An Open Letter to Middle School Girls

...or almost middle school, or just left middle school - you get my point. 

Dear beauties, 

Hey. 

Yeah, I know. I really do know. Middle school, right? WOW. It is so freakin' brutal. It's like that for everyone. It has been like that for everyone since they invented middle school. If you live somewhere where they don't call it "middle school," I'm talking about grades 6-8, and ages 11-14. Call it "intermediate school." Call it "junior high." Whatever you want to call it, it is ROUGH. 

Having been through middle school and having taught middle school, I consider myself pretty proficient in how it works. Somehow, regardless of who you are and what you bring to the table, middle school is unkind to to every single person who passes through it. My dad always said, "If we really wanted to win a war, we'd deploy a plane full of 12-year-old girls. That'd do it." Oh man, how true that is.

Teaching middle school, I heard the meanest things anyone has ever said to anyone else. 
Going through middle school, I said the meanest things anyone has ever said to anyone else. And had them said about me. And so does everyone.

But here's the big difference: when I was in middle school, there was no such thing as Instagram. No Snapchat. No Facebook, even. Social media hadn't been invented yet. 

In my own middle school experience, if someone was talking behind your back, they did it the old-fashioned way: when your back was turned. When you left the room. In the corners of the locker room at P.E. On (now-archaic) three-way-calls after school -- and, by the way, to make those calls, one had to ask, "Is Jennifer there?" to Jennifer's mom. Because it was a landline. Because it was 2000. 

But the game has changed, my friend. Just like YouTube videos or Vines, meanness can be viral. It spreads like a plague from one smartphone to the next, and before long, everyone has seen/read/heard/watched something horrible about you. 

I honestly can't imagine what that must be like. 

As a 12-year-old human, I looked like this: 

Well, it's me and April. But I think we can all tell who's who.

Okay, the first one was just to make you laugh. That was me getting my braces. Oy. 

But the second one - please take note of a few things. Braces, first of all. Unkempt baby hairs everywhere. Chubby cheeks. I don't think I wore makeup yet. This picture happens to be from my 12th birthday. At this particular birthday party, we had cake and watched Stepmom on my back porch. It was awesome. 

I didn't worry about how cute my party was because I wasn't going to post it on Instagram later. I didn't worry about whether I had dark circles or wrinkles on my face, or about how thin I looked. I wasn't adding this photo to my Snapstory or editing it on Facetune or ANY. OF. THAT. SHIT. 

(I said, "shit." Know what kids in middle school say when their parents aren't listening? "Shit." Everyone calm down.) 

If you're in middle school today, the world is telling you that you aren't good enough. The world has always told middle schoolers that. But now, the world has new technology to drive the point home. The fact that there is an app called "Perfect 365" in which you edit yourself to look, you know, perfect...365 days a year...is terrible. The further fact that a new version of middle school mean-girl three-way calling is for someone to pose in a picture alongside a friend, then edit ONLY themselves, leaving the other person to appear (heaven forbid!) unedited, and therefore less attractive, is MIND-BOGGLING TO ME. 

On social media, we curate a very particular version of ourselves. We like to choose or best, prettiest, funniest moments. EVERYONE does this. The problem is, it's not terribly genuine. And in lots of cases, especially middle school, it just gives people another platform to say mean things about you. 

Snapchat changes their filters all the time, but one that has stuck around is the "Beauty" filter. This filter...well, actually, let me just show you. 

I tried to make the same face, but you get the point. The left-hand photo is me, unfiltered, regular ol' MC. Although I am doing what Jordan calls my "social media face," wherein I do not show my teeth and try to get the apples of my cheeks to pop. (See? I, too, am ruined by all this crap.) The right-hand photo is me with the Snapchat's "Beauty" filter - you can see that my skin is suddenly glowing and poreless, my eyebrows are perfectly manicured, my eyes are bigger, my nose is slenderized, my jawline and chin have been tapered and shaved down. 

I have to tell you something, middle school girls: 

This is all bullshit. 

(I know, I said "shit" again.)

You know how self-conscious and insecure you feel? I have a secret - every SINGLE person in middle school feels this way. Some days, you'll mask this insecurity with confidence and it won't bother you a bit. These are awesome days. These are the days you'll laugh out loud - not at people, but with people. You'll dance goofy dances. You'll fail a test, but so will your best friend, so it's all kind of okay. You'll stop the gossip around you and talk to the new kid in school even if you risk losing cool points. You'll freely like and comment on the Instagrams of your friends without saying anything ugly or snotty about them. You'll throw yourself into whatever it is you care about with abandon. On these days, you will be your best self. 

Some days, on your less-than-lovely days, your insecurity will win. You will say something nasty about someone, it will get back to them, and you'll have to sit with the knowledge that they'll probably remember your words for a long time. You'll throw a friend under the bus in class. You'll let boys be more important than your girlfriends. You'll sneak out of the house, or send your boyfriend a picture of yourself in your underwear. You'll pass around a photo of a girl in her underwear - a picture she sent her boyfriend in private - and ruin that girl's reputation. She might change schools because of it. 

(A note here for all parents who may be reading this and think that middle schoolers sending each other sexually inappropriate pictures isn't a Thing: it's a Thing. Heads up.)  

These will not be your finest moments. They are ugly moments. They're moments that you'll cringe about for years to come. Whatever the severity of the ugly moments - be it idle gossip or going too far with a guy - everyone will have them. 

The idea that any of us - ANY of us - Kylie Jenner included - leads a Perfect 360 life is a Perfect 360 lie. 

It's just not REAL. 

Realness does not exist in a screen.

Have you ever seen a sunset and pulled out your phone to try and photograph it, only to be totally disappointed that your picture isn't reflecting how truly awesome what you're looking at is? 

That's because reality is TOO BIG FOR OUR SCREENS. It's just too big and grand. It won't fit. 

The true, gritty, weird, kooky, off-beat, awkward, brace-face, chubby-cheeked, "does the robot at parties because you're too self-conscious to dance" realness that is YOU is just so unbelievably fabulous that it doesn't fit in a frame. It can't be captured with 140 characters. It can't be polished into submission on Facetune. You are too awesome for that. You are too good to be shoved into a tiny box with a giant lightbulb and a touchscreen. You're too good to try and edit yourself down to what other people think you're supposed to be. 

So listen to me, because I'm older than you (I've been waiting years to say that, okay? I know it was annoying but just let me have it): 

Go forth and be kind, and be weird, and be real. But do not go forth and be perfect. If I catch you attempting the myth of perfection, I will come to your house and scribble on you with permanent marker until you remember what I said about being kind and weird. 

As you're starting school, you're going to feel a lot of pressure to be perfect. Remember instead to join a club or a team, to be respectful to your parents and teachers, to stick by your friends. Remember how awful it felt when someone said that crappy thing about you, and try to not say a bunch of crappy things about other people  -- in person or on the Internet. Hold on to the people who make you feel good about you. Be that person for someone else. 

Whoever you are, go be that person. Unfiltered. 

(And just for the record? You're right. You can do that math with a calculator when you grow up and you don't actually have to learn it. Don't tell your parents I said so.) 

Love, 
Mary Catherine
(Who still looks exactly like this in her own mind.) 

If You Are White.

If you are White, and you are reading this, I want to ask you a favor. 

I want us to talk. I don't mean I want to preach at you, or scream my opinions and then flee - I mean I want to have this conversation as though you were right here at my kitchen table with me, because if you're reading this, chances are, I know you personally and I love you. 

If you'll let me, I need to say some things first about where this is coming from.

I am not writing this post because I am an expert on race relations. I'm not writing it because I think I can say anything better or more meaningfully than it has already been said. I am not writing this to blame you or shake my finger at you if the things that we talk about are new ideas for you. I'm not writing it because I have a vast knowledge of criminal justice or police codes of conduct. 

I am writing this post because I am a White person who has had lots of hard, tearful, gut-wrenching conversations about race in both structured and unstructured environments, both with people of color and without. I am writing this post because I have been in the unique position to sit in a circle of my Black coworkers and hear them speak about how painful it can be to be Black in America - and that some of their pain was caused unconsciously by things I did or things I left undone. I am writing to share with you some things that I would never have learned had I not sat in those circles. I'm writing this because I am fortunate to have friends that span the political spectrum, and because I believe that when I get it right, I can deliver loving words that ring true across lines of belief. 

Mostly, though, I am writing this post because I believe in my bones that to stand silent in the face of brokenness is wrong. 

I am writing this post tentatively, intentionally, walking on glass to make sure that every word I write is the word I mean to choose. I will undoubtedly write and re-write this post several times, so please understand: this is being created with care. 

I want to talk about Alton Sterling. 

Alton Sterling was 37 years old. He was shot to death by police in Baton Rouge yesterday. 

If you are White and have not seen this video, I encourage you to watch it. Typically, this is not the kind of thing I would share. I don't see any reason for violent or graphic images or videos - no matter what they feature - to be passed around. But this needs to be seen. 

Let's talk about some of the reactions that we can have to this video. Let's just break them down, truly. 

1. It's possible that you can't watch this video again because you are Black. It may be that seeing another person of color killed by police is simply too painful to even engage with. You don't want to see it because you or someone you know has been in a similar situation with a police officer, or because you live in fear of being in one in the future. 

2. It's possible that you are a person, regardless of race, whose first instinct is to assume that the Mr. Sterling must have done something to warrant the kind of treatment he received from the police officers in the tape. You feel so sad for him and for his family, but you also feel suspicious. 

3. You may be a person who sees this video and feel overwhelmed and numb, impotent to do anything about it. What is there to do? 

4. You might be a White person who sees this video and puts on proverbial armor. You may think to yourself, "Here we go again. I'm going to have to hear about this for weeks. This guy probably did something to set these cops off, and he's going to get painted as yet another face of the Black Lives Matter movement when he was probably up to no good in the first place." 

Maybe you feel more than one of those things. A mixture. It's probable that your reaction has something to do with your race. 

As I said earlier - I have no idea what the details of this case will turn out to be. I've read reports that the reason the police were called is because Mr. Sterling had a weapon. I've read reports that say a gun was recovered from his pocket after he'd been killed. I have no idea what will surface in the weeks and months to come, though for the purposes of the points I'm trying to make here, none of that matters. 

What I do know is this: there were two grown men sitting on top of him. In my mind, as an un-trained, non-law professional, it is clear that Mr. Sterling was not posting any sort of deadly threat to the police officers on the scene or to others around him. Alton Sterling was shot for, what seems to me to be, no reason. I don't understand it. And not just in a "I don't understand the world! Why do bad things happen??" way - I literally don't understand it. I don't understand why that happened. It is excessive force. It's murder. 

If you are White, if you would, I'd like you to do something that will be upsetting for a minute. I want you to imagine a man that you love. Your father, your husband. Your son. Really, I mean it. Hold them in your mind. (I'm doing this exercise right along with you, here.) 

Now replace Mr. Sterling with the man you love.

Imagine that man being shot at point blank range and killed. Imagine the video of his murder circulating across the world. Imagine that this is one in a series of people who look like you who have been, for whatever reason, gunned down by a group of people who are supposed to protect you. Imagine having to assume that the person who shot the man you love will not go to jail, because no other police officers who've shot people who look like you have. Imagine that this person you love had some kind of brush with law enforcement in his past (a DUI, a drug possession charge, a public intoxication) and that that incident is being trotted out as a means of justifying his death. 

Would you feel safe? Would it be easy to trust that the justice system is always fair? These questions are hypothetical if you are White. 

It's enough to make you nauseous that for Black Americans, this isn't a hypothetical. This isn't a mental exercise that will be upsetting for a minute. It's a reality that's upsetting for a lifetime. 

If you are White, chances are, you have never worried that you'll be mistreated by police. 

Speaking from my own experience, there's never been a moment when I've thought, "I need to make sure both my hands are free as I approach this police officer so he won't think I'm holding a gun." I've never worried about whether what I'm wearing makes me look like a "thug," and therefore worried that I'll be profiled by law enforcement. I've never once feared for my life at the sight of a police officer approaching my driver's side window to give me a ticket. I will never have to teach my children not to run if there's a police officer nearby so that the cops won't think they're running FROM something. I will never have to worry whether my son's hoodie made him a suspect. 

This is because I am a White, blonde, 130-pound upper-middle class female. When you look at me, you make a snap judgment that I am non-threatening. If I were shot by police, no matter the circumstances, there would be a NATIONAL UPROAR. Remember Natalee Holloway? 

Here's what I really want to say: 

If you are White, no matter what your socioeconomic status or how much money you have in the bank, it means you will almost always get the benefit of the doubt in any given situation. If you are Black, it means you probably won't.

The concept of "White privilege" is a tricky one to unpack. When it's done poorly (and it's done poorly a lot) it is explained so that White people feel like their response should be, "I'm sorry for being White." 

That's not what White privilege means. When someone says that Black Lives Matter, they don't mean White Lives Don't. They're saying it doesn't even need to be said aloud that White Lives Matter, because just look around! It's obvious. Black Lives Matter means that because of the state of the world, we actually have to say out loud that Black Lives Matter, lest it be forgotten. 

Privilege means, in my own life, I know that almost everything I do will be met with relative ease. If my house gets broken into, I feel confident knowing that police will defend me. If I break down on the side of the road, I'm comfortable calling for help. And if I were shot, no one would ask, "What did she do to deserve it?" In a few hours, I'll be at work helping customers and I'm sure there will be a moment in my day when I won't be thinking about race. But that's because I don't have to think about it in order to survive in the world. That's what privilege is. 

Alton Sterling was selling CDs and DVDs to make a living. He had the blessing of the store owner. And he was shot. Why? 

I'm not asking you to condemn law enforcement. I'm not asking you to stop asking questions or engaging in dialogue. Chances are that if you've had a complicated experience with race, it has nothing to do with hate and everything to do with fear. And I understand that. There have been so many times in my own conversations about race when I was afraid to hear the answers to the questions I was asking. And it was hard. And thank God, because those were the moments when I consider myself to have been educated. 

Wherever you are in your journey with issues like this - whether you're someone who tries to live a life of racial consciousness on a daily basis, or you're someone who has historically stayed out of conversations like this one because they're just too intense - there's room for you. Everybody has room to grow. God knows I do. 

All it takes is remembering that race isn't something that Black America gets to forget about - they live in it, every day, all day. All it takes is softening your heart to understand what it must be like to live in a country where someone who looks like you is shot down in the street on a far-too-regular basis, and then you have to listen to people debate whether or not that person deserved to die. 

If nothing else, what you can do is sit for a second. Consider what it would be like to not be you. How the world could be a very different, scarier, and less safe place. How you have the opportunity to stand up for something here, and say definitively that you are ready to do your part, to learn, to listen. How this is a moment where humility and deep compassion need to drive our response of holy outrage. How this movement has already started, and we as White people need to just get on board.

Any little change you make in the way you talk about and/or perceive situations like this - that will make a difference. Changing your little corner of the world will make a difference. Not allowing people to make racially insensitive jokes just "because this is the South;" not accepting prejudice around you; not jumping to conclusions about who did and deserved what - all of that makes a difference. And a difference is what we need. 

Because a human being breathed his last yesterday after being shot to death. In a parking lot. By a cop.

Because we have to find a way to make America everyone's America. 

Because now is the moment to lift your voice, if you are White. 

Postscript, July 8, 4:30 PM: 

Thank you all for your heartfelt and passionate comments. I am so happy that you chose to engage here, even if what you wanted to share was that you wholeheartedly disagree. I'm choosing to close the comments section, as I believe salient points have been made and can be reflected on by reading the thoughts that have already been contributed rather than by adding additional commentary. 

Out of dialogue comes a lot of understanding, and even when we don't see eye-to-eye, we're made better for having heard the others' opinions. 

Thanks again, 
MC

Our Fourth Festivities and an Engagement!

Oh my gosh, can we go back?? 

Over the weekend, we journeyed to to Lillian to see Jordan's family for the Fourth. Now, I'm back in Asheville writing this post, and all I can think about is how I wish we were headed back to the coast! 

This weekend was just one of those dreamy, everything-is-wonderful occasions. We had so much fun, so I thought I'd share a little bit about our trip with you - including the most wonderful news toward the bottom of this post! 

Friday: 

We arrived in town only to be sneakily whisked away to Mobile (about an hour away from Lillian) where Jordan's parents, along with his aunt and uncle, revealed that they bought a boat! We got to ride the Southwind on its maiden voyage from the harbor all the way to their house -- a ride which featured a family dolphins (including a baby) swimming RIGHT NEXT TO US. Y'all, they were so close that I could see their eyes under the water watching the boat. It was so dadgum magical.

Saturday:

We had a big breakfast, followed by a stroll in the Scotts' garden. So y'all, I was proud of our three measly little squash plants - please observe what my in-laws have grown. If you're thinking to yourself, "Is that OKRA??" the answer is, "Yep." Of course, we couldn't cook with it, but we could've entered it in a county fair. 

We spent the rest of the day lounging on the boat and trying not to die of a heat stroke. It's funny how quickly Jordan and I forgot what Alabama humidity is like after having lived in North Carolina for only a year. We were SUFFERING. 

We also got to play with the pups a lot Saturday. Fun fact: Abbey (Jordan's family's dog) is Tom Hanks' mom. For a while, she really didn't like him whenever we came to visit. But now, they're besties! Here's a (not very good) picture of them together: 

Sunday: 

On Sunday, we celebrated the Fourth in earnest with a lot more family members pouring into town. Thankfully, though the temperature was certainly still high, the humidity level dropped, allowing us to be outside for more than 20 seconds at a time. 

A highlight of this day was that Ryan, my brother-in-law, decided to jump off the top of the boat and land on this big blue float that we'd been using to lay out. I think his thought was that he could hit it and roll off into the water, but instead, he ended up jumping THROUGH the float and getting stuck up to his armpits. I wish we could say our first impulse was to help him, but really it was just to take pictures. 

But the best part of the weekend was still to come! 

After we'd all been in the sun all day, we wanted to shower and change for a sunset boat ride to watch the fireworks. Little did we know that something wonderful was in the works! 

We were all gathered at Jordan's grandmother's house, when suddenly, Jordan's sister Kaitlyn and her boyfriend Wil arrived back from their walk with some news: THEY WERE ENGAGED! These two have been dating for a little over five years, so it's been a long time coming, and we could not be more excited. I mean, just LOOK at these two. 

After we all (okay, I) finished crying, we hopped on the boat for the most perfect engagement nightcap: a cruise around the Bay where fireworks were going off in every direction. Ahhhh! Perfection!! 

Kaitlyn and Wil are those people that you want to hate, but you just can't. They are beautiful, smart, and talented (Kaitlyn is an insanely gifted artist and Wil is basically Pete Sampras), but they're also two of the kindest and most down-to-earth folks you could ever meet. I knew I was hitting the jackpot getting Kait as a sister-in-law, but I had no idea how blessed I'd be to end up getting to be in the same family as Wil Amanor. 

All in all, this weekend was one for the books. I hope your celebrations were just as joyful, and that you ate as many mashed potatoes (read: almost an entire pot) as I did. 

DIY: Return of the Chairs

Some of you may remember that about two months ago, I bought some chairs at an estate sale with the intention of refurbishing them. My first post, detailing the steps of my inaugural attempt at beating these chairs into submission, can be found here. 

Today, we have Part II of the tale. 

51. Ask your husband what he wants to do on this beautiful Saturday. Ignore him when he says what he wants to do is go fly fishing. 
52. Bribe him with promises of snacks and beer to help you work on your chairs with you, which have been sitting, dormant, on the porch. 
53. Quickly FaceTime your mom, who agrees that the chairs need to get finished, but mostly just because "they look so tacky sitting on your porch." 
54. Decide she's right. Make another list. Go to Lowe's. 
55. Promise to behave. Break said promise. Hide behind the ladders and jump out at a man who you think is your husband, but isn't.
56. Quickly ponder what going to jail would be like.
57. Arrive home with the supplies in tow. Lay out newspaper and realize what an undertaking this is going to be.

58. "Listen" to your husband read the instructions aloud on the back of the bottle of paint stripper. 
59. Make a whole bunch of stripper jokes and dance seductively around your porch. 
60. Listen to your husband tell you he's not helping if all you're going to do is spaz around the porch while he does the work.
61. Actually listen to him talk about how to use the paint stripper. 

62. Laugh bitterly to yourself at the phrase "WORKS THE FIRST TIME!" featured underneath the product title, as you have already tried this product without your husband and it did not, in fact, work the first time. All it did was eat your sponge brush until you were painting with a stump. 
63. Examine the photo on the front. What exactly are they trying to peel up?? Instant mashed potato flakes?? Did somebody have a house party that got out of control? 
64. Glove up so this stuff doesn't eat through your skin. 

65. Apply a thick layer of Goof Off to two chairs and wait for twenty minutes. Watch in amazement as the paint starts to bubble up. Loudly complain that it didn't do that last time. 
66. Listen to your husband tell you that's because you used a sponge brush and not a paintbrush. 
67. Know he's right, but don't tell him. 
68. After twenty minutes, start scraping the paint off. This would be a good time to realize that though this project is labor-intensive, this particular part is your OCD dream come true: 

69. Since your husband has so deftly completed this step, grab the paint scraper and go for it on your own chair. 
70. Realize with sadness that your husband is simply better at this than you are, but do not be deterred. 
71. Scrape until you want to cut both your arms off. Then go back over the spots that aren't coming off with more Goof Off. Then scrape some more. Scrape, scrape, scrape. When you think you want to die, scrape some more. 
72. Think that you are done because you've lost your will to live. 
73. Agree when your husband decides you should buff the first two chairs, then repeat the scraping process on the last two. 
74. Silently scream to yourself as he lays out clean newspaper and you get started on round two. 

75. As you start applying what seems like the fortieth round of Goof Off, look over to discover your husband has reached new levels of anal and is now scraping the tiny little crevices with dental tools. 

76. Decide your husband is pretty awesome.
77. Keep scraping. Try not to throw up when you come across a dried Band-Aid next to a single dried Golden Graham on the underside of a chair. 
78. Definitely don't think about why the Band-Aid and Golden Graham are next to each other. Put it out of your mind. And don't eat either. 
79. Wonder if you should take all the paint off, or if the distressed look is kind of cool on its own.
80. Because you're musing instead of scraping, accidentally drop some Goof Off on your thigh. 
81. Scream in horror because your "SKIN IS GONNA MELT OFF JORDAN HELP ME RIGHT NOW." 
82. Watch your husband help you while LOLing, because this stuff definitely doesn't take your skin off.
83. Ask him why he made you be so careful, then. 
84. Listen as he explains that it can be dangerous if mis-handled. 
85. Stew in silence over being treated like a 5-year-old, then remember you did actually did drop what is basically poison on yourself, so shut up and decide he was right. 
86. Conclude that the chairs are better in their "distressed" form, rather than in their original paint-less form. Once you scrape all that gunk off, of course.

87. Get distracted by an article called "Broccoli Rabe Dreams Big," which describes how vegetables have marketing directors. VEGETABLES. As in, if a vegetable is "hot" right now, the marketing people will promote it on talk shows and ask celebrities to endorse it. A VEGETABLE. I can't. 
88. Get back on track and finish the chairs. Look at your work. Decide it's pretty good. 
89. Look at your shoes. Look at all the paint you've gotten stuck to them. Realize your husband has been doing this in bare feet for this exact reason, but has failed to pass that advice along.
90. Remind yourself to thump him in the head later.
91. Step back, assess, and pat yourself on the back. Listen as your husband tells you he's proud of you for working so hard. 
92. Set the chairs back in their corner of the porch to wait until next time, when we'll be putting the foam backing on. There will be a staple gun involved. 
93. Let your mind run wild with the possibilities of how you could, and probably will, injure yourself. 
94. Reward.

In-Laws In Town!

My wonderful in-laws visited this weekend! 

I know the old trope is that in-laws are supposed to be scary, judgmental, blah blah blah - if that's true, then I hit the jackpot. I have the sweetest and most fantastic in-laws, and I love that I get to be a part of their family! 

We squeezed a lot in this weekend (we always do): eating at Pisgah Inn, checking out waterfalls in Brevard, brunching at Limone's, and a day on Curtis Creek fly fishing. 

Hope you enjoy these photos from our time together! 

5 Things: Prayers for the Stanford Case

It is very early. I'm sipping my first cup of coffee as the pink light glows through my window. Today's going to be busy - lots to see and certainly lots to do. But even in this early hour, thoughts are bouncing around in my head.

I'm not foolish enough to think that there hasn't already been enough said - and said better than I could say it - on this topic. I mean, gosh, Joe Biden wrote a beautiful response that everybody should just re-post. The women of Girls made a powerful infomercial about it.  

So in the stillness of this morning, what I've got are prayers. 

For the people at the center of news stories - the villains, the antagonists. For those whose darkest parts have bubbled to the surface; whose names will forever bring to mind a tragic story. Receive our indignation, but make us humble. Help us to wholly and loudly condemn their actions; help us to keep our stones uncast in our pockets. Close our mouths when hateful words are leaping out; keep us mindful that beneath all our floorboards lives a part of ourselves we try to keep hidden, even from You. Narrow our focus on defending those in need; soften our hearts so that we remember that we are in need of so much. Keep angry name-calling out of our words; turn that holy fire into acts of love and prayer. Make the unrepentant penitent - especially when the "unrepentant" includes us. Turn our begrudging hearts to those we don't want to look at directly, who now face the wrath of an unforgiving world. We pray for redemption, for clean hearts, for the brokenness of a world in which acts of violence (and defending those acts of violence) are simply the horrible expressions of the most confused and angriest among us. Make us unrelenting defenders of justice. We pray to the Lord. Lord, in Your mercy - 

For the victims - dragged into the spotlight with no choice in the matter. Our hearts ache. Make us not just spectators, detail-collectors, or gossips - make us people of action. Make us people who say, "I am listening. I am here." We hold these wonderful, blameless, brave, everyday people in mind - we honor their struggle and their tears; we celebrate their triumphs and their speaking out. We don't understand, but open our eyes and our ears to Your children. Help us to be wise enough to know this chapter has been written on the souls of these women, but that they are not this chapter alone. We ask that your presence be known among them, that in their waking and sleeplessness and crying and laughter alike, in their loneliness, whether they've told their stories or locked them away, that they are loved and cherished. We pray to the Lord. Lord, in Your mercy - 

For the cyclists - and the cyclists in all of us. For the Samaritans who stopped and spoke out. These are the people You've called us to be- unafraid of getting entangled with an undesirable situation, and, instead, hurling ourselves toward the center of where it hurts. Forgive us for the many opportunities we've missed, and keep our eyes wide open to see them in the future. However tiny, however huge, we know that "love" is an action verb. Cover us anew with a higher regard for our fellow man than for ourselves. Amplify the voice within each of us that whispers, "How can you help?" Make our days testaments to the love we have shown, because walking alongside You means we stop at every chance we get. Strip us of our money, our clothes, our energy, burn our wicks down for our brothers and sisters. We pray to the Lord. Lord, in your Mercy - 

For women - navigating a world that is unsafe. For women who clutch their keys while walking through a darkened parking lot, who carry a weapon on a walk around the neighborhood, who accidentally leave their pepper spray in the car and feel uneasy all night because of it. For women whose closest friends have become the source of their deepest wounds. For women who have been made to feel that their behavior or their attire was consent enough. For the complicated relationship women have with their bodies after someone has tried to lay claim on it. For the women whose stories go untold because of their color or sexual orientation, and the women whose stories aren't trusted because of their gender. We ask for light in the blackest corners of our world, so that no one has to suffer in anonymity. We pray to the Lord. Lord, in Your mercy - 

For every person who has encountered this story - stumbling across it online or hearing about it on the news. Break our hearts in despair. Sit with us as we cry in confusion. And then, in our sadness, turn our faces toward our sons. In our grief, make us teachers. Give us strong words to use. Speak through our fumbling and discomfort. Use these moments of awkwardness around the dinner table as stakes in the garden; as a strong foundation around which the lives of our children can grow and thrive. Snap us to attention so that we sing the worth of every person at every opportunity. Make "humility" and "respect" and "consent" fall out of our mouths so often that we're met with rolling teenage eyes because they've heard us say it so many times before. Make us blessedly redundant. We pray to the Lord. Lord, in Your mercy - 

Hear our prayer.