All It Takes Is A Little Love

War is a serious thing and all intentions to start a war should be very carefully considered. Once the first rallies occur it becomes exceedingly difficult to put the genie back in the bottle. History has shown us again and again that war is terrible for everyone even as there have been times when war was the only solution for stopping tyrants. 

In particular stopping the march of Adolf Hitler through Europe was only going to be accomplished by fighting after he had started the takeover of nations. It was ugly and the aftermath left much of Europe in ashes that took decades to overcome. War is never something to be taken lightly and must always be agreed upon by the representatives that the people have sent to Congress as voices for us. War should be carefully planned and thought out lest we open a Pandora’s Box the leads only to death and destruction rather than progress. 

My father-in-law fought in the Korean War with other soldiers from Puerto Rico. He was happy to give his service but he is always the first to proclaim that war should never be taken lightly. To this very day he is unable to speak of what he saw on the battlefield. It is not a source of boasting for him but rather a somber time to remember silently. Our efforts in Korea did little to stop the Communist regime in the north of that country. Perhaps its best outcome was at least giving the southern portion of the nation the freedoms that my father-in-law wanted them to have. 

We went to war in Vietnam once again hoping to stop the spread of communism. It seemed like a noble cause but all of the efforts to free the nation ended up being for naught as the democracy collapsed and the north Vietnamese ultimately won. So many young men on both sides of the fight ended their lives early for a cause that most probably was never going to turn out the way we had all hoped. 

And so it went in Afghanistan and Iraq. We think that if we just free the people from the tyrants that they will eagerly work to set up democratic systems that bring freedom and harmony. Sadly none of those things happened. Once again we found ourselves wondering why we had sent the treasure of our young men and women to die. 

It should be obvious that we cannot project our will on other cultures or other people who do not think the same way that we do. It is tempting to believe that we are the good guys only trying to help those suffering under the thumbs of dictators but the situations are far more complex than that. No plan so far has worked to rebuild a nation by eliminating the authoritarians who run them. Thinking that the oppressed will be able to rise up, pull themselves together and topple the oppressive government without a plan and leaders is naive at best. 

Our nation came about with a declaration of independence that outlined the beliefs of representatives from the colonies. Theirs was a plan even as it seemed absurd to challenge one of the strongest armies in the world. There was a determination that kept things going and all of it was homegrown, not the interference of a foreign government. The uprising has to come from the people, not from the outside with advice that may or may not ring true to those who live in horrific places. 

Iran like much of a Middle East has been a kind of powder keg for decades. For more than a century outside governments have tried their hands at influencing the governing bodies. Many nations have tried and failed to artificially create democracies in places with cultures and religions very different from their own. Often the rationale for such interference has had more to do with gaining access to oil and other treasures than from concern for the people of those nations. In fact, a good argument can be made that much of the chaos that we presently see in the Middle East has resulted from imperialist efforts to shape the world according to the needs of outside nations. 

Nobody asked the American people if we wanted to go to war with Iran. Nobody took the time to discuss the possibilities of war with the Congress. We only recently ended our years of battling in Afghanistan and Iraq and I suspect that most Americans are weary of the whole idea of stirring the pot in Iran. Besides there were ongoing talks that might have led to an agreement if given a bit more time. 

It is the right of Congress to declare war, not the president. That is written in the Constitution because the Founding Fathers were disturbed by the idea that a single person would have the authority to embark on war without discussion of the pros and cons. What Trump has done is wrong and at least for now seems without merit. 

We are cutting back on all kinds of programs for Americans presumably to balance the budget but now we miraculously have the funds to spend on a war with Iran that nobody voted on? Do we really want our taxes to be used for such a thing or does this seem to be only an effort by the president to take our attention away from inflation, the Epstein files and other real problems that we now face? Do we really want to send our young people to a faraway land that may actually resent our presence. Why would we want to make our nation less safe by provoking Iran? Does anyone actually believe that this move will lead to positive change with little or no effort?

At the age of seventy seven I have little to lose so I am angry that old men are so blithely deciding to put our young people in harm’s way. How can we sit still when a draft dodging president says that some of our young people will die? Does he plan to send his son to the fight?

I do not like the Iranian government but I am a realist and the odds are slim to none that bombing them will bring about a glorious revolution. If we want to help someone we have a better chance of good results by sticking by Ukraine and our European allies. This move in Iran will not go well and it will be our young who will once again suffer the most. When will we learn that lesson? 

I was baptized in the Catholic Church when I was an infant so I don’t recall that day. All I have is a document naming the priest who performed the ceremony and the name of my godmother who was my Aunt Polly. As it turned out the same priest officiated at my wedding. His name was Father John Perusina and by the time I met him he was an older man with white hair but my mother remembered him as having reddish hair when he was younger. There was a kind of wonderful irony in the fact that I became close to him as an adult and his wisdom often guided me until the day of his death. 

My Aunt Polly was a wonderful godmother. She looked out for me and my mother for all of her life. She visited me on my first day of school as a first grader when I was terrified and my lunch was filled with ants. She was a woman of action and took charge by bringing me a new sandwich and making sure that my lunch would never again be invaded by insects. She was always a delightful presence in my life until her death at the age of ninety five where I learned what a faith-filled Catholic she had been. I still think of her with her larger than life personality and her love that never faltered. 

My mother faithfully sent me to Catholic school for my education. I skipped kindergarten and went straight into the first grade. I was too young to have my first communion with the other students so it was not until I was in the second grade that I celebrated that lovely moment. I remember being much more excited about the white dress and veil that I got to wear on that occasion than the actual sacrament. I loved my prayer book and rosary and still have those things tucked away in a special place.

I would spend all twelve years of my pre-college life in Catholic school where I got daily lesson is religion, a subject that is now often listed as theology. I took what I learned quite seriously and since we lived within a short walking distance from school I often began my mornings by attending mass. I appreciate the education that I received from the School Sister sof Notre Dame and Carmelite priests along with a few lay teachers here and there. They generally prepared me well for college and my future life. I thought that I had the religious aspects of my beliefs figured out until I began to enjoy Sunday tea time and conversation with my mother-in-law. As a convert to Catholicism she had read countless books by theologians so that she might more fully understand what faith is all about. From her I developed a more mature perspective about God and what it really means to be a Catholic. Mostly I realized that a relationship with God demands us to use our free will and intellect to make decisions that honor the value of our fellow humans. 

I have kept up with my faith but I have found myself picking and choosing which parish to attend. Through my mother-in-law I spent many moments with Father Perusina, the priest who had baptized me and he taught me so much about building an adult relationship with God. He made me more aware of my responsibilities to my fellow humans implied by the simple message from Jesus that our main task is in life is love one another. 

I worked for a time as a Director of Religious Education but I never felt completely relaxed in that position. I still struggle to know and understand my role as a Catholic and Christian. I felt out of place attempting to guide people like Father Perusina and my ever faithful and studious mother -in-law had done for me. I had more questions than answers which I suspect has more to do with my personality than my beliefs. Getting to know God is such a personal journey and somehow I believe that it necessarily varies from one person to another. I see God as a guide to goodness rather than a keeper of rules. My relationship with God is comforting and tinged with a feeling of friendship. Through God I can be myself and learn how I am supposed to be with others. Mine is a loving relationship with God and I believe that my duty is to be kind and understanding toward all people, not judgmental and didactic.

I know that God is often different for other people and I would be the last to deny them the right to their own beliefs. My mother always thought that God comes to people in different forms and versions depending on their cultures and what makes sense to them. She never had a problem with anyone choosing a different way of believing or even not believing. She used to laugh and say that God believes in and loves even those who do not think a God exists. 

None of us will ever know if we have found the right pathway to life but I do not believe that being self righteous and pushing my ideas on others is the right way to honor God. Far too many ideas about God simply came from the minds of humans so when they seem to be more hurtful than loving I find myself backing away from them. 

I have wondered a bit about my Catholic faith of late when I have heard of priests who took advantage of young men and women. It saddened me to know that they would hurt someone else while hiding behind a clerical collar. I suppose that in the long history of humans there have always been those who defiled the messages of God. Even today cultist ideas about godliness are rampant all over the world. So much anger and hurt in peddled in the name of God. 

I am delighted by our new Pope and by the Cardinals in our nation who are speaking out for those among us who are being persecuted. When they remind us of the words of Jesus I feel a bit more comfortable that the message that I have taken away from my church is one of love. I can’t imagine building a lifetime of faithfulness on any belief that would purposely condone hurtfulness or shunning of any of my fellow humans. It feels good to know that the messages I am hearing align with my own beliefs. Somehow I have always believed that God is good. My spiritual journey has over and over again revealed only one focus and that is love. 

Every single Friday of my childhood save for the few months that we were living in California was spent at my Grandmother Ulrich’s home. It was a tiny place prompting me to sometimes wonder how it had been possible for ten people to live there. My mother made it sound like heaven so I pushed aside my thoughts that it may have been difficult. Later, when I was an adult I tried to imagine four girls sleeping in one double bed in a room so small that there was only a tiny pathway between the bed and the wall. Even more unbelievable to me was that my very tall and muscular uncles had also spent their nights together in a bed that is smaller than the one I share with my husband. 

The funny thing is that my mother and all of my aunts and uncles insist that the main thing for them was that they had a roof over their heads, food on the table and parents who loved them during the time of the Great Depression. Their enthusiasm for their good fortune helps me to better understand how difficult those times were for many Americans. There were literally folks living in their cars or finding shelter anywhere that there was an open door with people willing to help them in their time of need. 

Even as I had a picture of how terrible those days were it is still something that is unimaginable to me. So many Americans had no work, no savings, no way to enjoy even the most basic human needs. Little wonder that many of them headed as far west as they were able until the gasoline in their cars went dry or their autos simply broke down. 

My mother and my aunts and uncles often boasted that their father had paid cash for their home and the land that it stood on. He managed to hang on to a job that few would have wanted that kept his family fed with scraps of meat that he was able to buy at a reduced cost. He had turned the backyard into a farm that my grandmother cultivated and used to prepare simple meals that were so meager hat they left everyone in the family with a thinness that probably worked out well in those crowded beds. 

I suppose that I have never thought of my mother’s family as being poor because they had a spirit that kept them busy surviving in one place while so many others wondered where they would sleep at night. I have always felt that one’s wealth is more a point of view than a ledger. That Ulrich family was rich in spirit and drive. Everyone of them led honest and loving lives, ready to work hard and be nice to everyone they encountered. The legacy that has emerged from that tiny house in the shadow of downtown Houston is enormous. In only two generations from my grandparents everyone is a member of the middle class and a few have even become wealthy. As far as I know all but a couple of my grandparents’ great grandchildren have college degrees. Everyone enjoys a standard of living that Grandma and Grandpa would never have dreamed would happen to their descendants. 

I have more often than not seen the same kind of evolution in the economic and educational status of my immigrant students. It does not take long before they are enjoying the so called American dream. Sadly we are now in an era in which the economic opportunities have shrunk for everyone except for the richest people in our nation making it harder for young adults to make it like my grandparents did. While the so called Big Beautiful Bill gave the wealthiest among us one tax break after another, filling their coffers with more money that they will ever use, the average American is bearing the brunt of the ever increasing cost of living. 

The prices of land and homes has increased to a point that young people are more often than not in their mid thirties before they can afford to invest in property. It takes two incomes to achieve such a feat in most cases. The salaries of the working class have been eaten alive by inflation and at the same time those incomes have failed to increase at the same pace as the accumulation of wealth at the highest end of the spectrum.

All of this makes me wonder if we will actually see a stoppage in the kind of progress that made the descendants of my grandfather ever more successful. College even at the public level is brutally expensive. Salaries after graduation barely pay the price of the student loans used to earn the jobs. The twenty thousand dollar home of my twenties is now sitting at two hundred fifty thousand dollars in a state that is known for lower housing prices. Cars cost in the tens of thousands and a week of groceries might run two hundred dollars without frills. Now I wonder if there is a bubble that is about to burst and show us what life was life for my grandparents. 

I sincerely hope that our government leaders and businesses will come to their senses and understand the stresses that they are placing on those who are just staring out in life. They have been working hard just like my grandfather did but barely keeping apace with the rising costs. It’s up to us to find ways to remedy the economic uncertainties before they take us back to a time when so many suffered just to meet their basic human needs.

It’s okay if all you did today was survive   Unknown Author

Life is full of surprises. Some of them are good and others are a disaster. When we arise each morning we never quite know how things will pan out even if we have made careful plans. Things happen. The car won’t start to get you to an appointment on time. A family member is burning with a high fever that precludes attending the big event that you have been looking forward to enjoying. You put your feet on the floor and there is an inch of water caused by a pipe that broke during the night. The notice from your doctor that you thought would be just fine contains scary news. The phone rings with word of the death of a best friend. 

We mostly do our best not to fall apart when such things happen but sometimes it really is okay to feel the bitter disappointment or rage and total sorrow that sweeps over our bodies and minds. We don’t have to smile all the time because some situations are frankly awful. Nothing is more natural than reacting to bad news with a bit of negativity. Who says that we always have to have a stiff upper lip? We would not have the ability to shed tears if doing so was never supposed to happen. There are very legitimate reasons for allowing our emotions to escape into the light of day as long as they are not focused on hurting someone. 

My husband and I often joke that we are both stoics. Those who know us tend to classify us as strong souls who manage to navigate whatever is thrown at us. While we indeed find ways to deal with each situation as it arises we have also been known to actually react in not so positive ways whenever the art of living seems to be pounding us unrelenting. Some times too much is just too much!

I have a friend who has endured quite a bit of bad luck over the decades. She is mostly able to joke about the things that happen to her but now and again she wonders if she has some kind of target on her head that attracts trouble and difficult situations. I have to admit that she really does have more than her fair share of difficulties even as she does her best to gut through the trials that come her way. When she was caring for her late husband whose stroke kept him bedridden and unable to speak she did a yeomen’s job until her hip broke one day and she had to cry for help. Being brave in that moment was not on her Bingo card so she let all of her pent up emotions flow like water from her mind. It was something that she really needed to do before she would be able to keep on keeping on. 

There is a very fine line between someone who is always complaining about being a victim and someone who always attempts to be courageous even when a situation is becoming unbearable. We owe it to ourselves to be honest when the pressures we are experiencing become too much. It is important to know how to shift into survival mode even if that means closing the blinds and going to bed for the day. There is a time to ignore all of the looming deadlines and simply rest from the pressures that we are experiencing. 

I know people who are experts at following the messages that their minds and their bodies are sending them. They know when to step back for a time and pamper themselves with whatever will make them feel a bit better. They are perfectly willing to accept that none of us are super human and they feel no guilt in caring for themselves. 

My mother literally broke from the pressures that pounded at her. Through medications and counseling she learned to change her perfectionist tendencies and slow down the pace of her life. Her home became no longer spotless. She began to accept simple pleasures rather than striving for major events. She found joy in the smallest moments and understood that a good cry now and again is better than any medicinal tonic. There were many days when she celebrated just getting from morning to night. 

We all need buddies who will listen to our rants without judging us, people who will understand that sometimes all we can to do is get the poisonous thinking out of our systems is to let our thoughts run free. Those special people who will love us even when we are not so cheery are our true friends. They do not require us to always be perfect or to say and do all the right things. They are our refuges on stormy days and we know that we can trust them with the truths of how we are feeling. 

Get up each morning with resolve but also be ready to back peddle when the unexpected moments of life become overwhelming. Call yourself okay if all you manage to do on a really bad day is survive. Life is a marathon and sometimes the goal is is not to win but just to regain enough stamina to keep going. 

Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you. — Anne Lamott

I enjoy using my laptop until something goes awry with it. Then I find myself getting frustrated and sometimes forgetting that doing a reboot almost always fixes whatever problem was making it wonky. The same is often true with appliances and lots of machines that we have come to depend upon to help us with our daily work. What ends up being hardest for most of us is unplugging ourselves for a time. 

I have many friends who are still working. Some of them expend more hours getting things done on the weekend that they should be using to relax and tune out of all things that sap their energy. The wisest among them always spend a good chunk of time ignoring the chores and duties that seem to dominate their lives. They step over the piles of laundry or the lesson planning book and free themselves for a few hours or even an entire day. When they return to the grind of routine they are more refreshed and ready to face the challenges that thread through their lives. 

I have to admit that I have always struggled a bit with the idea of turning my back on things that need to be done. My mother used to rescue me on Saturday mornings by insisting that I goof off just a bit with her. I sometimes grumbled quietly when she pushed me to take a break. I considered all of the things that needed to be accomplished before I returned to work the following Monday and just wanted to chase her away. Out of love and respect I almost always surrendered to her pleas and left my obligations behind to share a bit of time with her. 

We might travel to Galveston and walk along the seawall. She might drive us to a mall where we mostly conversed and window shopped. Her destination might be little more than a quick stop for some ice cream. I never knew what she had in mind and there were times when I started the journey with her with an horrific attitude. Inside my mind I felt like a captive being forced to do something that I did not want to do. Not one time did I return from our adventures thinking that they had been a waste of time. In fact, I was always so regenerated that I accomplished my waiting tasks in record time. I will never quite know why I ever hesitated to go with her because her rescues of me always worked out well. She understood how to unplug me for a time so that I would be able to work properly again. 

We all need balance in our lives. Our routines should include both work and play. We all have obligations that must be met so we won’t be like a colleague of mine who once literally ran away from work on a whim. Surely she needed to unplug but just driving out of town instead of heading to work without alerting anyone was irresponsible even though all of us who worked beside her understood why it was her way of begging for help. 

If we now and then briefly unplug ourselves from anything that dominates our lives we will ultimately be all the better. We are less likely to collapse in exhaustion or anxiety if we give ourselves a break. The fact is that being human requires that we have healthy habits that balance work and rest. 

I belong to a group that shares ideas and stories about the job of caretaking. I have done more than a bit of that throughout my life. I spent decades monitoring my mother’s mental health. At the end of her life she lived in my home. For almost four years my husband and I have been caring for my father-in-law, first in our home and for the past two months in nursing homes and hospitals. I learned the importance of respite from such duties by hearing the stories of individuals for whom the chore became unbearable. Without regular down times, they broke and wanted to run away like the young woman with whom I worked in the long ago. 

I found myself recalling my mother’s wisdom in snatching me away from my duties when she would pull into my driveway, honk her horn and insist that it was time for some fun. I instituted a date night with my husband from which we have not varied. It may be just the two of us reading and sipping tea and coffee at a Barnes or Noble bookstore but it is our moment of getting away, unplugging so that we will work better when our energy is needed. 

A well led life includes times with no intent of accomplishing anything but relaxing and turning off the hubbub of the world. We can be serious and dutiful most of the time while still goofing off just enough to get us through the toughest of times. My advice to anyone is to unplug with regularity. You will be amazed at how much better you will feel. The problems will still be there when you come back to them but you will have so much more energy with which to tackle them.