The following is an excerpt from a blog entry (Why We Stand) posted today by Jenny Simmons. Jenny was the lead singer of the Christian band, Addison Road. The band is now disbanded, but Jenny continues to do solo projects and to write books. Addison Road is a favorite of mine among Christian bands (see my review of their song, “What Do I Know of Holy”). Years ago, at a UCC evangelism conference in Kansas City, I met Jenny’s parents.

As Jenny explains in her post, three months ago she gave birth to a daughter, Annie, and today she and her husband will take Annie to “her first peaceful rally,” because … it’s personal. It’s personal, not political.

Tonight we are taking Annie to her first peaceful rally to stand alongside the Refugee and Immigrant community of Nashville. This is why.

I gave birth to our daughter, Lucy, in October at Vanderbilt hospital in Nashville, Tennessee. Nothing went as planned and I’ve never felt more physically traumatized. That is another story, for another day. When I think back to my five day stay at the hospital there are only a handful of redemptive moments that come to mind. My nurse Miriam is one of them.

I’ve never been treated with as much compassionate love and kindness as I was by Miriam. I’ve also never been pushed harder. Twenty-four hours after my c-section, when I still felt delirious from the drugs and the pain of the epidural lingered in my back, she asked me if I had walked yet. ‘Walked? I can’t even urinate on my own,’ I thought. My face must have conveyed my fears.

“Get up,” she said with the authority of a mother who means business, “You have to walk. You have to take a few steps. I’ll help you. But you must get up. Let’s go.”

This is how I started walking and also how I started using the bathroom again.

“I need to take this catheter out of you, but your mind is not letting me. Your mind is not telling your bladder to go to the bathroom. And that is not good for you. I need you to tell yourself you must get up and go to the bathroom. I will help you. Let’s go.”

She patiently stood by my bed as tears rolled down my face and helped me stand. She held my arm as I inched my way to the bathroom, then she took off my underwear for me when I could not take them off for myself.

Her blend of humble love and forceful mothering were my lifelines to healing.

When it was time to leave the hospital, I cried.

I had never before been so intimately cared for by a nurse. She had become a small part of me, a part of my story. I couldn’t imagine not taking her home with me.

Miriam is a Muslim, Somali immigrant.

***

We will bring Annie to the Tennessee Immigrant and Refugees Rights Coalition Vigil and Rally tonight to show our support for the immigrants and refugees calling Nashville home. We will go out of honor and deep gratitude for all the Miriam’s in our community.

This is not political. It’s personal.

It’s not Republican, Democrat, Independent, or Libertarian. It’s not left wing or right wing or any wing.

It’s the way of Jesus. The one who taught us to love the orphan, widow, alien, stranger, sinner. The one who taught us to love our neighbors as ourselves …