get from reading blogger Carole McDonnell, this month seems to be taken up with some delightfully heady subjects. No wimpy posts about how cute the puppy is or how majestic my cat looks when posed regally on the window sill. No, no. I'm taking on the seven virtues and the seven deadly sins. Yikes. Plus I am accepting suggestions for topics. Let's keep with the heavy lifting, too. No wimpy stuff! I am enjoying this workout more than I imagined I might.

Courage and Fortitude are matched together as a single virtue, at least according to the folks at Wikipedia. And since this is a blog and not an academic paper, that's all the research I've got the time to do. And since time is short before my midnight deadline, I shall use Courage as my sole topic, presuming that you can figure out that fortitude is pretty much the same thing.

Courage is best exhibited in modern literature by the diminutive character of Piglet in A.A. Milne's classic collection of children's stories involving Christopher Robin and Whinnie-the-Pooh. I use this as an example not because it is an original, because it is not, but because it uses very popular characters from a widely known work. The te of Piglet is a marvelous book about Taoist principles written by Benjamin Hoff. He uses Piglet to illustrate bravery.

So anyway, back to courage and fortitude.

Everyone remembers Piglet from the story in which he and Pooh meet a Heffalump. Piglet's response to that scary situation was far from anything that could be considered courageous.

"Help, help," cried Piglet, "a Heffalump, a Horrible Heffalump!" and he scampered off as hard as he could, still crying out, "Help, help, a Herrible Hoffalump! Hoff, Hoff, a Hellible Horralump! Holl, Holl, a Hoffable Hollerump!" And he didn't stop crying and scampering until he got to Christopher Robin's house.

"Whatever's the matter, Piglet?" said Christopher Robin, who was just getting up.

"Heff" said Piglet, breathing so had that he could hardly speak, "A Heff -- a Heff -- a Heffalump."

Yeah, our little pink friend was not so courageous at all when confronted by the terrifying spectacle of his best friend with a honey jar jammed on his head.

For some reason, more people remember that scene than remember the scene in which Owl's house is blown down and the door is blocked shut. Owl cannot open it, but Piglet is small enough to fit through the letterbox. Pooh and Owl devise a plan in which Piglet is lifted by a string to the letterbox and thus sent to go get help in the form of Christopher Robin.

"It won't break," whispered Pooh comfortingly, "because you're a Small Animal, and I'll stand underneath, and if you save us all, it will be a Very Grand Thing to talk about afterwards, and perhaps I'll make up a Song, and people will say 'It was so grand what Piglet did that a Respetful Pooh Song was made about it!'"

Piglet felt much better after this, and when everything was ready, and he found himself slowly going up to the ceiling he was so proud that he would have called out "Look at Me!" if he hadn't been afraid that Pooh and Owl would let go of their end of the string and look up at him.

"Up we go!" said Pooh cheerfully.

"The ascent is proceeding as expected," said Owl helpfully. Soon it was over. Piglet opened the letter-box and climbed in. Then, having untied himself, he began to squeeze into the slit, through which in the old days when front doors were front doors, many an unexpected letter that WOL had written to himself, had come slipping.

He squeezed and he squoze, and then with one squuze, he was out. Happy and excited he turned round to squeak a last message to the prisoners.

"It's all right," he called through the letter-box. "Your tree is blown right over, Owl, and there's a branch across the door, but Christopher Robin and I can move it, and we'll bring a rope for Pooh, and I'll go and tell him now, and I can climb down quite easily, I mean it's dangerous but I can do it all right, and Christopher Robin and I will be back in about half-an-hour. Good-bye, Pooh!" And without waiting to hear "Good-bye, and thank you, Piglet," he was off.

Piglet's reluctance is very important to the illustration of courage. He is afraid of what is being asked of him. He is frightened by many things, and when you are a very small animal, that makes sense. Courage is not a lack of fear, but having the strength to overcome that fear and forge ahead in spite of it. Piglet is frightened, but with a little encouragement, he is able to step up and do what he must.

Courage is what soldiers exhibit when they are terrified but charge up a hill anyway.

Courage is what is exhibited when someone tells a bully to back off.

Courage is what is exhibited when people voice unpopular opinions, not by shouting but by speaking gently and persuasively.

Courage is what was exhibited by Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King, Jr., Harvey Milk and so many more.

Courage (or damn foolishness) is what I exhibited when I started that queer student group back in college in a county with more registered handguns than democrats.

Courage is what my friend S. exhibits when she asks difficult questions of crooked politicians, suspected criminals, and town clerks of all stripes.

Courage is what my friend M. exhibits when he advocates for mental health consumers to organizations that he must work with and get support from every day.

Courage is what my friend S. does as an educator for queer issues in a university in a rural state.

Courage is what L. exhibits as she explores the options available to her in combating and living with her degenerative spine disease. One of those options is a pretty scary surgery.

Courage is what teachers exhibit every day when they go to work, often in dangerous schools with not enough money, substandard facilities, and distracted, hungry kids, and they manage to get them to learn anyway.

Courage is what my aunt exhibits when she stands up to her parish priest, who is also her boss, and tells him that the gay joke he just told was hurtful and wrong.

Having courage does not mean that we lack fear or that we are so full of ourselves that we can impose our will upon our surroundings. Courage comes from fighting long odds and when the likelihood that you'll pay some price is high, but fighting anyway.

Many of us perform small and large acts of bravery every day.

Let us appreciate those acts more often.

Blessed be.