Month: November 2023

I have always been an observer. Even as a child I enjoyed quietly finding a place to sit where I might have a view of the passing parade around me. My parents and my teachers taught me to consider all sides of an argument before choosing a side. They noted that there are times when there is no clear cut winner or loser. The world is so complex that sometimes the middle ground is the best place to be, but that vantage point can also feel wishy washy. There have been times when I had to make a decision one way or another without the clarity that I wanted. Taking a chance on being right about something can be one of life’s greatest challenges. 

It’s especially difficult for a parent to wade into the grey areas of raising a child. I have spent many sleepless nights debating inside my mind, wondering if I was doing the right things for my children. So too it was with my role as a teacher. There were moments when I had to decide how to deal with troubled students even as I realized that there were many sides to their stories. Like Tevye in Fiddler On the Roof I was all too aware of arguments about “the other hand” until there was “no other hand.” 

As I witness the state of the world today I can see the nuances and complexities but I find it difficult to determine the single right answer about so many of the issues, particularly when it comes to the situation in Israel and Gaza. I see the suffering of humanity on both sides of the wall and it tears my heart in two. I wonder when and if the people of the Middle East will ever be able to live in peace and harmony. I worry that my way of thinking about the issues is too soft or that the ensuing wars are too harsh. I long for a peacemaker with the wisdom of Solomon but sense that there is nobody up to the task. I find myself in a constant state of worry over the plight of people whose only desire is to live their lives without fear, want or lack of freedom. 

My understanding of history and politics is strong enough to know that there have always been ruling classes everywhere that decide the fate of ordinary folk. Sometimes those in charge are less concerned with the people and more directed toward keeping and expanding their own  power. We seem to be in a cycle in which strong actors everywhere are pushing the envelope of aggression. Meanwhile there is so much suffering and so few easy answers. 

I am finding it difficult to stop watching and stewing over the state of the world. My overriding instinct is to analyze the situation and seek solutions. It’s baked into my DNA to be serious about such things. On a small scale within my family or inside a classroom I usually find the answers that I seek, but on the worldwide stage I am overwhelmed by the many faces of conflict. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I see that sometimes that is the only way to stop our human aggressions. It pains me to watch the violence and hate being played out in real time. All people are my brothers and sisters so choosing a side to help is so difficult. Ferreting out the enemy is not always clear. Knowing the correct course for stopping the carnage is murky 

We humans have endured a tough time for awhile. We try to entertain ourselves and go about our routines, but in the back of our minds is the chaos and tragedy unfolding sometimes in our own backyards and sometimes far away. Perhaps it would be best to just roll with the tide but doing so may lead us to places that we do not want to be. Fighting the undertow can seem impossible but necessary. Sometimes we have to take a stand, choose the lesser of two evils. With all of the noise around us it can feel impossible to think. I suppose that is where I stand right now. 

Nothing is perfect in this world. No person is all wise or all good. Therein lies the problem of choosing sides. For every good thing there are always dark things as well that give us pause to cast our allegiance. Only some things look certain. Slavery was unequivocally bad. Putin had no right to invade Ukraine. The Hamas terrorists were evil, but the long term fate of Palestinians has indeed been wrought with much suffering and they continue to be pawns in a political chess game. Israelis are reeling from the horrific attacks on innocents in their country but now they have to balance their rage with compassion for innocents in Gaza. There is nothing easy about what each of the players must do. The bloodshed and suffering is heartbreaking and is sadly being repeated in so many hotspots in the world. 

The only certainty that I have right now is that I stand with peace and compassion and generosity. I believe in my heart that we can be very different and still get along in a deeply loving way. I see strength in a willingness to advocate for the millions and millions of souls without voices. We can root out the evil without collateral damage to people whose only wish is to live and work in freedom and comfort. It’s an ideal presented to us by Jesus of Nazareth over two thousand years ago. We would do well to get back to the basics of his command that we learn how to love. As we enter the holiday season perhaps the greatest gift that we might offer is to spread kindness and most of all understanding of our mutual humanity. A ceasefire of rancor can begin with each of us.

I recently turned seventy-five, an age that I never imagined being. When I was younger I thought of such a number as an indicator of an ancient person ready to settle into writing the endings of their stories. As I witnessed the vibrancy and wisdom of my grandfather who spent another thirty three years beyond his diamond jubilee I began to rethink the idea of old age. I saw that he was just hitting his stride in his seventies and would not slow down until a year or so before he died at the ripe old age of one hundred eight. 

I doubt that I will equal his stamina and longevity, but I’d like to believe that I still have plenty of time to continue learning, traveling and meeting people. I want to be someone who is willing to change with the times like he was. More than anything I long to know and understand the people that I encounter in deeper ways than just superficial niceties. I want them to know how much I really care about them regardless of how different our personalities and philosophies of living may be. I don’t claim to know all of the secrets of a good life, but I have found that the happiest moments that I have experienced have all been in the presence of my fellow travelers in life. 

As humans we need deep connections and to achieve such relationships we have to be willing to open our minds and our hearts to experience and celebrate the essence of each person we encounter. Even the hardest soul wants to be seen, heard and understood. We all respond to kindness and appreciation, but we don’t always reciprocate such feelings when we should. We want people to take the time understand us, but sometimes are too quick to judge others who don’t appear to meet our standards. As we rush through our lives we too often take people for granted or make assumptions about their behavior. We would do well to consider what might be making them appear to be disagreeable rather than immediately shunning them. 

I went to a funeral and knew that everyone who was there deeply loved the person who had died and yet each individual was responding to the great loss in different ways. Some were openly grief stricken with tears running down their faces. Others were bravely consoling everyone else, making certain that the people around them were feeling comforted. There were people who were telling jokes, acting silly. They did not care any less than the others. They simply had a different way of harnessing their emotions. There were storytellers who seemed to know just what to say about the deceased and his relationship with each person who was present. There were those who quietly drifted to the sidelines in their discomfort and needed to be alone to process their grief. 

Who’s to say which person displayed the best or the healthiest behavior? We all have our own habits and a bit of baggage as well that influence how we will respond in any situation on any given day. There really is no always right or wrong way of doing things, but we can learn how to be more open to our personal feelings and those of the people around us. A bit of introspection is a good thing as long as we don’t just brood. They key to a happy life is accepting that none of us is perfect. We are all born innocent. It is in living that we are molded one way or another. Even within the same family unit we will turn out just a bit differently from each other. 

My mother loved fiercely, sometimes even people who had spurned her. Before her mental illness took hold of her mind she was highly regarded and admired in her community. When her depression or mania changed her behavior she frightened some people and they turned away from her. The woman who had once been a confidant and font of wisdom for people grew ever more isolated as fewer and fewer of those who once were her friends felt comfortable enough to stand with her. In spite of their rejection she continued to speak of them with love as though she did not even notice that they had abandoned her. She taught me how to forgive. 

The politics of life often create divisions, rifts, wars. We take sides and classify people and countries and beliefs as being either good or evil when we know that sometimes situations are not that clear cut. We divorce ourselves from individuals or groups who make what appear to be mistakes without attempting to discern what motivated their thinking. We don’t want to hear the different sides of beliefs, choosing instead to isolate ourselves with only those with whom we agree. We create walls around our minds lest we learn something that will make it difficult to be so certain that we are right. 

The vast majority of people all over the world are good and loving and just trying to survive from one day to the next. We would do well to be open to them, to learn about them, to be willing to change our opinions about them. It really is possible to accept differences and get along. The wisdom of age has shown me that truth over and over again, but I’m still not where I hope to be. I continue to learn and I try my best to keep an open and forgiving mind. Perhaps one day I will actually attain the wisdom of age that I seek.

I voted for Jimmy Carter when he ran for President of the United States. I liked what appeared to be his folksy ways and his political platform. I also thought that his wife Rosalyn was a beautiful and sweet woman. My feelings about President Carter and his wife were rather superficial in the time when I supported them. I was a young mother still in my twenties more concentrated on caring for my family than thinking about politics. I was literally just learning how to be an adult while carrying the hefty responsibility of helping my mother to keep her bipolar disorder at bay. 

Admittedly I paid far less attention to the political environment than I did to the duties in my own household. I knew that I liked President Carter’s policies and his visions for the future of our country. What I did not note at the time was his wife Rosalyn’s advocacy for mental illness. I only belatedly realized how dedicated she was to abolishing the stigma of mental illness and providing adequate services for those afflicted with diseases of the mind. She was far ahead of her time in a crusade to help those whose brains are afflicted with illnesses that alter the trajectory of their lives and often make them misunderstood and even shunned by society. I was too busy tilting mental illness windmills of my own to fully understand the remarkable work Mrs. Carter began and continued to advocate for much of her life. 

Rosalyn Carter was a typical southern woman in her quiet humility, but she was a warrior when it came to defending the downtrodden. Her faith in God and her love of people regardless of who they were was unrelenting. Her love story with Jimmy Carter was one for the ages. Mostly though her decency and compassion was the hallmark of her well lived life. She was not one to steal the limelight or boast about the remarkable things that she accomplished. Instead she focused on simply doing the right thing for humanity over and over again in quiet ways. 

My cousin Terri has been a fan of President and Mrs. Carter for many years. She believes that the two of them exemplify all that is truly good in our human natures. When she learned that she would be able to attend a Sunday Bible study program with President Carter she worked to secure a place for herself and her husband and son. When she received word of a secured reservation she began preparing for the big moment the way one might approach the prospect of meeting a rockstar. In her mind she was going to see the most important role model of her life. 

Terri kept us all apprised of her visit to Plains, Georgia. It did not disappoint her in the least. It was more magical for her than a celebrity tour of DisneyWorld would have been. At the end of the Sunday school program she lined up with the other guests for a photo with President and Mrs. Carter. She was instructed not to attempt to touch the former President and First Lady but only to stay for the picture and then move on. The actual experience turned out to be even more inspiring than she might have imagined. 

Mrs. Carter wanted to know all about Terri and her family. She was touched by the fact that Terri had been planning this trip for years and that Terri had traveled all the way from Austin, Texas to fulfill her dream. When the photo session was completed Mrs. Carter grabbed Terri’s hands and earnestly invited her to return again. As Mrs. Carter kept her tender grip on Terri she explained how important such visits were to her husband. She warmly thanked Terri for coming and expressed the genuine hope that she would see her again. 

Rosalyn Carter was the love of her husband’s life, but she was also the most important sidekick in all of his adventures. She did not just go along for the ride with him, she also contributed wisdom, grace and compassion for the people of the United States that she and her husband both loved. Her generosity and dedication to helping those who sometimes struggle to help themselves was as real as it gets. She saw all people as her equal, never thinking that anyone was less worthy of love and respect than herself. Together she and her husband showed us how to live long, productive and meaningful lives. 

I believe that history will judge Rosalyn Carter to be among the greatest First Ladies of our country’s history. She quietly but forcefully supported her husband in his difficult job. At the same time she advocated for people who are so often neglected and misunderstood. She was far ahead of her time in understanding the needs of her fellow Americans. She unpretentiously served the people of the United States and showed us how to change the trajectory of people’s lives. She spent the greater part of her life serving the least among us just as we have all been instructed to do. She took up hammers and saws to build futures for thousands upon thousands. She pushed for understanding and acceptance of the mentally ill. She made love an action verb. 

It is always heartbreaking when truly good people leave this earth. It is up to us to remember how they have shown us to live well and to follow their examples. Rosalyn Carter was indeed an angel among us. Her work is done and she is at rest. Now it is our turn to take up the tasks that she showed us how to do. 

A Chinese proverb tells us that the motions of a butterfly flapping its wings can be felt on the other side of the world. Likewise a disaster in one place in the world will ultimately impact faraway lands. We sometimes like to think that the only arena in which our actions have any impact is in our own space. In truth there is a ripple effect regarding how we respond to virtually everything. Each of us is continually contributing to the whole. Each of us matters. When all of the many lives on the earth are taken together we should be able to see that we can never really isolate ourselves entirely from the challenges that others face. Even a hermit must interface with the world from time to time. What we find when we leave the confines of our homes is an interdependency with each other that we may not like, but is real. 

We hear a great deal these days about influencers who use social media to spread their thoughts or creativity or political clout. We tend to believe that only the rich and famous have the power to begin movements that either make a difference or create chaos, but it is also true that one unknown person at a time making choices is also critical in either changing the world or adhering to the status quo. 

The butterfly effect tells us that each individual will feel the impact of a deadly flood in Libya even though we may not even know where that place is on a map. An earthquake in Morocco may seem to have little to do with our own lives but we will subtly feel the resonance of that tragedy as well. Whether it be a political, religious or media response to such events we find ourselves becoming involved. We may simply feel sorrow for the poor souls or we may generously contribute to sending aid the the victims. We may begin to discuss the scientific or human cost of such events. Such discussions may find their way into our educational or political discourse. We may learn of the economic impact of a disaster through an increase in our taxes or the temporary loss of certain products produced in the devasted area. To a lesser or greater extend all of us are affected when some of us endure traumatic events. 

The same is true of good fortune. It may seems contrary to believe that happiness and peace is capable of trickling down on all of us, but think of times in our lives when it just felt really good and safe. Usually such eras were marked by a transactional upturn in good fortune for the majority of the world. On the other hand there were few people who were not emotionally moved by the events of September 11, 2001

There is almost always some person, some city, some state or country that is undergoing hard times. When the number of such places remains low we all tend to feel more comfortable with our lives. We might find that the oranges from Florida cost more because of ruined crops after a freeze there. When heat and drought are plaguing most of the world our sense of ill ease is far more noticeable. 

I suppose that my point is that it would be unwise to simply ignore events that seem to be irrelevant. As a community of humans we should all be concerned that thousands died in Libya from a damn that burst during two days of torrential rain. We have to ask ourselves how each of us is contributing to the devastating effects of climate change. Then we have to determine what steps we might take to mitigate the waste and misuse of our resources that is causing more and more such disasters. Like butterflies we have the power to one by one make a difference. 

I always hark back to a friend who once commented that if each person who attends a concert or athletic event would donate one dollar to be used to help others, we would be making an incredible difference all over the world. We could improve schools, support research, provide food and shelter, send deserving young people to college. It’s a simple idea that uses the power of the butterfly principle. We really do not need to bankrupt ourselves to begin assisting people and programs in dramatic ways. 

I once sponsored a group of incredibly thoughtful high school students who wanted to really make a difference in the world. They formed a club whose sole purpose was to find ways to raise funds that might then be sent to individuals and causes needing help. With hard work and interesting ideas they turned the school year and their meetings into continual fundraisers. In the process they were able to create two college scholarships, send supplies to Haiti after the earthquakes there, provide medical supplies for a children’s home, purchase Christmas gifts for families enduring economic hardship, create an appreciation dinner for local firefighters, sponsor a community clean up, purchase classroom books for teachers. All of this happened during a single school year and each of the students involved came from families with low incomes. Their impact was incredibly strong because they believed that individual actions mattered. Instead of crying or complaining about the unfairness that seems to stalk so many of the world’s people, they rolled up their sleeves and gave of their talents and limited means and brought hope and joy to many corners of the world. 

We are a world of beautiful butterflies, diverse in our abilities and philosophies but always the most beautiful when we flap the colors of our wings in unison for a worthy cause. Of late we seem to be more concerned with grumbling than finding ways to be a positive force. There is so much to be done that it seems quite wasteful to waste our efforts on sparring with each other. It’s time that we curb our tribal instincts that are driving us to partake in circular battles and begin healing the world around us rather than fighting over our differences. We can make the flapping of our wings a positive force or we can create chaos by unwittingly believing that nothing matters but our own concerns. It is long past time to put our power together to bring comfort and joy to all parts of the world.  

It was early summer and I had flown to Dallas with a student who was a finalist in a contest called The Great Debate. His counselor, his mother and I were there to cheer for him. If he won he would receive a hefty check that he might apply to the cost of college in the near future. He was well prepared but a bit nervous. His opponent was representing an exclusive private high school. The battle seemed to be one between David and Goliath, but my student was determined to give it his best. He had wisely decided to wear a suit and tie to indicate his respect for the process. His opponent had come in jeans and a t-shirt, but his casual confidence took a downward turn when his competition walked in resembling a Harvard trained lawyer. My student cast a spell on the room as he entered with his head held high. Nobody would know that he lived in the shadow of downtown Houston in a tiny home or that he traveled for miles each day to attend a public charter school designed to lift up young people who might otherwise be lost in mega high schools located in rough areas of Houston. 

Soon the two young men were sparring, each holding his own. My student seemed relaxed and confident as he stated his points and factually rebutted the issues that his opponent set forth. Of course I favored the young man that I had accompanied to the event, but I worried that the elite panel of judges might not see him with the same affirmation that I felt for him. It would be anyone’s guess as to how they would ultimately rule. 

As we waited for the results the two debaters warmly congratulated each other. They earned each other’s sincere respect in a battle of young men from two very different worlds. It was a valuable learning experience for both of them. The feeling was that both had already won even though only one would walk away with a check. 

There was a nervous moment of chatter as the judges filed back inside. They delayed the final announcement of the winner by critiquing the performance of each of the young men. It was obvious that choosing a single champion had been incredibly difficult. Finally the words that we had hoped to hear came from the head of the committee. My student had won. His performance had been outstanding in every regard. 

We were celebrating while photographers from newspapers and television stations pointed their lenses at my student. He handled the attention with humility and joy. I was quite proud of him in that moment and looked forward to celebrating with him and the rest of our entourage. Suddenly the joyfulness of the occasion was interrupted by a breathless by stander who asked if we had heard that Michael Jackson had died. 

We were all stunned. Everyone in our group had been a fan of the super star. We knew that he was rehearsing for a world tour which was schedule to launch that summer. He was only fifty years old so it seemed unreal that he had died so young. Somehow MJ’s death overtook the rest of our conversation that day. My student more than anyone became quite philosophical about what it is like to be black in America and noted the irony that even a black man with great wealth suffered from the same kind of health issues that plague the African American community. It was a point he had hammered home in defense of a national healthcare program in the debate that he had just won. 

We flew home less animated than we had earlier been. Somehow Michael Jackson’s death had meaning for each of us beyond just loving his music and his talent. For me it was sadness for a young man who had struggled to find his true identity in a world that all to often attempts to judge with great prejudice. I believed MJ to be a sensitive soul. The songs that he wrote were like entries in a very personal diary. I would listen to his music for days afterward, often shedding tears for the musical genius that we had lost. I also believed that he was finally at peace, something that had continued to elude him in his quest for perfection and pleasing the world. 

For my birthday this year my husband gave me tickets to two events. The first was a Sting concert and the second was to a musical called MJ. Both brought back memories of a time when I was a young and vibrant woman in my thirties who never thought far enough ahead to see myself at the age of seventy five. Sting and Michael Jackson had been musical idols to me. I heard the profundity of their music and lyrics  and celebrated their exceptional talents. It was a great gift to be reminded of the joy that both of them had given me, but it was the story of Michael Jackson that burrowed into my heart.

MJ is a musical featuring many of Michael Jackson’s greatest songs. It begins in a rehearsal room where Jackson is preparing for a world tour. A sidebar involves a filmmaker from MTV who is trying to get a very personal story about the King of Pop. Jackson agrees to allow her to film the rehearsing but only for two days. He tells her that the story can only be about his music and she agrees. The woman interviewing him soon learns how difficult Jackson’s life has been. She sees that he had no childhood under the domineering determination of his father to earn fame for his talented children. Each song and dance seems to be a way for Jackson to explain to the world who he is and why he is the way he is. 

The woman finds Michael to be a gentle soul who drives himself and others to perfection. He has a vision of how music should be choreographed and heard. It all rolls around inside his head to the extent that he is never able to turn off his thoughts, not even when he is exhausted and still unable to sleep. 

MJ is poignant, beautiful and stunning. It builds to a crescendo that brings the audience to its feet in an emotional moment in which everyone shares their love for Michael Jackson and his music. There are tears and joyful shouts. Hands are clapping and waving and people are singing along. Everyone is young again and remembering how they felt when the times appeared to be so innocent. The cast has transformed us and created a show that would no doubt make Michael Jackson quite proud. They capture MJ’s humanity, his love, and his warning to us that change only comes when we look into the mirror and begin with ourselves.