Month: February 2018

Our Better Instincts

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

38869597_303They were a sweet family with a good home, and best of all they were happy. But then came war, unsafe conditions. Bombs went off continually so close by that they could hear the falling rubble created from the blasts. They were on the wrong side of the fight. Sooner or later the invaders were bound to get to their street, their house. Sleep began to elude them. Their small children continually cried. They knew that they had to leave no matter how much they wanted to stay. They became refugees, members of a wandering group of people from war torn parts of the world searching for a safe place to live. They are unwanted in many places, thought to be pariahs, criminals, maybe even terrorists. All that they seek is safety, a new start, a place to call home.

It would be easy to simply ignore these desperate souls. After all, what have they to do with us? We have our own problems. We have yet to help all of our own people. They are foreigners with beliefs so different from ours. We barely have the resources that we need for the people who are already here. How can we possibly stretch ourselves any more? Besides, what if they are not really just good people caught in a bad situation? What if their intent is to harm us? Why should we risk our own safety for theirs? What’s in it for us? Will they even be able to work, or just be drains on our social programs? These are the questions that plague us and there are few clear answers. In truth there is a certain level of risk in taking in strangers from lands far away. It takes a leap of faith to consider both the problems and possibilities and still agree to do what seems to be the most humane action. What if we choose wrong? How will we live with that?

Thus is the difficulty that we face. Across the world the population of refugees from violent places continues to grow, and with it so do both our fears and our desires to be compassionate. The stakes are high for everyone concerned, most especially those waiting hopefully for someone somewhere to provide them with the breaks that they need to create better lives. While we debate the merits of inviting some of these people into our cities and towns, they are growing ever more discouraged and wondering if anyone truly cares about their situations.

I spent my life working with people, albeit young people. Human nature tends to be the same whether dealing with adults or children. Individuals have certain basic needs that must be met or they begin to react in unpredictable ways. They must feel safe and that means providing them with an environment that is as free of dangers as possible. It requires that they have food to abate their hunger and at least the bare necessities to protect them. When those things are lacking they are unable to rise to higher levels of development. Each day is a quest just to make it to the next. Survival is the only idea that captures their attention. Being continually subjected to a search for the most essential of our human needs takes its toll. Some will give up and wither away. Others will grow angry and lash out at a world that feels so unfair. Many simply persist until they somehow manage to change their circumstances.

As a society we never truly know how anyone will react to extreme difficulties. There are no doubt cases over which we have no power to inspire the good, but for the most part we do in fact have the opportunity to become positive influences. Some people are psychopaths or sociopaths who will not respond to our kindness. Even our best efforts with them may be ineffective and we may not be able to detect them until it is too late and they have done great harm. Generally speaking, however, the vast majority of humans will react positively to encouragement and compassion. When someone provides our fundamental needs and we are treated with respect, we are filled with gratitude because it is in our natures to want to be accepted members of society. Once we feel safe we are ready to contribute to the rest of mankind.

I watched a Frontline program on PBS which featured a number of refugees seeking asylum in different parts of the world. They had been ordinary souls before their homelands were torn apart. They shared a common desire to be understood and accepted by people willing to provide them with a new start. They had done desperate and even illegal things to protect themselves and their families from the violence in their home countries, each with differing levels of success. One family had quickly found relief in Germany. They were welcomed by the community and began the process of learning the language and adapting to the culture. They are now studying so that they might secure better employment. They want to be far more than just drains on the governmental programs. They work at difficult and menial jobs while they become more educated. They watch as their children forget the old ways and embrace the new. It seems that those who are not just welcomed by the locals, but are also actively supported and educated are happier and doing better than those placed in dreary camps with nothing to do all day long. Having someone believe in their worth has been the key to helping them to become part of the community.

When I teach mathematics the first thing that I do is build confidence. We humans can’t operate if we feel discouraged. Psychological barriers impede progress, so they must be dealt with from the outset. The same is true of refugee populations. What are they to think if people are reacting negatively to them without ever knowing who they are?

President Obama often suggested that much of the hatred in the world begins with rejection by society. In that idea he is correct. We tend to become who the people around us tell us that we are. If we are constantly criticized and given no occasions to define ourselves we sometimes believe the hateful slurs that we hear. We doubt our own abilities and fall prey to the truly evil who tantalize us with offers of being somebody important. All dictators, anarchists and terrorists use the worries of people to recruit their minions. If those of us who are good do not reach the hearts and minds of the needy, someone with nefarious intentions will, exacting a terrible price on all of us.

We have to open our eyes to the suffering of the world. We must work together to ensure that the downtrodden are able to find the peace that they seek. We cannot ignore their plight and then pretend that we are doing so just to protect ourselves and those we love. We will always have individuals who turn against us even when we are kind. Because that sometimes happens does not indicate that we should suspend humane treatment. It would be akin to saying that just because there is a chance that we might die in a car accident, we should never get inside an automobile again. We have to overcome our fears, and deal with the consequences of each individual decision that we make. This has been our human conundrum since the beginning of time. What is certain is that we cannot isolate ourselves from harm, but we do have the power and the responsibility to help as many souls as possible to find good and worthy lives.

While we are arguing over who should come to our shores there are hundreds of people living in want and fear. We can’t assist every one of them, but surely we can do more than we have done most recently. If we were the ones in need we would hope and pray that the better instincts of humans would find a way to help us. Perhaps it is time for us to consider what each of our responsibilities should be in this regard.

Not Yet Down and Out

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

shutterstock_441927634-1024x683.jpgIt was a sunny day in Houston, Texas on a January afternoon. The streets and highways were filled with people enjoying the break in the cold weather. It somehow seemed impossible that only five or six months ago those same roads were filled with flood water from hurricane Harvey, creating unbelievable images of devastation. Everything appeared to be so normal, and it felt as though the recovery and healing of our scarred city had gone smoothly and far more quickly than anyone might have ever imagined. We had even begun to believe that we might have a good chance of winning the big Amazon prize that would bring thousands of jobs to our area along with millions of dollars to boost our economy. Perhaps it is in our Houston DNA to be upbeat and unwilling to be counted out. We’d done the impossible so many times before that those of us native to this flat featureless plain see our city with different eyes than those of outsiders.

This is a town built on land encircled by bayous that is otherwise landlocked, and yet we have one of the busiest ports in the country, dug from the Gulf of Mexico to a site in the shadow of the place where Texas gained its independence. Somehow our town took a field that had once been home to grazing cattle and transformed it into the center of the worldwide space race. A wealthy academic from the east coast imagined a Harvard of the south and founded the prestigious and renowned Rice University. A doctor imagined a home for cutting edge medicine and convinced benefactors to build a medical center that would one day be a leader in research and talent. We have done the impossible time and again with the help of visionaries who saw beyond the limitations of our geography, and on any give day it feels as though we have miraculously moved beyond the horrors that beset our beloved Houston on those three days in August when the sky rained its fury on all of us.

We all know that things are not always what they seem to be. Those whose homes were filled with brackish water that rushed in through the weep holes inundating their rooms and their peace of mind are mostly still working to get back to normal. The piles of debris that represented the destruction are generally gone misleading observers to believe that all is well. Inside the repair work continues at various stages. The mucking out of water and dirt is done. The walls of water soaked sheetrock have been removed leaving frameworks of studs marking load bearing structures and outlines of rooms. In some cases fresh new sheetrock and paint now brighten the areas. In others the skeletal frames await the resolution of claims that may one day bring the funds for repairs. Carpet and flooring is difficult to find even when there is money to purchase it. Cold concrete has become a way of life for many Houstonians who celebrated Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and the new year with their homes torn apart, and still wait for normalcy to return. They sit on lawn furniture and sleep on air mattresses attempting to stay calm and carry on when in truth they are exhausted and broken hearted.

On that sunny day when all seemed so normal, of course it was not. I drove through a neighborhood that had been heavily impacted by the storms and at least a third of the homes still had huge dumpsters parked in the driveways. Trailers and RVs dotted the landscape and told a tale of homeowners still camping out while their homes recovered very slowly. Daily life has become a marathon for them as they cope with realities and fears that sometimes feel overwhelming. They walk through their days attempting to be as positive as possible even as they worry about the impact this all has had on their psyches and savings.

It has been estimated that eighty percent of those affected by hurricane Harvey did not carry flood insurance. They have had to rely on FEMA for funds to repair their houses and many of them still wait for that money to be forthcoming. Generally the most that they might receive is only slightly more than $30,000, and in the majority of cases it will be far less than that. FEMA does not replace their household goods, so many people are creating massive debts just to begin again. Those who did have flood insurance are all too often waiting even longer for the relief that they need to put their homes back into working order. Supplies are scarce, and the great deals that merchants offered in the early days after the disaster are mostly long gone. Nobody thought that there would still be people in need this long after the catastrophic event.

Our city is wounded and our spirit is being sorely tested. Naysayers warn us that we will never again be the same. Our luster feels somehow diminished as investors and dreamers grow wary of locating here. Amazon passed us over, choosing Austin and Dallas as more worthy possibilities for their center. People from outside our area view our town as an ugly humid place more suited for mosquitoes than humans. They underestimate our determination to overcome the odds that have often appeared to be stacked against us. Houston has always been a city that should never have been, and yet here we are winners of the World Series even as we limp through the worst days of our history. It seems that Amazon missed the essence of who we are as people and may have ignored the very qualities that would have made their venture truly great. They did not understand that the images of courage and community that they witnessed when nature had battered us mercilessly were not aberrations, but rather an unvarnished revelation of who we really are. The secret of Houston is that we are willing to take on any challenge and rise from the muck and the mud to triumph over adversity. This is a hard working city with dirt under its finger nails and visions of a better future in its soul. 

Think of us now and again. We are still here even though we have not yet totally healed. There remains much to do, but you will rarely hear us complain. We don’t want to be pitied or thought to be beyond hope for we still believe that our city has a great future. Don’t pass over us or assume that we are out of the game. This city called Houston is a miracle built on unstoppable dreams. Plan to keep hearing from us. We’re not yet ready to be down and out.

Waking Up Rich

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

My-heart-set-on-waking-up-rich-today---ecardA meme caught my eye and I found myself thinking about its message: Really had my heart set on waking up rich today. Of course the idea of being wealthy is relative despite demographic brackets that provide numerical outlines to help us determine who is affluent and who is not. How we feel about our circumstances is often a better determinant of our financial value than our bank statements. We all know someone who has very little but is content, and others who should be comfortable who are never quite happy. The reality is that virtually everyone in the United States is richer than most of the people in other less prosperous places of the world, and as a matter of fact here in our country most of us enjoy existences that would have impressed even the very prosperous of bygone eras.

Recently I watched a program that featured the stories of immigrants who lived on London’s East End during the late eighteen hundreds. Many of them came from Russia as a result of economic hardships or political atrocities. They found themselves in an unfamiliar land without employable skills or facility with the language. They were forced to toil in sweatshops laboring for fourteen hours six or seven days a week just to barely survive. They were fined for the slightest of transgressions like talking while on the job,  usually making their eventual pay quite meager. Conditions were cruel made even more so by the competition for back breaking employment that might end at any moment. Many a wretched soul died from malnutrition, disease, exhaustion, injuries, or violence. People who lived in the East End were thought to be stupid, lazy and prone to criminal natures. The wealthy and those in the middle class rarely saw them as equal humans, and often enjoyed taking guided tours to the slums to gawk at the life styles of the unfortunate poor, but rarely to actually help them. Life in the slums was brutal and demeaning, almost impossible for most of us to imagine. Even more incredible is the fact that such situations were commonplace only a little more than a hundred years ago, and still exist in many parts of the world.

We have our chronically poor, our homeless, and those who live in difficult circumstances even to this day, but generally there are programs designed to help them. Indigent children receive free or reduced price breakfast and lunch. We provide food stamps and welfare assistance for those in need. Even though such programs are far from perfect, they are more generous than the want that some of our ancestors experienced. For the most part we do indeed care for those who are lacking in the basics of existence. Education is free. There are ways of improving our stations in life. There is light at the end of poverty’s dark tunnel here in the United States, leaving room for optimism, and yet even among those of us who are above the poverty line there is often great dissatisfaction. The grass all too often appears to be greener and we find ourselves wishing for more.

There is certainly nothing wrong with working hard and achieving goals that allow us to feel more economically secure, but in our quest we should all allot enough time to enjoy and appreciate what we have rather than constantly wishing for more. The years go by far more quickly than we might imagine and all too often people find themselves running out of time to find contentment, especially if they have always measured it in terms of money and possessions. The real question becomes how much does anyone truly need to have a sense of security?

I was recently talking with a woman who would qualify as being poor by almost any standard, and yet her spirit is as bright and satisfied as anyone whom I’ve ever met. Her life is simple, uncomplicated and she lives modestly from paycheck to paycheck. She has learned how to stretch her finances to the maximum, and seems to take joy in playing the game of getting the most out of how little that she has. She lives in a low cost but nicely maintained apartment that is stocked with the appliances that she most needs, including a washer and dryer. She found all of her furniture at thrift stores and is quite proud not just of the low prices that she paid, but also of how well she put the disparate pieces together to create a warm and inviting environment. She is always on the lookout for bargains and items for which she might trade her skills or something that she no longer wants. For example she doesn’t travel anymore so she exchanged a suitcase for a rocking chair. She finds things in the dumpster that she repurposes, including plants that appear to be half dead but still have enough life in them to benefit from her green thumb. She gets the books that she reads from the library and uses bargain priced old clothing to create pillows and cushions for her decor. She clips coupons and creates low cost but healthy recipes. It’s a challenge to stay afloat, but instead of stewing over what she lacks she takes great pride in knowing how to stretch her pennies. For entertainment she volunteers at museums and reads each morning over a long cup of coffee. She remains one of the most upbeat individuals that I know even while living on the edge. She refuses to waster her time with worry, instead finding joy in the simplest of pursuits.

On the other hand, I also know of people who have great wealth but constantly worry about losing it. They have made themselves miserable with fear. They cling to their bank accounts wary of spending or sharing lest some unforeseen disaster befall them. The years tick by and they live like miserly hermits, ranting about those that they think might unfairly get handouts. Somehow like Ebenezer Scrooge they have lost their hearts and sometimes even their souls. They cannot see that most of us are the descendants of people who once struggled as mightily as the poor folks who lived in the slums of London’s East End. They avert their glances from thoughts of pain and suffering, isolating themselves from their very humanity.

Admittedly it would be nice to wake up to find that our bank accounts are full and that we will never again have to worry about the future, but even better is adopting an attitude of being happy regardless of our circumstances. At the end of the day the measure of our lives will be found in our relationships and the purposes for which we lived. In fact, research has shown that our longevity is more likely if we have spent our time being joyful social beings. 

I woke up this morning and I wasn’t any wealthier financially than I had been last night, but as I glanced around my home I saw reminders of those special kind of moments that literally took my breath away. As I made my breakfast I thought of how wondrous each passing year has been and listened to my neighborhood coming alive. I realized that if truth be told I wake up rich every single morning because of the wonderful life I have been fortunate enough to live. It was comforting the know that I am so prosperous. 

Glue

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

306905_442044865814895_926353302_nBoth my mother and mother-in-law found the time each day to call friends and members of their families to find out how everyone was doing. They were historians and counselors, keepers of current information about the people for whom they cared. They spread cheer and hopefulness in a regular routine guided by carefully crafted calendars that included birthdates and reminders of anniversaries and other special occasions. They shared information with the rest of us who depended on them to keep us informed of the happenings and concerns. I came to think of them as the glue that kept the disparate individuals who were parts of their lives firmly connected and aware that someone truly cared. Theirs was a kind of duty that each assumed with grace and loving concern, a task that the rest of us often took for granted until it was no longer there. When they died the beautiful network of compassion, celebrations, and unity slowly fell apart, never again to be quite the same even as others attempted to undertake their roles.

 

There are people who seem to be organically attuned to the needs of the people around them. While the rest of us struggle and juggle the demands of daily living they somehow manage to not only get their personal agendas fulfilled, but also find time to keep the web of their connections operating with vitality and joy. They write texts, make quick phone calls, send cards, visit hospitals and nursing homes, attend showers, weddings and funerals without seeming to ever miss a beat. They make their ability to encircle us with love and fun and sincere compassion seem easy, and yet we know that it is not. We have the best of intentions to emulate their actions, but they actually regularly follow through on promises that keep the fires of family and friendship burning.

My dear friend Pat was glue, and sometimes she wondered aloud why so few of the people that she nurtured were apt to return the favor. We tended to take for granted that she would plan the dinners or the evenings at the movies. It was almost always Pat who would decide that it had been too long since we had enjoyed one another’s company and she would make something happen to rectify that. She had active friendships stretching all the way back to her childhood. There were people far away with whom she regularly kept in touch, and when she traveled she often scheduled time to stop by their homes, usually bearing gifts and her radiant smile. Sadly those of us lucky enough to be recipients of her largesse felt lost after her death because nobody was ever able to replicate her willingness to keep us all together. Our contacts became mostly limited to yearly Christmas cards and posts on Facebook as we drifted off into our seemingly too busy lives.

Pat always fretted that being the glue wasn’t actually that difficult with just a smidgeon of planning. She confessed that she always kept a supply of desserts or easy to prepare dinner items in her freezer to be ready for last minute guests. She taught me her secrets of house cleaning in the event of a quickly planned party. It included quickly swishing out the guest bathroom and cleaning the kitchen countertops. A room that nobody ever entered became a quick and easy depository of items strewn around the living area. Dusting was optional. The most important thing to her was letting people know that her home was an open and welcoming haven no matter the time of day. Every one of us understood that at the very least we would be treated to a warm cup of coffee and a plate of cookies as we sat around her kitchen table enjoying a short break from our cares and woes.

I’ve tried Pat’s hints but somehow I find myself getting misdirected again and again. I don’t know why it all seems to be more difficult than it should be, but I suppose that some people are born to be the glue, and the rest of us have to work very hard to develop that talent. Maybe it really is a bit more like rocket science than it appears to be, because I haven’t found too many people who are incredibly skilled at being the glue, so I treasure them when I encounter them.

When I graduated from high school I had imagined that my classmates would be my lifelong friends, and a few of them did indeed continue with me on my journey through the decades. Mostly though I lost touch with people who had been so important to me during my development. I just lived my life and rarely looked back until Carol appeared on the scene ready and eager to bring the fractured memories of our high school years to life. It began as a promise to her twin sister that she would be certain to plan a stunning fiftieth reunion for our Class of 1966. In the process it became a kind of family project in which Carol became the glue that would cement our relationships in the most profound ways. Even though we had seemingly become strangers spread out all over the country, Carol found us and reminded us of who we had been and the lessons we had shared. Our gathering was exceptionally heartwarming, but it was not to end there because  those who are the glue never go halfway.

Carol has become our spokesperson, alerting us to the important information that we need about each other. She is a constant presence at funerals and calls to wish us well on our birthdays. She closely follows our posts in social media and inquires about our well being. She has become more like family than some of our actual family members, and we sense that her concern for our health and happiness is genuine. Her goal is to keep the flames of our renewed friendships burning with warmth. To that end she and another classmate, Terry, plan lunch dates at restaurants around town where we gather to share stories and learn more and more about each other. Mostly those events help us to realize that our families are more than just those with whom we are genetically linked. We are a group who share a unique bond forged at a time when we had little idea where our dreams would take us. What we have found is that our school motto of growing in wisdom and age and grace before God and man became the foundation of our goals, and despite the cliques and angst of our youth we really are uniquely one team, one family.

People like my mom, my mother-in-law, Pat and Carol are quite special. They are the glue that binds us and assures us that we are loved. Somehow they bring out the best in all of us by pulling our individual strengths together into one very colorful and exciting group. They create stunning mosaics that we sometimes can’t see until we stand back just a enough to witness their masterpieces. That is when their artistry becomes a breathtaking moment of unsurpassed beauty, for they are true healers of the soul. 

Endless

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

1933604_774098892733890_4368455666911963627_o.jpgI didn’t know Edi Cruz as well as I might have liked, but what I do know is that he was a KIPPster and I was a Big KIPPster and that makes us family. I recall seeing Edi in the hallways at KIPP Houston High School and what I noted about him was his always pleasant demeanor. His smile was of the legendary sort, and just spotting him made me beam inside. I wish I’d taken more time to get to know Edi better because from what I can gather he was greatly loved for being a truly genuine and caring person. Edi was slated to graduate in a few months from The University of Texas Permian Basin, but his dreams and those of all who knew him were tragically cut short when he was recently killed in a terrible car accident. All too soon a wonderful young person has left us all wondering why such horrific things happen to such good people.

Edi Cruz was known around the school for his unending sense of humor. He approached life with a joke and a feeling that every day was a good time for a laugh. He made people feel good about him and about themselves, and now they are left to consider all of the ”might have beens” for their good friend. Edi was not just about being hilariously funny, but also quite serious about earning a college degree, and he had worked hard for so many years to achieve his goal. It is a testament to his dedication that his plans were so soon to have come to fruition. No one could have known that his life would be so suddenly snuffed out. Even his college roommate is still stunned.

Edi Cruz was a very good friend. He gave fully of himself to others and his loving nature was always reflected in his face. After his death those who knew him spoke of his considerate nature and revealed things that he had done for them so unselfishly. He was someone who would take the time to thank a teacher with a sincerely written note, or stop to help a classmate who was struggling with some issue. He didn’t mind being a bit silly if it reduced tensions, or just made everyone enjoy the moment. He embraced life with an open heart that lead him to a loving relationship with a beautiful young woman who had hopes of her own for their future together. Everyone believed that they were going have had a wonderful time.

Edi had so many talents and interests. He liked to ride horses and looked as natural in the saddle as walking down the street. He was a people person who once served as a representative at a National Council of La Raza conference. He was a favorite of his high school art teacher who saved a caricature that he had created of himself long after he had left her class. The drawing captured his wonderful essence. It was as though he really knew and understood himself and felt confident in being a person who spread sunshine with his mere presence by his willingness to be humble and self deprecating.

Edi Cruz.jpgThere is a great feeling of sadness in losing someone of his moral stature, particularly at such a young age. In our humanity we can’t quite comprehend why such a terrible thing would happen, even as we console ourselves in knowing that he had lived a glorious life while he was here. Somehow thinking about Edi Cruz reminded me of a poem by an unknown author that I once read.

Do not judge a biography by it’s length,
Nor by the number of pages in it.
Judge it by the richness of it’s contents

Sometimes those unfinished are among the most poignant

Do not judge a song by it’s duration
Nor by the number of it’s notes
Judge it by the way it touches and lifts the soul

Sometimes those unfinished are among the most beautiful

And when something has enriched your life
And when it’s melody lingers on in your heart
Is it unfinished?
Or is it endless?

I am quite certain the Edi Cruz touched hearts so fully that he will live on in the cherished memories that friends and family have of him. For now they will grieve as they remember the good times that they had with him and think of the future that is no more, but one day their hearts will be healed and remebering Edi will make them smile again. 

I cannot think of anything more heartbreaking than the death of someone so young. Thoughts of what we might have shared never quite leave us. That person is permanently fixed in our minds as a never aging soul as we ourselves grow old. I can tell you from experience that everyone who knew and loved Edi Cruz will remember him from time to time even as the years go by. The impact of a person as wonderful as he was is in truth endless.