Power and the Black-White Binary: Forging Authentic Church Identities in the Midst of White Supremacy, Patriarchy, and Being “Other Asian”
Below are the remarks I gave today at Whitworth University in Spokane, WA at the Third Moderator's Conversation on Unity with Difference on Race, Gender, and Religious Differences (more information here). I include some suggested resources for continued conversation.
Presentation Summary: Being
church together is challenged by the ways in which various church communities
and individual church members interact with power based on race and gender, not
to mention class status and regional identity. The church, particularly the
PC(USA), includes people with diverse capacities for a real conversation.
Through exploring the place of Asian Pacific Islander Americans (who in the
PC(USA) can check either “Korean” or “Other Asian” for demographic information
on some forms) and others dislocated by the black-white binary in church and
U.S. society, together we seek a way to move forward toward being a church that
allows for complexities of identity and addresses real inequalities.
Introduction
I am grateful to be here with all of you in this conversation. I love
this church, and I believe that this time together here at Whitworth represents
one of its better moments. I’m glad to be learning from all of you. Thank you
to Whitworth University for the hospitality.
A shout-out to all my family and friends watching on the live stream.
I’ll try not to embarrass you. And props to the students who showed up at
8:30am!
My name is Laura Mariko Cheifetz. Cheifetz is my family name, from my
Polish-Ukrainian-Lithuanian Jewish family members who fled persecution in
Eastern Europe over 100 years ago. If you know my parents, you know that I
pronounce our name differently. I have no tattoos or body piercings and never
snuck out at night to joyride or get high. Instead I pronounce our name
differently. I’d like to think in the realm of parenting, that’s not a bad
deal.
My middle name is Mariko, from my Japanese American ancestry. My
great-grandmother was the first Japanese American baby born in the town of San
Juan Bautista, CA over 100 years ago. My Jewish Polish great-grandmother wanted
my parents to call me by my Japanese name, and please know how grateful I am
that my parents stuck with Laura. It’s an easier cross-over name for my
Spanish-speaking relatives, and explaining my family name is already a lengthy
process enough. I’m hapa yonsei… multiracial fourth and fifth generation Asian
American of Japanese and Jewish descent.
As you may or may not expect, my parents met in an archeology class at
UC Berkeley. Both are now Presbyterian ministers. I’m also a Presbyterian
teaching elder. I serve at the Presbyterian Publishing Corporation, one of the
six agencies of the PC(USA), and I’m grateful to be in ministry in an
organization with measureable stated goals and support for racial, gender, and
age diversity in its staff and its publishing program.
That is how I see myself. The question that most illuminates how
others see me is: “What are you?” For those of you accustomed to navigating
multiraciality or multiethnic identity or navigating looking not-quite-what-you-are-enough
for others, this is the defining question. This is the question that is asked
of me by both people and by institutions. Depending on my energy level, I
either find this question annoying, angering, or just another day in the life.
I know, I know, I could take the generous route, and think “these people are
just curious. At least they ask instead of guess.”
I am generous with my second bedroom if you get stranded at the
Atlanta airport. I am generous with food and drink. I am not generous when it
comes to indulging the racial imagination of U.S. culture and American
churches.
Guiding
assumptions
I too often assume that the people with whom I speak share a common
understanding of the definitions of words I use, so I’m going to back up to share
some of my guiding assumptions.
I believe there is more than one explanation and more than one right
answer for pretty much everything, even if that is not how I talk. I have been
well-trained by the dominant culture, and I love the fluidity of knowledge and
experience – these two things are not always in sync. My own understandings of
race and racism, gender and sexism, are always in development, and I look
forward to learning more.
Race and gender themselves are not the problems obstructing unity. The
problems here are racism and sexism. Who we are isn’t the problem, but how we
live into oppressive constructs that separate us from one another is. What I
will say this morning is part of a longer conversation we in the church need to
have with one another, because even though we have been in this conversation
for decades, we have yet to diminish our capacity to sin when it comes to
relationship with one another.
Racism and sexism aren’t prejudice or dislike or ignorance. Any one of
us can participate in prejudice or dislike or ignorance. “isms” are prejudice,
or a belief in the inferiority of a group of people, whether this prejudice is
intentional and conscious, or unintentional and unconscious, coupled with the
institutional structures and the power to shape the lives of that group of
people based on that belief in their inferiority.
A common coping mechanism I share with many of my friends who belong
to particular minoritized groups is to make fun of people who operate out of
isms. (If you don’t laugh, you cry.) But isms are not primarily about
individuals. As the UCLA School of Public Affairs states, “The individual
racist need not exist to note that institutional racism is pervasive in the
dominant culture.” U.S. law tends to focus on intentional discrimination,
because it is based on a dated understanding of what constitutes racism and
sexism, such as blatant employment discrimination, and housing covenants that
exclude certain named populations. But institutionalized discrimination is
simply the consequence of maintaining power and privilege for the groups
considered superior.
Another assumption I make is white supremacy and patriarchy are real.
I’m not interested in sharing statistics that prove them to be real. I’m not
here to convince you. If you do not already acknowledge these huge shaping
forces in our culture, then this conversation will not make much sense to you.
You have read the Bible, and I’m not the best person to explain how as
Christians we should care about how we interact in the church regarding race
and racism, gender and sexism. I have moved beyond needing a theological
justification for ending racism, or biblical interpretations for gender
equality. Let’s assume that’s a given. I leave that to others who give more
time and energy to it than I do.
I depart from the assumption that all of the history of what became
the U.S. is important. While forced removal of Native Americans and chattel
slavery shaped the south, where I now live, I grew up where Spanish colonialism
and its precursors, Native American reservations, anti-Indian policies, alien
land laws and Asian disenfranchisement, violence against Mexicans already on
the land, and the use of migrant farm labor shaped the racial landscape.
Race and gender are social constructs. We conflate the social
construction of gender with biological sex. Sex is about chromosomes. There are
many chromosomal variations on the XY and XX combinations into which we assume
the world falls. Gender is not a binary. I will probably be dead before the
Presbyterian Church is able to come to grips with that fact and starts giving
members the ability to classify themselves outside of the male/female binary.
Gender expression is how we live out our own gender, and is tightly policed in
U.S. society and particularly within the church. Definitions of what is gender
and what is acceptable gender expression vary by culture – in some cultures,
there are more than two genders. It is men that raise the children. Pink used
to be a boy’s color in the U.S. It is only real because we say it is real.
I do not believe race is real. I believe it has no biological
foundation. I believe race is real the way money is real – because we have
given it value. Race as defined by the U.S. is a social construct. It changes
constantly. Just take a look at every single U.S. census – the racial
categories are different every ten years.
We as a society have constructed race and gender as real, constricting
individual expression, disrupting solidarity, and giving us a series of tiny
little boxes into which we might organize our limited understanding of
humanity. However, I believe race and ethnicity lend meaning to our own
identities both as a result of our rich heritages and as a result of
racialization.
The last assumption I will name is that I am not particularly
interested in talking everything to death. I want to see change. I’m not what
you could call old, but I’m not exactly young, either. I’ve been in these conversations
around race and gender in the church for 15 years. I know others have been in
it for far longer, but I confess I’m impatient. I can do the long game, but I
very much want to be in this conversation with others who can think
collectively to organize for structural and cultural change. Other people
before us died for this. I think the least we can do to honor them is change
this church.
My Context
My context in regards to race, ethnicity, and religion is this: in my
family there are Asian Americans of Japanese and Chinese descent, Latin@s of
Mexican and Puerto Rican descent, white people, African Americans, white Jewish
people, Arab Americans, and so many multiracial people that we could make our
own cross-over feel-good commercials. In my family, there are Pentecostals,
Presbyterians from More Light to Confessing Church, Episcopalians, atheists,
Jews, Muslims, Catholics, Disciples of Christ, Buddhists, and a significant
population of “nones.” I grew up behind a Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day
Saints.
And I am so so Presbyterian, and my remarks today will largely address
the context of the Presbyterian Church (USA), because that is what I know best.
I dabbled with attending Lutheran and Methodist churches. I grew up going
occasionally to Assemblies of God and Baptist and Episcopal churches. My
favorite seminary classes were at the local non-diocesan Catholic seminary in
the same consortium as my Presbyterian seminary. But all these experiences have
confirmed that I’m just a Presbyterian. Because I was born in California, and
grew up in Presbyterian churches in the John Day Valley in eastern Oregon, and
on Bainbridge Island and the Kitsap Peninsula in western Washington, I’m a
particular kind of Presbyterian.
I never went through a confirmation class, so I’m the person who has
to look up the creeds in the hymnal. I’m the person who feels no need to
prioritize visiting the great American Presbyterian pilgrimage site of Iona. I
didn’t know we had an ethnic heritage as a Scottish church until I went to
seminary and heard that some churches have Sundays where all the men wear
kilts. I was horrified. I had grown up feeling so different from Lutherans, who
in my hometown sponsored the annual lutefisk-eating contest at Viking Fest, and
it turns out my religious people were just as specific.
My context in regards to gender is this: my parents, early on in their
relationship, were part of the Christian expression particular to Intervarsity
and the First Presbyterian Church of Berkeley in the mid-1970s. My mother once
told me, “We went to a workshop on wifely submission. It didn’t stick.” But
before our imaginations devolve into some sexist version of the nagging bossy
wife and the husband who has to keep her happy, my parents are deliberately
partners. They respect each other. My father, the one straight white guy in my
home growing up (the poor dude got beat up constantly), has never once
questioned my version of reality. He trusted me to tell him my reality, and he
believed it to be true. I take feminism seriously because my parents raised me
to take it seriously, and so did the churches that raised me.
I introduce myself in this way because I think there is more than one
way to experience racism and sexism. There are over 300 million ways in this
country, and over 1.8 million ways in the Presbyterian Church (USA). Our
conversation cannot depend upon a generic experience of racism (usually defined
by blackness) or sexism (usually defined by middle-aged white women) imposed
upon other experiences. Racism is not just about color. It is also about language,
culture, colonialism, national origin, and citizenship status. Sexism is not
just about how many women get to be heads of staff of tall steeple churches or
directors of church agencies. It is about how we continue to think about gender
identity and gender roles, and how those thoughts are embedded in our culture
and our policies. It is about earning potential; church policies around work
hours, compensation, and family leave; about how well churches minister to the
lived realities of women in their employ and women who choose to be part of
churches. It is about the culture of church leading change in the culture of
this country instead of propping up legal and cultural patriarchy.
I will focus primarily on racism in this time we have together, but
know that I approach this, understanding we are not just one thing at a time,
not just a person of color at one point and a woman at another point, but our
identities are multiple, mutually constitutive, complex.
Challenge
of Being Church Together
Church is hard. Even in a monoracial group, church is hard. I think
it’s because church involves people. Just so many different personalities. We
all bring our own sacred cows, our individual beliefs, our ideas of what are
our collective beliefs. We bring our own expectations of what church should be.
I love this church and its people. But as a diverse church with almost
2 million members, we experience wide variation in our capacity to talk about
race and gender in ways that are helpful. Some people do race and gender for a
living, and can have very sophisticated conversations. Some people think
talking about race and gender is racist and sexist. The varied capacities of
people in the church to speak about the very real issues of sexism and racism
makes these conversations challenging, and there are times when I just can’t.
Trying to explain to you that just because we have a black president and a
Filipino moderator that racism is still around… that just makes me tired.
The
Black-White Binary
We in the U.S. operate out of a black-white binary. We assume the
starting point for most of our racial conversations is slavery, and the ending
point is either Jim Crow or Trayvon Martin. I prefer the “yes, and” approach. I
believe the reason for Native American suppression and cultural genocide, slavery
and Jim Crow, Trayvon Martin and the current crisis in incarceration rates is
racism, and other reasons are economic. What is racist is that the lives and
well-being of people of color are just incidental collateral damage to the
power of white supremacy.
What is racist, too, is the ongoing divisions made among people of
color. You know of divide and conquer? That’s what happens when we focus only
on one thing, on one group. That’s what happens when the church tells us it can
only work on one issue at a time. That’s what happens when the church gives us
a tiny pot of money to be divided among multiple diverse groups, and we decide
to passive-aggressively fight over it instead of work together to make lasting
change. That’s what happens when we decide to say that our experience of racism
is more real than someone else’s experience of racism, and we base our organizing
and our solidarity on that decision.
For the church and our society to focus primarily on the relationship
between white and black, there was another group here before both of these
groups, and there is a giant growing diverse middle. You do know that by the
middle of the century, there will be more of us people of color than there will
be of white people. Now, I don’t delude myself into thinking this will mean
there will suddenly be racial justice everywhere. Isms are about power.
Patterns of wealth are racialized, and it will take generations to change any
of that. But I do know that if we as people of color would like to organize for
change, it would work a heck of a lot better if we tried working together,
instead of each of our groups interacting with white people and avoiding each
other.
What the “ism” of racism and the black-white binary both serve is
white supremacy. I’m not talking about the white supremacy of neo-Nazis moving
into Sandpoint, Idaho. I’m not talking about the white supremacy of the KKK in
southern Indiana. I’m talking about garden-variety white supremacy, the kind
that assumes whiteness is preferable, the kind that allows people to dabble in
other cultures without accountability. White people running yoga studios for
their own profit, and the daughter of the governor of Oklahoma wearing a Native
American headdress, using the excuse that in Oklahoma, one is exposed to Native
American culture and feels connected to it (as though there were one Native
American generic monoculture).
In this atmosphere of white supremacy and the black-white binary,
where is the identity of Asian Pacific American?
I have said before that I am Japanese and Jewish. I am multiracial.
But for the purposes of demographics, I’m Asian American. I’m the model
minority. Right? I got good grades and have two masters degrees and I work in a
church agency. I’m a home owner. When I talk, sometimes people listen. So what
right do I have to complain when it comes to racism and patriarchy?
The model minority stereotype reared its ugly head in the 1960s,
suspiciously timed with widespread social unrest. Some people talk about the
“riots” in black neighborhoods, and the Black Power movement. I find this
interesting, because not long after, yellow power and brown power and red power
movements were in full swing. Asian Americans were set up as the good people of
color, the good model minority, even though they were engaged in social change
movements.
You might be aware that there is more than one kind of Asian Pacific American.
Many, many kinds, with different cultures, languages, ethnicities, foods, and
ways of coming to the U.S. We are talking 34 countries in Asia, and within
those countries, many more language and cultural groups.
I was taunted as a kid for being Chinese or Hawaiian or whatever
people decided what kind of not-white I was (I could be Latina or Native
American, too), because in the U.S. all Asians are Chinese. I found that in the
realm of the national Presbyterian church, all Asians are Korean. I have filled
out a few PC(USA) national church forms in my day that have a checkbox for
“Korean” and a checkbox for “Other Asian.” Now, pretty much all Asian Pacific
Islanders have a very distinct ethnic identity, and pride in spades, so imagine
how annoyed I was with this.
The first problem with the model minority is that it jams together
people whose countries of origin the U.S. invaded, people who worked for the
U.S. government during the Vietnam war and who had to leave their countries as
a result, and their descendants, and people who came last year on a highly
specialized work visa. It includes people whose families have to wait 20 years
for a visa to the U.S., and people whose ethnicities and languages show up in
approximately zero U.S. government documents as a checkbox option. Asian
Pacific American is not an accurate way to classify people, and if Asian
Pacific Americans had our way, all the data would be disaggregated, so you can
see how the group I belong to (Japanese Americans) are vastly different from
other groups, like Hmong Americans or Iranian Americans.
The second problem with the model minority is that it presumes there
are good people of color and people of color who are problems. It tells people
in my group to not be like those black people, or, increasingly, those Latin@s.
It helps perpetuate the labeling of all black people as the wrong kind of
minority, despite all evidence to the contrary. It helps divide people of color
from one another, and disrupts our organizing potential.
The third problem with the model minority... I hate to break it to
America, but the politics of respectability is a lie. No matter how good you
act or how high your household income or how nicely you dress, at some point
someone is going to hurl a racial slur at you, or shoot at you, or stop you for
questioning because you look like an immigrant or other kind of criminal, or
not stop the cab to pick you up, or ask how your English can be so good. You
will always belong to a group less likely to experience economic mobility, and
more likely to experience higher rates of stress and discrimination than the
white population. We as people of color can end up twisting ourselves into
caricatures trying to make ourselves into the right people of color, instead of
interrogating the very culture and system that demand such dehumanization.
Dislocated
by the Binary
I felt included in racial conversations much of my growing-up, maybe
because there were so few of us people of color. Then I moved to New York. For
the first time in my life, I wasn’t special. This is important. It was
fantastic. I didn’t stick out. I could just blend in. There were those annoying
moments, like when a white guy interning at the UN asked me and another church
intern, who was from Tajikistan via Amsterdam, if we were sisters. I said, “You
mean in that general Asian way?” But I was also working with the UN World
Conference Against Racism, and I ran into the black-white binary so hard that I
started walking out of meetings. I had a vague sense that the struggles of
Latin@s, indigenous peoples, Asian Americans, and others didn’t count as much
as the struggles of African descendants, but I had no idea that this kind of
meeting would bring up everyone’s internalized pain, which would manifest in blatant
competition for resources and access to power. The U.S. non-governmental agency
community was in constant conflict.
Attending school at McCormick in Chicago was another challenge for me.
Even though the student body, just half white, and the city were plenty
diverse, the two largest groups were still white people and black people. The
primary participants in racial conversations were still black people and white
people, and I will always appreciate the audacity of the Latin@ and Asian
Pacific American students, and the space given to be part of a larger
conversation. Giving into marginalization in that setting would have been
giving up, and inserting ourselves into the racial conversation fought against
our being relegated to the margins as “cultural others” or what I might call
“window dressing.”
Conversations in the PC(USA) are often tied to the racial-ethnic
caucuses and ethnic specific congregations. These conversations for people of
color mean you’re either black or you belong to an immigrant group. And while I
work hard to be in solidarity with immigrants, because we are all stuck in this
crazy racialized category together, the most recent immigrant in my family is white
and English-speaking. The majority of my family has been here for over 100 years.
The issue for me is not language access (although that is important). My issues
are not about my culture and the church’s inability to deal with my cultural
differences (I know how to navigate whiteness and white culture. My people have
been doing it for generations.). My issues are about the racism that has helped
make this church what it is. Racism is embedded in our identity.
And I think we as a church have the capacity to forge an identity that
recognizes our participation in colonialism, racism, and other isms, without
giving these systemic evils the power they currently hold.
Moving
Forward
So how do we do this?
Let’s start simply. Let’s, as a church, allow for complexity of
identities. Let’s allow for a multiplicity of expressions. There is no one way
or best way to be Presbyterian, or Christian for that matter. Jesus wasn’t
white, nor did he speak English only.
Let’s also allow for a complexity of understanding how racism and
sexism are experienced in the church and in society.
How a first-generation immigrant Filipina experiences racism is quite
distinct than how a Native American man experiences racism. How a half Japanese
half Jewish woman experiences racism is quite distinct than how an African
American man experiences racism.
Let’s also quit using one another as props for our own theological or
political campaigns. There is nothing more exasperating than white churches
holding up “Hispanics” or “Koreans” or “international partners” or “young
people” as a rationale for changing our church policies or not changing our
church policies. While I believe advocacy is important, I think we tread too
far in the direction of other more dangerous and exploitative territory. What
was once held as a truism is rapidly shifting. No group is likely to be both
theologically and politically liberal or conservative based on the definitions the
church has relied on for decades. 63% of Hispanic/Latino Americans support same-sex
marriage rights. Asian Pacific Americans as a group overwhelmingly (71%) voted
Democrat in the last presidential election. Mexico City and South Africa and
Brazil have legalized same-sex marriage. Many of the churches that are our more
“conservative” partners around the world are also vehemently anti-free trade
and oppose the kind of capitalism practiced by this country and our
institutions, the kind of economic system that benefits us.
This just goes to show how complex are our belief systems,
affiliations, and convictions. If we have a belief, how about we claim it as
ours, and find a good way to substantiate our claims, instead of using these
monolithic imaginary others who are perfectly capable of speaking for
themselves, and often do speak for themselves, given the chance.
Let’s, as a church, address real inequalities. I have heard many
churches, many of them majority-white, wish the Presbyterian Church would stop
focusing on so many social issues and focus just on theological ones.
I’m sorry. Social issues are theological. It is a theological problem
if Christians believe employment opportunity for those with varying levels of
education, immigration, the criminal justice system, gun control, political
gerrymandering, disenfranchisement, voter ID laws, the financial services
sector, hunger, poverty, and economic inequality are not the business of the
church. These are things that have a disproportionate impact on the lives of
people of color. These are the problems that keep us from attaining a shot at
racial justice. These are the problems that shape our lives because we’re always
negotiating with banks to allow our in-laws to keep their homes, or finding
lawyers so our mothers can stay in the country, or finding people to write
letters attesting to the character of our wrongfully accused sons, or looking
for ways to feed our families. We have to worry about elected officials who
don’t look like us or care about our communities. This takes up a lot of time
and energy, and it is our faith that keeps us going. These are the
circumstances we bring with us to church every single Sunday.
It must be really nice to never have to worry about those things.
Never have to worry about discrimination. Never have to worry about getting a
loan from a bank. Never have to worry about laws regulating gun sales because
you think your son won’t be gunned down in the street. Never have to worry how
a police officer will react. What will drive us apart instead of together as
the church is if you dismiss my real life as just the “fluff” the church
shouldn’t be doing.
This might be weird, coming from the “other Asian” who is employed and
has citizenship and all kinds of access, but part of being Asian Pacific
American is needing to care about all these things. We are small, even if we
are the fastest-growing group in the U.S. We encompass great economic and
vocational diversity. And for anyone to care about our issues, we have to care
about the issues of other groups. We are not so different from each other. And
by building coalitions, by showing up for each other, we are more likely to get
things done.
I know that some of the partners in this work are white. In the end,
we are all on the same side, yes? Patriarchy and white supremacy serve no one,
not even the white men among us, even if white men do (statistically speaking)
stand a far better chance than others to benefit. Patriarchy and white
supremacy in the United States continue to divide us from one another, disrupt
our collective organizing power, compromise our Christian identity, minimize
our capacity to act like Christians, and dehumanize each one of us. While I do
not feel sorry for white men, I also know that the fullness of what it means to
be a man is severely limited by patriarchy, and the fullness of what it means
to be human is cut off at the knees in exchange for white privilege.
But people in power are going to have to start believing that
oppression and marginalization are real, without putting the burden of proof on
those who experience marginalization. And people with power will need to
grapple with the realities of the privilege the current structures have
afforded them. There’s no need to feel guilty, but there is a need to be honest
about it, and to find ways to be good and accountable partners in this work.
Our church has a lot of statements, many policies opposing inequality
and injustice.
You also know that our church and many churches struggle with allowing
both diversity and unity to creatively coexist. How can we be authentically
church in the midst of real disagreement about money, theology, sexual
orientation, pastoral discretion, Biblical interpretation? How can we be
authentically church when we do not like each other?
I’m straying into Biblical territory here, but I have heard we all
have spiritual gifts. Some of us do the complex and cutting-edge thinking. Some
of us do a great job of raising money. Some of us are activists, creating
change by pushing from the edges. Some of us are subversive, making change
inside large institutions, incrementally making these institutions more
life-affirming for all people. Some of us are great encouragers. Some of us
make sure there is food on the table. Some of us pray.
I believe I said something somewhere about showing up for each other.
I meant that across racial groups, and I mean it for different genders and
religious groups, too. We can’t hope to make change all by ourselves, all the
time. Maybe some of us were trapped in schools that taught the whitewashed
version of civil rights history, but the civil rights movements have been
incredibly diverse. There were many philosophies, change theories, streams of
thought. They were white and African American and Asian Pacific American and
Native American and Hispanic/Latin@. Civil rights work was transnational.
So if we of varying races, genders, and religious groups show up for
each other, and if we of varying spiritual gifts show up for each other, maybe
that is a way of finding how to be authentically church. Maybe that is how we
can create change.
Thank you.
Resources for Further Conversation
The Racism Study Pack, downloadable ecumenical studies for adults with sections on how to talk about race, white privilege, affirmative action, the Bible and racism, and a history of racism in the U.S.
Responding to Racism, downloadable ecumenical study for youth
Faith and Feminism: Ecumenical Essays, eds. Phyllis Trible and B. Diane Lipsett
Faith and Feminism: Ecumenical Essays, eds. Phyllis Trible and B. Diane Lipsett
I'm so impressed I'm just going to go read it again.
ReplyDeleteHa! You can watch it with all my attempts at humor here: http://oga.pcusa.org/section/ecclesial-and-ecumenical-ministries/gamoderator/third-conversation-unity-difference-whitworth-2014/
DeleteThis is effing awesome! Sorry to sort of swear on a Christian blog. But seriously. I love this! It makes me want to be Christian again.
ReplyDeleteHa! You can sort of swear here. It doesn't bother me. I'm glad this was helpful. I'm so glad to know you and your work!
Delete