Today, someone asked me how I was feeling; I replied honestly, "Overwhelmed." I have spent the past three days, facing the last-minute holiday crowds at stores all over three towns, trying to find gifts for 10 families. Late last week, a donor came through in a big way to help families in need for Christmas. And while the money was absolutely wonderful and angelic and exactly what we needed, it meant my weekend plans would now be consumed with making sure that dozens of children woke up to gifts on Christmas morning.
(Did I mention that this shopping excursion took place after feeding 350+ people at our Christmas celebration on Friday?)
I enlisted the help of my niece and nephew, and it was so much fun to shop together, thinking about these families, earnestly seeking just the right toy, the right color tennis shoes, the right Dora the Explorer accessory, etc. Today, however, I am exhausted, drained from interviewing the families, sorting the gifts, loading the items into cars. The phone has been ringing non-stop since 7am, with stacks of families who must regretfully be informed that all our funds have been depleted. (Why did they wait until 3 days before the holiday for help, I wonder?)
However, what has me keyed up most of all, is the fact that once this is all finished, I have to complete all of MY own holiday prep work, which did not get done this weekend.
How did Mother Theresa do this her entire life, and not grow exhausted or hostile at the continuous need that came to her door every day?
I pray for peace and composure, and a grateful heart. I've got them all, but they seem to be misplaced during this busy season...
Monday, December 22, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Not Easy
Yesterday, the call we had been dreading came, catching us off-guard after the joy of Thanksgiving. Vainly, we still clutched to small shreds of optimism, that perhaps he would pull through this once again, that wishing it away might change the outcome.
Somehow, I knew when the ambulance raced into the hospital parking lot, and the patient rep ushered me into the "quiet room", that things were worse this time. The quiet room was brightly lit, filled with overstuffed couches and boxes of kleenex, and bad hotel art on the walls. How I now hate this stuffy, windowless room!
Having to call his sister to share the bad news with her was the hardest thing anyone's ever asked me to do. At that moment, I didn't want to be the brave, dutiful niece; I wanted someone to comfort me. My voice was thick and shaky, and I knew even the gentlest words were simply breaking her heart. How do you tell someone their brother is gone?
I am weary. There are no other words.
Somehow, I knew when the ambulance raced into the hospital parking lot, and the patient rep ushered me into the "quiet room", that things were worse this time. The quiet room was brightly lit, filled with overstuffed couches and boxes of kleenex, and bad hotel art on the walls. How I now hate this stuffy, windowless room!
Having to call his sister to share the bad news with her was the hardest thing anyone's ever asked me to do. At that moment, I didn't want to be the brave, dutiful niece; I wanted someone to comfort me. My voice was thick and shaky, and I knew even the gentlest words were simply breaking her heart. How do you tell someone their brother is gone?
I am weary. There are no other words.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
No Place for Sissies
Last month, I visited the library at a local detention center. I was there to deliver Bibles and other books, and be introduced to the volunteer team that serves there each week. This was my first time in a jail, and I was grossly unprepared.
As the prison doors slammed shut behind us, I filed past several uniformed guards who were hunched over computer monitors, and seated inside a room of glass and steel. In the small library, however, it is just the volunteers, the prisoners, a few shelves of books, and me. Twenty grown men in striped jumpsuits and shackles: it all formed a picture of humanity that I had never seen up close before.
As I observed everything, I became aware that I was not breathing, not moving, and certainly not smiling. The truth is, I was terrified, and was rigidly focused on not fainting or having a panic attack. Outweighing all of these frightening feelings, however, was powerful disbelief. The library volunteers here at the jail are all over 75 years old!
They seemed happy as clams, perfectly content to serve here, in this windowless, confined, unfriendly place. The volunteers don't look like they've ever had so much as a traffic violation, yet they relate to the prisoners as if they are old friends. They are respectful, helpful, and most of all, non-judgmental. The tough, tattooed, unsmiling faces of some of these men don't intimidate the volunteers. They just accept them as they are... shackles and all.
Nearly every day, God continues to move me out of my comfortable, familiar routine. I pray He will equip me for the adventure. Even it it does include time in the local jail...
Be well.
As the prison doors slammed shut behind us, I filed past several uniformed guards who were hunched over computer monitors, and seated inside a room of glass and steel. In the small library, however, it is just the volunteers, the prisoners, a few shelves of books, and me. Twenty grown men in striped jumpsuits and shackles: it all formed a picture of humanity that I had never seen up close before.
As I observed everything, I became aware that I was not breathing, not moving, and certainly not smiling. The truth is, I was terrified, and was rigidly focused on not fainting or having a panic attack. Outweighing all of these frightening feelings, however, was powerful disbelief. The library volunteers here at the jail are all over 75 years old!
They seemed happy as clams, perfectly content to serve here, in this windowless, confined, unfriendly place. The volunteers don't look like they've ever had so much as a traffic violation, yet they relate to the prisoners as if they are old friends. They are respectful, helpful, and most of all, non-judgmental. The tough, tattooed, unsmiling faces of some of these men don't intimidate the volunteers. They just accept them as they are... shackles and all.
Nearly every day, God continues to move me out of my comfortable, familiar routine. I pray He will equip me for the adventure. Even it it does include time in the local jail...
Be well.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Decades of Determination
At last! A free moment, in a quiet coffee shop, and time to tap away with a blog update. (If the truth be told, I'm also taking a break from writing a speech for next Monday, addressing a group of mostly retired women.)
These strong women came together in the 1970s to address the problem of hunger in the community I now call home. Their early efforts of feeding sandwiches and giving away yard-sale clothing has now mushroomed into something much larger. I am serving as assistant director of this program, and am so grateful for these women who stepped up to the plate so many years ago, to offer hope and help to people in need. Thanks to them, we now offer emergency groceries to over 75+ families each week, in addition to feeding a hot meal five days a week to over 1,000 people.
Several of these women are now well into their 70s, 80s, and 90s, and remain committed supporters to this outreach they began so many years ago. Ferociously loyal, they come each week: to work in the food pantry, to work in the clothes closet, to serve on the meal line. These dear ladies have seen it all, and indeed, are not shocked by anything! They seem to be unflappable, even in the most distressing, heart-wrenching situations... all while radiating a generosity that nearly takes your breath away. I marvel at their determination, at their commitment, at their abundant hearts that give and give and give.
These strong women came together in the 1970s to address the problem of hunger in the community I now call home. Their early efforts of feeding sandwiches and giving away yard-sale clothing has now mushroomed into something much larger. I am serving as assistant director of this program, and am so grateful for these women who stepped up to the plate so many years ago, to offer hope and help to people in need. Thanks to them, we now offer emergency groceries to over 75+ families each week, in addition to feeding a hot meal five days a week to over 1,000 people.
Several of these women are now well into their 70s, 80s, and 90s, and remain committed supporters to this outreach they began so many years ago. Ferociously loyal, they come each week: to work in the food pantry, to work in the clothes closet, to serve on the meal line. These dear ladies have seen it all, and indeed, are not shocked by anything! They seem to be unflappable, even in the most distressing, heart-wrenching situations... all while radiating a generosity that nearly takes your breath away. I marvel at their determination, at their commitment, at their abundant hearts that give and give and give.
Friday, June 6, 2008
If We Don't, Who Will?
Two elderly men in different parts of the country topped today's local and national news. The chilling video of the man who stepped out into traffic and was struck by a speeding car has been widely circulated across media outlets. A crowd of onlookers gathered, yet no one helped the man, who lay in the street, bleeding and hurt. Currently, the police have no leads on the hit-and-run driver, and no witnesses have yet come forward.
In local news, an Alzheimer's patient wandered away on Wednesday night, and was not found until late evening on Thursday. He was found in the cemetery, far from his apartment, and had suffered a head injury. No additional details were made about his condition.
Stories like these are disturbing and upsetting, but perhaps they serve a greater purpose: to remind us that we are responsible for one another. We have an obligation to help those who can't help themselves. If we don't, who will?
Be well.
In local news, an Alzheimer's patient wandered away on Wednesday night, and was not found until late evening on Thursday. He was found in the cemetery, far from his apartment, and had suffered a head injury. No additional details were made about his condition.
Stories like these are disturbing and upsetting, but perhaps they serve a greater purpose: to remind us that we are responsible for one another. We have an obligation to help those who can't help themselves. If we don't, who will?
Be well.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
It's Just Stuff
Part of being an adult is to learn and practice daily empathy and awareness; to do it, even when it's inconvenient or uncomfortable. For the past few weeks, I've been conducting a small, but personally significant, commitment to live simply. What does my life look like, with only the scantest of personal effects near me? Exactly what is the purpose of relinquishing my most cherished, familiar belongings – why such a drastic, and unrequired experiment?
I've been reading a good bit lately about the challenges seniors face when they leave home, due to healthcare or other quality-of-life issues. What thought processes are at work when deciding what to take and what to part with? From a lifetime's accumulation of stuff, how do you pick out those few personal artifacts, the key reminders of the person you once were? How do you downsize and still maintain your Self?
If a guest walks into my home right now, they will find nothing to identify the things and people I love, the passions I have, the causes I care about, the things I find beautiful, and compelling, and comforting. There is very little left here, and it has caused some striking journal entries, at times uplifting or crushingly sad.
No doubt, it is liberating to proudly say, "YES! I am living simply: there is more to life than stuff. How uncluttered this space is: how zen!" During the darker times, though, the now wide-open space is frightening and unfamiliar. I reach for a shirt that's no longer in the closet, a spice that's no longer in the kitchen, a book that no longer sits on a shelf that's no longer there.
Today, after an afternoon of unhurried conversation with a friend, I found myself dancing along the swept-clean, sun-dappled hardwood floors, loving this freedom of abundant space, with no worries of broken rhythm, due to in-the-way furniture. I am thinking about the minister's story today about Hearst Castle, and how Mr. Hearst accumulated, to put it simply, "lots of stuff." So much stuff, in fact, he built castles totaling more than 90,000 square feet to house it all. "And then," she continued, "do you know what he did?" We waited for her answer, which was, "He died." All that stuff, and yet, it was not enough to keep him here, and he didn't get to take any of it with him.
I've had many heart-opening ideas throughout this little experiment: about myself and about our obsessive consumerist culture. I've also struggled mightily, letting go of attachments I had with my stuff.
In the end, as I keep reminding myself, it's just stuff. And whether it's here or somewhere else, it's all going to be okay.
Be well.
I've been reading a good bit lately about the challenges seniors face when they leave home, due to healthcare or other quality-of-life issues. What thought processes are at work when deciding what to take and what to part with? From a lifetime's accumulation of stuff, how do you pick out those few personal artifacts, the key reminders of the person you once were? How do you downsize and still maintain your Self?
If a guest walks into my home right now, they will find nothing to identify the things and people I love, the passions I have, the causes I care about, the things I find beautiful, and compelling, and comforting. There is very little left here, and it has caused some striking journal entries, at times uplifting or crushingly sad.
No doubt, it is liberating to proudly say, "YES! I am living simply: there is more to life than stuff. How uncluttered this space is: how zen!" During the darker times, though, the now wide-open space is frightening and unfamiliar. I reach for a shirt that's no longer in the closet, a spice that's no longer in the kitchen, a book that no longer sits on a shelf that's no longer there.
Today, after an afternoon of unhurried conversation with a friend, I found myself dancing along the swept-clean, sun-dappled hardwood floors, loving this freedom of abundant space, with no worries of broken rhythm, due to in-the-way furniture. I am thinking about the minister's story today about Hearst Castle, and how Mr. Hearst accumulated, to put it simply, "lots of stuff." So much stuff, in fact, he built castles totaling more than 90,000 square feet to house it all. "And then," she continued, "do you know what he did?" We waited for her answer, which was, "He died." All that stuff, and yet, it was not enough to keep him here, and he didn't get to take any of it with him.
I've had many heart-opening ideas throughout this little experiment: about myself and about our obsessive consumerist culture. I've also struggled mightily, letting go of attachments I had with my stuff.
In the end, as I keep reminding myself, it's just stuff. And whether it's here or somewhere else, it's all going to be okay.
Be well.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Why The Funnies Made Me Cry
How simply this illustrates love in everyday life, and what a colorful reminder of how we all may find ourselves relying on each other, at some point in our lives.
As I fold and crease this ink-smudged cartoon to save in my "worth reading again" folder, I'm thinking about why this simple cartoon caught me off-guard. I'm struck by the similarities between this and what has become my Mother's daily routine over the past few years, all displayed with uncompromising good humor and affection.
Perhaps I'm also holding onto this cartoon, because it's such a gentle, honest reminder that lasting love is constant, patient... and fragile. I wonder if my Mother has any idea how important, and inspiring, her work is right now.
As I begin to switch off the lights on this day, I say a prayer for all caregivers, who seem to love without effort and give without hesitation. It is humbling, and reassuring, to be in their presence.
Be well.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
In the News
From today's "Ask Marilyn" column, as penned by Marilyn vos Savant, Guinness World Record Hall of Fame member (www.marilynvossavant.com/bio.html)
When asked her opinion on the best moral barometer of a country, Ms. Vos Savant offers this succinct and pointed response: "The esteem in which society holds its elderly."
In other news, the death of William F. Buckley Jr. this week was the subject of several op-ed pieces. I thought the words of speechwriter L. Boggs were particularly meaningful...
"Buckley gave a glimpse of what a life well-lived can look like: enjoying what you do, pursuing your passions, loving your spouse, working out your faith each day. He made each moment count."
No matter where we might sit on the political fence, that's good advice to take to heart any day.
Be well.
When asked her opinion on the best moral barometer of a country, Ms. Vos Savant offers this succinct and pointed response: "The esteem in which society holds its elderly."
In other news, the death of William F. Buckley Jr. this week was the subject of several op-ed pieces. I thought the words of speechwriter L. Boggs were particularly meaningful...
"Buckley gave a glimpse of what a life well-lived can look like: enjoying what you do, pursuing your passions, loving your spouse, working out your faith each day. He made each moment count."
No matter where we might sit on the political fence, that's good advice to take to heart any day.
Be well.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
In Georgia, with India on my mind
I have recently returned from India; it continues to color my thoughts, and in moments of daydreaming and searching, I am transported back to that mysterious, beautiful, and complex land. I am hungry to know more, to experience more.
Despite its current mad dash to modernity and global expansion, the traditional Indian culture has long honored their elder citizens with deeply felt respect, and I wonder if this is a by-product of their surroundings: seeing the care and homage paid to temples centuries-old, or city squares and palaces still proudly standing, despite the changing political structure and ruling classes. Perhaps religion is responsible: with the prevalent belief centered around reincarnation, one is careful to be kind, so that he can return in the next life in a higher state of being. Perhaps the real explanation for this phenomenon of eldercare is simply a tradition powerfully and continuously extended through generations, much like a trade or skill passed down from father to son.
In Mumbai, many of the city parks reserve special hours for senior citizens, offering them tea and a safe and lovely place to stroll. All forms of transportation offer discounts to seniors, and nursing homes were, until recently, few in number. Regrettably, however, as more children seek educational and/or career opportunity overseas, the majority do not return to India, and their aging parents are left behind. I will be watching how the government and people of India respond to this looming crisis.
During this trip to India, I kept a journal of drawings and observations of the places we visited, the people we met, the sights we saw, the food we ate. My scribblings won't change the world, but they did change me.
Be well.
Despite its current mad dash to modernity and global expansion, the traditional Indian culture has long honored their elder citizens with deeply felt respect, and I wonder if this is a by-product of their surroundings: seeing the care and homage paid to temples centuries-old, or city squares and palaces still proudly standing, despite the changing political structure and ruling classes. Perhaps religion is responsible: with the prevalent belief centered around reincarnation, one is careful to be kind, so that he can return in the next life in a higher state of being. Perhaps the real explanation for this phenomenon of eldercare is simply a tradition powerfully and continuously extended through generations, much like a trade or skill passed down from father to son.
In Mumbai, many of the city parks reserve special hours for senior citizens, offering them tea and a safe and lovely place to stroll. All forms of transportation offer discounts to seniors, and nursing homes were, until recently, few in number. Regrettably, however, as more children seek educational and/or career opportunity overseas, the majority do not return to India, and their aging parents are left behind. I will be watching how the government and people of India respond to this looming crisis.
During this trip to India, I kept a journal of drawings and observations of the places we visited, the people we met, the sights we saw, the food we ate. My scribblings won't change the world, but they did change me.
Be well.
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