All It Takes Is A Little Love

One of the treasures in my home is a Papal Blessing from Pope John XXIII. It belonged to my mother who earned it for her good work at Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Church for many years. She loved the document so much that she invested in having it professionally framed, a kind of extravagance that she rarely enjoyed. It hung in her home until the day that she died and she would become quite emotional when she spoke of the pope who signed it for her. 

My mother was as devoted to her Catholic religion as anyone might be. She somehow found a way to send me and my brothers to Catholic school for our education. My guess is that she may have received a discount of some kind because she was a widow who had to measure every penny just to make it from one month to the next. She also worked as a teacher at the school for a time allowing me and my brothers to attend at no cost. 

Mama strictly followed all of the rules, even the ones that seemed questionable to me. She rarely dated after my father died because she did not often meet men who were not divorced. She would not allow herself to become close to a divorced man because she worried that such a relationship would not be favored by the church. Mostly she dedicated herself to me and my brothers and to her mother. She was incredibly generous to anyone who needed her help as well. 

Mama had a Catholic bible that my grandfather gave her as a Christmas gift. It was worn from her daily reading of it. My brothers gave it to me when she died because I was the only one who was still an active Catholic. When I began to read it I immediately noticed that she had written an inscription leaving it to my youngest brother, so I dutifully gave it to him as she had wished. In return he announced that I should have her crucifix and the papal blessing that she love so much. 

I keep the document upstairs in the room where my mother lived during the last year and half of her life. I keep it there because I have worried about floods since they have damaged properties in the Houston area so many times, most notably during hurricane Harvey. In the event that such a thing should happen to my home I want that precious document to stay high and dry. I have done the same with other treasures that I want to preserve in the hopes that one day one of my daughters or grandchildren will continue the task of keeping my mother’s prize possession safe. 

I have not always been as faithful with my Catholicism as my mother was, few people are. Many of us tend to pick and choose what aspects of that faith we believe and which we steadfastly follow. I suppose that my youthful experience with Pope John XXIII taught me that sometimes there are rules in the Catholic Church that don’t make sense and need to be changed. John XXIII did a great deal to make Catholics feel more included in the rituals of mass. He turned the priests around to face us and allowed the words and readings to be uttered in the languages of the people. For the first time we became active participants in the once mysterious rituals that we had experienced on so many Sundays and holy days. 

Other changes were to come. Lay men were tapped to be Deacons. Girls were allowed to take on the duties once given only to altar “boys.” Men and women became Extraordinary Ministers offering communion which came in the forms of both host and blessed wine. The inclusions have been lovely and have made everything more meaningful. The have additionally led me to question what seem to be antiquated ideas like forcing all priests to be unmarried and insisting that women may not be priests. Some leeway in historic rules have taken place in allowing older men who had once been married to enter the seminary to become priests, With such changes I have begun to believe that more and more modernization should and will ultimately occur. 

I loved Pope Frances. He reminded me so much of Pope John XXIII. His kindness toward all people seemed more in keeping with the words of Jesus Christ than those who centered on making rules that so often made no sense. Frances was a breath of fresh air who invigorated my devotion to the Catholic Church. During the years that he was the pope I felt that the Catholic Church was moving in the right direction by universally demonstrating compassion to even those who are all too often held in contempt by much of society. It was with great sorrow that I grieved over his passing but I hoped that his successor would continue to follow the direction of his loving openness,

I have to admit to being both shocked and pleased by the announcement of our new pope, Leo X!V. I would never have expected for an American born and raised in Chicago to elected by the Cardinals at the Conclave. It felt joyful to hear that he spoke many languages and was a kind of missionary in Peru for much of his time as a priest. I liked that he had been on X and had posted his frustration with both President Trump and Vice President Vance. He indeed seems to be a person who will continue to urge us to all be kind to those who have the least among us. His message thus far is one of love and understanding. I have great hope that there will be progress in reminding all Catholics of what is most important in living our faith. 

Pope Leo XIV seems to be intent on being a pope for all people, not just certain kinds of Catholics. I wish him well. He has made a great start. May we all heed his challenge to embrace and love all of God’s people, not just those who appear to be like us. That is the essence of what I have always learned from my church and what I have always believed. I like having a modern pope whose love extends in many directions. I think our new pope will be just the man that we need.

Is virtue its own reward? What is justice? Why should we live a moral life? These are questions that many of us are asking ourselves and discussing with others but they are not new topics driven by current events. In fact such issues have been the meat of philosophers and writers from the earliest times. 

The Greek philosopher, Plato, posited such enquiries with his classic discussion of ethics, politics, and other facets of life in Republic. Using stories and dialogue featuring different characters he approached the kind of questions that have consumed philosophers and ordinary people over the centuries. The essential themes of the Republic center on the question of why we should live a moral life when we might otherwise live an immoral one and get away with it. 

Such was a recent discussion at a gathering of the Houston Institute, whose mission is to help the people of Rice University think deeply about the best way to live. The organization seeks to provide both students and lifetime learners with exposure to the best authors and the best thinkers. Their goal is to provide a venue for meaningful conversations that lead to thinking about the best way to live. In that spirit they provide over fifty programs each year for students and adults that often include a meal. 

The discussion of Plato’s philosophical thinking with regard to justice was one of many offered for adults during this year. Those interested in meeting with a diverse group of thinkers have delighted in engaging in a poetry reading, a discussion of the Iliad, and in considering philosophical topics that ask how philosophy might enrich our lives. Each event has been thought provoking and enjoyable. 

I suppose that as an educator who continues to work with young students, I appreciate the challenges that we humans face and the questions that we each have as we navigate through the ups and downs of our lives. The Houston Institute posits the idea that a lifetime of study and learning from the great authors and thinkers of the past and the present leads to a more fulfilling experience. As humans we are filled with wonder and questions. Hearing the thoughts of others is essential to our personal growth and our willingness to consider different points of view in deciding the directions we will follow. Through philosophy and literature we can learn more about ourselves and our fellow humans. Through open discussions we share in the goodness of friendship and community.

I first learned of the Houston Institute while taking a continuing education class at the Rice University Glasscock School. There I met Dr. Victor Saenz who is the Executive Director of the Institute. Along with James Prather, the Assistant Director, he has built a thriving community of followers who encourage us all to become part of an intellectual community in which we explore questions that have distinctly defined the innate curiosity of humans. They provide a safe space where diverse groups of people can speak freely and honestly, even when disagreements arise. Much like the intellectual salons of Paris that attracted artists, writers, and philosophers, the Houston Institute is a haven for voicing questions and challenging beliefs. 

I admittedly tend to be a listener. It takes time for me to pull my thoughts together into a cohesive and meaningful whole. I enjoy the events more as a fly on the wall, observing the people whose ideas vary from one to another. Then I go home and read more, think more, distill what I have learned until it feels like something akin to my own philosophies. Being part of the adult wing of the Houston Institute has been exciting as I hear from and meet people of every age and of differing occupations and interests seeking explanations for why we humans are as we are. The discussions are both enlightening and challenging just as they are meant to be. They often cause me to question my own beliefs and to look at the world and its people in new ways. 

I have often thought of my father and his interest in so many different aspects of our human journey through life. Even though he died at the age of thirty three he left a guide to who he was with the books that he purchased and read so voraciously. Among them was Plato’s Republic. I snatched a copy of it when my mother was giving some of his things away. I hate to admit that it has sat prominently on a bookshelf for all of my adult life but I have never cracked it open to find out why he thought it was so important to have among his possessions. I suppose that the Houston Institute has finally enlivened my curiosity enough to push me to dust off the tome and peer inside. Thus they have encouraged yet one more person to think a bit more deeply.

I know a thing or two about Gleason scores and prostate cancer. My husband has been recently diagnosed with the disease. I learned that the Gleason score indicates just how advanced the cancer is. Fortunately the prognosis for my Mike is encouraging. His scores indicate that his cancer is in a midrange and should respond quite well to the radiation therapy that he will endure for much of the coming summer. 

Getting to the point of a clear diagnosis and suggested treatment has been nerve wracking for him, and by association for me. We have spent hours in doctors’ offices and outpatient testing sites. He has been checked with bloodwork, MRIs, PET scans and biopsies. Each step of the way produces anxieties and uncertainties in spite of insistence by the doctors that there is very little about which Mike should worry. After such reassurances the possible side affects have to be considered and they can often sound rather scary. All in all dealing with the big C is a journey into a kind of void that raises so many concerns for anyone dealing with such a thing. Nonetheless Mike and I are convinced that ultimately he will be just fine even as the eight weeks of thirty nine radiation treatments sound challenging at the very least. 

It was with a sense of understanding that we learned of former President Joe Biden’s prostate cancer diagnosis. As soon as we heard that his Gleason score was a nine we understood that his cancer is at an advanced stage. Knowing that it has metastasized to his bones made his situation all the more dire. I can only imagine how difficult things must feel to him and to his family. I have cried at the very thought of what they are now enduring, even as journalists are earning attention and monetary gain by tearing him down. Somehow it all seems so very unfair. 

I will always maintain that President Biden saved us in a time when it felt as though the floor beneath us had been pulled away. Covid was raging and the whole world was coping with the loss and the concerns. Everything skewed out of whack. Nothing seemed normal and somehow President Biden was able to steer us through the storm with as little permanent damage as possible. His steady hand and never ending compassion kept our economy from imploding. For the most part life went on even as we all lost friends or family members to the terrible effects of Covid 19. 

It angered me again and again that so many Americans were not grateful to President Biden for what he had done for our nation. While his decisions were not always perfect, they were at all times presented with loving intentions. I will always be so thankful to this man who ignored the poisonous vitriol that was so unfairly hurled at him and soldiered on with his duties and devotion to the people of our nation. 

President Joe Biden has known sorrow more than many of us. I suppose that I identify with his life story in a small way. I too have felt the immeasurable pain of losing a beloved family member in a car accident. Having to endure the loss of both a wife and a child had to be almost unbearable, but somehow Joe Biden found his way of moving forward without losing his optimism and kindness. Later watching his precious son, Bo, die from cancer was so heartbreaking that it might have been the end for most of us. Instead Joe kept his faith in God and his fellow humans. He understood the kind of trials that we must face and never forgot to think of the needs of others. 

Even as President Biden worked hard to keep our nation from collapsing under the pressures of the pandemic he also had to face the derogatory campaign hurled at his youngest son, Hunter. Like a loving father he stood by Hunter with understanding and compassion. His love for his son was palatable to those who watched his determination to show us what Christian love is all about. 

Now President Biden will face yet another challenge in his life. Given his age and the nature of his advanced cancer it will be incredibly difficult but Joe is a fighter and a true believer in God. I hope that the people of our nation will finally be willing to extend kindness and love to this man who has so unselfishly done so much for us. We owe him a debt of gratitude that has yet to be paid in full. Perhaps now is the time to set our differences aside and unite in compassion to support President Biden in the frightening journey that lies ahead for him and his family. 

When I accompany my Mike to all of the appointments that will fill our summer I will thinking of President Biden and including him in my prayers. I will always believe that he was a great president during a moment of uncertainty. I believe with all of my heart that history will treat him well. For now we should all do the same as he faces a new battle. May God be with him and protect him. He has been a good and faithful servant to us all. 

The best teachers are the ones who can read a room. A great teacher knows when to pause the lesson for a moment because there is an undercurrent that alerts her to the fact that the students are not mentally present. An exceptional teacher notices that one student who seems uncharacteristically silent or has a worried expression on his/her face. A masterful teacher reacts to such things without missing a step.

We are in an era when business people are attempting to use ridiculous tactics to keep the pace of classrooms moving without paying attention to the humans sitting in the desks. Teachers are given scripts to read and timers and stopwatches to measure the number of minutes they are taking to deliver information. The whole concept is absurd. It assumes that all children and teachers are alike and the goal is to just keep moving from one topic to the next. 

Perhaps such a scheme might work to determine how many tellers are needed to keep the lines of customers flowing. Maybe it works inside a factory where objects are moving down a conveyor belt. It might even work to successfully close a sale, but it is totally wrong in a classroom. 

I don’t call myself an exceptional educator but I learned how to read the faces of my students a long time ago. I realized that the young people in front of me have way more on their minds than just learning the skills and knowledge that I am attempting to impart to them. Sometimes they show signs of growing weary when attacking a very difficult concept. Using a couple of minutes to allow them to laugh or even to groan about what they are doing often has the power of immediately changing the negativity of their feelings. That little pause may be all that they needed to continue pushing to learn. 

We’ve all seen comedies with teachers talking over students’ heads. Such folks are totally out of touch with the youngsters in front of them. Living breathing people are going to be all over the map with their abilities. A droning lecture, especially one read from a script, can sound like the bad acting in the voice over of a foreign film. Those glazed eyes may be trained on the person who is talking but it’s a pretty sure bet that little to no learning is happening in their heads. The process of teaching has to be dynamic and interactive. The teacher must be aware of who is catching on and who is struggling to understand. The variance will always be part of the process of getting everyone over the goal line. 

It’s difficult to know for certain how to demonstrate the how to dos of  with-it-ness to a teacher. Some seem to have an innate sense of its importance and others are like brick walls that are tone deaf to the moods inside their classrooms. I have to think that some administrators are even worse when they devise ridiculous programs that operate like machines rather than people. Sometimes the most horrific of them are in fact computer driven, devoid of any kind of human interaction. 

I tutored at a high school for a time and it was a wonderful experience. The teachers whose students I was helping worked very well with me. We were in a kind of partnership in which they would send students who were struggling with certain concepts. They showed me how they had taught the students and the kind of work they were doing. They gave extra credit to the kids for coming to me. I soon had a roomful of eager boys and girls who truly wanted to improve their grades. Then the powers that be who were funding my position for the school stepped in to literally throw a monkey wrench into everything.

They decided that they would tell me what the students needed to learn even though they were not even in the school building nor had they ever taught high school mathematics or any mathematics for that matter. They wanted me to use only certain materials, not the ones that the actual teachers provided, and they furthermore preferred that I use their computer programs  for practice. To say that such a system was a disaster is an understatement. The humanity of the process fell apart and the students no longer wanted to come to the sessions. In fact I no longer wanted to be nothing more than a proctor guiding kids to a machine. I left in protest even as I felt for the students with whom I had formed quite a bond. 

I once had a person tell me that everything is a business, even schools and churches. I recoiled at the idea even as I saw much evidence that demonstrated that my colleague was in fact correct. Luckily I worked for principals who saw the success of my teaching style and allowed me to run with it. In today’s world it feels as though the forces who see time and profit as the goal for every endeavor are exerting their force on the entire world. They have not read a room in ages and it shows. They are bean counters who ignore the majesty of every human in favor of profit and one time scores. Hopefully we will protest the artificiality of their methods when we see them and remember to always look into the faces of the people to make our decisions about what to do next. In fact, we would do well to apply that dictum to just about everything that we see happening in the present. None of us are machines to be used to create profit or success for someone else.

I keep hearing a great deal about protecting our children, protecting our women, protecting people in general from disturbing ideas or people that they do not understand. Many seem to believe that the best way to raise a child is to keep them from having to deal with situations that that might cause them to feel anxious. While I agree that it is up to parents to introduce difficult topics like sexuality and death, I have learned in my many decades on this earth that our young ones often hear about such things long before we are ready to talk about them. 

I still recall the day when I was six years old and a classmate quite vividly explained the birds and the bees to a very attentive group of us. I remember my best friend adamantly insisting that her parents would never do the kinds of things that the girl revealed to us. My take was to mull over the possibility that she was right. I kept my concerns to myself and marveled at the girl’s accuracy when my mother finally got around to giving me “the talk” many years later. 

The point of my story is that my quite wonderful mom thought it best to wait to provide me with information about how babies come to be until I had reached puberty. I suppose that she was reluctant to discuss such things before I seemed capable of understanding. She might have been right but by the time her lovely explanations came to me I had already heard about the topic  from many different friends who were eager to share what they had heard or seen. 

There is a great deal of effort being made by parents today who quite lovingly want to keep their children innocent for as long as possible. I suppose that I was just as guilty of that way of thinking as others, only to hear from my two daughters that they had already picked up all kinds of information on difficult topics long before I stepped in to educate them. 

Most of us figured out that there was no Santa Claus on our own but never told our parents because we feared losing those lovely Christmas gifts that seemed to magically appear under our Christmas trees. Maybe we accidentally found the gifts inside a closet that we were not supposed to enter or perhaps yet another classmate spilled the beans and made us cry. My point is that all of the ‘protecting’ that we are doing is often moot because our youngsters get information from the kid grapevine. Often those truths are not quite accurate or may even be wrong. We would do well to be a bit more open with our youngsters concerning topics that may be confusing to them even if we think they are too young to hear about such things.

I have often told the story of my uncle being quite direct in explaining why he had a wooden leg. I appreciated his honesty and felt far less anxious when his cancer finally overcame him than I would have if I had only heard the whispers of my mother and aunts who were trying to shield me after he died. I was able to grieve properly because I understood from him that his life would be cut short. He prepared me in a beautiful and lovely way. It was hard to lose him but the blow was softened by his wisdom in sharing the truth with me. 

There are so many efforts to improve our schools by bringing prayer into the daily routine and taking questionable books from the library. Some parents even fear having their children learn about slavery, segregation and the Holocaust too soon. They want to ban information that they worry might make their children feel emotions of sorrow or even guilt. They don’t seem to understand that hiding such things from young people only makes them more fearful. They also  do not realize that praying all the time in school does not necessarily make the environment better and happier. I should know because I spent twelve years in a religious private school where the usual difficulties arose in spite of the efforts of the adults. 

I loved my experience in the school and I enjoyed our religious instruction but it was the religion that me and my family followed, not someone else’s idea of how I should be taught about faith. It also did not insure that I would be surrounded with only good people. There were still bad things that happened. I actually chose a public university because I felt that it was time for me to learn more about the rest of the population and I will always believe that it was the best decision I ever made. I needed to live outside of the little bubble that had left me somewhat naive and incapable of dealing with the realities of life. 

My advice to parents would be to talk honestly to their children about their feelings, their questions about sexuality, their spiritual longings. They should listen as well. A child will feel far more comfort in truth than in a situation that seems to be cloaked in mysteries or even fantasies. The world is real and it can sometimes be brutal. The best parents begin teaching their children how to cope early on. Sometimes that means introducing topics with well written stories that prompt deep discussions. The main idea is for children to know that they can come to their parents with anything, even news that may distress them. They will know that they are safe not because they have been sheltered but because they have been shown what is true. The wise parent teaches their children to cope by being honest and loving.