Category: Giving

The Generosity of Widows

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
brown pinecone on white rectangular board
Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

In the gospel story the widow gave when she did not have. I always likened the woman in that parable to my own mother, a widow who had so little material wealth, but gave  freely of whatever she had. She used to smile sweetly and tell us that we should never worry about her because Jesus had promised to take care of people like herself. Thus she gave to a host of organizations that unwittingly took her donations without ever realizing that she might have better been a recipient of their largesse. I never quite knew how she did it, but she always managed to keep the lights on and the gas roaring to heat the house and cook the food. It was a rare day when she actually ran her air conditioner, and she stretched her budget by living a life that would have rivaled the simplicity of Thoreau. She understood and lived the messages of Jesus so well that my brothers and I often insist that she should officially be elevated to sainthood by the Pope.

I think of how wonderful it would be to have St. Ellen of Houston, patron saint of widows and the mentally ill. I wish I knew the process for getting her name in the Pope’s mind. I think I even have proof of miracles that she has already made happen from her heavenly home. While I’m one of those people who is a bit suspicious of the idea of sainthood and miracles and such, somehow when it comes to my mom it seems feasible that there are indeed such people who live in our midst. They are somehow so truly believers and kind souls that they seem more godly than the rest of us. Those who know them see the traits of which I speak.

I have to admit that I have often questioned my own faith and I worry incessantly. I see so much unfairness and evil in the world and it gives me pause. My mother was never like that. She was an unsinkable optimist, and I have to admit that like the widow of the gospels she never ran out of food or the things that she needed to live no matter how meager it may have been. Some miracle or another seemed to take place even in her darkest hours. Then she would smile as if to say, “I told you so.”

It was great having her as a parent, particularly after our father died. I was totally frightened and traumatized. but she demonstrated over and over again that she would provide for us with God’s help. We used to laugh when something around our house broke, because an unexpected windfall invariably came our way making all well again. I sometimes thought that my mom was incredibly naive, and I assumed the role of family cynic when I was still a child. Again and again my fears were proven to be unfounded, and I eventually learned to have a little faith before coming unglued.

There are so many needs in this world, and often not enough willingness to help. We give tokens rather than stretching our budgets just a bit to include those who are less fortunate. The people who are known for their generosity are very often the very souls who can least afford to be so. Like my mother they happily reach into their pockets to support a worthy cause. I found that I was generally more likely to raise donations in a school filled with economically disadvantaged  students than in an exclusive private school. Perhaps it is because the poor have a better understanding of need than those whose lives are filled with comfort. They have experienced living on the edge, and so they give when they are able.

It is sometimes suggested that raising funds from private donations is better than compelling citizens to pay taxes to give to the government to support programs for the needy. That would be a beautiful thought if everyone were indeed as generous as the widow of the Bible and my mother. Unfortunately far too many would rather keep the four or five dollars that they might spend each day at a Starbuck’s than set aside that change for someone who is struggling to survive. While there are some folks who are poor because they are lazy, most are like my mother whose circumstances left her in a difficult economic situation. There are many many reasons for poverty, and we should all be willing to help those who are unable to help themselves.

This is a season of Thanksgiving and sharing. There are many worthy causes that merit our aid. The idea is to think of the less fortunate and give whatever we can afford and perhaps even a tiny bit more. It doesn’t even have to be to an organization. There may be someone that we know who can use our help. A gift card or basket of items that will get them through the coming winter months will most certainly be appreciated, and we can do so in the guise of just playing Santa Claus.

I love those angel trees that pop up at churches and schools. It’s delightful to fulfill the hopes and dreams of those whose holidays might otherwise be dreary. I enjoy the role models who show us how to be generous like Bill Gates and Mattress Mack here in my own hometown. Jesus tells us that if we share what we have, He will make certain that we will get what we need. My Mama always believed that, and I’m trying to imitate her profound faith and generosity.

Promote Love

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
pexels-photo-987585.jpeg
Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

I have only recently returned from a ten day camping trip with dear friends. For most of the time I had spotty phone service and little access to the Internet. It forced me to forego my addiction to receiving instant news alerts and to reading political comments and commentaries during this election cycle. I found that my vacation from the noise and chaos of the world allowed me to quiet the anxieties that I sometimes feel about the state of the world. It also helped me to slow down my responses to events that might otherwise have angered me. By listening to the wind, the birds, and the beating of my own heart rather than the chaos that has become so commonplace I found a kind of wisdom and ability to calm my emotions. It made me realize that the world really is too much with us. We have in many ways become as raucous and disturbing to the peace as the flock of crows who sometimes babbled overhead as I sat near a beautiful lake eating my meals.

If I were to only be exposed to my friends and the members of my family I would never see or hear hate. The people in my sphere are good and kind, just as I found the individuals that I encountered in my travels to be. Most of us only desire to live our lives with as little drama and ugliness as possible, but we are all too often reminded again and again that there are indeed tortured souls who are filled with murderous anger and venom. I often wonder what has made them this way. Surely they were at one time innocent children. Were they abused, taught to be hard hearted? Did their minds become infected with illnesses that were ignored and left untreated? Were they abandoned by society in some way, alone and afraid? What led to their evil acts of violence? Why did they feel compelled to hurt innocents who had nothing whatsoever to do with causing them to have so much anger seething inside of them? How did their minds become so tortured?

I have come to believe that much of the murderous rage that we witness is caused by the twenty four seven barrage of information and talk that is suffocating us. Headlines are created to garner our attention. The more salacious they are the more likely we are to be curious about them. Yes, we have a president who stokes the fires, but the news outlets are more than happy to constantly give him the attention that he so voraciously seeks rather than learning how to ignore his rudeness. Perhaps if they took away his audience he might change his ways.

We can’t watch an awards show without hearing unwanted political commentaries from people who somehow believe that their opinions should matter to us. There is to much talk, talk, talk, most of which resembles a disagreement among kids in middle school. Seemingly all of us are guilty in one way or another of judging people by the ways in which they vote. We are at war with those with whom we disagree in ways that are destructive to our society, our friendships and our families. Instead of seeking common ground our words are used mostly to insult and push away anyone who differs from our own ways of thinking. Sadly, the level of self righteous indignation is fueling the violent responses of those whose minds have somehow become twisted, incomprehensible and filled with hate.

So what can we do to help the situation? Simply turning our backs on the problems will do little. We cannot ignore the reality that something must be done, but we also need to approach the matter in a way that demonstrates our willingness to value the differences that we have. We can indeed reshape the environment, but it will not be easy nor will we rid ourselves of all evil. The one thing that we can control is the way in which we choose to react to people who appear to be so aggrieved that they are shouting in true pain. Rather than insulting them, perhaps it is time that we ask them what they really need.

On a recent Sunday the Gospel story told of Jesus traveling to Jericho where He encountered a blind man named Bartimaeus  who begged the Lord to pity him and help him to see. The crowd yelled at Bartimaeus and told him to be quiet. They wanted nothing to do with the wretched man, but Jesus stopped, listened to his pleas and healed him.

We need to follow that example. It is so easy to just write someone off because we do not like what that person does or says. We meet their anger with our own and often hurl insults at them or even turn our backs on them, leaving them to grow more and more isolated and desirous of vengeance. We tell ourselves that helping people who are overwrought is none of our business, sometimes even when they are members of our own families.

I read an ironic description of the man who sent pipe bombs to democrats. It was from one of the members of his family. The man told of how sweet the his cousin had always been. He then went on to note that things had changed in the last three to five years. The world fell apart for the man now charged with attempted murder. He lost his business and had to file for bankruptcy. He was living inside of his van which was plastered with outrageous political messages. He worked as a pizza delivery man, a job usually populated by younger individuals. He had frequent run ins with the law and made unrealistic boasts about his talents. Those who knew him realized that something was very wrong and yet they did little more than shake their heads. He had not seen many of his relatives in over five years. Still, nobody seemed willing to reach out to him and ask what they might do to help him. He turned to a strangers in a twisted political world for the comfort that he sought. What if instead, someone who truly loved him had been willing to ask him what he needed? Might the direction of his life turned just by being noticed? 

We will never know. Indeed he may have pushed everyone away in spite of their efforts. Sometimes evil cannot be persuaded to change. That is when we must punish violent acts. Still I think that it would benefit all of us to begin to approach the sound and fury that surrounds us with more compassion and less anger. I think of an episode of the famous literary detective Hercule Poirot that I watched not long ago. In it he solves a murder before it even takes place, saving an unfortunate friend whose life was falling apart from total ruination. It’s time that we return to love, even for those that we do not understand,. We must notice the suffering people among us even when they appear to be ugly and unhinged. Let the crows be raucous. We should be kind. Promote love even for those we do not understand. Maybe in the process we will prevent evil from taking root in a misguided and tortured mind.

Sharing

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
abandoned aged architecture black and white
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

We just paid off our truck. It was exciting to know that we’d have one less expense each month. Then, of course, the air conditioner on it went out. It seems that we needed a new condenser. “Ka-ching, Ka-ching!” There goes a nice chunk of change, but air conditioning is a must in my part of the world. Speaking of which it’s time to replace one of our almost twenty year old air conditioning units in our house. It’s actually had a great run all things being equal. I can’t complain too much about finally having to give in to replace it because we’ve gotten by rather nicely for a long time. Things really do fall apart,  and the twenty year mark seems to be the point as which all of the problems begin to show.

I laugh went I see the repair trucks in my neighborhood. It’s as though everyone is experiencing the same problems all at once. We’ve all had to replace our roofs, paint the exteriors, and call in the air conditioning crews. The people next door had foundation problems which scares the bejabbers out of the rest of us. Their repair was rather quick, but I don’t even want to imagine the cost. We just replaced a whole houseful of leaky faucets, and the jacuzzi on our bathtub decided to quit running. In the spring we got a new hot water heater and a whole lot of new carpet because the hot water heater leaked all over the house. By the time we get everything repaired we may be able to settle down for a very long time because most of the moving parts in our home are once again brand new.

I have to admit that I despise having to spend the money on such things, but I feel blessed that I am able to do so. I often think about a tour that I took in Chicago to see homes built by Frank Lloyd Wright. I remember that one of the ones that we saw was in a dreadful state. The guide explained that it was owned by an old man whose teacher retirement income did not allow him to fix things. He spent most of what he had on exorbitant taxes and the rest on food and medical bills. Our tour host mentioned that there were people who were infuriated that the once majestic home was falling apart, and they had tried unsuccessfully to purchase it from the owner. He was unwilling to sell because a member of his family had lived there since it was built by Mr. Wright. It was a matter of honor to the old guy not to just give it away, no matter how much pressure was being exerted to compel him to do so. I could not help but wonder why some generous group interested in the architectural history of Chicago did not simply volunteer to make the needed repairs in the name of conservation. I also realized how difficult it may sometimes be for the elderly to keep their beloved homes.

My grandfather had to sell his house after my grandmother died. He had exhausted his savings on her medical care. He survived by renting a room from a widow who decided to get a roomer so that she might be able to keep her own home. Together the lady and my grandfather kept her tiny place in good condition. They had found a way of feeling safe and happy by combining talents and resources, but not without sacrifice.

My own mother struggled mightily in her later years as well. She had quite proudly paid for her home and about the time that she thought that she would have some extra cash in her monthly budget all hell broke lose in her house. The oven quit heating. The dishwasher broke down. Her plumbing went haywire. She needed a new roof. Her house required a coat of paint inside and out. The carpet became threadbare. She was so overwhelmed that she essentially gave up. We did our best to help her with things by having painting parties and such, but there was so much to do that she became embarrassed to ask for help and often just hid the problems.

Every city and town has homes that have not been kept up to standard. It’s easy to complain about them as eyesores, but we often miss the point that they have become so because the people who live in them do not have the money or the skills to repair them. I suppose that’s why I so love the Habitat for Humanity program started by former President Jimmy Carter. Really good people volunteer time to help those who can’t help themselves. Often the recipients of the goodwill are older people who simply live with what they have regardless of how inconvenient things become. Providing them with a secure place to live is the least that we can all do as a community.

I recently saw a news story about an elderly woman whose home was inundated during hurricane Harvey. Over a year after the event she is still living with a shell of a home. She has no walls and walks on concrete floors. Even her plumbing is not working properly. She did not understand how to get help from FEMA and has passed the deadline for assistance from them. She plans to make one very small repair at a time until one day everything is back to normal, but it is obviously a very slow and overwhelming process. Hopefully someone who knows how to do such things may offer time or materials to hurry the process. It’s incredibly sad to know that people in our midst are struggling so.

I try to remember not to complain when I’m feeling angered by the continual parade repairs. Sure I have to spent disgustingly enormous amounts of money, but I always find a way of doing so. I do not have the worries of so many who work hard all of their lives only to find themselves struggling in their later years. Not only should I be grateful, but I think I should give regularly to organizations that actually help those who can’t. We have to share our good fortune so that others may live more decently.

Our Mothers, Our Angels

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
adult elder elderly enjoyment
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I recently participated in a podcast dealing with the question of how to form meaningful relationships. As I told my own stories I realized how much I had learned about compassion, gratitude, courage, loyalty, trust and other important morals from my own mother and those of my friends and cousins. I suppose that in many ways I lived a kind of unblemished childhood with the exception of my father’s untimely and unexpected death. From the many women that I encountered, the mothers of my peers, I learned the lessons of being someone on whom others might depend. These were wonderful women who opened their homes and their hearts to me little realizing what an impact they would have on my own development and worldview.

I have sadly been reminded again and again of what these ladies meant to me as they one by one die from the diseases of advanced age. Just last week I learned of the death of the remarkable mother of one of my high school friends. I had only met this woman once, but in that brief encounter I was taken by the way in which she welcomed me and made me somehow feel quite special. I would tell people about her and that brief encounter from time to time as the years passed. It was only in reading her obituary that I realized what a truly stunning life she had lived, and I felt proud to have known her no matter how fleetingly. 

The women who were my role models were children of the Great Depression. They were young and on the verge of beginning their lives as adults during World War II. Their early years were often punctuated with sacrifices that few of us born in the second half of the twentieth century will ever completely understand. In spite of varying hardships they all maintained a strong sense of optimism and can do spirit that followed them into their roles as mothers. They passed down their love of family to all of us, both male and female. They were devoted to their children without hovering like helicopters. They worked hard to maintain a sense of peace and contentment inside their homes. They rarely complained, instead celebrating the blessings that they had, regardless of how small they were. They were an exceptional group, and it pains me to see their generation slowly leaving our earth, because they were living breathing angels who gave their all to be certain that we would have good lives.

These were not women who were always barefoot, pregnant and under their husband’s thumbs, even though many of them never worked outside of the home. They were strong and able to overcome incredible challenges. They worked for the betterment of their little corners of the earth through jobs, volunteer work, keeping their families safe and happy. Often their responsibilities included elderly parents for whom they lovingly took into their homes. I used to enjoy visiting with the old ones who became part of the big extended families of my friends. It was not until my own mother came to live in my home in her final year of life that I realized the difficulties of caring for an adult day in and day out. The women I had witnessed had always made it seem so easy.

The women who continue to inspire me thought it natural to pitch in whenever someone was in need. They’d bring food, condolences, and a helping hand to any tragedy. They were not the least bit afraid of long hours of back breaking work. They did whatever needed to be done with little fanfare or need of accolades. 

If I were to make a list of the women who taught me how to live a purpose driven life it would begin with my own mother but then continue almost endlessly, for I always found something remarkable about the generation that came before me. Mrs. Barry showed me what love and loyalty really meant when she stepped forward to help me during my mother’s first mental breakdown. Mrs. Daigle taught me how to be the consummate hostess regardless of who came to my door. Mrs. Bush demonstrated courage over and over again, even in situations that might have overwhelmed a lesser soul. My aunts showed me how to keep family close. Mrs. Janot helped me to understand how to balance the daily toil of living with fun. Mrs. Frey demonstrated how to fully utilize my own talents and creativity. Mrs. Wright helped me to discover my own worth. Mrs. Loisey was my teacher who showed me the impact of a great educator. Mrs. Pryor helped me to understand the possibilities found in giving myself to the community. Mrs. McKenna brought beauty and music into my life. Mrs. Martin showed me the new worlds to be found in books. Mrs. Brochtrup seemed to be a living saint whose faith inspired me. Mrs. Caldwell, Mrs. Gallerano, and Mrs. Cash made my life more fun and interesting by spending hours  guiding me in Girl Scouts and on our school’s drill team. Mrs. Mandola was elegant and made me feel that way as well. All of them had a way of making it clear that they genuinely cared for me. They listened to me and valued what I had to say. They understood the importance of every relationship, but probably never realized what an enormous impact they had on me.

Our mothers were our angels on earth, and now so many of them are our angels in heaven. I do miss them and the calmness that they always brought to me. When we speak of women’s rights and the roles of women we would do well to look to these wonderful ladies for examples and guidance. They were far more amazing than our society gives them credit for being. From them I learned what it really means to be a woman.

Gratitude

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
food pot kitchen cooking
Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

It was during the middle of the Great Depression that a monastery in New York began offering food each afternoon to citizens who were hungry and out of work. The fare was rather plain, just a sandwich with nothing special about it, but it was substantial. Often it was the only meal of the day for some of the recipients. Those who came reacted to the meager offering in many different ways. Some were so hungry that they gulped down the food in only seconds. Others ate half of the sandwich and saved the rest for a later time when they would once again feel the pangs of starvation. There were those who took the food home to share with others. Then there were always a very few who grumbled that the meal wasn’t very tasty, somehow forgetting the gratitude that they might have shown. Nonetheless the monks continued their daily ritual giving as much as possible to the multitudes who came even though their own pantry was sometimes bare.

I heard this story a few Sundays ago and I thought of how often we tend to take our blessings for granted, and sometimes even complain when given a gift out of the generosity of someone’s heart. We are truly a land of plenty compared to some parts of the world where hunger is rampant. In such places children regularly lie dying from lack of nourishment, their bellies swollen, their eyes sunken. There are many places in our own country that offer food for those who are not able to provide for themselves and for the most part people are grateful for whatever they receive. Nonetheless we have all seen or heard of those who grumble and seek more than the charitable groups are able to provide. It hurts us when we see generosity being so under appreciated, even as we understand how deprivation can breed anger.

I’m reminded of a chapter in the classic novel To Kill A Mockingbird in which Scout describes a cantankerous old woman who lives near the Finch family. The lady invariably hurls insults at Scout and her brother Jem as they pass in front of her home. One afternoon the woman says such vile things about the children’s father that Jem becomes enraged. He later returns and cuts off all of the blooms on the neighbor’s favorite bush and breaks Scout’s new baton in half. Ultimately he is confronted by his father who chides him and insists that the he be kind to the woman because she is old and sick.

As a punishment for his egregious actions Jem has read to the cranky lady each day. He chooses Ivanhoe as his subject and visits her home every afternoon. Little by little his task becomes less onerous and the woman less and less demanding. When she dies shortly after he has fulfilled his duties Jem learns that she had been addicted to a powerful drug given to her because of her illness. She spent her last days weaning herself from its hold by listening to Jem’s recitations. She died clean and sober with her pride intact. Jem’s father insists that she was one of the bravest people he ever knew.

We never really know what is causing someone to be grumpy or inappreciative. It is easy to chide them for their seeming lack of graciousness, but if we take time to find the source of their crossness we often learn that something quite terrible is plaguing them. Sometimes it is simply the idea of wanting to be thought of as being just as good and important as everyone else. Still, on the whole we would all be better served by being more thankful for whatever we have rather than wishing for more. We appear spoiled, churlish and even a bit childish whenever we judge any kind of gift to be unworthy. Often the things that we receive from people who care about us are the very best that they have to offer, even when they are quite humble. We need to think more about the intent to please us and less about the actual object.

Each day there are probably wonderful opportunities for demonstrating a sense of appreciation. A smile is a gift. Having someone help us with a problem is a blessing. Having a roof to shelter us from the elements is wondrous. Experiencing joy and laughter is beautiful. An education is one of the greatest gifts we might ever receive. Seeing a sunrise one more day, watching a baby play, enjoying the quenching goodness of clean water, sitting under the shade of a tree are such simple things that in reality are glorious. We forget to be thankful for such things because we take them for granted, but we notice immediately when they are gone.

I used to feel embarrassed because my mother sent me to school on most days with a fried egg sandwich. I often tried to hide my meal in shame because it seemed to shout that I was poor. I forgot to be happy that I did not have to go hungry. That egg filled my belly and gave me energy for the afternoon. It was more than better than nothing. It was tasty and made with my mother’s love. It took me years to understand just how lucky I was to have that meal wrapped in waxed paper and gently placed in a brown paper bag to keep me nourished. I was silly and superficial not to be more grateful. It took me many years and many experiences to realize my folly.

Take the time each day to really notice the many gifts coming your way, particularly those that are sent with the best of intentions. Appreciate each little effort, every special gift. Set aside anger or feelings of want and revel in whatever you have. You will soon find your heart filling with contentment. Even a plain sandwich will become a gourmet meal.