All It Takes Is A Little Love

I loved studying history in middle school and high school. Sadly there was so much to cover in a very short time that it was like the Readers Digest version of the story of humankind. Even the college level classes that I had to take were quick overviews of mankind’s impact on the evolution of different times and places. Because I did not major in history I only learned a smattering of whatever professors and curriculum designers believed that I needed to know. It fell to books and documentaries to fill me in on the details that I had missed in the rush to get a general idea of the major world events. Suddenly I became fascinated with the long arc history and found myself digging for more and more details like a dedicated archeologist of facts. 

We humans have done some incredibly wonderful things, but we have also been the perpetrators of great evil either through ignorance or greed. In most cases it was indeed greed that prompted people to use and degrade others for the sake of improving their own status and wealth. The enslavement or abuse of others has been a shockingly common theme in history that is all too often ignored or even forgiven as though those who did such things were not able to discern the wrongness of using people as though they were somehow deficient and unworthy of respect. 

My informal study of history has led me to believe that it has always been important to point out instances of man’s inhumanity to man. Somehow throughout history there have been decent and brave souls who were willing to risk countering generally accepted customs that they believed to be wrong. They were unable to simply look away in fear of being ostracized and more often than not their courage became a part of the thread of change that illuminated and eliminated many of the most egregious practices that humans contrived. 

While the open ownership of slaves is mostly a thing of the past, there are still underground organizations and war torn nations trafficking people as though they do not deserve the kind of freedom that most of us enjoy. Children are still being used as laborers in dangerous conditions. We are a far cry from honoring the value of every person who lives on this earth. 

CNN recently uncovered a massive scamming organization operating from a remote area of the war torn country of Myanmar. What was once mostly jungle has been transformed into a self sustaining “city” in which workers are recruited from around the world with false promises of jobs. Once they arrive they must surrender their passports and they essentially become slaves locked behind heavily policed gates. They are then trained to scam people out of their money by posing as friends and confidantes to their victims. Those who refuse to follow orders are beaten and starved. Everyone is expected to earn lots of money for the organization by bilking innocents. The pressure to succeed in the scheme is enforced with torture and threats of death. Those who come expecting a real job become pawns who never receive pay of any kind. The victims that they are trained to befriend and then coax into a fake investment program lose thousands and sometimes even millions of dollars. Both the slave laborers and their victims are innocent parties in an evil system that seems to exist in full view without consequence. 

Here in the United States there have been multiple instances of migrant children working in factories that provide products for well known and reputable companies. Efforts to ferret out and fine the wrongdoers have been mostly unsuccessful as there are not enough inspectors to keep up with the demand. Additionally, those who knowingly hire underage workers often find ways to hide their youngest employees when examiners arrive. It is often only when the children are seriously injured that their presence in jobs where they should not be come to light. It is estimated that the underground use of child labor is present in virtually every state in our nation. In fact, many of the products that we use have come from places around the world where children are used for long hours in dangerous situations.  

It is so much easier to remain ignorant of the wrongdoing of mankind throughout history and in the present. Nobody wants to think about evil. It is so much more pleasant to only focus on the goodness of people. Nonetheless, pretending that the immorality of humans did not or does not exist right in our own backyards almost certainly insures that it will continue without interruption and sometimes even with unearned forgiveness. 

It is naive to create excuses for the slave trade no matter where and when it took place. It is wrong to use people to enrich greedy adults! Facing the reality of such horrendous behavior in our human history is the best way of being alert to the possibility of such things happening again. Pretending otherwise to protect a person’s or a nation’s reputation is simply wrong and even children are capable of grasping such truths.

I knew enough when I was seven years old to complain to my parents about the treatment of the Black people who lived in my city. I witnessed them in the back of the bus I rode to downtown with my mother. I saw the different water fountains and restrooms. I realized that they were not allowed to eat with us or move into our neighborhood. It did not take much analysis in my young mind to know that what was happening to them was wrong. 

The world would become a much better and safer place if we were to simply be honest about the horrific mistakes of humans made in the past and the present. We don’t have to dwell on such things but we certainly need to discuss how to avoid such wrongdoing in the future. We need truth and knowledge to be able to do that.

There are age appropriate ways of teaching everyone how evil can creep into even the best intentions if we are not aware of it or how it works. Instead of banning the teaching of uncomfortable topics or insisting that waking up to facts is somehow wrong, we do ourselves and our children a disservice by not discussing how to right wrongs without hate and vengeance. It may be painful, but in the end a well informed society is a much better one than a community built on fairy tales. Our freedom to speak is perhaps the most important aspect of true independence. We must protect it with unfettered honesty. The search for truth is our greatest right and responsibility. 

I sometimes wonder if I think too much or not enough. I do indeed grapple with how to approach dire situations. As a teacher I was trained to analyze data and observational information to create lessons and a classroom environment conducive to learning. I may react spontaneous to the news o breaking event or idea, but ultimately I return to the careful consideration of how my actions and those of others will impact our daily lives. 

I suppose that because of my background I am rarely relaxed. As a teach and school administrator I had to be aware of everything that was happening at any moment in time. Looking away almost always resulted in accidents and chaos. Humans have a way of becoming prey to accidents, especially when they are gathered in groups. I’ve learned through experience to always be prepared for the worst while hoping that I will only encounter the best. I apply that kind of attention to virtually every aspect of my life which means that I sometimes become exhausted from being on watch for my loved ones and for people in general. 

People accuse me of being too tightly strung and I must admit to owning that characteristic. Perhaps it stems from being an eldest child who carried the bulk of responsibility and expectations in my family, usually induced by my own sense of duty. Maybe it grew from my father’s death and the realization that life can change in the blink of an eye. Possibly it comes from being too conscious of the vagaries and challenges of the world in which we now live. Whatever has caused me to be this way is all at once both a gift and a curse. Somehow I am rarely in a totally relaxed state of mind and mostly my worries are about the people and the nation that I love. I want more than anything to keep them from harm as much as possible. 

Of late i have attempted to learn from my adult children and from my grandchildren who are beginning to advance onto the world stage. They have grown up in a world far different from my own. Some of my experiences and thoughts may seem ancient to them just as their points of view sometimes feel radical and even strange to me. Nonetheless, rather than arguing with them I find myself more and more often simply listening to them and even considering the possibility of changing the ways in which I think and do things. 

Perhaps there is a good balance between the so called wisdom of age and the embrace of the future as envisioned by the young. I suppose that I sometimes seem a bit wishy washy to them in my attempts to consider both sides of an argument or belief. it takes me time to embrace a conclusion by which I will guide my choices in life. My reluctance is not based on an unwillingness to evolve, but rather a long held instinct to carefully analyze each unique situation within the context of all of the possible outcomes. I suppose that I have always been the person who asks questions and then does research to find answers. 

What I have learned is that in many ways the youngest adults among us have the most revolutionary and credible ideas. They are often operating from more knowledge that those of us who are older my have, especially when it comes to issues like technology and world events. They are less inclined to cling to old and outdated viewpoints. They look to the future rather than the past. They are not yet nostalgic like older people often become. They are looking ahead to a lifetime of creation while we look backward because we know that with each passing year our days are numbered. They should take the keys from us and take hold of the wheel. We should gladly give them the opportunity to show us what they can do. 

My grandfather Little was a paragon of wisdom, and in that vein he never stopped learning. He celebrated progress and only related stories of the past to show us the threads of enterprise that led to a better world. He related the glories of the willingness to adapt to a changing world. he clearly understood that along with inventiveness that makes our lives easier there must also be new ways of thinking that are in touch with the realities of both the present and the future. He used the past to point out the areas where we were flawed and those when we were willing to change for the betterment of all. Even at the age of one hundred eight he was still celebrating forward change and urging us to keep our minds as open as possible. 

The most wonderful moments that I experience tend to be with young people. They are still learning, but often they know more than I do. I glory in encouraging them to enlighten me. They teach me something new with every encounter. I see that they are far from being the lazy or ignorant souls that some older folks accuse them of being. They challenge us to see the world from a broader perspective than the narrow confines of our own opinions. We would do well to listen to them rather than attempting to drown out their thoughts or punish them for disagreeing with the generally accepted ways of seeing things. We should instead remember the youngsters like James Madison and Alexander Hamilton who proposed revolutionary ideas to create a new country that they hoped would never be static. They understood the dangers of clinging to the old ways rather than being willing to move forward in sometimes dramatically different directions than the world had ever seen. 

I love nothing more than being challenged by young people whose beliefs are much more radical than mine. I find them to be earnest in their insistence that there are indeed situations in which the old ways no longer work. Their intent is to reshape the world into better and better approximations of freedom for all people, even those beyond our borders. They see a big picture rather than a narrow one. They are exciting and eager. I learn from them with every encounter and it keeps me young at heart.  

The world is in such a state of chaos that sometimes it is difficult to see the goodness that is always around us, even in the most chaotic and challenging moments. We often have to force ourselves not to despair when we see so many images of man’s inhumanity to man. Such times are also when we are most likely to see heroes, good people who dive into the fray to be helpers. Such souls are always quietly among us humbly and quietly using their kindness and their talents to ease pain. They are the souls who run into disasters rather than away from them. They open their hearts and their homes and their pocketbooks to suffering souls anonymously. The do not seek glory, but instead earnestly spread their compassion simply because they know it is the right thing to do. Sometimes they even sacrifice their lives in the quest to comfort strangers in need. 

They are the people like my neighbor who demanded a murderer to release his frightened children into her care after he had killed their mother. They are souls who volunteer at soup kitchens and food pantries. They are the former school administrator who rushes to Haiti after an earthquake to provide aid and succor. They are the colleague who has built a school and cultivated a community farm in Africa. They are people who do not see others as members of unseen masses, but as beautiful individuals with the same hopes and dreams that each of us hold dearly in our hearts. They are the young person who puts his reputation and safety on the line advocating for the misunderstood. 

Good people are all around us, going about their lives like the rest of us. Sometimes we do not even know the extent of their goodness until they have died. Their goal is not to achieve status or glory, but simply to respond to the cries for help that they encounter. I had a cousin who died much younger than the rest of us. We loved him and laughed constantly at his silly jokes, but we had little idea of the saintly man that he was until the testimonials of his charitable heart informed us of his largess. We were stunned to learn of his ceaseless devotion to performing works of mercy. 

My own mother suffered far more than most people ever will and yet her love radiated out in all directions like rays of sacrifice and joy from the center of her heart. She gave of herself intensely and more often than not she was totally misunderstood because of her many illnesses and lack of worldly riches. Still, she touched the hearts of many people who might otherwise have been forgotten. She really saw people that others may not have ever noticed.

My uncle William was another such person. He was quiet, unassuming and sometimes seemingly invisible beyond the borders of his home. Those of us who knew him often took his goodness for granted because there was nothing flashy or exciting about him. He simply went about his days spreading boundless love, even to the mother of a mass murdere whom he happened to know because of his work as a postal carrier

People sometimes overlook the wisdom and glory of the quiet people who respond to the needs of others. We elevate those who seem strong and powerful rather than noticing that it is the legion of faceless helpers who change the world for the better, not the blustering showboaters whose goal is to maintain power. We only notice the guy with a tiny boat when rains inundate our homes and he comes to save us. 

If we stop long enough to watch and to see beyond the wars and the shooters and the haters our vision will clear. Suddenly we notice the woman cleaning the rooms of the sick, the doctors and nurses who won’t leave a hospital even as bombs detonate around them. We see the police and firefighters and volunteers who race into a building that is about to collapse to save those attempting to escape for the flames. We hear of chefs bringing food to places where most of us would not dare to go. 

Sometimes it seems easier to give up hope than to join the legions of ordinary people with extraordinary altruism and courage. We worry about the state of the world instead of finding a way to be kind, to do good, to create the changes that will benefit all. We sit in our tiny worlds and see only masses of suffering rather than noticing each individual. We forget that what separates us as humans is small and insignificant. Often we do not even notice all of the things that unite us. 

We have the power to rescue people from harm but sometimes seem to lack the will. It is easier to only see the world as a game of them versus me. We demand simplistic solutions that do not endanger our bank accounts or our comfort. We walk through life avoiding any person or situation that makes us feel uncomfortable and yet surely we see the real heroes, the people unafraid to make a difference without concern about the sacrifices that may be required. 

Take some time to look at even the most horrific places where war and destruction exist. It is in the ashes that you will find the unknown souls who always respond to cries for help. Look at them. Know them. Be them. 

It is a rainy Saturday morning that is quite typical of Houston area weather in February. With the melodic patter of rain falling on the roof and skies that remain dark I slept in a couple of hours later than usual. It seems as though the entire neighborhood followed my lead. Nobody is stirring even at nine o’clock, a anomaly for a weekend morning when everyone is usually busy accomplishing tasks outside or rushing off to games and activities with their children. 

I have to admit that I enjoy such moments when we all seem to be taking a breather from rushing around. Sometimes my compulsive need to measure my days by the number of my accomplishments becomes tiresome and I am willing to take advantage of any excuse to briefly forget about the clock and my checklist of tasks for the day. Instead I linger a bit longer in my pajamas and sip on my tea rather than gulping it down. There is suddenly no reason to hurry, nothing so pressing that it cannot wait. For a moment l become contemplative and relaxed and it seems that my neighbors do the same. 

Many of us now carry around electronic calendars on our phones. We receive reminders that it is time to do this or that. We estimate how many minutes it will take us to get from here to there. We achieve our goals with precision, allotting so many ticks of the clock to achieve our daily goals. We tend to be a production oriented society in which many aspects of our lives are measured with data that tell us whether or not we have taken enough steps, eaten the right food, driven the best route, achieved the metrics of our progress toward our goals. It is as though we are in constant numerical competition until the weather intrudes on our plans and we have to adjust to losing a minute here, an hour there. We can either be upset or simply go with the flow. Often it is best to simply enjoy the freedom from our tendencies to always be timing ourselves .

For me a rainy day creates a perfect opportunity to get started reading the book I have recently purchased or even to watch a program that I have put off finding the time to view. Since I can’t weed the flowerbeds and I don’t want to drive across town on the slick streets I am at liberty to just enjoy my home. I set aside thoughts of cleaning the floors by convincing myself that they will only get dirty again if anyone has to go outside and then return. I suddenly feel that doing the indoor tasks on my list would destroy the permission I now give myself to be a bit lazy. The rain has provided me with all of the excuses that I need. In fact, I tell myself that nature has spoken to me and I must listen and partake of a day of quiet and contemplation. 

I think of a poem by William Wordsworth on days such as this and remember the opening lines: The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending we lay waste our powers;-Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!”

I wonder how much I have missed while rushing about as I spend the morning staring at the tree outside my window and listening to the songs of the birds who seem so in sync with the natural world. I am lulled by the symphony of the wind into a state of bliss that I am sometimes unable to find on the days when I check the boxes of my achievements. I know that I would be foolish to waste this day attempting to ignore the beauty and serenity of simply allowing myself to feel as one with the universe around me. 

I have friends who have mastered the art of meditation. They are able to slow the pace of their bodies and minds to find tranquility in simply being. It is difficult for me. I race from one thought to another and actually feel guilty for not keeping to my ironclad schedule. Somehow I find reprieve when something forces me to sit for a time with nothing to do but stay calm. I did that on a recent unplanned adventure. I realized in retrospect how much I had accomplished by simply sitting in my car recalling lovely memories that reminded me of my good fortune. Perhaps a rainy day in the same week is a primal message that it is time for me to stop more often to smell the roses. After all, my blood pressure has been higher than usual. I have often felt anxious and stressed of late. As I sit in the quiet of this rainy day I only feel a sense of wonder and awe that I have been surrounded by love and beauty my entire life. 

The rain returns my perspective to where it should be. It tells me that it is okay not to always be in control. It provides me with the panacea that I need to see the world in all its glory and possibilities. It reminds me that my days don’t always have to be sunny and that it’s okay to take a break from the world to once again see the glory of my existence. After this wonderful rainy day I will no longer be out of tune. I will find my heart and rejoice.  

My mother was rightfully loved by those who saw the scope of her generous spirit. She was spurned by those who did not understand the quirks of her mental illness. As her daughter I defended her from those who seemed unable or unwilling to view her as the remarkable woman she was. Nonetheless I admittedly experienced great frustration with her cycles of normalcy followed by deep depression and manic episodes that sometimes scared people into abandoning her. It bothered me that she was so misunderstood by people to whom she was always kind and understanding.  

I would often witness generally honored and respected individuals saying horrific things about people who thought them to be great human beings worthy of unending praise while my mother who never had an unkind work about anyone was often an outcast. The hypocrisy of it all left me angry and desirous of revealing the truth about the two-faced individuals whom most of society had embraced. The irony of my mother’s unconditional love being so often spurned confused me to the point of great distress. I often cried and wished that she had never been afflicted by an illness that so frightened people that they were unwilling to embrace her even as she continued to love them. 

My mother’s life was punctuated with great suffering which she always unselfishly set aside. Even in her darkest moments when her bipolar disorder was raging, her greatest worries were for the well being of others. Her paranoid fears were always concerns about protecting her family. She loved more intensely than anyone I have ever known.

Only the most discerning people were able to look past my mother’s illness and realize how saintly she actually was. My mother-in-law once proclaimed that Mama was the most incredible woman that she had ever known. Clerks in stores that my mother frequented cried upon hearing of her death and told stories of how delightfully generous she had been to them. Her files held dozens of letters from charitable organizations thanking her for contributions that may have seemed meager but were proportionately huge given how tragically low her income was. 

My mother was always the first to take small gifts to neighbors and friends. When she shopped for her groceries she often set aside cans of vegetables and soup to give to young members of the family struggling to make a start in the adult world. I know that I was often the recipient of her largesse even when I had become successful in my career. She was forever speaking of her obligation to share the blessings that she had. Sadly to so many others her life seemed so tragic and difficult that they failed to see how beautifully she had overcome her bad luck. Somehow she found the silver lining in every situation. She wanted nothing for herself.

When I was cleaning out my mother’s closet after her death I found gifts that she had set aside in anticipation of birthdays and Christmas. Each item was tagged with a loved one’s name. They were all practical and meaningful presents that she collected from sales that she encountered throughout the year. Sometimes they seemed to be more utilitarian than interesting, but over time the recipients almost always realized that were thing that they been unaware of actually needing. 

I sleep each night with the sound of a fan that Mama purchased for my husband. I thought it was an odd choice when he unwrapped it, but when insomnia haunted me one night it became a lifesaver. The hum of the blades whirring around and around was just the kind of white noise that I required to lull me into a deep slumber. We now use it every night and I sometimes think that it is magical. Like Pavlov’s dog it reminds me of my dear sweet mother and somehow makes me feel as though she is tucking me in and smiling down at me with the smile that assured me that she loved me unconditionally. 

Those who saw the inner beauty of my mother were blessed and they knew it. They were able to look past her affliction and see just how innocently loving and generous she was. They benefited greatly from knowing her because she was guileless. Her expressions of concern and compassion were as real as can be. Hate was only a word to her. She genuinely strove to understand and embrace even those who pushed her away. 

When my mother was alive I was obsessed with protecting her, so much so that I all too often became enraged with anyone who abandoned her. I spent far too much time being angry that she was so misunderstood. I wanted better for her, but she never seemed to notice or care that some people were being ugly. She simply carried on with being a messenger of tolerance and love. 

I have had many years to assess her life since she died. I no longer wish she she had been different and more like everyone else. I see now that she was a beautiful and special soul, unique in her ability to overlook the failings of others. What we all saw of her was exactly who she was. She never spoke unkindly even when nobody might have heard a catty remark. I wish I had told her how much I admired her. I wish I had not been so busy trying to shield her from the ugliness that I saw. From her I learned that people are wonderful even with their gaping flaws. She loved them in spite of themselves even as I suspected it hurt her deep down in her heart. She was love at its finest and a role model that I would do well to follow.