WHY WE HAVE A CHARTER FOR RACIAL JUSTICE PROGRAM GEARED FOR WISCONSIN
| 2013cfrjprogram_pdf.pdf |
Did you know that each year a sub-committee of Wisconsin Conference United Methodist Women executive committee creates a program focused on Wisconsin using the Charter for Racial Justice? From its inception in 2010, the Charter for Racial Justice sub-committee has created two programs and has now completed a third for 2013.
Judy Vasby, Wisconsin Conference United Methodist Women President, realized some of the local units felt there was no reason to use the Charter for Racial Justice in any programming at their local churches. As she states in an email from April 2010: “…I prefer to work with the unit presidents’ concern that the Charter [for Racial Justice] is not relevant for local units. This has been heavy on my heart for the units in Wisconsin for some time, and I have urged the formation of a sub-committee—not necessarily those who are required to be on the Racial Justice committee, but those who have a strong interest in the subject regardless of office. This sub-committee is charged with creating a program that can be used in every unit in Wisconsin, using facts and issues that are pertinent just to Wisconsin.”
Judy goes on to say, “I want us to understand why the black women in Milwaukee should care about the Native American women up north in reservations; why the Hmong women should care about the Hispanic women all around the state; why the
white women in the small country town of Viroqua should care about any of these other women who don’t live near them. We need to feel one another’s pain and share one another’s joy. We need to think about concerns that we share: needs of
children, family life, having enough money to live on, adequate health care, housing, aging, and so on. We need to hear the voices and stories of women in our own state. We need to think about how job losses affect not just local communities, but the state at large—through loss of taxes that support education and welfare/helping government programs and so on—just at a time when more people than ever need assistance. We need to see if certain ethnic groups are more affected than others by layoffs, environmental practices, lack of school funding, lack of medical care, and so on.”
This is why Wisconsin United Methodist Women created the Charter for Racial Justice sub-committee. But the sub-committee isn’t tasked to just present the facts in order for units to simply regurgitate them to their members. Although facts are pertinent to racial justice issues that affect our entire state and the communities within, they do not tell the whole story or help us express empathy and motivate us to act in the name of Jesus. In the same email, Judy states, “Then, once we have presented facts from Wisconsin, so that we understand we are all affected by racial justice issues, we need to search our hearts for ways to express empathy (sisterhood) and ways to remedy problems (social action), which will vary according to unit and individual.
“Anchoring all of this will be biblical stories and scripture. Prayers and litanies will be provided.”
As I sat on the conference call for the Charter of Racial Justice sub-committee, I was a bit at a loss as to why this sub-committee was so important. Yes, as Communications Coordinator, I already posted the two programs to our website (www.wisconsinumw.org) that were already created. But it wasn’t until I read these powerful words from Judy that I truly understood what we were doing. How the Charter for Racial Justice can actually be used to help the women of Wisconsin fully understand and share those statistics and facts in a way that brings us all together in community.
I didn’t grow up in Wisconsin and never really understood the diversity situation until I moved here. I was even accused of being a racist when I stated I don’t see the color of a person’s skin. That was quite an eye-opening moment. The thing is, my neighborhood back in California was fairly integrated. There were two Hispanic families who lived across the street from us in our middle class part of town. I attended a high school that had Hispanic, black and white students intermingling on a daily basis. I didn’t know people by their race, ethnicity or the color of their skin. I knew them by personality and actions. People were people.
Hispanics weren’t lazy. Blacks weren’t gang bangers and victims. Whites weren’t perfect and certainly weren't superior to anyone else because of skin color. We were just people—kids going to school. We had our disagreements and our faults, just like any group of high school students. We had cliques and popular kids. I was a band geek and didn’t care if anyone labeled me that way, because I loved music and enjoyed the camaraderie of being part of a diverse group of kids from various backgrounds.
I participated in sports with Hispanic and black girls who played just as well or maybe even better than I did. I ran track side-by-side with Hispanics and blacks who could run as fast as and even faster than I could. Truth be told, I never gave a thought to their race or ethnicity. They were just competitors, friends, people I knew and hung around with. They weren’t the “them” and I the “we”. We were just “us.” Skin color, race, ethnicity didn’t factor in.
Once a year, at Christmas, my family went to the house of my dad’s friend’s wife’s family. The women were in the kitchen making homemade tamales and my brothers and I played with the kids. Becky’s family just happened to be Hispanic. I never really made the distinction until much later in life. Now I really miss those tamales. They were awesome!
My grandfather made a statement to me when I was about thirteen years old (and didn’t yet have a boyfriend). Right out of the
blue he says to me, “Stacy, I hope you never marry a black man and have children.” When I asked him why (I was more than a
little taken aback by the comment in the first place, by the way), he said he didn’t want my kids growing up in a world that would ridicule them for the color of their skin. Needless to say, that very brief conversation has stuck with me for years. I later learned from my grandmother, years after my grandfather had passed away, that he and his brothers were members of the Klu Klux Klan in Oregon. My grandmother tried to tell me it was just another social group, not the racist group we all know it to be. Yeah, right. I don't believe that for one minute. My grandfather was a racist. Who knew? I just knew him as the loving, accepting man who helped raise me. He and my grandmother took my brothers and me to church every Sunday. He kept a watermelon under the steps of their mobile home and a pie and bacon on the counter in the kitchen. He was just Grandpa.
But it wasn’t until I moved to Oshkosh, Wisconsin, that I truly began to realize the need for a Charter for Racial Justice. When we
moved here twenty-some years ago, Oshkosh was populated by mostly white families. The Hmong had not yet settled here and
there were not a lot of black or Hispanic families living here. Despite its Native American name (Oshkosh is named after Chief Oshkosh, whom my father-in-law had the privilege of meeting long ago), Oshkosh doesn’t even have a Native American presence. To put it bluntly, this place was very white when we moved here.
Over the years, however, that has changed. There is a very strong Hmong presence now, as evidenced by the Hmong kids who hang out at County Park during softball season. They also have quite a large Hmong celebration at the park during the summer. We discovered that on a weekend when we showed up to practice for our softball season. It was like LifeFest, except
that nearly everyone there was Hmong. I certainly felt out of place among so many people who looked and talked differently than I did. It was like stepping into another universe.
I’ve also noticed the downtown housing has become more integrated with blacks and Hispanics, as well as an increasing population of gays. I work downtown, but don’t live there. And my children go to a predominantly white rural school
outside of Oshkosh. I tend to“see” the differences more now than when I was growing up in that integrated (and fairly
insulated) neighborhood back home. I’ve seen a few houses that were once neat and clean and have since become rundown and untidy. The neighborhoods are still quiet and orderly. But I also hear about “What’s happening in Green Bay” with all the racial and ethnic changes they are experiencing. I hear about Racine and Kenosha, places that were once fairly white. Do I really know what is happening in the state of Wisconsin? Not really. Do I understand what it means to come to Oshkosh as a minority? Nope.
So, why should I care what happens in Milwaukee or Madison or Green Bay or Viroqua or any of the other communities in Wisconsin? Why should I care that students in the Milwaukee schools don’t have the same opportunities and education level that my kids have in a mostly-white rural school? Why should I care where my taxes go or how the governor takes away the collective bargaining rights of public workers? How does a teacher in Milwaukee who uses their salary to buy supplies for the
classroom affect me? Is it any of my business that the loss of jobs throughout the state, as mills and manufacturing close their doors and move outside the country, affects those who came here for a better life for themselves and their families? Do I care that Hmong elderly women are committing suicide because they feel they have lost their place in the family in this new land of
opportunity? Why should I care that the bridge that connects Appleton to Menasha is nicknamed the Polish Connection?
I’m not a member of the black, Hispanic, Hmong, Korean, German, Polish, Norwegian, Italian or any of the other racial/ethnic communities that have settled here in Wisconsin over the years. I’m not even French. My maiden name is Henderson. My father was a California Highway Patrol officer until his retirement in 2008. Both of my brothers served their country in the Army, one of which retired from active service after 20 years and now works for a private contractor that sends him to the Middle East for two months out of every three.
I care because my family has been through tough times, just like any family. My husband hasn’t lost just one job over the years, but several. Was it because he was white? No. He was let go for economic and “other” reasons. I went back to college after my
oldest daughter was born and after my husband lost his first job here in Wisconsin. I received grants and scholarships, including the Mabel Heil (the Wisconsin United Methodist Women scholarship). I graduated after my second daughter was born during the middle of a school semester.
While I was pregnant and after my son was born, I went on the WIC (Women, Infants and Children) Program. We also received
subsidies from ADVOCAP and other programs for struggling families. We started a business that failed only two years after
opening its doors. Both my husband and I had to find jobs to support the family. Times were tough. My husband took an entry level position with a printing company in Grand Chute. His job didn’t pay well and I still had no job. We barely made ends meet and lived in a tiny two-bedroom place with three small children.
I finally found a job working for a major business services management company right here in Northeast Wisconsin. During the six years I worked as a contractor and serviced the leased equipment onsite at one of the nation’s most-renowned manufacturing
companies, I noticed how the economy was affecting the manufacturing business. Several of the company’s manufacturing plants closed while I was there. The diaper plant was the first to close its doors and move its manufacturing out of the country, leaving a husk of a vacant building right on the major artery that connects Milwaukee to Oshkosh to Green Bay. The company’s feminine care products manufacturing plant closed soon thereafter. Along with the manufacturing, the business offices eventually were pared down, moved elsewhere and eliminated altogether. I walked into buildings on days when whole departments were told they no longer had jobs. It broke my heart to watch people try to go about their day when they knew the day would end and they would need to find another job.
After six years, I left my position and became the managing editor of two aviation magazines in Iola, Wisconsin. Talk about rural and predominantly white. Iola is about 30 minutes north of Waupaca and out in the middle of farm country. Rivers and lakes surround it. There is not much there, except for two member publishing companies that compete with each other. I went to work for one of them. It was an hour drive each way. I had to leave my youngest daughter in the care of "friends” while the other three were in school.
Three weeks after I started, a shareholder came aboard and attempted to take over the struggling company, which at the time was publishing ten monthly hobbyist magazines, including the two aviation magazines I was in charge of. His attempts to take over and make the company profitable were in vain, despite the fact he eliminated three of the costliest magazines. The company was losing money left and right. Our two member magazines were the only ones turning any kind of profit. The writing was on the
wall for me in October of that year, when he hired someone to be my Editor in Chief. In December of that same year, I knew it was just a matter of time before I was out the door with our top sales person, who was also let go.
I was fired from my position after only being there eleven months. It was a blessing and a curse all rolled into one. I was on
unemployment that eventually ran out. I couldn’t find a job, even with a college degree. Times were tough and soon to get even tougher.
My in-laws, who owned the house we lived in, had to file bankruptcy in order to get out from under the mounds of medical debt they had accrued after my father-in-law underwent a five-bypass surgery. His health quickly went downhill and so did our hopes to save the house. We lost the house just last year and moved into a two-bedroom apartment in Oshkosh.
Justice. That is the word I identify with most when the subject of the Charter for Racial Justice comes up. I can only imagine the struggles others in this state have faced as they watch their own hopes and dreams fall by the wayside. I can’t even imagine what it is like to live in the inner city and watch children struggle to learn in school while their parents work two or three jobs just to put one meal on the table, pay rent and try to survive without health care.
I have been blessed, even amidst the struggles and challenges we’ve faced as a family. I haven’t lived in my car or wondered where my next meal might come from. So many face these struggles on a daily basis. Many are women, children and youth. Many more are black, Hispanic, Hmong, Korean, Native American—the list goes on. Racial justice is about creating a just world for all, not just the privileged few. It is about embracing our differences and celebrating those differences, while also realizing that we all face different challenges and struggles. A child who is black should not be looked at as a criminal just because of the color of their skin or the neighborhood in which they live. They should not be treated any differently than the children who live in rural white communities. They should have the same opportunities, the same level of education and the same health care as their white brothers and sisters.
This is the 21st Century! We should have already moved well past those days of judging an individual or group based on their race, ethnicity and cultural background. But the key to moving past those differences and embracing who we are as people is through education. And education must continue, even into our elder years. As human beings, it is in our very nature to keep learning new things, even long past the days of our youth.
The Charter for Racial Justice sub-committee has completed a program for learning and growth for use in our local United Methodist Women units and circles. The 2013 Charter for Racial Justice Program will help us all “Find Our Oneness” by exploring the cultural celebrations and customs of our sisters. We hope to demonstrate values and foster respect for one another’s ways by focusing on the racial/ethnic groups right here in Wisconsin United Methodist Women. I hope and pray that you will share this program and past programs with others. I pray that you will use one or two of the programs throughout the coming months to educate other United Methodist Women members and the women of your church in the vast diversity that we all share right here in Wisconsin.
A downloadable version of the program is listed below and at the top of this page. Download it. Share it! We are a community of women whose purpose is to know God. What better way to know and understand His love for us than to embrace our differences and share in the creative and supportive fellowship of togetherness that binds us through Jesus Christ?
God bless all my sisters in Christ!
Stacy Ganzer is the Communications Coordinator, Website Administrator and Editor of Catch the Vision for Wisconsin Conference United Methodist Women. She also updates the Wisconsin Conference UMW Facebook page and shares her insights via blog.
Judy Vasby, Wisconsin Conference United Methodist Women President, realized some of the local units felt there was no reason to use the Charter for Racial Justice in any programming at their local churches. As she states in an email from April 2010: “…I prefer to work with the unit presidents’ concern that the Charter [for Racial Justice] is not relevant for local units. This has been heavy on my heart for the units in Wisconsin for some time, and I have urged the formation of a sub-committee—not necessarily those who are required to be on the Racial Justice committee, but those who have a strong interest in the subject regardless of office. This sub-committee is charged with creating a program that can be used in every unit in Wisconsin, using facts and issues that are pertinent just to Wisconsin.”
Judy goes on to say, “I want us to understand why the black women in Milwaukee should care about the Native American women up north in reservations; why the Hmong women should care about the Hispanic women all around the state; why the
white women in the small country town of Viroqua should care about any of these other women who don’t live near them. We need to feel one another’s pain and share one another’s joy. We need to think about concerns that we share: needs of
children, family life, having enough money to live on, adequate health care, housing, aging, and so on. We need to hear the voices and stories of women in our own state. We need to think about how job losses affect not just local communities, but the state at large—through loss of taxes that support education and welfare/helping government programs and so on—just at a time when more people than ever need assistance. We need to see if certain ethnic groups are more affected than others by layoffs, environmental practices, lack of school funding, lack of medical care, and so on.”
This is why Wisconsin United Methodist Women created the Charter for Racial Justice sub-committee. But the sub-committee isn’t tasked to just present the facts in order for units to simply regurgitate them to their members. Although facts are pertinent to racial justice issues that affect our entire state and the communities within, they do not tell the whole story or help us express empathy and motivate us to act in the name of Jesus. In the same email, Judy states, “Then, once we have presented facts from Wisconsin, so that we understand we are all affected by racial justice issues, we need to search our hearts for ways to express empathy (sisterhood) and ways to remedy problems (social action), which will vary according to unit and individual.
“Anchoring all of this will be biblical stories and scripture. Prayers and litanies will be provided.”
As I sat on the conference call for the Charter of Racial Justice sub-committee, I was a bit at a loss as to why this sub-committee was so important. Yes, as Communications Coordinator, I already posted the two programs to our website (www.wisconsinumw.org) that were already created. But it wasn’t until I read these powerful words from Judy that I truly understood what we were doing. How the Charter for Racial Justice can actually be used to help the women of Wisconsin fully understand and share those statistics and facts in a way that brings us all together in community.
I didn’t grow up in Wisconsin and never really understood the diversity situation until I moved here. I was even accused of being a racist when I stated I don’t see the color of a person’s skin. That was quite an eye-opening moment. The thing is, my neighborhood back in California was fairly integrated. There were two Hispanic families who lived across the street from us in our middle class part of town. I attended a high school that had Hispanic, black and white students intermingling on a daily basis. I didn’t know people by their race, ethnicity or the color of their skin. I knew them by personality and actions. People were people.
Hispanics weren’t lazy. Blacks weren’t gang bangers and victims. Whites weren’t perfect and certainly weren't superior to anyone else because of skin color. We were just people—kids going to school. We had our disagreements and our faults, just like any group of high school students. We had cliques and popular kids. I was a band geek and didn’t care if anyone labeled me that way, because I loved music and enjoyed the camaraderie of being part of a diverse group of kids from various backgrounds.
I participated in sports with Hispanic and black girls who played just as well or maybe even better than I did. I ran track side-by-side with Hispanics and blacks who could run as fast as and even faster than I could. Truth be told, I never gave a thought to their race or ethnicity. They were just competitors, friends, people I knew and hung around with. They weren’t the “them” and I the “we”. We were just “us.” Skin color, race, ethnicity didn’t factor in.
Once a year, at Christmas, my family went to the house of my dad’s friend’s wife’s family. The women were in the kitchen making homemade tamales and my brothers and I played with the kids. Becky’s family just happened to be Hispanic. I never really made the distinction until much later in life. Now I really miss those tamales. They were awesome!
My grandfather made a statement to me when I was about thirteen years old (and didn’t yet have a boyfriend). Right out of the
blue he says to me, “Stacy, I hope you never marry a black man and have children.” When I asked him why (I was more than a
little taken aback by the comment in the first place, by the way), he said he didn’t want my kids growing up in a world that would ridicule them for the color of their skin. Needless to say, that very brief conversation has stuck with me for years. I later learned from my grandmother, years after my grandfather had passed away, that he and his brothers were members of the Klu Klux Klan in Oregon. My grandmother tried to tell me it was just another social group, not the racist group we all know it to be. Yeah, right. I don't believe that for one minute. My grandfather was a racist. Who knew? I just knew him as the loving, accepting man who helped raise me. He and my grandmother took my brothers and me to church every Sunday. He kept a watermelon under the steps of their mobile home and a pie and bacon on the counter in the kitchen. He was just Grandpa.
But it wasn’t until I moved to Oshkosh, Wisconsin, that I truly began to realize the need for a Charter for Racial Justice. When we
moved here twenty-some years ago, Oshkosh was populated by mostly white families. The Hmong had not yet settled here and
there were not a lot of black or Hispanic families living here. Despite its Native American name (Oshkosh is named after Chief Oshkosh, whom my father-in-law had the privilege of meeting long ago), Oshkosh doesn’t even have a Native American presence. To put it bluntly, this place was very white when we moved here.
Over the years, however, that has changed. There is a very strong Hmong presence now, as evidenced by the Hmong kids who hang out at County Park during softball season. They also have quite a large Hmong celebration at the park during the summer. We discovered that on a weekend when we showed up to practice for our softball season. It was like LifeFest, except
that nearly everyone there was Hmong. I certainly felt out of place among so many people who looked and talked differently than I did. It was like stepping into another universe.
I’ve also noticed the downtown housing has become more integrated with blacks and Hispanics, as well as an increasing population of gays. I work downtown, but don’t live there. And my children go to a predominantly white rural school
outside of Oshkosh. I tend to“see” the differences more now than when I was growing up in that integrated (and fairly
insulated) neighborhood back home. I’ve seen a few houses that were once neat and clean and have since become rundown and untidy. The neighborhoods are still quiet and orderly. But I also hear about “What’s happening in Green Bay” with all the racial and ethnic changes they are experiencing. I hear about Racine and Kenosha, places that were once fairly white. Do I really know what is happening in the state of Wisconsin? Not really. Do I understand what it means to come to Oshkosh as a minority? Nope.
So, why should I care what happens in Milwaukee or Madison or Green Bay or Viroqua or any of the other communities in Wisconsin? Why should I care that students in the Milwaukee schools don’t have the same opportunities and education level that my kids have in a mostly-white rural school? Why should I care where my taxes go or how the governor takes away the collective bargaining rights of public workers? How does a teacher in Milwaukee who uses their salary to buy supplies for the
classroom affect me? Is it any of my business that the loss of jobs throughout the state, as mills and manufacturing close their doors and move outside the country, affects those who came here for a better life for themselves and their families? Do I care that Hmong elderly women are committing suicide because they feel they have lost their place in the family in this new land of
opportunity? Why should I care that the bridge that connects Appleton to Menasha is nicknamed the Polish Connection?
I’m not a member of the black, Hispanic, Hmong, Korean, German, Polish, Norwegian, Italian or any of the other racial/ethnic communities that have settled here in Wisconsin over the years. I’m not even French. My maiden name is Henderson. My father was a California Highway Patrol officer until his retirement in 2008. Both of my brothers served their country in the Army, one of which retired from active service after 20 years and now works for a private contractor that sends him to the Middle East for two months out of every three.
I care because my family has been through tough times, just like any family. My husband hasn’t lost just one job over the years, but several. Was it because he was white? No. He was let go for economic and “other” reasons. I went back to college after my
oldest daughter was born and after my husband lost his first job here in Wisconsin. I received grants and scholarships, including the Mabel Heil (the Wisconsin United Methodist Women scholarship). I graduated after my second daughter was born during the middle of a school semester.
While I was pregnant and after my son was born, I went on the WIC (Women, Infants and Children) Program. We also received
subsidies from ADVOCAP and other programs for struggling families. We started a business that failed only two years after
opening its doors. Both my husband and I had to find jobs to support the family. Times were tough. My husband took an entry level position with a printing company in Grand Chute. His job didn’t pay well and I still had no job. We barely made ends meet and lived in a tiny two-bedroom place with three small children.
I finally found a job working for a major business services management company right here in Northeast Wisconsin. During the six years I worked as a contractor and serviced the leased equipment onsite at one of the nation’s most-renowned manufacturing
companies, I noticed how the economy was affecting the manufacturing business. Several of the company’s manufacturing plants closed while I was there. The diaper plant was the first to close its doors and move its manufacturing out of the country, leaving a husk of a vacant building right on the major artery that connects Milwaukee to Oshkosh to Green Bay. The company’s feminine care products manufacturing plant closed soon thereafter. Along with the manufacturing, the business offices eventually were pared down, moved elsewhere and eliminated altogether. I walked into buildings on days when whole departments were told they no longer had jobs. It broke my heart to watch people try to go about their day when they knew the day would end and they would need to find another job.
After six years, I left my position and became the managing editor of two aviation magazines in Iola, Wisconsin. Talk about rural and predominantly white. Iola is about 30 minutes north of Waupaca and out in the middle of farm country. Rivers and lakes surround it. There is not much there, except for two member publishing companies that compete with each other. I went to work for one of them. It was an hour drive each way. I had to leave my youngest daughter in the care of "friends” while the other three were in school.
Three weeks after I started, a shareholder came aboard and attempted to take over the struggling company, which at the time was publishing ten monthly hobbyist magazines, including the two aviation magazines I was in charge of. His attempts to take over and make the company profitable were in vain, despite the fact he eliminated three of the costliest magazines. The company was losing money left and right. Our two member magazines were the only ones turning any kind of profit. The writing was on the
wall for me in October of that year, when he hired someone to be my Editor in Chief. In December of that same year, I knew it was just a matter of time before I was out the door with our top sales person, who was also let go.
I was fired from my position after only being there eleven months. It was a blessing and a curse all rolled into one. I was on
unemployment that eventually ran out. I couldn’t find a job, even with a college degree. Times were tough and soon to get even tougher.
My in-laws, who owned the house we lived in, had to file bankruptcy in order to get out from under the mounds of medical debt they had accrued after my father-in-law underwent a five-bypass surgery. His health quickly went downhill and so did our hopes to save the house. We lost the house just last year and moved into a two-bedroom apartment in Oshkosh.
Justice. That is the word I identify with most when the subject of the Charter for Racial Justice comes up. I can only imagine the struggles others in this state have faced as they watch their own hopes and dreams fall by the wayside. I can’t even imagine what it is like to live in the inner city and watch children struggle to learn in school while their parents work two or three jobs just to put one meal on the table, pay rent and try to survive without health care.
I have been blessed, even amidst the struggles and challenges we’ve faced as a family. I haven’t lived in my car or wondered where my next meal might come from. So many face these struggles on a daily basis. Many are women, children and youth. Many more are black, Hispanic, Hmong, Korean, Native American—the list goes on. Racial justice is about creating a just world for all, not just the privileged few. It is about embracing our differences and celebrating those differences, while also realizing that we all face different challenges and struggles. A child who is black should not be looked at as a criminal just because of the color of their skin or the neighborhood in which they live. They should not be treated any differently than the children who live in rural white communities. They should have the same opportunities, the same level of education and the same health care as their white brothers and sisters.
This is the 21st Century! We should have already moved well past those days of judging an individual or group based on their race, ethnicity and cultural background. But the key to moving past those differences and embracing who we are as people is through education. And education must continue, even into our elder years. As human beings, it is in our very nature to keep learning new things, even long past the days of our youth.
The Charter for Racial Justice sub-committee has completed a program for learning and growth for use in our local United Methodist Women units and circles. The 2013 Charter for Racial Justice Program will help us all “Find Our Oneness” by exploring the cultural celebrations and customs of our sisters. We hope to demonstrate values and foster respect for one another’s ways by focusing on the racial/ethnic groups right here in Wisconsin United Methodist Women. I hope and pray that you will share this program and past programs with others. I pray that you will use one or two of the programs throughout the coming months to educate other United Methodist Women members and the women of your church in the vast diversity that we all share right here in Wisconsin.
A downloadable version of the program is listed below and at the top of this page. Download it. Share it! We are a community of women whose purpose is to know God. What better way to know and understand His love for us than to embrace our differences and share in the creative and supportive fellowship of togetherness that binds us through Jesus Christ?
God bless all my sisters in Christ!
Stacy Ganzer is the Communications Coordinator, Website Administrator and Editor of Catch the Vision for Wisconsin Conference United Methodist Women. She also updates the Wisconsin Conference UMW Facebook page and shares her insights via blog.
| 2013cfrjprogram_pdf.pdf |