all of the selves we Have ever been
As we have opportunity, let us do good to all. - Galatians 6:10 I am a woman on a mission. I am looking for a few good men. Well, not just men. I am looking for good people of any sort. Two stories have taken up residence in my head launching me on this mission. The first story is about Edmund Burke, a respected member of the British Parliament in the 18th century. The words, all that is required for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing, have frequently been attributed to Burke. While those exact words have not survived fact checking, in Thoughts on the Cause of the Present Discontents (1770), Burke is recorded as saying: When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle. The second story on my mind is the Bible’s tale of the destruction of Sodom. The Lord tells Abraham that the city will be destroyed due to wickedness. Abraham’s nephew, Lot, lives there with his family. Abraham beseeches the Lord to consider saving the city if fifty righteous men can be found. The Lord agrees, but Abraham continues to negotiate. They settle on a final number, and the Lord says, “For the sake of ten, I will not destroy it.” We all know how the story ends: the city burns, everything is destroyed. Lot escapes, but his wife disobeys God’s instructions. She looks back as she flees and turns into a pillar of salt. It has been impossible to escape the daily news in 2021. Dare I look back? The year began with a pandemic threatening our health, weather events threatening our planet, and angry politicians threatening our democracy. People have remained uneasy and some have given voice to a fear that we are approaching the end of times. I am not a prepper. I have no fortified bunker. I do not stockpile nonperishable foods or practice survival skills, but I do want to be ready. If the Lord offers me a deal, I want to have list so that I can name names. In a country of 334 million people, I pray I can find fifty good ones. So far, I’ve got Ed, the homeless gentleman I wrote about on November 16th. A week later, I encountered a nameless and faceless truck driver, but I jotted down his license plate number. God will know the driver by his deeds. I encountered the truck driver as I headed out of Columbus via Interstate 71 North. The urban traffic was heavy and aggressive, moving much faster than the legal limit. My entire body was brittle with tension as I held my breath and I merged from the city ramp onto the highway. Traffic continued to whiz past me even though I was going the maximum posted speed. Feeling anxious and looking forward to getting beyond the city limits, I tucked myself in behind a Wooster Motor Ways truck. Remarkably, the driver maintained the speed limit and slowed for vehicles merging into the heavy traffic. I felt a rush of relief in finding this personal escort, a guardian angel. I followed the semi out of town and through the countryside. We traveled a good sixty miles together before parting ways at the Route 30 exit. While it is a small thing to obey the traffic laws and show consideration to other drivers, it is not without significance. Maybe God will see it as a test of character, a measure of goodness. Then on November 29th, I met Ahmal. After several days of cold, rain, sleet, and snow flurries, the sun came up. By mid-afternoon the thermostat registered a sunny 42 degrees, and I headed outside for a walk. A half a block from home, I saw two obstacles blocking the narrow path ahead. One item appeared to be a bulging gym bag about three feet wide. Bright orange extension cords poked out from the top. Next to the bag was a Shop-Vac. As I came closer, I saw a man standing on the curb studying his smartphone. “Do you know where West Fifth Avenue is,” he asked. “It’s about a half a block straight ahead.” The man looked so relieved, I thought he might cry. “That’s good. That’s good,” he said as he picked up his things. “I’m headed that way. I’ll walk with you.” The man refused to let me carry a thing even as sweat poured from his scalp and dripped onto his shoulders. A few steps in, the man sat the items down in an attempt to re-adjust his load. At that point, I insisted, “hand me the Shop-Vac.” As we made our way to the bus stop, the man told me his story. He had gotten a ride to a local business to detail a food truck. The splattered grease stain that covered his white tea shirt corroborated the story. He told me that he had loaned his rent money to a family member with the promise that the money would be repaid by the time the rent came due. The borrower had not repaid the loan. With just two days remaining, this desperate but determined man was taking every odd job he could find to meet the first-of-the-month deadline. He told me how he had lost his regular job doing yardwork and landscaping when the weather turned cold. Perhaps there was more to the story, but I would not look for fault in a man willing to work this hard to pay his rent on time after sacrificing for a loved one. Slowing down, the man squinted and looked ahead, “I don’t see it. I don’t see no bus stop!” Feeling his exhaustion, I encouraged him to keep going. “The sign is hidden by the trees. We’re almost there.” We took a few more steps. “I see it! I see it now! I got about a two hours bus ride to get home and change so I can get to my next job.” As I set the Shop-Vac down on the sidewalk next to the bus stop sign, the man asked me my name. “Lilli,” I said.” “I’m Ahmal,” and he threw his arms open wide, embracing me with the gratitude of a man whose life had been saved. I felt entirely unworthy and said a prayer of thanksgiving for the sun and the mild temperature that propelled me onto the bike path and into his arms, for the strength to share the mental load and to carry his Shop-Vac to the bus stop. And because I was fortunate, my rent was paid. In this time when everything is askew and the headlines warn of more doom and gloom to come--the end of democracy, the end of decency, the end of the earth, I am buckling down on my mission to find fifty good people. I add Ahmal to the list. The holiday season is a good time to embark on this exercise. In the Christian tradition, Christmas marks the birth of a savior. It is a story of hope, a season of second chances. For Christians, that is not fake news, it is the Good News. But good does not triumph easily. Because it comes into the world quietly and with humility, it risks being overlooked and demeaned. Sometimes there is no room for it at the inn. But a light shines upon goodness for those who seek it. Wise men travel far to find it. In the secular tradition, Christmas is about a jolly old man who sees us when we’re sleeping. He knows when we’re awake. He keeps track of our deeds with his own list of who is naughty and who is nice. He checks his list not once but twice. The nice are rewarded on Christmas morning. I had the good fortune of being born in the post-war era, a time of growth, abundance, and opportunity. I never questioned that I lived anywhere but in the greatest country on earth. Despite our history and our difficulties, I always believed that we would keep growing, and that, in the end, good would triumph in this homeland. The past few years have challenged my beliefs and sense of national identity. COVID has rattled the nerves of everyone on the planet and arrived at a time when democracy was already under grave threat all around the world. News of the day can make it hard to keep believing. But it is Christmas. Whether you celebrate in the Christian tradition or the secular, Christmas is an important reminder of hope, a message that God, or the Something Greater, does not give up on us. Goodness matters and good can be found in surprising places. Mankind is an imperfect lot, but also an unfinished one. There is still time. May goodness find you this Christmas. Prepare to name names.
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With democracy crumbling all around the world, I went looking for some happier news that I could sink my teeth into. I landed on something big! Today, December 8, 2021, is National Brownie Day. I am not talking here about apprentice Girl Scouts; I am talking about the chewy delicious food that made it hip to be square. Of course, controversy swirls even in a world of just desserts. Who is the actual inventor of the brownie? Is it the socialite Bertha Palmer, wife of the Palmer House Hotel owner? Some say that in 1893 she instructed her hotel chef to come up with a small cake that would fit in a boxed lunch. The Palmer House brownie contained walnuts and apricot glaze. The invention stuck to Bertha’s hips and to the Palmer House Hotel menu. A few years later, in 1904, some real housewives in Maine claimed the title of inventor with their recipe for the Bangor Brownie. Who knows? But by 1907 the brownie appeared for the first time in a cookbook, and the recipe gained wider circulation. Since then, Americans have consumed brownies in numbers that make the Build Back Better budget look measly. During the pandemic, I came across a simple brownie recipe that is my family’s new favorite comfort food. Given the length of the pandemic, I have made it many times. These brownies are delicious warm and even better a few minutes out of the freezer. The recipe calls for chocolate chips, and we have tried them all: mint, peanut butter, and various types of chocolate. Our favorite is the Ghirardelli Premium Baking 60% Cacao Bittersweet Chocolate Chips. (Sorry, Hershey’s!) Feel free to experiment. Remember that you're not alone if you prefer nutless--60% of people do. One Bowl Brownies (courtesy of Hershey’s) Makes 16 brownies. Ingredients: 1 ¼ cups sugar 2 eggs ½ cup melted butter 2 teaspoons vanilla extract 2/3 cup all-purpose flour ½ cup Hershey’s Cocoa ½ teaspoon salt ¼ teaspoon baking powder 1 cup chocolate chips Directions:
Should the news leave you in a mood to stir things up, grab a bowl and a hand mixer. Take to the streets with an armful of brownies. Savor the wonders of this American invention and the reminder that we are still capable of creating good things that last. (With or without the nuts.) You might have guessed by now. I got a new calendar for 2021. I never knew there were so many holidays. There seems to be a special occasion every day of the year. If it weren’t for all of the COVID-19 restrictions, life would be nothing but party, party, party. The month of March is Women’s History Month, yesterday was International Women’s Day, a day to celebrate the social, economic, cultural, and political achievements of women. Sounds auspicious, but I didn’t hear much about it. Instead, the news was filled with stories about women being sexually harassed in the work place by the governor of New York. The top story was Meghan Markle’s depressed mental state while serving as a royal duchess. Lawyers were appointed to investigate the Cuomo allegations and Markle left The Firm. Buried in the back pages was a blurb about the two million American women that departed the work force due to the changes wrought by the pandemic. I guess all of that news put a damper on the International Women’s Day festivities. Looking ahead on my calendar for a better day, I notice that International Women’s Day is one week before National Napping Day that occurs on March 15th this year. Is that merely a coincidence? I think not. After all of those hard won and lost achievements, women are tired. A nap is in order, but why is napping only given a day and not a month? Why not an entire year? And why isn’t the holiday international? After further research, I discover that National Napping Day is a day to raise awareness of the positive benefits of napping and to catch up on that lost hour of sleep due to “springing forward” for Daylight Savings Time. A holiday inaugurated by a lost hour of sleep? For real? Women are so chronically sleep deprived that the only springing forward left in them is to lunge for the throat of the next person who says women running households “don’t work.” I swallow the lump it my own throat, it is my beef with the women’s movement, a movement that elevated everything that men do– opportunities that come with a pay check, but it did nothing to elevate what it is that women do. Why can’t it work both ways? The world has long ignored the contributions of women, especially their contributions in the home—the numerous social welfare functions provided by women for free: watchful eyes in the neighborhood that add to public safety, the socialization and discipline of children, education, homework help, before and after school care, health checks and medication dispensing, meals, summer programs, transportation, help for elderly and ill neighbors and extended family members, orderly homes, healthy meals, intimacy and social connection...Those burdens have been passed along to schools, social service organizations, and government. Many of the services continue to be provided largely by an underclass of “working” women for whom we show our regard through substandard wages. Ironically, it is women in the home who add to the life expectancy of men. Studies show that married men live longer than their unmarried counterparts. The same does not hold true for women. Why? Because it is women who remind their husbands to take their medicine and go to the doctor, to eat right, and get some exercise. Men call that nagging. The nagging wife has become the derogatory social stereotype for smart women. But science doesn’t call it nagging. Science calls it conscientiousness. The conscientious live longer, even if vicariously. Unfortunately, for women, due to lower wages throughout life, the ladies live longer but too many end their lives in poverty. Women are expected to be virtuous, not acknowledged or compensated. The symbols of virtue, all of virtue’s heavy-hitters, are women. Lady Justice tramples the snakes and does it blindfolded for not a single billable hour. Lady Liberty stands on her feet night and day for hundreds of years holding a lamp beside the golden door. She gets a crown and a good view, but no one wants to admit that what she does is hard work. Instead, all folks can do is complain about the people she lets in. And poor Mother Earth—she’s having hot flashes and begging for someone to turn down the heat, but can she get an ounce of cooperation? Perhaps Edna St. Vincent Millay was right: “It's not true that life is one damn thing after another; it's one damn thing over and over.” Giving birth to civilization has taken a lot out of women even if none of the effort was considered “work.” Taming the flames and keeping the home fires burning is what women do. Even if unrecognized and unpaid, it is not without value. So, if the International Women’s Day festivities were a bust in your house too, grab your superhero cape, claim your worth and your place on the couch. Monday, March 15th is National Napping Day. This one’s for you, tired sisters. . He told them I was valiant, and that became my name. Prince Valiant The house fell on us this year. Everything went wrong. With a virus running rampant and restrictions in place, people were unable to travel. Some could not even leave their houses. We discovered that “there is no place like home,” is only true when there is somewhere else to go. Home, it turns out, is both a place and a way of life. No ruby slippers, no click of the heels, can take us back to the way it used to be. It was a year that was tough on love and a year for tough love: weddings delayed, marriages strained, parent-child relationships taxed, children behind computer screens, older relatives behind glass windows. It is difficult to find love when gathering places are closed and we are masked and standing six feet apart. This will be a different Valentine’s Day. The traditional holiday symbols of red hearts, paper doilies, perfumes, and chocolates have been replaced with face coverings, stockpiles of toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and lavender-scented wipes. Chocolate is no longer reserved for a special occasion; it has become a daily over-the-counter medicine for a chronic case of hard times. The longer the pandemic drags on, the broader the definition of hard times becomes. In addition to the coronavirus, we’ve endured weather disasters and wild fires, social unrest, political upheaval, and insurrection. On Valentine’s Day, the snow is up to our noses. No wonder we’ve replaced “Have a nice day!” with “Stay safe!” The words “Happy Valentine’s Day” can be a mouthful to a toddler learning to speak. When my children were that age, the words came out sounding more like “Happy Valiant Times Day.” I thought those greetings were innocent mispronunciations, but it turns out, children can be clairvoyant. This year I am trading “Happy Valentine’s Day” for “Happy Valiant Times Day” with my childhood mental images of Prince Valiant and his Singing Sword undefeatable in a fight for a worthy cause. It has not been easy weathering this medical, social and political apocalypse. For the past year we’ve focused on the worthy causes of staying alive and protecting the lives of others. It has meant many days of isolation, fear, loss, boredom, loneliness, frustration, confusion, and financial uncertainty as chaos overtook the spaces where we once lived in peace. Many lived terrified each day with nothing to think about except how the rent would get paid or where food might be found. Even as people took action to preserve their health and safety, they wondered if they would live to see their grandchildren again, if they would ever work again, or have the simple pleasures of going to a restaurant or trying on new clothes. They wondered if they would ever again feel comfortable going to a concert or using a public restroom. Throughout the past year, we dangled from the windows of our old world: drive-throughs and grab-and-go restaurants, curbside pick-up-and-delivery, kisses blown into the wind, hands pressed to glass…it has been a daring, no-contact battle. We never imagined the determination it would take to follow the not-so-simple health and safety guidelines, the courage it would take after 365 days of solitude to stay home one more day, the dedication that would be necessary to show up at the computer and do the homework. Those who were able to do so kept working and serving others—steering wheels and syringes, grocery bags and boxes became the new Singing Swords doing overtime. This year, our hearts were tested and the contents exposed for everyone to see. This year made it evident: to give your heart, you must first have one. May history look back on this time, look back on us, and remember that we were kind, generous, cooperative, selfless, determined, and brave. May they call us valiant. For the millions of people who lost loved ones this year, this holiday is especially for you. Happy Valiant Times Day! History…is a larger way of looking at life. It is a source of strength, of inspiration. It is about who we are and what we stand for and is essential to our understanding of what our own role should in in our time. History, as can’t be said too often, is human. It is about people, and they speak to us across the years. -- David McCullough, The American Spirit It seems Abraham Lincoln has been doing a lot of talking lately. In our time of dramatic social strife, it has become popular for politicians of every stripe to invoke the name and words of Lincoln who warned us that a house divided against itself cannot stand. While Lincoln’s words remain brilliant, offering insight and direction, I sometimes find myself offended by the name-dropping. Some of those invoking the late President’s name need to clean up their acts if they want to associate with Lincoln. Ask a child to name a president, and the child will likely name Washington or Lincoln. They are both memorable, one for being the first to hold the office, and the other for not becoming the last. They were leaders at remarkable moments in history. I doubt there is a person of my generation who did not cut out at least one construction paper silhouette of either president. Lincoln’s words come back to us at this time of division both nationally and within the Republican Party, but Lincoln remains appealing for many reasons. Foremost, he was one of us. He knew difficult times. Lincoln came from humble beginnings, and his family moved several times. Lincoln knew how to do hard physical labor. Though his parents were illiterate, Lincoln was determined to be self-educated and was known to walk miles to borrow a book. He knew the pain of childhood grief. His biological mother died when Lincoln was nine years old. He had the disappointment of a marriage proposal declined, and later, experienced a break-up of a relationship with Mary Todd that left Lincoln depressed and despondent. After the two reconciled and married, they had four children. Only one child lived to adulthood. Lincoln lost his share of elections before winning the White House, and throughout his life, he continued to suffer recurring bouts of depression. His wife, Mary Todd, also suffered from psychological problems and, after Lincoln’s death, she was declared insane. When I think of Lincoln, I think of someone very human. I think of intelligence, faith, humility, compassion, endurance, and resilience. Lincoln’s brand was authenticity. He understood the importance of words carefully chosen and delivered in the right place at the right time. In the absence of Twitter and social media, he had many timely and memorable things to say. He was an influencer who has stood the test of time. Ryan Holiday in his book, The Obstacle is the Way, wrote: Lincoln’s words went to the people’s hearts because they came from his, because he had access to a part of the human experience that many walled themselves off from. His personal pain was an advantage. Despite the gravity of the times in which he lived, Lincoln maintained a sharp wit and a sense of humor, qualities that we can sure use now. Described as tall, lanky, homely, emaciated-looking, awkward, and downright ugly, Lincoln said: If I were two-faced, would I be wearing this one? Honestly, Abe. We love your face! Happy Birthday. It is National Wear Red Day, a holiday to remind us to take care of our hearts. With Valentine’s Day approaching, we might want to clean up and lose a few pounds—the traditional, pre-holiday ritual. I am a big fan of red. With that in mind, I search my wardrobe for something festive to wear. I come out of the closet with a hat, a shawl, and a purse--too bad I’ve got nowhere to go. Undeterred by my dull wardrobe, I will not be limited by my outer wear; I decide to rely upon my rich interior life and think red thoughts. Since I am undertaking this exercise for my health, I exclude reflections on Communism and politics from my mental celebration of National Wear Red Day. Red is a hot, dominant, and potent hue. It is the color of fire and of blood. Viewing the color red can increase a person’s blood pressure. Red can shore up confidence, enthusiasm, and courage. Red is the color of love, passion, energy, and action--the color of Valentine’s Day. Red can also be a symbol of danger. The Devil wears red. “Seeing red” leads to anger and violence. Red is a universal warning sign to STOP! While my mind registers the meaningful contradictions expressed by the color red, red has always been a symbol of hospitality for me. The red carpet is rolled out to honor powerful and important people. And it is rolled out when we welcome guests and loved ones into our home. Throughout my childhood, my Uncle John and Aunt Janet rolled out the red carpet for us at their home in Cadiz, Ohio. In a world of subdued tones and avocado green carpeting, John and Janet’s house had a red living room—red carpet, red furnishings, red glassware. It was magic. The room was alive, greeting people as they entered the front door. A kid could tickle the keys on the piano that sat in front of a big window. Sunlight illuminated the many books and magazines that lined the shelves. Photos of loved ones occupied the table tops. This family gathering place encompassed an old farm house on a dead-end street. The sprawling acreage contained shady trees, a swimming pool, a tennis court, a basketball hoop, and a horse grazing in the front yard. The dining room with its extended table was the largest room in the house. Aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and pets kept things lively. The Kennedy’s compound at Hyannis Port, Massachusetts had nothing on us! There is a saying, “Hospitality is a form of worship.” Uncle John and Aunt Janet showed us that. They opened their home to us at any time. They were perpetually focused on our needs. Their home was a place to be free and to be connected. They had good hearts, and they knew what was good for ours. On this National Wear Red Day I remember why I love the color red and the importance of having a good heart. The proper thing to wear today is my heart upon my sleeve. It is Groundhog’s Day. Nothing new. We’ve been living the same day for more than a year. Just when we thought that hope had arrived inside a syringe, epidemiologists advise us that we are not nearing the end of the pandemic; we are at the beginning of a new variant-inspired phase that could be worse than anything we’ve experienced thus far. Happy Groundhog’s Day. I am waiting for social media to light up in outrage that Punxsutawney Phil got to see his shadow this morning when the rest of us have been social distancing, afraid to even look in a mirror. How do you know that you have been effectively social distancing for a year? You know you’ve been socially distancing when-- 1. Taking out the trash is an outing. 2. You think of the curb outside your home as a nightclub. 3. You ask the neighbors to blow their leaves into your yard so you can rake them up. 4. You replace the plumbing just for something to do. 5. Moving your car from the street into the garage is a road trip. 6. You schedule a time to talk to yourself. 7. You send yourself emails. 8. You eat food right out of the package--and that includes salad and baked beans. 9. Telemarketers have stopped calling because you talk too much. 10. You make a telehealth appointment to see how the doctor is doing. 11. You forget how long it has been since you last showered. 12. You put 14 miles on your car all year, and it will be 214.8571 years before your car needs an oil change. You go ahead and book the appointment. 13. You forget how to eat with a fork. 14. You salivate when the doorbell rings. 15. You buy stuff online just so you can return it. 16. You are arrested for trimming the neighbor’s shrubs. 17. You walk stray dogs. 18. People think you are making fun of them when you say have a nice day. 19. Someone gives you the finger and it feels like a friendly gesture. 20. You long for a church sermon about the annual fund drive. 21. A workout is sitting up straight. 22. You forget to wear pants. 23. A fire drill is a nice get together. 24. You turn yourself in for removing the tags from your mattress and sofa cushions. 25. You’ve binge watched everything including your home security camera footage. 26. You are jealous of your friend’s dentist appointment. 27. You realize that smell is not coming from the litter box… 28. When someone asks where you live, you give them your IP address. 29. You don’t realize you are still in your pajamas until you spill coffee on yourself at the convenience store. 30. You are willing to do hard time just for a hug. If you can identify with the above, then you’ve been social distancing. I am hoping Punxsutawney Phil is right—just six more weeks of this. Happy Groundhog’s Day! |
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April 2024
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