All It Takes Is A Little Love

“A book should be an axe to chop open the frozen sea inside us.” —-Franz Kafka

I love to read. The most horrible thing that might ever happen to me would be to lose my sight. I can’t even imagine not being able to turn the pages of a book, or surf the Internet for stories and news. I would miss watching movies and televisions shows. I would long for the views into my backyard or from my car in my travels. I am a visual learner, a person who has to see in order to believe. I have found great joy inside the pages of books.

My favorites are the ones that teach me things that I did not know or with points of view so different from my own . I remember reading The Kite Runner and reconsidering all of the stereotypes that I had about Afghanistan and its people. The same was true of Things Fall Apart, a story with a different viewpoint toward colonialism. Both novels challenged me to reorganize my thoughts, to question my beliefs. They chopped open the frozen sea inside my mind and became two of my favorite works of fiction. 

Isaac’s Storm took me to a familiar place and a well known story, but it introduced me to the backstory of an event that I believed I knew quite well. Set in the days and hours before the nineteen hundred hurricane that ravaged Galveston, Texas it is a stunning look into humankind’s hubris and vulnerability. It tells of a time when Galveston, Texas was a sparkling city by the bay, a place of high finance and success. Seen through the story of Isaac, the local weather expert is unfolds into one of the greatest tragedies of all time. Since reading that true account I see Galveston in a very way than I once did. I feel the spirits of all the innocents who died each time I visit. I now have a kind of reverence for those who perished. 

Such books dare me to leave the isolation and privilege of my own life and to see worldviews very different from my own. One book leads me to another in my quest to learn even more about the places and ideas presented in the pages between the covers. Whether fact or fiction I prefer those that ask me to suspend my personal judgements and to place myself into another person’s shoes if only for a time.

It seems that the more I read, the more I change. i learn new words, new customs, new philosophies, new truths. Books awaken the sleeping corners of my mind and force me to become less inward and more inclined to appreciate differences. I become the citizen of the world that my high school English teacher challenged me to be. He introduced me to authors that I had not known like Albert Camus and Franz Kafka. Their works were metaphysical and strange to an innocent girl who had rarely ever left her hometown or even the street on which she lived. 

Reading The Lord of the Flies was exciting but sometimes confusing because I had never met people whom I thought might become so uncivilized in a situation when they should have been working together. Then I saw the rumblings of such behavior during the recent pandemic. I saw that those wild young men may not have been so out of character after all. 

Truth is often stranger that fiction, but a good tale captures the essence of the human story. It teaches us and asks us to consider that our ways of living are not the be all and end all that we may think. A well crafted character introduces us to people that we might otherwise never meet and opens our minds to the idea of crossing over the chasms between us. We learn that when all is said and done each of us longs for safety, kindness, autonomy, love. We are not so different after all.

I outgrew fairytales long ago I no longer want only happy endings or characters with magical lives. I expect authors to chop away at the still frozen parts of my mind. I grow with every such encounter and it is good.

We sit around the table each evening talking with my father-in-law. I’ve learned more about him in the past eight months than I knew after more than fifty years of being around him. He’s a bit old fashioned about the relationships of men and women. Most of the time when my husband and I went to visit him the men would excuse themselves and leave the women to talk. My conversations with my father-in-law tended to be brief and of little substance. What knowledge I had about him came from the comments of his wives. Now I hear his stories and opinions every single day for an hour or two before, during and after dinner. 

I’m from the Baby Boomer generation and we were just as defiant in our quest to be more forward thinking than our Greatest generation parents as today’s young folk are. We rebelled much as all young adults tend to do. We thought we knew more than our parents because we often enjoyed the gift of being more educated than they were. They grew up in a different kind of era and it showed. 

Now we Baby Boomers are gray in the hair and long in the tooth, two generations removed from our grandchildren. Some among us even have great grandchildren. The young folk protest that we do not understand what it is like to be coming of age in today’s world and I suspect that they are correct. We are at the end of our lifelong journey while they a just beginning theirs. Our worldviews are by definition tinged with differing events that influenced the ways in which we think. 

Those conversations with my almost ninety four year old father-in-law have amused me because of the stark differences in the way he and I see the world. While I am still just young enough to celebrate change, he is stuck in days of long ago. He prefers to watch old movies, listen to old music, and go back to a time that felt easier and safer to him. He is not interested in politics or the fate of other people or nations. He’s tired and simply wants to enjoy however many days he has left without any concerns outside of himself. 

I suppose that is the way we humans always are. We reach an age of simply wanting to stop the clock as we reach back in time for our most precious memories. We become too tired to be open to new ways of doing things, new ways of thinking. It’s both amazing and concerning to me that I too may one day settle into a phase of not even wanting to hear what is happening outside of my tiny little world, and yet I worry that one day it will happen to me as well.

I recently had a wellness visit with my physician. He wanted to know how my life was going. When I told him that I was helping to care for my father-in-law he rolled his eyes and commented that I was “an old person caring for an old person.” I laughed because I have yet to think of myself as being old. I’m quite energetic and I read profusely to learn as much about current events, discoveries and ways of doing things as possible. I still interact regularly with my young students and gain knowledge from them as well. I like the new music and discuss the difficulties of today’s young adults with my grandchildren. I want to believe that I am keeping myself current and young at heart but I see differences now and again that speak to the evolution of each generation that has been taking place since the beginning of time. I realize that I seem “old” to people who only peripherally know me. 

I suppose that I too will one day become more set in my ways but I secretly hope that I will live out my life like my Grandpa Little did. He somehow remained young at heart throughout his one hundred eight years. He was a forward thinking man who appreciated progress. He mused on his life and boasted that he would never want to fall backward in time. Perhaps his outlook is what helped him to thrive for so many years. He was as current as a twenty year old until the last few months of his life when his body began to turn on him.

Like Grandpa I see the future and hear the voices of the young with their yearning to have the opportunity to try their hands at leading the world. They are more open to exciting new ways of doing things than we are. They are ready to build a better world than the one that they have inherited. They have ideas that they are anxious to convey. We would do well to hear them out before judging them. 

I think that every generation has difficulty understand those that come after them. They are wary of turning over the reins of power because they cling to old ideas, outdated ways of doing things. Because we live longer and longer lives the adults behind us have to wait longer and longer to get opportunities to be in charge. We would be wise to step aside to give them the respect that they deserve. 

I used to seek out my Grandpa Little for wisdom because he was truly an elder statesman. He moved with the times but also saw the whole picture of his life. He was willing to tell us about the mistakes of the past as well as the glories. He taught me to learn from truth rather than to hide from things that made me uneasy. I hope I can follow his example because the fact of life is that I will become less and less relevant if I am unwilling to accept that there is a constant evolution in the way we humans do things. My goal is to grow old in body but never in mind. 

Texas is a beautiful place. It has everything that anyone might want to experience, lush forests and arid desserts, flat plains and rolling mountains, big cities and empty spaces, dry gulches and coastal beaches. While the state sometimes makes the news for horrific tragedies and political shenanigans, the people in Texas are mostly really good folks who are friendly and helpful. We Texans may quibble over how things should be done but when the chips are down we come together. One sure thing that we all seem to agree on is that Willie Nelson is our treasure. Somehow he manages to typify the essence of being a Texan with his sonorous voice and songs that seem to be pure poetry.

Willie was born in Abbott, Texas not far from Waco which is famous for Baylor University, Chip and Joanna Gaines or the standoff with the Branch Davidian cult depending on what one’s interests might be. Abbott is near the heart of Texas which is a wonderful metaphor for how Willie has somehow captured the deep down spirit of the state. With his sister formerly on piano and his guitar named Trigger Willie has literally defined the soul of what it means to be the kind of Texan who loves his family, the land, and the people who live here. 

Willie wasn’t always the star that he is today. He had a tough time breaking into the world of country music. Folks thought that his voice was not right enough to sell records so they purchased his songs instead. Somehow I wonder if they ever really listened to him turn a melody into a spiritual moment with his ever recognizable and soothing voice. I know that I instantly get chills whenever I hear him sing. He makes me laugh when I am supposed to, smile as I relate to what he has to say, cry both tears of sorrow and joy. 

I like to ride around the Texas Hill country on the backroads listening to Willie’s songs. I get quite emotional on those journeys. The sheer beauty of it all speaks to my heart. Willie captures the story of Texas, of people, in the ways of one of the greatest artists of our time. I shed all of my worries in those remote spaces with Willie serenading me and teaching me about life. The best therapist in the world can’t create the calm that I feel when I listen to Willie’s songs.

Willie is already a legend and his musical reputation will grow even stronger when he dies, a time that I don’t even want to imagine. I suspect that I will break down and cry when his time to leave us comes, but he will leave behind a legacy of music that will never be out of date. It all has a universal quality that will speak to us just as great literature has always done. While I have my favorites, I can’t think of a single song that he has not made more magical than it might otherwise have been without his ability to make them come alive and feel real.

Willie just won a couple of Grammys for his album A Beautiful Time and a single for Live Forever which was his tribute to Billy Joe Shaver, a singer, songwriter and actor who touched the hearts of the country music world. Willie becomes a down home philosopher softly speaking his mind in both the album and the single. As always he manages to bring sorrows and joys together in one magnificent package that brings tears to my eyes even as I smile at what he has to say. 

Willie breaks down my facade of trying to be the strong person in the room, the one who won’t crack under pressure. I tend to hide the emotions I am feeling in a particular moment. I only seem to know how to express them in words. Willie somehow pushes down the walls that I build around myself and brings the real me to the surface. His music has the most remarkable effect on me and no doubt most people who hear it. 

I’d love to have an evening with Willie Nelson and a few of my friends and family members just sitting around telling our stories . I would not force him to play or sing, but I would definitely hope that he might volunteer to do so on his own. I’d just like to talk with him about life and music and Texas. I know he loves this state as much as I do, even though we both know the problems that it has. Somehow he has found a way to deal with the ups and downs in the most wonderful way.

Willie’s newest album for which he won a Grammy gives us a strong hit of where his mind is focused these days. He’s buried family members and friends but now has no desire to got to funerals. He simply wants to remember them as they once were. He tells us that he has had a beautiful life with few regrets. He reminds us to treat every day as if it were our last because one day we will be right in thinking that we may have hit the end of our journey. He urges us to make those phone calls and tell people how much we love them. He gently reminds us what is most important.

Willie is a survivor like most of us are. I suspect that he finds solace in making music just as I find solace in hearing him sing like an angel. Surely he will live forever through his songs, but for now I hope he is able to continue making beautiful music that erases all of my cares and woes for many years to come. I’ll be on the road again soon and I hope to take him along.  

My mother, like her siblings, was a devoted Catholic. My father believed in God, but not a particular religion. In fact I suspect that he must have had some kind of bad experience with a group during his youth because of comments that he made about overly evangelical groups. Nonetheless, he encouraged my mother to practice her faith by raising my brothers and me in the Catholic church. He seemed to appreciate her insistence on following the the dictums of her beliefs even to point of signing a pledge upon his marriage to allow her to teach us about Catholicism from the time of our births. 

My father never went to church with us on Sundays nor did he have much to say about God or faith or any particular religion but he was a good man who loved as fiercely as any of the most religious people that I have ever known, maybe even a bit more unconditionally. He was not prone to judge, but rather to accept people just as they happened to be. I never heard him cuss or demean another person with his words. He quietly did good deeds without boasting. He was a humble man who was devoted to his family. 

My mother was a living saint. She only missed Sunday mass if she was sick. She read her Bible daily and lived the kind of life that Jesus instructed us to follow. She sacrificed for my brothers and me and for other people for all of her adult life. She found so much solace in God that she sometimes cried tears of joy when describing how she felt about her faith. Nonetheless she did not believe that it was her place or her duty to tell others how and what they must believe. She was best friends with a Jewish woman and often noted how beautiful that religion is. 

My mother took my brothers and me to church, sent us to Catholic school and spoke of her own beliefs. She was such a pillar of faith and service to our Catholic community that she received a papal blessing from Pope John XXII. It was one of her most treasured moments in life. In spite of her own devotion she was quite liberal in believing that ultimately my brothers and I would have to choose our own paths in determining what our respective thoughts on religion would be. She often praised the many different ways that we humans have attempted to determine the existence of a deity. 

I ended up following my Catholic faith for a lifetime. One of my brothers became a Baptist. The third brother is agnostic, believing that there may be some kind of God but not feeling drawn toward a particular kind of religion. Mama was fine with all of our choices. She believed that what mattered most was how we treated our fellow humans and in many ways it was in fact my agnostic brother who followed the most Christlike way of living. 

I often think of the irony of having a mother who was at once a diligent follower of Catholic teaching and at the same time so very liberal about accepting each person’s right to form his/her own beliefs. She reminded us all of the time that Jesus befriended people who were spurned by the rest of society in his time. She felt that his message could be distilled into the idea that what matters most is loving our fellow humans. 

I’ve gone back and forth in my own religious journey. I was not much of a fan of the somewhat conservative teachings of Pope Benedict, but whenever he spoke of migrant people I found the essence of the Catholic faith that had always stood out for me. He was adamant in his belief that we are one human family. He once asserted that, “The parents of Jesus had to flee their own land and take refuge in Egypt, in order to save the life of their child: the Messiah, the son of God, was a refugee,” He believed that it was our duty to welcome and minister to those who flee from horrific conditions to save their families. It is what Jesus would expect us to do.  

Somehow of all of the things that Pope Benedict said during his lifetime that one sentence seemed to encapsulate the heart of teachings that I learned from my church, from my mother and even from my father. It has fashioned my relationships with people, my politics, and my desire to lead a purpose driven life. It has made me a nonjudgemental person and it has helped me to see the beauty of humanity.

Our present Pope Francis has echoed the mandate to keep our hearts and our borders open to people fleeing from war and injustice. On a recent visit to Africa he enjoined us to remember our duty to speak out whenever we see others being abused, saying ” we cannot remain neutral before the pain caused by acts of injustice and violence. To violate the fundamental rights of any woman or man is an offense against Christ.”

I sometimes think that many organized religions and those who belong to them have lost their way. As has too often been the case throughout history people have politicized religion as a cudgel to force their beliefs on others. It has caused much suffering which may have been my father’s rationale for abandoning it. The rules have often hurt as much as helped. Perhaps it’s time that we all step back and consider the simple idea proposed by Pope Benedict that we are indeed one human family. Then it will make perfect sense to each of us that our goal should not be to judge or inflict pain but rather to unite against injustice and violence wherever it may be. It does not take participation in a formal religion to be a very good person. My mother and father both seemed to understand that quite well. 

Thirty years ago I attended a graduation ceremony at Rice University on a sunny day in May. It was an outdoor affair which can sometimes be uncomfortable in Houston, Texas known for its hot humid days that begin as early as March. On that day, however, the weather gave us a break. We sat on folding chairs enjoying a rare breeze as we waited excitedly for the graduates to walk across the stage to receive their diplomas. The fact that former President Jimmy Carter would give the commencement address was an added treat. 

I had voted for Jimmy Carter when he ran for the highest office in the land. I pegged him as a kind man and his engineering degree told me that he was also quite bright. I felt comfortable with his leadership, but as sometimes happen events that probably would have taken place without or without him in office sunk his hopes for a second term. The overthrow of the Shah of Iran and a takeover by religious extremists disrupted the flow of oil resulting in shortages at the pump in the United States. When the U.S. embassy was raided and those working there were imprisoned  the blame was heaped on President Carter. 

Things eventually worked themselves out which is generally the way history goes, but it was too late for President Carter. He was soundly defeated in the next election. After a smooth transition for the next man in line, Carter returned to his home in Georgia and began a new and incredible phase of his life. He dedicated himself to helping those in need and preaching at his local church. He proved in the ensuing years to be a true man of God and a disciple to his fellowman. 

It would be difficult to find an more genuinely kind and loving man than Jimmy Carter. His charitable works have become legendary. He has built more habitats for humanity than most contractors. He is not just the founder of a great charity, but also someone who picks up tools and works alongside people far younger than himself creating places to live for those who have struggled to find permanent homes. Even in his nineties he was still driving nails and laboring for the good of other people.

On that day in May at Rice University in the long ago I was not sure what his speech would be. I only knew that it felt nice to be in the presence of a famous man. With his first utterance I realized that he was speaking from the depths of his heart. He assumed that anyone graduating from the highly ranked university where he stood would make great contributions to society with their intellects and skills. Instead he challenged each of them to acknowledge the good fortune that they had by paying their riches forward. He insisted that they had a duty to care for the earth and all of its people. He urged each student to be as passionate about doing good works as he suspected they would be about their careers. He spoke with such force that even those of us who were spectators felt inspired to go forth and bring light to darkness wherever we may be. 

Jimmy Carter has now lived longer than any former President in history. He returned to his home to die. His time on this earth is drawing to and end and may even over before this post is published. As he spends his last moments on earth I find myself concentrating on his never flinching honor and goodness. He was a man of his word, someone who lived a Christian life better than most who have traveled through life. If he were a Catholic I think he might one day be officially named a saint. As it is, I am certain that he has been a saintly man with or without a title. He is an example for all of us to follow. 

There may be many debates about Jimmy Carter’s presidency, but few will be able to honestly question his integrity and generosity. He most surely was devoid of the many hypocrisies that we see all around us. He never asked any of us to do something that he was not willing to do himself. He reminds me of all of the biographies of saints that I read as a young child, a person who lived outside of his own ego. If we were to rank all former Presidents by character he most surely would be in the top five. 

I have a cousin who has always insisted that Jimmy Carter was the best president in her lifetime and she has facts to prove that she is right. She went to see President Carter not long ago on a pilgrimage to the church where he often preached. Her trip was akin to finding the Holy Grail, the secret to life. She was inspired just as I was thirty years ago on the campus of Rice University. She felt his charisma and humanity in her soul. She cherishes the moment as one of the most impacting days of her life. 

The world will miss President Jimmy Carter. We don’t seem to have enough people doing what is right rather than what they think others want them to do. We have a dearth of honesty, humility and devotion to all people in our world today. Perhaps now we can all pause to consider the message that Jimmy Carter delivered to us all the days of his life and follow him in performing random acts of kindness and understanding wherever we go. It’s an ideal that he has achieved and a challenge for us all.