Category: Commentary

I collect quotes. I suppose it is the teacher in me. I once had a drawer full of witty and inspiring words to use on bulletin boards that I had to create as part of my job. Of course all of those pithy sayings were non-religious ideas about working hard or being observant and such things. Lately I’ve found myself keeping quotes that are more in line with spirituality. I won’t be creating bulletin boards anymore but I do a great deal of meditating about the state of my own perspective, something that can be painful but nonetheless enjoyable. I suppose that my age and the knowledge that the end of my time here gets a bit closer with each day has prompted me to think a bit of what I have done and not done that might make me a better person. 

I won’t be taking any money or possessions with me but I would like to think that somehow I will have made a positive impact on the tiny circle of life that is mine. With Easter just having been celebrated I stole this jewel from a friend named Will that seemed to encapsulate the teachings of Jesus quite well. “Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me, and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Such a command seems easy enough but it can be a tall order to follow daily. We humans have some wonderful traits but also some that make us fall short of such a daunting command. Our anger, jealousy, greed, and hatefulness sometimes get in the way of fulfilling our intent to be good people. Luckily we have many opportunities to sincerely ask for forgiveness for our transgressions and start over again. At my age, with the clock ticking inside my aging body, such opportunities do not seem to be as bountiful. For that matter given that we never know when the our road here on earth will come to an end, we would all do well to set out with determination each day to simply do our best to love one another. It is a topic that I can’t think or write enough about.

Another quote that caught my eye provided me with an idea of how I might better go about focusing on how to love in an increasingly uncertain world . It showed me how to be aware that “holiness comes wrapped in the ordinary. There are burning bushes all around you. Every tree is full of angels. Hidden beauty is waiting in every crumb.” In other words loving my fellow humans sometimes means adjusting my points of view. The woman cleaning the floor where I work should be as important to me as the CEO of the company. The most meager meal is a great gift that feeds me. I should be immensely grateful that I am not going hungry no matter how humble the food may be. I look for dramatic miracles in burning bushes rather than seeing that little child laughing and playing as the most wonderful miracle I might witness. There are indeed angels all around me willing to help me when I least expect. Life is filled with wonder if only I am willing to open my eyes and my heart.

I have personally had times when I was weary and full of complaints about my lot in life. Sometimes I did not think that I made enough money or was as appreciated as I should have been in my job. Yet another quote that I added to my collection made me think a bit differently about my own good fortune. The words were quite simple, but powerful,”Your job is the dream of the unemployed…” 

This one smacked me in the stomach. I thought of how lucky I had been in always being employed from the time I was fifteen years old. My bosses and coworkers were kind and helpful. I felt that I was doing something important in my work and while I did not make a fortune I was nonetheless remunerated fairly. The same has been true of every aspect of my time on this earth. I have a wonderful house that became a home filled with love. My cars have taken me safely to wherever I have needed to go. I’ve had to struggle now and again but everything always turned out well in the end. I find myself feeling ashamed for ever whining about my status or income or possessions. There are people who would think of my life as a dream.

Easter is the most profound day of the year in my mind. For me it is the holiest of days that reminds me to seriously consider how I should attempt to live my life. The Bible tells me that Jesus died for our sins. There can be no bigger sacrifice than someone laying down his life for others. We are all brothers and sisters with one commandment. Easter opens my eyes again to what I must do. I still have time to do my best to get things right. I still have time to love. 

We travel through this world for an indeterminate time. We never know when it will be our day to leave even if we are seemingly healthy. Life happens and so does death and while its fine to do everything possible to continue to be healthy and vigorous there has to be more to our existence than merely existing. There are some things that should not be set aside for a another time while we walk in place just making it through another day. None of us are guaranteed another minute much less days, weeks or years. We’ve all witnessed the passing of a child, a teen a one hundred year old man. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we might truly say that each of them had been the authors of their own stories?

I read about King Charles of England stepping back for a time while he takes treatment for cancer. Others will step up for his duties. I could not help thinking that he had stood in the wings waiting for his moment on the stage for three quarters of a century. He marked time and shattered his life and the lives of others as he attempted to please everyone but himself for much of that journey. In the process he hurt people by living as he thought he should be rather than living as he wanted to be. When we deny our instincts and our talents we allow ourselves to live someone else’s dreams and often end up turning the lives of the people around us into nightmares as well. 

I have always appreciated parents who allowed their children to develop as they instinctively knew they should. As each of us grows in wisdom, age and grace we somehow realize what our story should be. If we are fortunate we will have opportunities to find ways to use our passions and our talents just as we wish. We will make choices that enrich us with joy rather than worldly goods. We will look at ourselves in the mirror and be able to smile at what we have become or are in the process of becoming. Being masters of our own fate is the greatest gift we might give ourselves but often we become victims of other peoples wishes rather than our own. Society has a way of sending loud signals about how it believes we should live. 

There are many forms of genius and most of them are not reserved to being a master of the STEM vocations. We too often measure people’s worth through standardized tests, wealth and possessions rather than the level of their happiness. We celebrate the person who rises to power but rarely see that sometimes the happy person who has minimal possessions may in fact be the more content of the two. How can we possibly place value on a person who lives each day with joy by being the master of his/her fate?

I smile when I see a family filled with people who are each writing their own stories. I celebrate the parents who somehow understand how important it is to not only allow but to encourage their children to develop their individual passions, whatever they may be. None of us should spend most of our lives waiting for the moment that makes us feel accomplishment and joy. Each step of our journey should lead us to opportunities to be ourselves. 

Of course we are often limited in our choices by circumstance. Sometimes our stories are propelled forward more by where we happen to be born than by equal opportunities. Poverty of freedom or lifestyle can limit the progress of our dreams and yet we hear of souls who find the courage to overcome such things. 

A friend of mine grew up in a small village in Africa. He was curious and bright from the earliest days of his childhood. By the time that he was in high school he was fascinated by the idea of becoming an engineer. He took time to determine what he must do to reach that goal only to learn that he would need to study physics to be accepted into an engineering college. Sadly there was no one in his school or his village capable enough to teach such a class. 

My friend is an enterprising soul and always has been. He heard of a man who lived in another town who had once been a Physics teacher. He walked to the man’s home, knocked on his door, and explained that he was looking for someone who might be willing to teach him Physics. The old teacher was stunned and immediately explained that he no longer had time to be a teacher. He had retired to a farm that needed tending. There was too much work to be done. He was sorry but he would not be able to help my friend. 

Because my friend is the author of his life, he was not dissuaded by the rejection. He suggested to the old teacher that payment for instruction in Physics should come in the form of labor. My friend agreed to perform the needed tasks in exchange for the education that he desired. The old teacher agreed and my friend learned physics and eventually became an engineer. 

It is never too early or too late to begin writing your own story. You know better than anyone what gives you joy. Don’t wait in the wings for your moment to come. Do what brings you joy. Find ways around barriers. Happiness will follow you and when all is said and done that is what each of us seeks. Never be afraid to be yourself even if others don’t quite understand you. Life is beautiful when we become the authors of our stories.  

I suppose that we all see religion through different lenses. I’m a cradle Catholic but I don’t always agree with everything my church does. I suppose that I have been more influenced in my faith by my mother who was a long suffering soul who somehow kept her optimism intact in spite of all the horrific things that happened to her. The brand of religion that she taught me was filled with goodness and love. Her example trumped all of the dos and don’ts that I learned in twelve years of attending Catholic school. I still go to mass and say the universal prayers each week but if something I hear does not jibe with my mother’s beliefs I tend to simply ignore it and carry on the way she showed me I should be. 

My mama found great comfort in the life and teachings of Jesus. She read the bible that my grandfather gave her every single day. She was not preachy or judgmental of those of other faiths or even those who did not believe that there is a God. In fact she seemed to think that God reaches out to each human in different ways depending on where they live and what their cultures are. She was also very forgiving of people who were unkind to her. Somehow she realized that they were simply operating from a different mindset than hers. When they failed to return her compassion it made her sad but she always rose above their slights and accepted them as they were. 

I suppose that I have a difficult time being patient with people who profess to be religious but then demonstrate behaviors that seem contrary to the teachings of Jesus or for that matter any of the great leaders of the world’s religions. I am impatient with those who use religion as a way of hurting others. Luckily the priests in the parish that I attend seem to have beliefs that are similar to mine. The homilies that they deliver are upbeat and kind. They point to the struggles that we all have and give us hope that we are going to be okay in spite of our flaws. They describe a loving and forgiving God who is waiting to help us work through our trials and doubts. 

Fire and brimstone have never worked for me. I suppose that is because my mother never used physical punishments or verbal lashings on me and my brothers. She sometimes talked gently with us, pointing out ways the we should treat people, but mostly we simply watched her day after day to learn how to be good people. I have never reached her level of forgiveness and generosity and probably never will, but when I get down on myself and need to re-energize I try follow her example. It never fails to bring me peace and a sense of hope. 

We all know truly good people who may or may not speak about their religious beliefs. Perhaps they do not even have any form of religious affiliation. They may even doubt that there is a God, but somehow they follow a kind of spirituality that helps them to be the best possible versions of themselves. We know in our hearts that we are in the presence of a a genuinely wonderful human being when we are with them. They do not need the trappings of religion to exhibit all of the good habits that most religions advocate. 

On the flip side we may have met people who constantly announce their religiosity but hypocritically behave in horrific ways. They feign piety while turning their backs on their fellow humans. They look the other way when they see a downtrodden soul. They are unforgiving and angry. 

My mother would have simply loved each person exactly as they are. She somehow seemed to get the message of how we should all live together in peace and harmony even as she herself was often the butt of unkindness. She never met a person that she could not love. That was her gift to all of us who were fortunate enough to know her. 

Not long ago the priest at my church gave a homily that urged us to look for the good in our lives and in the people that we encounter. I thought that it was a lovely way for all of us to try to be. He mentioned that judging others is never a very good idea because there are none among us who are absolutely perfect. In fact he pointed out that all of us including himself had walked into the church with the baggage of our imperfections. He did not chide us for being human but instead suggested that we keep our own weaknesses in mind before casting stones at others. Listening to him reminded me so much of the type of motherly advice my mama once offered to me and my brothers. 

Years ago I complained to the pastor of my church about a deacon who rained down much fire and brimstone whenever he preached. I noted how disconcerting it felt to be lectured and made to feel broken each Sunday. The pastor patiently explained that the deacon was a good man who simply employed a different method for inspiring us to overcome the weaknesses that we all have. He suggested that my way of kindness was his preferred way but then challenged me to be less judgmental of my fellow men and women who were also searching for meaning in life. I took his point and looked for the good in the deacon in whom I eventually found much intense love. We two most different souls became great friends.

We sometimes use religion as a cudgel rather than understanding it as a way of living together in harmony on this earth. Perhaps we would do better if we were to use our faith to find the goodness in each person we encounter. It is there if we take the time to find it. Some, like my mother, seem quite good at accepting people as they are and looking for the good even in the most difficult of times. It can be difficult not to judge but we would be wise to remember that even as he was dying on a cross Jesus was willing to forgive. Our challenge is to first begin our interactions with love. 

I’m at an age where I’m either going to get busy living or get busy dying, as the saying goes. I try my best to stay current with technology and trends but sometimes I grow a bit weary of the rapid pace of change. I still prefer recipes printed on paper inside books. Like Mitt Romney I keep notebooks with ideas for all kinds of projects. I fumble a bit when operating my television, but I always end up in the right place given enough patience. I think I want an electric car but I don’t want to have to break it in or have a learning curve before feeling comfortable driving it. I sometimes think that I would like to be more adventurous, but I often find myself finding excuses for avoiding situations that might feel a bit uncomfortable. Sometimes I even go so far as to sound like my really old father-in-law who is mostly unwilling to change his ways. 

There is comfort in the familiar. Over the years I’ve learned how to use and navigate a computer and a smart phone. I have a graphing calculator and use Google to help me find videos that teach me how to do all kinds of things. My husband has turned our home into an Alexa dream, or maybe it’s actually a nightmare. Whatever it is, I haven’t had to flip a light switch for a couple of years. I mostly stream music and movies now as well, making my collection of CDs somewhat moot. 

I understand what means to be “woke” and I like the concept. I listen to my former students and my grandchildren and agree with much of their thinking about how we should all be living. I’m even open to following most of their advice. I’ve become more and more attuned to caring for the planet and I’m always curious about learning aspects of history that I never knew. 

I’ve spent a great deal of time studying religions other than my own. I find myself finding something positive in most beliefs that humans have developed, but I see problems as well. I like talking about ethics and studying philosophy. I find it both challenging and fun to keep my mind as open as possible. I’ve been willing to change my points of view when I encounter new information that seems to fill in the blanks of my knowledge.

Mostly I appreciate the joy of travel. I have found people all over the world to be quite welcoming and more like me than different. All in all we want so many of the same things, but we often get there in different and interesting ways. Travel has made me far less narrow minded than I might otherwise have been. I am quite open to the idea that there might be equally good ways of living that are nothing like my own. 

All that being said, I have certain foibles or likes and dislikes that make me feel comfortable with myself. I need time alone each day or I get cranky. I dislike have an ironclad schedule that forces me to operate according to a watch or a calendar. I need to have moments of unplanned freedom in my life. Sometimes I don’t want to know where the winds will blow me when I wake up in the morning. The best part of being retired is not having to answer to a routine. It means leaving the dishes in the sink and setting out in search of adventure with no plan in mind. 

I’m not at all impressed by wealth or titles but instead am in awe of people who are wise and generous. I want friends who will take me just as I am without expecting me to change or believe a certain way. I hope that they will know that I feel the same way about them. We may be at odds politically or religiously but none of that matters as much as our relationship. Friendships are as important to me as family. I never abandon a friend even if they abandon me. My door is always open, awaiting the moment when they may want to finally return. 

I can’t take long hikes like I once did. I need two knee replacements but always seem too busy to schedule them. I’m too much on the go and too responsible for other people to take the time to heal from such a thing. My doctor says that it is okay to wait but that one day I will come to him when I can’t walk without intense pain anymore. I’m not there yet, so I think I’ll just keep going.

I am quite impressed with the knowledge and inventiveness of the younger generations. I do not at all believe that they are somehow inferior to me and the other Boomers. I would challenge all older folks to attempt to keep up with them in mathematics or science or political thought. These days I learn more from them than they do from me. They make me feel quite secure in the belief that they are going to save the world for us all. We would do well to listen to them and respect what they have to say. 

I’ll just keep trucking as long as I am destined to do. Hopefully I can keep learning and adapting even as I grow older. The world and its people are so thrilling. There are things to discover in every single day. I plan to continue busying myself with living as long as I’m able.

They came from El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras and Mexico. They were not thugs or lazy people intent on taking advantage of American generosity. They were family men who worked hard, sometimes in the middle of the night, to care for their mothers, fathers, siblings, wives, children. They came for jobs that would provide them with enough income to send money to people back home. Their motives for being in the United States were unselfish, focused on hard work and a willingness to do the kind of jobs that most people don’t want. They quietly toiled from day to day, mostly unnoticed, faceless individuals too often imagined to be invaders in the minds of some American citizens, sometimes generically described by even those holding the highest offices in the land as “boogeymen” who were not even people. 

On a night when most of us were slumbering they were on the Francis Scott Key bridge in Baltimore repairing potholes to make the journeys of those who used the bridge a bit smoother.  It was just another long day of work for them. They may have been tired but they had learned to do whatever was needed to insure that they would be able to provide for those they loved. According to those who knew them they were good employees, good people who showed up when needed regardless of the time of day. They had little idea that the routine repair they were doing might be the last one that they ever did. They did not see the danger coming their way. 

At about 1:38 AM on March 26, a container ship slammed into the bridge. Within seconds the entire structure failed and came apart. The men were thrown into the water below. Did they realize what was happening? Did they know how to swim? Were their last thoughts terrifying or did they think of their loved ones as they hurtled into the water? How could something like this have happened? It was supposed to be just another repair, just another night at work. 

In some ways the six men who came to the United States in search of a way to make life better for themselves and their families represent the stories of all people who have come to our country in search of relief from the struggles in faraway lands. My own ancestors arrived here from parts of Great Britain long before colonists broke away from king and country in a revolution that would reverberate around the world. I know little about their lives other than their names. One of them was an indentured servant working her way to freedom. Others simply settled on land that they assumed to be free for the taking even as the native people asserted their own claims to the bounty of those original colonies. 

Much later my mother’s parents would arrive on steamships bound for Galveston, Texas filled with the same hopeful dreams as those six men on the bridge in Boston. My grandparents were from an area of Austria-Hungary that would one day be known as Slovakia. They worked in fields cultivating and harvesting crops. They cleaned buildings in the wee hours of the night and found jobs in bakeries and meat packing plants. They saved their money and purchased a tiny plot of land on which they would slowly build a tiny home where they would raise eight children whom they taught to cherish the opportunities of the United States. They would endure prejudice and abuse with their heads held high and their determination to succeed protecting them from the slings and arrows of misunderstanding.

Those six men on that bridge in Baltimore were part of the ongoing history of our nation, so much like the first people who came across the ocean in hopes of finding better lives. The streams of humanity across our borders were never intended to be invasions, but simply ways to better life. Those who have come here have all been people, humans willing to work and sacrifice to find a tiny plot of land where they might be free to be themselves. They were mostly good people with good intentions and a willingness to work for their privilege of being here. 

Perhaps if we were to begin by assuming the best about those now flooding across our borders rather than branding them with bad intentions we might find more humane ways of dealing with their desires to enjoy the kind of lives that we often take for granted simply because we were born here. The accident of birth came because our own ancestors once traveled here or were forced to be here or were native to this land. We exist in this place and this time as a consequence of people on branches of our family trees. Of course we want to protect our precious nation, but we would be well to appreciate the motives of those begging to join us, to understand their histories as well as our own. It does us no good to see people as faceless members of an invading horde. They are people with names and stories and reasons for risking everything to be with us. While we may find some bad actors among them, most of them will be more akin to those six men who were working hard to repair a bridge in the middle of the night. 

The beauty of the United States lies in generosity and compassion, not in concertina wire or angry insults. Sometimes we have done bad things in the name of progress or in thinking we are protecting each other. We can learn from those moments and strive for fairness and understanding. We can find ways to accommodate those who want to be part of our freedom and opportunity without being cruel. We can name them and listen to them and see them as humans just like we are. Only then will we make the right kind of adjustments to the ever changing flux and flow of the world from which we ourselves have come. A good start for all us will be thinking of those six good people from El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras and Mexico who were on that bridge in the middle of the night.