A Viking in a Skirt...Sometimes

L. Kathleen Thompson

2011-08-22T16:47:00.002-05:00

I wrote this for my Grandmother's funeral service, June 24, 2011. I just wanted a place to share it.

L. Kathleen Thompson

Born May 26, 1928—Passed June 21, 2011 at the age of 83

My Grandma, Kathleen Thompson was a strong woman with a dry, quick wit, and a kind smile that would light up a room. She had a unique way of seeing and commenting on the world. She would make subtle, sarcastic observations that could start a whole room laughing. Even as she sat in the ICU this weekend she was dropping quips. Someone told her that Kelsey, Emily and I were hitting the road, her response: “Well watch out America.” When she got tickled herself, her laughter would rise above the white noise of the room. If she was laughing it was nearly impossible not to grin along with her. I particularly ‘hear’ that laugh in memories of being a child at family gatherings as my grandparents’ house. Grandma and her four daughters, Cindy, Robin, Jennifer and Deanna, would be upstairs in the kitchen pulling stuffing out of the oven, gathering plates and glasses, and you could hear Grandma’s laughter ring out over the noise. I was glad when I was finally big enough to be helpful, rather than in the way, and could be part of the joy in those conversations.

I was the first and only grandchild of the Thompson family for six years. While all five of us, Kelsey, Ross, Emily, Ryan, and myself were showered in love and spoiled; I know I was blessed with the opportunity to spend a significant amount of time with my Grandma those first few years. I spent the majority of my time with her at the stained glass shop my aunt and uncle owned. It took me years to realize how much she’d taught me as I sat on the floor making train tracks and towns out of glass globs, and as she cautiously taught me how to handle glass and grind a piece to size.

She taught me that it pays to be kind to people, not in dollars, but in kindness returned. She’d greet most everyone with a “Well hi” like she was pleasantly surprised to see you, and send you off with a sincere, “come back again soon” that made you feel welcome and embraced.

She showed me that anything worth doing well takes patience—the patience to play well, carefully choosing colors and tracing patterns, and the patience to see a project all the way through.

She taught me that anything you do should be done right an well, no matter how many times you have cut that same piece of glass. Short cuts in time will surely show up in your final product. If you are going to put your time into it and your name on it, it is worth taking the time to do it right.

And she taught me that all of that time required takes endurance and stick-to-itiveness. Neither stained glass, nor life are easy all of the time, but you keep trying, adjusting, and making what you’ve got work. She applied this to all of life, stained glass, gardening, raising a family, and keeping everyone on track. When you get frustrated and worn out, it’s ok to step back and take a break, as long as you get back to work and keep at it.

I believe that Grandma has made us all stronger people, but I think that especially applies to the women in our family. She stood her ground, expressed herself clearly, and didn’t back down from what she believed. She taught us to stand strong for ourselves, our beliefs, and those we loved.

There’s been a lot of conversation about family traits and stories over the last two months, and several themes keep reoccurring. Though there is a stubborn streak in this family a mile wide, I think most days it serves us well. On our best days, we are honest, loyal folks, who are straightforward and sincere—what you see is what you get. Grandma was the best of all of that, and she made sure to instill those values in each of us through her living example. She didn’t necessarily have to teach us those virtues; she walked them every day. Because of her we each carry that strength with us as we move through life.

May we each remember the ways that Kathleen Thompson touched our hearts and our lives. May we carry with us her patience, her hard work, and her welcoming smile. May we hold onto the light of her laughter and her life, through our own memories and love.

now it's personal

2007-09-17T23:11:00.000-05:00

Not that it hasn't always been. This is going to be a little scattered- a little grace would be appreciated.

News broke today about an attack on two men on Vanderbilt's campus. The attack happened on September 9. One of the men was an undergraduate and the other was a recent graduate of the Divinity school (the professional school that I am also enrolled in). They were getting food at a Quizno's that is attached to a campus dorm. The two men were apparently being affectionate and two other men (well, one is technically a boy at the age of 17-he's a freshman and the other guy was his friend/guest) began to vocalize homophobic slurs. The Div school student asked if there was a problem, and the perpetrators said something along the lines of 'get out of my face.' As the two affectionate men (self-identified as gay) left, the other two followed, attacked the Div student and beat his face while repeating the homophobic slurs. Both the Vanderbilt and Nashville Metro police departments are investigating and charges have been filed. You can find out more here~ http://www.insidevandy.com/drupal/node/4766. You can also see channel 4's coverage of the incident here~ http://www.wsmv.com/news/14135106/detail.html.

I have a friend who isn't a big fan of the phrase 'hate crime.' Truth be told, there are probably a number who take issue with the phrase. But I don't even know how else to respond to this, and the nashville police have labeled it such (even though there is no federal legislation that will back that claim up for crimes where sexual orientation is the motivator). Reading about it, talking about it, thinking about it, I feel violated. It makes that threat of violence so real. I actually feel very similar to how I felt after I was mugged. This crime is not about money or personal vendettas, it is simply about hating someone because of who they are, and feeling justified and empowered by the society around you to express that hatred violently. There have been numerous stories and rumors about such things happening around campus, especially to gay men, but now it's undeniable. And as the co-chair of the divinity school's GLBTQ organization, and as an activist, and as someone who gives a shit, I'm called to act, react, and lead. But I'm struggling to figure out how.

Windhoek

2007-07-14T23:34:00.000-05:00

In two weeks I leave for Africa. I'll be in Namibia for about 12 days (with days on each end for travel). First let me say that though this trip is through the Div school, it is not a mission trip. I wouldn't go if it was.

I'm still very wary of the word and concept of mission. A bunch of privledged Christians going to 'poor' areas or nations and bring 'the Word' and 'salvation,' along with their own overpowering understanding of how things should be 'fixed.' Mission, even if some of it's colonizing tendencies have been erased (or just better hidden), is still about us talking and you listening. It's about the missionizer having the answers, and the missionized being put in a position were accepting those answers seems to be the lesser of two evils.

I'm calling this the 'shut up and listen' trip. Officially, it's called a cultural immersion. The point is to listen to as many voices as possible from a culture that will be very different from the one we know and try to open ourselves up a bit to questioning our own assumptions and values. We'll meet government officials, clinic directors, farmers, students, teachers, and vendors just to name a few. There is a hope that we can develop some understanding of what a recipricol relationship would look like for some of these communities between them and a bunch of naive and over-eager grad students. But the understanding is that these relationships are to be defined on their terms, not ours.

Certainly it's not perfect, there are flaws in every system, but this seems to be a way to travel that is less focused on consuming the other than most.

People keep asking me if I'm excited. There seems no way to properly express my feelings about this trip- the whole thing is so big that I have no words or overall comprehension of what the trip may hold for me, my friends, my mind, and my emotions.

Four words

2007-03-11T18:17:00.000-05:00

I'm going to Africa.

(More info to come.)

Master's tools, master's house?

2007-03-02T13:37:00.000-06:00

A friend posed a question yesterday: can anything revolutionary actually come out of the academy?

This question brings forth a overwhelming myriad of questions for me.
-What did my education provide for me? Why do I feel that its impact was so intense?
-What attitude did I bring into my education?
-What change do I expect to be able to bring out of teaching?
-Am I just feeding the machine and allowing myself to be used as a tool of oppression and capitalism if I continue pursuing education?
-Can change really be affected from the high tower of academics? Or is that a white, middle-class, liberal illusion that we like to feed ourselves?
-Is revolution what I want to inspire? What does revolution even look like?
-Is there really any hope?
-Jeez-o-peets, why is this so complicated?

Audre Lorde writes that you can't dismantle the master's house with the master's tools. Do we have any tools that aren't formed and influenced by the master? What do you do with this idea when you are complicit in the structures that form the master's house-sexism, racism, classism, colonialism, capitalism?

All I've got at this point is questions- more and more questions.

Someone, somewhere told me that the point of further education is really just to increase the questions. So maybe I'm doing something right? Maybe...who knows.

can't be all bad

2006-05-07T23:37:00.000-05:00

So, I know that many have heard me bitch about this place, and I think often that bitching is legit, and I'm sure there's more to come. However, I have to give some props to what happened on my birthday.

It was the last day of classes and there was an 'end of the year party' (not a birthday party- that was just a coincidence).
This party was headlined by a band of three of our professors and one of our deans- this in itself was pretty damn sweet.
However, I was taken off guard when the band called me out in front of everyone, announced that it was my birthday and then led a good portion of the Div school in singing happy birthday to me. It was totally unreal, and as my friend Judy put it, it was very 'movie-like.' So, thank you to everyone involved, you made me feel quite special.

I just wanted to take a minute from my usual blogging topics and style to record this pretty sweet occassion. And since I'm off topic anyway, I won tickets to see TMBG this past Friday. The concert rocked; the whole night did actually.

Paper Excerpt

2006-04-11T21:42:00.000-05:00

So, I know that I haven't posted in an age. Sorry. Anyway, so I was recently writing a paper that I would love to post up here, but the whole thing is a little long, and a focused around a book I had to read for class. Instead I have decided to post the conclusion and see if you have anything to say.

Nothing is still. Consider the boulders that make up a mountain, solid masses that require great effort to move, yet, they are made up of millions upon billions of vibrating molecules that never cease moving. Even those things that seem to never change are always in motion. The molecules are constantly bouncing off of one another, changing direction, changing force, changing speed. I argue that each time we present (‘come out’) part of ourselves, our identities (which is constantly); we are doing the same thing. Why do we as humans search out immutability in our understandings of self, others, and identity? Why do we crave static existences while even the molecules that make up our bodies and our world refuse to stand still? Each of these articles challenges the reader to consider life, masculinities, and religion in some new light. What happens if we try to see how those challenges happen everyday in our own lives through books, conversations, prayer, class, work, play and every other manner of existence? It sounds exhausting, but I would argue that it is only exhausting because we are constantly fighting to find singular, simple answers. What happens if we start to recognize and live in the fluidity in our own lives?

V-day

2006-02-14T23:05:00.000-06:00

Valentine's Day-

the extreme commercialization of the most important, intimiate, and sacred of emotions and spiritual attributes.

I'm not one to quote the Bible (for a myriad of reasons), but...

These three remain, faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is Love. 1 Corinthians 13:13

This sentiment is the core on which I build my beliefs and faith. The fact that it comes from the Bible makes it no more authoritative than anything else.

innate worth

2006-02-05T23:11:00.000-06:00

Why do you think that humanity is not simply born with an innate sense of self-worth and self-love? Why do so many of us struggle with the desire to feel accepted and that we serve some purpose being in the world? Is it this struggle, this deep human need that compels us to find God, to find something that can indeed love us unconditionally? How are these two things connected? Or are they at all?

Or, is this just me reaching to find meaning in something, some sort of source for my confusion and the circles I run in my head? I guess that search for meaning is all that religion really is; it's a search for a way to make it through this world. A search for a way to find this world habitable, even in the times it seems impossible (whether that is because of personal, social, global, or political pain). It's not so much that it's an opiate, it's a tool, or an aid, sometimes a crutch, that helps us to try to grasp the unreachable. It gives us hope and understanding in times when neither should exist. At least that's how I see it for the time being...anyone have any thoughts?

James Lawson

2006-01-26T23:49:00.000-06:00

Do you know who he is? If you don't you should, he's pretty freaking amazing...full of Grace, experience, life, love, and peace- and embodiment of what I can only hope and dream to one day be.

Anyway, his recent visit prompted a question- if only peace begets peace, and justice and freedom cannot be won through war, AND if we have a seemingly endless road ahead of us before peace and justice can be reached, what roles do each of us play in getting there. Clearly, it is a struggle to obtain any semblence of justice and equality, a continuous ebb and flow of violence, battles, and peace. That being said, do we each play a vital role in reaching that ultimate conclusion? Are the 'enemies' of peace, the Dick Cheney's and the W's and the Osama's and the Pat Robertson's and all the rest who continue to perpetuate hate, violence, and war, just as crucial as the Ghandi's and MLK's? Clearly the struggle for justice is real, and it seems, at least to me, that there is continual, though very slow progress, it will never happen over night, so maybe we need those perpetuators to keep us motivated, keep the fire at our feet, and keep us fighting. Maybe we aren't really enemies in the way we often thing we all are-maybe we are all just critical players in something bigger, something more ultimate. It's something to ponder...I just don't know.

On a completely different note...to all of you who keep telling me to post more- there will be no more posts until I get some freaking comments. Clearly you have things to say; you keep saying them to me outside of the blog. Say them in the blog, it makes blogging more fun. Jeeez... :0)

And just for fun...wrench.

Entertaining things said by my mom....

2006-01-10T01:13:00.000-06:00

when debating my sexual orientation

1. Mom- "I keep asking you if you are a lesbian, but you keep saying no. I don't understand."
Me- "I'm not a lesbian. I'm queer, or bi, if that is easier to understand. I like both women and men."

(Rinse and Repeat...over and over and over again)

2. Mom- "I have no problem with gay people, I just have a problem with you."

3. Mom- "I just don't believe that you are gay. You're not that kind of person." (for the record she cannot give a coherent description of what that kind of person is.)

4. Mom- (this one's my favorite)- "I think that the reason that you can't find a guy who will like you is because you date girls. I would imagine that is a turn off. If I was a guy I would be turned off." (my question to you is what would you say to my mom if you were in my shoes? How exactly do you try to explain why it might be a turn on...hopefully you can understand why I had to fight to stiffle my laughter.)

Job

2005-12-11T18:35:00.000-06:00

For all of those lost in terms of their faith, their spirit, or their understanding of good and evil read Job. It's quickly becoming my favorite book in the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament). Job poses all the questions that have anything to do with 'why bad things happen to good people' and 'if God is all good, how can their be evil?' What's so glorious, is that in the end, God offers no answers, no definites. Now, mind you, the voice of God was writen by some men, but I love anything ambiguous. So much of our lives focus on being right, knowing what's what, and pretending that we have all the answers. Fuck that, we're humans; we're fallible and easily distracted. How anyone can stand at a pulpit, on a pedastal, a soapbox, or behind a national or presidential seal and say they know every answer outright, without question or waiver is utter bullshit. I say that we should try to let go of our endless, exhausting search for order and answers in this land of chaos and multiplicity. Look beyond our own noses or belly buttons and try to see that there just might not be any RIGHT answers, and that creating simply black and white order is a futile exercise. I know it leaves you in an uncomfortable and tight spot, but just try it once in awhile. Figure out what's important to you, recognize that it might not be important to others, and start building your life from there. I don't offer this as an answer, or as a 'this is what you should do' statement, but more as a challenge- for you and for me.

Now that I've ranted and raved, and undoubtedly pissed someone off, maybe you would like to share a response. Please feel free.

Study Break

2005-12-11T18:14:00.000-06:00

So, I'm in the middle of studying for the most daunting of my three finals. Actually, middle isn't a very accurate description seeing that I've been studying since Thursday and the exam is tomorrow. Alright, let's say this, I'm in the final stretch of my studying. Anyway, I needed a bit of a break, so I turned to my often ignored blog, in part because of the encouragement of a friend to post more.

In the last week it has become quite clear how large a two year age gap can truly be. There are a number of students in my class that have come to grad school directly out of undergrad. When I first realized this, it just made me feel old, having myself worked for two years between undergrad and now. However, as of late, and because of many of my most recent interactions, I am grateful for those two years. I don't want to assert that every twenty-two year old in this program is immature, or that every 24+ student is a pillar of elderly wisdom, as neither statement is true. All that being said I would like to share a few personal observations.

I am grateful for my time away from school because it has helped me to learn how to act more as an adult, and, more importantly, how to interact with other adults. All of a sudden, coming back to school is somewhat like being in high school all over again. The cliques, the back handed comments, the exclusion, the 'you don't believe what I believe,' or 'you don't think how I think' ideologies run rampant, and control too many people's interactions. I've always been one of those people who's been on the fringes of all of that stuff, always flowing back and forth between this group or that. Unfortunately, most of my life could also be defined by my need to be 'part' of one of those groups, just so I could find some sort of validation for my existence. For the first time possibly ever, I don't find myself trying or caring to fit into any group. There are certainly some folks I hang out with, but no one that I cling to.

In my old age I have also found that, while I hold very strongly to my beliefs, I grow more and more willing to hear people out, and less likely to jump on someone's case. I want very much to have intense discussions and debates with folks, but so far, people seem less than willing to really open up.

Somewhat in contrast to that, I find that the older I get the blunter I get. I don't feel like I have the time to mince words anymore. You make me feel unwelcome, I'll tell you. I think you're being an ass, I'll tell you. While I will try not to insult or belittle another's beliefs, if they can't be civil or reasonable in explaining themselves, I have less and less resevation about telling someone to chill the attitude.

However, I have to say that my favorite of all is that my spelling is finally getting better. About damn time.

All of these things are traits that I know I didn't fully possess two years ago (not that I 'fully' possess them now). The only thing that I can deduce that during the two years between undergrad and now, I grew. Shocking realization I know, but I feel like it's not often that one can actually look back on the past and concretely see major differences in world view, attitude, and action. Generally, it all gets lost in some blur...at least for me it does.

man oh man

2005-11-19T01:16:00.000-06:00

I totally forgot how much I love the movie Boondock Saints...

nuwsha

2005-11-18T00:02:00.000-06:00

Due to my less than convential views on God and religion, I am often asked how I view things like rituals, and 'experiencing god.' It's not an easy questions to answer and I fear that I am rarely able to clearly articulate myself and that I often leave the asker of the question more confused and/or more concerned for my soul than prior to thier question. That all being said, I wanted to share one of my most recent 'knowing god exists' moments.

I see 'god' as a greater spirit that connects humanity and the other beings that share the Earth; and I see religions as humanity's ways to make sense of that spirit, as well as all of the unexplainable things that happen throughout our lives. Religion helps to provide order and understanding to our often overwhelmingly confusing existence. For me, the ultimate expression of this spirit, or of god is love. That all being said, I try to see and experience this greater spirit through everyday occurances and interactions. I look for the bits of the spirit in other humans, in random occurances, and through out the glorious creation by which we are surrounded. Alright, now that you've got the background, I'll move on to the story.

I work at a day care center when I'm not busy reading or studying or whatever. The day care was as close to tutoring as I could get and still get paid with work study money, and it's been great so far. It's actually quite nice to have a break from reading and talking about religion day in and day out. And it's hard not to relax a little bit when you hang out with and chase around kids who love to give you hugs and have you read to them. Unfortunately, last week, one of my favorite kids left (we'll call him Nuwsha).

His last day was Tuesday; his family was returning to India. Luckily, I worked a few hours on Tuesday and was able to spend those hours in his room, with some other great 2 year olds. Nuwsha has never been a really cuddly kid; while he would give hugs freely, he was never one to sit in your lap or hang out around any of the teachers for too long. He'd much rather be exploring. Tuesday was different. Nuwsha spent most of my 2 hours there hanging out with me. He sat on my lap fo 10-20 minutes at a time. And when he wasn't hanging on me, he was generally sitting next to me or trying to tell me for the umpteenth time that there was a truck on the other side of the play ground fence. More than any of this there was a point when we were all playing inside and he climbed behind me, wrapped his arms around my neck, pressed his head against the side of mine and began swaying me back and forth. He was smiling and giggling all the while. I've never seen him do such a thing, though I'm sure he has. I was so touched by his overwhelming cuteness and his joyous spirit (and my own sadness at his leaving) that I began to tear up. It was almost like he knew how much I would miss him, or that he knew I'd been stressed out, or that he was even going to miss me too. I am not one to say that god was acting through Nuwsha, or that the spirit was trying to send me a message. However, Nuwsha's actions that day were a reflection of the beautiful spirit that rests within him, and were a reflection of the amazing power and gloriousness that I believe each human contains. Nuwsha was just my reminder that there is more to each of us than meets the eye and that each person is blessed in a greater spirit.

Any questions?

just for fun

2005-11-06T15:40:00.000-06:00

Let me tell you a story

2005-11-05T23:24:00.000-06:00

So, I have so issues with organized religion and I believe that those issues are very well founded. Maybe I'll go into that list in some other post, but the specifics aren't important to the story I'd like to share. Even though these issues exist and my faith beliefs are very broad and open minded, I felt called to attend a Divinity School for my masters. I chose a school that was relatively liberal, had a social justice background, and gave me a large sum of money. When I visited I made quite clear my views on religion and my beliefs, and I was encouraged and told that I would be a great addition to the existing environment. The story I would like to share is one that in which it was made pretty damn clear that my viewpoints were not really acceptable, at least to one prof.

All Divinity students have to go through this psuedo class that is meant to help us get acllimated and help us deal with any of the weird shit that comes to the surface when you decide to go to school to study religion in all it's manifestations for three years. Sounds like a pretty good concept if you ask me...at least as first. The first of these 'classes' is meant to help us develop our voices in telling our own stories, so we break into four groups to tell our relatively new classmates the stories of how we came to be at Vanderbilt. Simple assignment, no? The problem develops as each of my classmates tells their story, each one is couched in a "God spoke to me" or "God moved me" or "God called me" statement. There was even a sign given through the scales of a fish. While I can respect these stories, mine does not share such an epiphany moment, or even the idea that God spoke to me. While I do feel led here, I would not say that 'God' brought me here. I feel drawn by something greater than humanity, maybe we should call it the spirit, just for simplicity sake, and I feel that I here on the earth at this time to try and make this world a more just place. For me, that search for justice is tied to the believe in that greater spirit that unites humanity. I know it's a little new agey for a lot of folks, but deal, this is my blog and my life (I will always gladly entertain questions, but I will ignore attacks and conversion attempts).

Anyway, so everyone's telling their stories and talking of their shared belief in the Christian God...and then there's me. I waited until last because I really didn't want to go, and that sinking feeling grew with each new story. Now mind you, after each person has told his or her story the prof. (a Methodist Bishop), has thanked them and affirmed them...something along these lines "thank you for sharing your story, I'm thankful that God brought you hear." Hopefully you can get the dirft.

So, it's my turn, I have about 3 minutes until we have to gather again as the big group, I'm upset, and I try to start talking...and my eyes well up. In case you don't know me well...I do not cry in public, I hate being vunerable, and I hate crying. So, I'm trying to explain by personal aversion to organized religion, my belief in a greater spirit that connects us all, and the fact that I have no interest in preaching, that I would love to teach and do social justice work. Unfortunately, because I'm upset, it is not coming out as well as it should and everyone's either looking at me with pity or confusion or both. I kind of wrap up without really explaining a whole lot and the Prof/well respected Bishop says to me..."Thank you, maybe you were led here to find the things that you've been missing." Not only was I not affirmed, but I was spoken to as if I was lacking because I have differing views. This in a graduate school that requires the use of inclusive language in classrooms and class work and that touts it's diversity and social justice focus.

I am not missing anything. I am not here searching for the 'real' god or the 'real' church, I'm here to learn, here to develop, and here to teach. I am not looking to be saved, but it is quite clear that people here are looking to save me.

something to ponder

2005-10-19T00:48:00.000-05:00

Go ahead, ask me where I got my super powers.

Nashville

2005-10-17T19:19:00.000-05:00

Nashville is what I would call a small-town city. It has all of the makings of a city; sky scrapers, business districts, big universities, convention centers, sports teams, and segretated living, yet somehow, it refuses to act or feel like an actual city. It's pace is slow, there's way too much green space (though I'm not complaining about that), it seems like nothing's open all night, and people are much too friendly (again, not really complaining) for it to actually be a city. It just feels like Nashville is in some sort of constant transition, like it can't decide whether it should just keep being a kid, or grow up and get a real job. Instead, it's convinced that this constant state of limbo's a better place to be, as long as people keep making music and spending money. I mean, I guess it works, but somehow it all just seems fake to me, like there's some sort of facade covering the real Nashville. Although, I'm willing to say that some of the facade is really just the 'southern hospitality.' As nice as people really are, you know some of that is just a show. It's like being in small town Ohio, where people are too concerned with thier image to actually speak thier minds, so instead they just blow smoke up your ass. Personally, I like my ass smoke free, I'd rather you tell me you don't like me or 'my kind' (whatever that may be for the day) to my face so we can either deal with it or agree to dislike each other. People bitch about political correctness, I bitch about southern hospitality...they are close relatives.

hrmmm...

2005-10-13T19:27:00.000-05:00

I for some reason felt inspired to begin a blog. This could be a really bad idea; either I'll turn it into a personal journal of insipid whining, or I'll get all political and on a high horse of ridiculousness, or both. More than anything I want to share (for my own benefit) with the world what it's like to go to a Div school in the Bible belt when you've turned away from organized religion. Maybe from time to time you might get something interesting or worthwhile, but that's doubtful. I'll keep you updated