The Guardian

Photograph by Kayana Szymczak for the Guardian.

Yesterday morning, I sat on a simple yellow schoolbus.  I haven't been on one in years, but it's almost exactly the same as I remember, only without seat-belts.  The policy around seat-belts in buses goes back and forth like a ping-pong ball.  This group demands seat-belts for fear of crashes.  That bus catches fire and everyone freaks out about evacuation.  Massachusetts is currently in the fire-fearful phase of the law, much to the irritation of my neighbor with the disabled adult child who can not sit in a seat that he isn't strapped into.  She has told me all about it.  She has a point.  He must take a bus with a wheelchair elevator instead.

So no gum-encrusted straps hanging off the seats.  Otherwise, it's the same bus.  They have made no design improvements on the window mechanisms.  The insides still smell like metal, burnt rubber, and dark green vinyl.  You could tell we were a bus full of teachers and not a bus full of students because the most coveted seats were right up near the windshield.  We filled the bus from front to back, leaving the way back (cool-kid seats) vacant.  We were headed to a food bank for a service morning in place of our usual meeting-filled professional development. 

I glanced at my phone.  A text from the BFF. 

She had read my article. She was checking in.  I have the best friends.

I had not yet seen it, and though the reporter had warned me that it was coming, I have grown accustomed to delays in publishing and was, somehow, caught by surprise.

Breathe in, breathe out. 

I decided not to read through the story on my phone, but to dive into a physical day of service instead and deal with it afterwords.*

I have shared my story before, most notably via Yahoo Parents.  This time, I shared my full name, Laurel's real name, and my image, too. 

A little more openness all the time.  A little more worry, too. Harassment, intimidation, even violence are real risks.

But there is a guarantee of connection and kindness.  Already it is flooding in.  The mother who took her baby off of life support.  The acquaintance who made the same choice I did and never knew we had it in common.  The coworker who finds me to give me a huge hug and tells me that she "has five babies."  I know that only one is in-arms. 

This work is important.  It is the work of love.  It is all the more powerful to do it openly.  

I can think of no better distraction from fear than laboring all morning to feed the hungry.  I highly recommend it as an alternative to violence against abortion, in case anyone finds his way to this rinky-dink blog to have at me in the name of Jesus Christ.


* I am happy with the piece.  She treated my story very carefully, and I so appreciate that.  I don't know where the editor was on this one, but my friend who lives in the UK assures me that the Guardian is always sloppy about typos.  So that is what it is.