When we were living in Seattle, we choose a public school for our kids that had as much ethnic diversity as our mostly-white part of the city would allow. For four years the girls jumped rope with little pixie girls from Cambodia, dark haired chiquas from Mexico, and quiet girls in long skirts and hijabs.

During that time I managed to build bridges with most of the parents, but the quiet Muslim mama’s remained distant from me. There was the language barrier, true, but that didn’t seem to stop me from speaking Spanglish with the Latino moms. And there were cultural differences, but I was doing okay with the Cambodian families. So why couldn’t I connect with the Mama’s in hijabs who did little more than offer shy smiles at my friendly waves? Invitations for play dates went unanswered, questions about holiday plans for Eid were brushed aside, and the little girls were swept away as soon the students came pouring out the door at the sound of the 3:10 bell. What was I missing about my usually successful “how to win friends and influence people” equation?

The Fear. I was forgetting about the fear.

We all know that since 9-11 people who “look Muslim” have been treated like the enemy, regardless of their nationality or the stringency of their beliefs. But I was living on the other side of the country from NYC, and in my über-PC west-coast city, I thought those racist attitudes were rare enough that the fear held by Islamic families had dissipated. Surely the racist extremism of those initial post 9-11 years had mellowed. Surely visibly Islamic families living in most parts of America were now feeling relatively safe.

The privileged safe anonymity of being white, middle class, and (mostly) Christian in America had once again lulled me into false assumptions about my sisters on the other side of the color line. Thankfully, Ira Glass and Company/a> gave this WASP a wakeup call, and my consciousness was once again raised.

I adore Ira Glass and will gladly listen to This American Life on an unending loop. The girls and I often listen to back episodes on line, and a few days ago we tuned into the Shouting Across the Great Divide, an award winning story by Alix Spiegl. Spiegl captured the story of Serry and her family, Muslims living in the U.S. When my 4th grader, Eden, heard the stories of why Serry’s 4th grader, Chloe, had to leave her public schools, she was appalled. And by the time Chole’s best friend walks right past her without acknowledging her existence, Eden was in tears. When Serry’s husband opts for living in the West Bank of Palestine rather than enduring the strain of being a Muslim man in America, I joined in the crying. Not knowing what else to do for our sisters across the waters, Eden I fell back on our standard response. We lit candles. We said prayers. We tried to hold space for Serry and her family—we tried to hold space for hope.

No wonder the Muslim mamas at the kids’ school did not trust my conversational overtures, and the beautiful African women in abayads declined to make eye contact. In addition to the cultural differences that divide us, they were living in a tension I’ve never experienced. I was blithely throwing out “why can’t we all just get along” vibes. They were living in a constant low grade hum of fear.

I have been longing to make a connection with my Muslim sisters for a long time now, and I had hoped that our move to Copenhagen with its growing Islamic neighborhoods might be the thing that helped those connections get made. But as this country’s political debate over immigration in general, and Muslim immigration in particular, loops around itself in angry spirals, I began to despair of those friendships ever being possible. Could relational bridges be built? Or will we continue to shout across the great divide?

I believe we can do it. I believe women can build bridges—that we can see opportunities others may not perceive. And there are stories—real , live, it-just-happened-to-me stories—out there in the blogosphere that will help me hold on to that belief. This week, Catherine McNeil at Everyday Life as Lyric Poetry records an inspiring tale about meeting folks over the quest for ethical meat. And Jen Lemen, my soulsister in WASPy-ness and one of the best cross-cultural bridge builders I have ever met, offers us this report of finding siblinghood with a brother from another mother. Both are stories of simple connections made over every day transactions. They inspire me and give me hope. These stories tell me that we don’t need a stellar plan of global proportions to create the ties that bind. Being present is enough. Being attentive to our every day will give us the chance to say ‘yes’ to the openings around. With attentiveness and intent, we can grasp each other’s hands as we stretch them across a (not) so great divide.

Okay John, go ahead and play us out.

I’m a contributing editor for religion and spirituality at BlogHer. Find all my BlogHer posts or subscribe to the feed here. Thanks!

Souren wearing the keffiyeh he got for his birthday in 2005.

If you walk around downtown Copenhagen for any length of time, you will see dozens of teens wearing the keffiyeh. White kids, most of them with shockingly blond hair, sporting the keffiyeh as an accessory to tight jeans and Chuck Taylor all stars. The boys wear them in the traditional black or red. The girls have them in everything from turquoise to hot pink. You can get them for less than $50 kroner ($10 US) at any stand on the street.

I asked our sometimes-teenager Souren, who lived most of his life with the Euro-kids in Germany, what this prevalence of the keffiyeh is all about. Did it mean that a lot of young people in the EU supprted Palestine’s quest for independence? Did it have something to do with aligning themselves with the much-maligned Muslim communities here in Denmark? Did the girls wear it as feminist statement aligning them with freedom-fighter Lelia Kahled, who was one of the first women to be noted wearing the traditionally male headscarf? Were they showing solidarity with recent Muslim immigrants who are struggling in this new country? What was the appeal of these Middle-Eastern head coverings worn in this cold clime as scarves against the winter chill?

Souren tells me that in Germany kids who like the peace loving tunes of reggae & skaa punk wear them; and that these kids often go to protests against the neo-Nazis. (Something that looms larger in his German upbringing than it ever did in my Californian youth.) But here, they seem to be merely in fashion.

I am long past being a teen, and I think that in this society, it would be ridiculous of me to wear the keffiyeh. But part of me wants to don this ethnic wear, to wrap something around me that would stand out as a sign to my Muslim neighbors – something that would say “I am with you. Don’t be afraid. You would have a warm welcome here.”

As racism and tragedy seep like poison into the veins of my new city, this becomes my prayer—that peaceful ties might reign in my neighborhood. That love might stretch across the great divide. That I might wear a badge of solidarity with all of those who seek to co-exist, as we wend our way towards Allah, towards God, toward Yahweh–stumbling as we are towards the Great Divine.

Small is Beautiful is still maturing in it’s own small ways.

This weekend, Paul helped me upload a bunch of the blogs in waiting. You can wander through them now by category! The orginal set of passionate bloggers will be categorized in time as well, but right now they appear on the orginal SIB page, or at the end of the categorized blogroll.

Since I finally got these folks up, 60 more folks have emailed to join our tiny revolution! Things are happening out there in Small is Beautiful world, like a homegrown effort to raise funds for Small is Beautiful blogger, Jenni Ballantyne, who’s cancer has gone terminal. She’s determined to live every day to the fullest with her son, but finances are getting ugly. Maybe you’d like to help? Click here, loves, because small efforts can make a big change in someone’s life.

Much love and shalom to all you out there who are taking your values viral every day. Keep on typing!

Love,

Rachelle and Jen

Welcome to my new category, Advice Girl. It will pop up here and there until I get a regular posting schedule (if I ever do!). After you see a few of these pop up, you can also check the tag cloud over in archives and see if there are others floating around. Enjoy!

Lazy Gourmet: Friday Asparagus and Eggs & Saturday Crepes

So here’s what you might could maybe do tonight. Stop by the grocery store on the way home and buy some asparagus. It’s in season right now—although according to Barbara Kingsolver the French don’t celebrate it’s arrival until Father’s Day, when all the bistros make wonderful dishes out of the lovely green spears. Regardless, if the French make a holiday out of it, don’t you think you should eat it? Yes, me too, loves.

Okay, so get the asparagus, and maybe a little carton of chevre (goat cheese), and carton of eggs (two if you’re cooking for more than one), and if they have ‘em, a mostly ripe avocado. Get twice as much asaparagus as you think you need, kay?

Now go home, snap off the ends of the asparagus, roll them in olive oil and salt. If you are really ambitious you can peel the bottom inch or two to make them less stringy, but I never sweat it. Now throw them on a baking sheet and roast them in the oven at about 450⁰. Check ‘em in ten minutes and then every so often after that because they can get away from you pretty fast.

Now scramble some eggs and voila! Dinner! I promise you will feel very French – especially if you sip some nice white wine. (Or cheap white wine – honestly, darling, it really doesn’t matter to moi, being the good, cocktail drinking maman that I am!)

Right about now, you’re asking, “What’s with the other stuff, and all the leftover asparagus?” Well, here’s the genius bit. See, tomorrow is Saturday, so you can make crepes! Then you can stuff said crepes full of leftover asparagus, chevre, and avacado. I know. It’s brilliant, and don’t you feel oh-so-smug about your healthy, healthy breakfast? (Or possibly brunch? Lunch? Oh, you must not have children if you’re not cooking anything until lunch. We will try not to hate you, really we will.)

After you eat that nice veggie-full crepe, you can sprinkle one with powdered sugar and stuff it with that slightly too soft banana you have over there in your fruit bowl. Yummmm…‘dessert’ without regrets.

Go on; get delicious on your weekend!

If this inspired you about asparagus: you can get fancy about it with some of these great recipes from BlogHer food editor Kayln Denny.

Read more about the wonders of asparagus and other locally-grown goodness: try Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life

Eden, age nine, while playing with these toys from her Kinderegg:

“I’m just an ordinary girl with ordinary dreams. I just want to win this nascar race and bring home a bag of gold to my man.”

Hmm. Is that an improvement from this conversation at age six?

What’s the funniest gender role conversation you’ve had with your kiddos?

Give Me Grace: A Child’s Daybook of Prayers
Cynthia Rylant

Last Fall we went on the Goodbye Cousin’s Tour of Ought-Eight. While we were at my sister’s visiting this adorable nephew (and all the other cute bébés) Cate ordained herself ‘official reader to anyone under six.” Even though she has long outgrown board books, Cate was totally charmed by this pretty one and read it over and over to her two year old cousin. Then, she unabashedly pled with her Auntie Becky to get it for her for Christmas, and low and behold, Give Me Grace arrived via the UPS man. (Who, according to my kids, “is better than Santa!”)

Author-illustrator Cynthia Rylant has beautifully illustrated this sweet book in a style that is not child-ish, but certainly child friendly. When I read it with Cate during morning cuddle time, I enjoy the artwork as much as much as she does. We often flip though the pages find our favorite colorful pages. Cate reads Give Me Grace every night and every morning, though truthfully she no longer needs to book as she memorized the whole thing within a week. There’s a lilting prayer for each day and I can get behind the sentiment in each one – which is rare for me to experience in religious books, especially those written for children! My favorite prayer is for Wednesday:

Wednesday make me full of light
Guide my heart both day and night
Give me gladness, give me grace,
Shine your love upon my face.

Who wouldn’t embrace that as an intentional for the day? Thanks, Cynthia. Today’s Flavor: Colorful and Hopeful.

P.s. another one of my kid’s favorite books by Rylant is the sweet, reminiscent When I Was Young in the Mountains

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How much time are we willing to spend debating right thinking at the expense of right living?

The last couple of years I’ve been captivated by the idea of orthopraxy as opposed to orthodoxy. Orthodoxy is the concept of ‘right thinking,’ or ‘right belief.’ In a system which requires orthodoxy, belonging requires one to believe a certain set of assertions. If one cannot ascribe to those beliefs, then membership in that system is denied, and one can no longer belong.

Orthopraxy on the other hand is the idea of having ‘right practice.’ Rather than requiring alignment to doctrinal assertions, an orthopraxy places the emphasis on living according to a certain collection of practices.

Karen Armstrong, an interfaith specialist who writes and teaches about Islam, Judaism, and Christianity, writes in her autobiography about her own realization that one could be a person of faith without holding orthodox beliefs.

As a part of her research work, Armstrong was introduced to Jewish scholar Hyam Maccoby, who introduced her to the idea that one could have a faith based upon right living rather than right belief. In fact, he told her, the idea that faith is primarily about right belief is largely a Christian phenomenon.

“It is easy to see that you were brought up Christian….Theology is just not important in Judaism, or in any other religion really. . … We have orthopraxy instead of orthodoxy…right practice rather than right belief. That’s all. You Christians make such a fuss about theology, but it’s not important in the way you think….We Jews don’t bother much about what we believe. We just do it instead.” The Spiral Staircase P. 235,236

This is probably an oversimplification, and certainly striving after right practice can easily become a legalistic lecture about ticking things off your holy checklist. Still, after a life time of worrying about my orthodoxy, it feels good to focus on how I’m living for awhile.

I’ve been especially inspired this week by soulful folks who have found small and beautiful ways to, as Maccoby says, “just do it” in the world. Each one is an example of an orthopraxy that reflects the beauty and creativity which lies at their spiritual cores.

Tess at Anchors and Masts is spreading the word about World Water Day and inspiring people to take simple, practical steps towards getting communities access to safe drinking water.

Over at Dahl Bat small-sized projects in literacy and fair trade in Kolkata, India.

Young Laura over at Twenty Five Days to Make a Difference has taken her values viral and has inspired kids and adults alike to do something proactive every month to make the world a better place.

And finally, in an act that hits close to home, a small group of Small is Beautiful bloggers are working together to do an on-line auction for sister-blogger Jenni Ballantyne of The Comfy Place. Jen is living her last days with fierce honesty as she looks at the end of line in her fight against colon cancer. To find out how you can help raise funds for her final treatment and for her son’s future, go over to Jena’s place at Bullseye Baby and do some orthopraxis of your very own.

Here’s to orthopraxis in all the best sense of the word. Shalom!

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is it enough
this story,
this ideal,
this wistful thing—

the teacher speaking soft in the garden,
mouthing my name,
warm-blooded and real.

when I grow tired of picking,
sorting fact from fiction,
lies like stones among the lentils,
truths as yellow bulbs among the rocks,

when I tire of this painstaking plucking

i hold instead,
one smooth egg
one round stone
one child, with chocolate on her mouth and songs on her tongue.

he is wisen, comes the lisp
he is wisen indeed!

tell me true things, i whisper,
my face held close,
warm against her neck.

she sings to me
an edict, a lullaby,
ubi caritas, maman,
ubi caritas et amor
ubi caritas, deus ibi est.

where there is charity, there is love
where there is love
there god is.

enough, i think,
to hold this egg
this stone
this child
enough, to say ‘amen.’

One Thousand White Women: The Journals of May Dodd
Jim Fergus

I’ve been caught up in historical fiction lately and find myself reading novel after novel of life in another era. It started with the life of Mary Todd Lincoln (reviewed here), segued into the guilty-pleasure of The Other Boleyn Girl, and recently landed in Indian Territory with One Thousand White Women.

Set in the late 1800’s One Thousand White Women is told in the voice of Mary Dodd, a woman from the Chicago business class who is unjustly committed to an insane asylum for living in a common law marriage with a working-class man. To escape the torturous life of the asylum, she agrees to be married to an Indian chief as part of a massive wedding-cum-peace treaty between the American government and the Cheyenne nation. The bulk of the book follows her experience living with the tribe in the final year of Cheyenne independence.

Although author Jim Fergus insists quite clearly in the prologue that this is almost entirely a work of fiction, his characters are so finely realized that readers continue to believe that Mary Dodd’s story is historically true. From the first pages of Mary’s journal, you are swept up into the story of a woman you’d like to know, and a life you can hardly imagine. Politically clever, spiritually astute, and carefully told, One Thousand White Women is an adventurous and inspiring tale of marginalized people working hard to find a place of freedom. Today’s Flavor: A history lesson from a creative mind.

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I wanna be a hope-monger. Count me in!
(The whole speach is great, but if you don’t have thirty minutes, just jump in at 17:44.)