"Everybody's Got Something"

After a particularly rough patch in our family life, I adopted the phrase,
"Everybody's got something."

Yup, we are struggling through a financial challenge, but everybody's got something.
Mental illness sucks, but everybody's got something.
Looking for a job is stressful these days, but everybody's got something.
Bronchitis, folliculitis, and exzema make for many trips to CVS, but everybody's got something.

Her husband is distant, unresponsive, and neglectful.
Their children are compulsively obsessed, often depressed, and need much more rest.
My daughter's best friend has cerebral palsy and has spent her entire life in a wheelchair.
The wife of a dear friend has multiple sclerosis and is suffering greatly.
One of my closest friends was diagnosed with breast cancer at the same time that her best friend moved two hours away.
Another is separated from her husband and facing an uncertain future on her own.
Someone wishes she could be at home with her family, but she cannot be.
Another wishes she could leave her family, but has chosen to stay at home and fight the good fight.
A lost pregnancy, a loveless marriage, an absentee father, a suicidal son.
Everybody's got something.

Here's the thing - everybody's got something good too.
Blessings and moments of joy from this very day.
Photos and stories of wonder-filled days gone by.

We have all known love and friendship and peace.
We've all felt the warm arms of a loved one around our necks.
We have shared laughter and secrets and long walks thru fragrant gardens.

We eat food that makes our mouths and our tummies smile, drink good coffee, flavorful teas, ice cold water, and fine wines.
We gaze at art, read poetry, watch movies, and listen to music that remind us that beauty is all around us and also within us.
We know what it is to look deeply into someone's eyes and we know what it is to be seen.

We all have gifts, talents, and strengths to share with those around us.
We have wisdom, knowledge, and grace as well.
Our sense of humor brings smiles to the faces of those we know and love.
We cook. We write. We paint. We make jewelry. We listen. We teach.
We give wise counsel. Our stories are powerful.
We open our homes and our hearts to others.

Our kisses raise goose bumps. Our hugs heal.
Our presence brightens the shadows hanging over the lonely and brings joy to the downcast.
Our generosity eases the worries of the needy.
Our triumphs encourage others and theirs encourage us.
Our prayers change everything.

The young woman with cerebral palsy is a straight A college student.
The friend with breast cancer continues to have the brightest smile and biggest heart of anyone I know.
The one who is making her own way in the world after leaving her husband reminds me that Thelma and Louise laughed their way to the bottom of that cliff - and she and I are laughing our way to wherever we may land.

In the darkest valleys, in the toughest times, in the most desperate of situations, I can always find something for which to give thanks, something that can make me smile again and anew.

Everybody's got something.
Which something am I going to focus on?

After all the sound and fury...

Now that the votes have been counted,
now that the amendment has passed,
now that hearts have been broken,
now that old fears have been made new again,
after the raised fists are lowered,
after the lowered heads are raised,
the question is this - How now will we live?


How now will I live?
How will I show my love to those with whom I vehemently disagree?
How will I extend love and grace to those whose words and attitudes have been so hurtful?
How will I extend love and grace to those whose hopes have once again been dashed?


I recommit myself to love.
To peace.
To acceptance.
To conversation, to dialogue.
To listening to stories and telling my own.

I recommit myself to living fully and loving the same way.
I recommit myself to asking questions and living without answers.
I recommit myself to apologizing for the angry words, the insensitivity, the sorrow inflicted on anyone and everyone caught in the crossfire of vitriol that has wounded many residents of my home state.
I recommit myself to making all people, regardless of race, gender, religious practice, sexual orientation, welcome in my home, in my life, and in my heart.

After all the sound and fury, that is how I will now live.
This is how I will continue to live.

"Look Straight Ahead"

When I was a kid growing up in Brooklyn, New York, there were two Christian bookstores that we went to often as a family. One was there in Brooklyn, on Flatbush Avenue near Avenue J or K, if I remember correctly. The folks who worked there recognized us and greeted us warmly when we arrived. I would walk around, touching Bibles and books, looking at games and cards, and would eventually choose a comic book or small plastic game of some sort. My parents would often purchase "tracts," those little pocket sized booklets that they would hand to toll takers on bridges and highways or leave with tips at restaurants. Even though I had read all of those little "Chick" booklets dozens of times, I couldn't resist rereading them and praying the prayers at the end of each one, just to be sure I was saved. When I think back on it as I write this, I can still see the flames in hell and the sweaty agony of its occupants. Perhaps I should pray that prayer one more time... Just to be double and triple-sure.

The other Christian bookstore we frequented was in Manhattan, on 43rd Street near 8th Avenue, just blocks away from the Port Authority bus station. Back in the 1970's, that area was not the theater district that it is today. Back then, the only theaters over there were pornographic ones. There were prostitutes standing on nearly every corner and drug addicts slumped in nearly every doorway.

At least that's what I heard - because when we walked through that neighborhood, my mother would repeat these words, over and over, like a well-worn mantra - "Look straight ahead. Don't look to the right or to the left. Look straight ahead." Which is exactly what I did. I looked straight ahead.

When we arrived at the store after walking from the subway station, I could finally exhale and relax. I could look to the right and the left in that huge store. I could look up and down and all around. I could gaze unrepentently at all the posters, the books, the games, the cards, the tee shirts, the tracts, the cross jewelry, the stickers, the records, the 8-track tapes, the cassettes, and the bumper stickers. That store was one of my favorite places to wander.

I'm not sure how long we would spend there on our visits, but it never felt long enough. There were always new things to thumb through and consider, new tracts to read, new jewelry to covet, new Bible studies to do. But sure enough, the call would ring out, "Come on, children. It's time to go." And then, as we exited, the phrase would resound, "Look straight ahead."


Looking back, I realize that I needed to see all of that stuff my mother wanted me to look away from. I needed to see the prostitutes and drug addicts. I needed to see the alcoholics and homeless. I needed to see their desperation, their pain, their fear, and their humanity. I needed to see them and they needed and deserved to be seen.

Looking back, I realize that "look straight ahead" became the mantra for the way I lived much of my life. I looked straight ahead when my classmates suffered with anorexia and bulimia in high school, when I should have gone over to them, sat with them, and asked them how they were and what I could do to hope. I looked straight ahead when a high school classmate, from her bathroom stall, pleaded, "God, I hope I get my period today." I was incredulous - "What? Why on earth would you want to get your period?" It took me far too long to figure out why she would wish that on herself. I looked straight past and then down at - with unhidden superiority - friends from college who talked about problems with their boyfriends, sexual transmitted diseases, and then showed clear signs of what I now know to be bipolar disorder. I was too busy looking straight ahead, looking over, looking around, and then looking askance at them to be of much assistance, aid, or support.

Thanks be to God that I ran into enough of my own sorrows, my own fears, my own hopes that my period would arrive, and into the angry face of a woman whose husband I had engaged in an adulterous affair with, that I could no longer look straight ahead, except at my own self-righteous, prideful, and merciless mirror. I broke that mirror in Madrid during the fall of 1986. Who the hell did I think I was?

Nowadays, I am trying hard to not look straight ahead in an effort to avoid the sorrows of those around me, but rather I long to look into the eyes of the lonely, the drunk, the separated, the divorced, the fearful, the angry, the bipolar, the depressed, the adulterous, the hypocrite, the imposter, the fallen, the broken, the lost - in other words, I am looking into as many pairs of open eyes as I can, trying to stifle my tears of compassion, offer a listening ear, a strong shoulder, and my unflinching attention towards each person I encounter. One saying that my daughter and I coined about three years ago is this, "Everybody's got something." It's not as eloquent as Plato's statement -  "Be Kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle" - but it works for us. And it has humbled us, silenced us, and comforted us countless times. 

Nowadays, as I drive through our lovely area in South Charlotte, I imagine that behind those heavy, strong doors are broken families, some facing bankruptcy, some dealing with school problems, joblessness, marital crises, abuse, alcoholism, mental illness, hoarding, and cancer of all kinds - the same things that people face behind weaker, less ornate facades in other areas of this and every city. I watch other drivers in their cars and wonder where they are heading - to a doctor, a lawyer, the supermarket, to work, in search of work, to the hospital, or to a hospice. I know that each of them, each of us, is struggling with something, is wishing for easier times, is praying for a miracle, for healing, for peace, for an end to the wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, the Sudan, the Presidential campaign trail, the voting booth, and within their own homes and hearts. In church, in the aisles of Trader Joe's and Harris Teeter, while pumping gas at Sunoco or BP or Marathon, while checking into and out of hotels, placing orders at restaurants, or waving to the mail lady as she comes down the street, I am no longer able to simply straight ahead. Sometimes I wish I could, quite frankly, because it's getting harder to hold myself together when I think of all the ways in which all of us are trying so hard to hold ourselves together all the time.

Nowadays, I wonder how many times I've said that phrase, 

"Look straight ahead," to my children. 

Hopefully, not many. 

PS. I just did a quick Google search, and that Christian Publications store on W. 43rd Street is still there! I may have to take my daughter there when we are in the city this summer. What a walk down memory lane that will be. 

Rain and deeper roots

As often happens here in the South, we are in a period of drought. All the warmth and sunshine of this past winter has led to more warm and sunshine this spring and added up to lack of needed precipitation. Despite the beauty of the Carolina Sky during the past few days, I have often gazed up into the mostly cloudless skies and pleaded for rain.

I suspect that I am one of precious few people who is glad when the forecast calls for rain, especially two or three days of rain in a row. (May it be so, Lord. May it be so!)

Like so many of us, the trees are often deceiving. Their leaves are broad and green these days, providing shade for passersby and picnickers. They appear strong and steady, ready to face all storms, having easily withstood all that has come before. But their roots are spreading out, desperately seeking moisture. They are vulnerable to strong winds, to fire, and to illness and death due to the lack of water.

I am guilty of attempting to project a similar invincibility. Who me? Storms? What storms? See this smile? See these airy, upbeat blog posts? I'm fine. I'm just fine. What disagreements? What escape fantasies? Who me? I'm fine. I'm just fine. What financial fears and worries? Getting my children into college? Me, worry about homeschooling, maintaining with this aging house and this aging body? Who me? Not me. I'm fine. All is well.

There have been many fierce storms through the area of late, even though the sky is cloudless at the moment. Just ask the folks trying to get payments from suddenly silent insurance companies, the same companies that promised, "Yes, we cover that." Ask the folks who lost loved ones when the car was struck by a falling tree or a bedroom was crushed by a falling roof. Ask the people who had no insurance at all, who lost their homes and beloved family members; ask them about storm damage, weak foundations, and leaky roofs.

Many of the storms that have blown through my life and the lives of many people I love have been named storms - Anxiety, Apathy, Bipolar Disorder, Cancer, Despair, Divorce, Exasperation, Exhaustion, Fear, Hunger, Job Loss, Lack of health insurance, Loneliness, Long Term Joblessness, Neglect, Sending Children to College, Suicide Attempts, and Surgery - to name a few. Other storms have been unspoken and unnamed, but their effects have been devastating nonetheless.

One of my new favorite bloggers recently reminded me that all is not always well, love doesn't always win, and the life is not always good. I knew that already, but she expressed it far better than I have here.


As calm as things may appear on the surface, as beautiful as the days may be, we are in a drought. We are thirsty, hungry, lonely, in pain, wondering how we will pay the bills, survive the marriage, and help our anxious, lonely, hungry, thirsty family members, friends, neighbors, and children when we barely know how to meet our own needs.

What I long for, what I pray for is relief. Reprieve. Rest. Redemption. Rain.
And deeper, stronger, well-watered roots.
For all of us. For all people everywhere.

Lord, you are a present help in trouble.
Come revive
Redeem
Restore
In our darkness come as light
In our sadness come as joy
In our troubles come as peace
In our weakness come as strength
Come Lord to our aid
Revive
Redeem
Restore us
O Lord
Open our eyes to your presence
Open our minds to your grace
Open our lips to your praises
Open our hearts to your love
Open our lives to your healing
And be found among us. 

-David Adam, The Book of a Thousand Prayers

For the beauty of the earth...

Today I am enormously grateful for the beauty around me these days. Trees, flowers, children, dogs, grass, flowers, birds, squirrels, even tiny little lizards. I've even gone outside, spread a blanket or sheet on the front lawn and laid down. Just hanging out with Kristiana and Maya. Outside. Me. Whudda thunk it? Here I present you the photos to prove it.

There is something about trees, especially big trees that makes me want to take pictures. These trees on the campus of Clemson University in South Carolina have shaded generations of students, faculty members, visitors, athletes, fans, protesters, activists, families, wedding parties, soldiers, and others. These trees have been home to squierrels, birds, ants, bees, chipmunks, and countless other critters. And still they stand, wide and deep, high and broad.

This little critter appeared under the table where I was sitting at my son's tennis tournament last weekend. We stared at each other for a while, but when a dog approached, he disappeared for good... until he reappeared the next day. I didn't panic, scream, or try to kick it away. I watched it emerge slowly from its hiding place, cautiously explore the area, stick it tongue out dozens of times, and then slip back into its hiding place. That is big progress for me.

Teenaged boys can be sweaty, gruff, crude, and fiercely competitive. But they can also be funny, strong, polite, loyal friends who cannot wait to get off the tennis courts and hang out together. Notice how the three boys on the right all have their feet crossed. As tall as they are, as strong as they are, as gifted as they are, they are still kids, shy kids who cross their feet, and look for their mom's faces in the stands when they are having a tough match.

Maya and I were lying on the grass in front of the house yesterday. She repeatedly dug her face down into the turf, sniffing, twitching, and seemingly having a restful and relaxing time.

Then she heard the side door open. She was up on her feet instantly. Her big sister was approaching - and she was thrilled. They are the closest of siblings.

These are the scenes that justify one of Charlotte's nicknames: The City of Trees.
Who wouldn't love driving down a street like this?

Once again, I find myself agreeing with God -
when I look at all the things God made,
when I consider the bounty and beauty of this earth we call home,
I nod, smile, and concede: It is good. It is so very good.

Do you ever feel lonely?

I do, too. 

Flipping through Lauren Winner's book, Still, I came upon this passage. 




I am sitting on a bench in a museum. The museum is a five-minute walk from my office, and I come here often, to be spelled in the middle of the day by thirty minutes of silence... In my lap, the Bible is open to the fifth chapter of Luke, one of Jesus' healings, this time of a man with leprosy (I confess that most of Jesus' healings blur together in my mind, like colors running in the wash). The story ends with Luke's telling us that Jesus often withdrew to lonely places to pray. 


A little like escaping to the quiet of a museum, I think. 
What can it mean for a place to be lonely?


A place, lonely like Jesus? Lonely like me?


Maybe I can make my loneliness into an invitation - to Jesus -
that he might withdraw into me and pray. 

Thankful Thursday

Thank God it's Thursday! There is much for which to give thanks today... and everyday.

* this morning, I rediscovered the tiny one tazza Bialetti I bought in Florence, Italy back in 2001. It made the perfect swallow of coffee. It tasted like the country in which it was born.

* the Frozen Planet series on Discovery Channel

* Alec Baldwin's voice as narrator

* fresh mango, pineapple, sugar snap peas, and shredded cabbage, but not all at once

* planting peppermint and basil with my daughter yesterday

* a trustworthy auto mechanic, especially since I own a minivan with more than 150,000 miles on it

* journaling, pouring my thoughts, prayers, rants, complaints, joys, dreams, and a few sketches onto paper

* making eye contact with my son while he is in the barber's chair. Barber shop humor spoken with a heavy Southern accent cracks us up!

* learning grammar and punctuation with my son. I thought I knew most of this stuff. Turns out I don't know much at all. (Which verb is correct in this sentence? He is one of the men who does/do the work. The correct answer, based on proper verb and subject agreement is "do." Read that aloud. Doesn't it sound weird? We've decided that there are some rules that may be correct, but we are going to keep doing it the wrong way for fear of sounding either stupid or overly educated in grammar. That's right; we've decided to dumb ourselves down. Actually, we decided that we will simply avoid this kind of verb-subject situation completely.)

* walking Maya this morning and getting caught in the rain. I enjoyed getting wet with her. I'm convinced that she was confused about my wetness because I usually carry an umbrella in the rain, but I wasn't prepared this morning. She spent a lot of time on our morning walk staring at me.

* roasting peanuts here at home. I can't wait to eat some when they cool down a bit.

* learning to love the great outdoors by clipping the bushes and filling nearly 15 bags with leaf debris. Hard work with beautiful results.

* the leaf debris people who come pick up our bags and piles of branches every Tuesday

* cardio funk class in the dark while wearing glow-in-the-dark bracelets and necklaces. Fun was had by all.

* reconnecting with people there whom I haven't seen in a long time (I'm not sure if it should be who or whom. This new book with all of its rules and regulations is gonna mess me up, I suspect.)

* being remember and being missed

* being asked by my watercolor teacher if he could create a portrait of me

* saying yes

* having him give me the portrait as a gift

* recognizing that I am not a watercolorist by nature. I have concluded that writing and taking photographs suit me fine.

* emails and texts that include photos

* sending a letter and some photos to the Spanish teacher in Haiti with the 2nd team that went to Bayonnais. Receiving letters back from him and from one of the students.

* going on a tennis road trip with my son tomorrow. Watch out, South Carolina, here we come! I expect there will be many hours between matches spent either in the minivan or sitting on bleachers someplace with books, journal, magazines, scissors, glue, and markers spread out all around me.

* every day, even though each one is infused with challenges, spills, falls, disappointments, and do-overs, every single day is a gift. I am increasingly grateful.

So many stories, so little time

A few days before Easter, I joined a group of people for a "Lenten Morning of Silence." We spent the better part of three hours in silence, in prayer, leaning into the presence of God, before plunging into the darkness of Easter weekend. During break times that morning, I looked around at the gathered group and wondered, "What are their stories? Why did they come here this morning? Where will they go when they leave here? Whose names and faces float into their minds as they pray? What words have they chosen to focus on during prayer?"

Two weeks ago, I attended a going away party for my dear friend, Katie Crowe. It was held in an absolutely magnificent apartment in the downtown area of Charlotte. I have never seen such beauty in one apartment. They have an original Matisse, for goodness sake. Wow! The photo above is of their patio - yes, this is the patio outside of their apartment!!! As I walked around, camera in hand (yes, I took photos of the Matisse and many other works of art on display), I wondered, "What is their story? How did this couple meet? What drew them both into art collection? How did they end up in this apartment in this city?" I heard Vicki, the wife, say, "We both collected art before we met, and we have continued since we got together." How did that happen? How soon can I housesit so I can stare unabashedly at the paintings and sculptures they have carefully amassed?

This photo was taken at approximately 5 am on the morning of Thursday, April 12th. This is the 2nd team of adventurous souls from First Presbyterian Church, Charlotte, heading for Bayonnais, Haiti. I was asked to go to the airport that morning to see them off. I was glad to be there, to support them, to hug them, to wave at them once they passed through security, and then spend the next four days praying for their safety and their enjoyment of the journey. Who are these people? Why Haiti? Why now? What did they hope to see, to experience, to learn? Who did they leave behind and what concerns were they carrying with them?

How do we do it, those of us who are parents of tennis players, soccer players, singers, dancers, basketball players, and lacrosse players - just to name a few of our children's occupations? We take our offspring from place to place. We burn countless gallons of gasoline and spend too much on food and hotels and equipment and therapy. Why do we do this? What are our hopes for our children? How many of those hopes are unrealistic? How many of those hopes are not shared by our children? How much do we think about those who are childless or those whose children struggle with the simplest of tasks while we are bragging about our "successful" children? How do we even define success? And what on earth, literally and figuratively, what on earth does it cost us, our children, our families, and our planet, to support the choices we have made for and with our children?

While sitting in Luna's Living Kitchen, waiting for my meal of raw food delicacies, watching the men and women behind the counter juicing some things, chopping other things, putting food on plates, bringing it all out to us, their customers, my mind wanders. I wonder - who are all these people? Who figured out that you can make a ridiculously tasty lasagna but serve it raw, vegan, and cold? What is that woman in the white sweater thinking, the one in the middle of the photo? Who chose the colors that adorn the walls of that brightly lit and inviting place and why? How did all of the people in that room end up in that room at that moment?

Sometimes I am completely blown away by the choreography of our life stories, the bobs and weaves, the hops, skips, and jumps, the circuitous ways in which we meet, we make eye contact, and we speed along on our way. Or we meet, make eye contact, and move towards one another to introduce ourselves. There are so many stories and so little time. Every day, we have to pick and choose whose company we will keep and whose we will bypass.

And this man, this overdressed man standing in a local sandwich shop, had to be photographed. I imagine that I could spend the rest of my life listening to his stories and never be bored. He is, after all, The Most Interesting Man in the World. I don't usually drink beer either, but I suspect that he could persuade me to have one as he regaled me with tales of his adventures. Someday, sir. Someday...

In the minivan earlier today...

Driving him to pick up newly strung tennis rackets. He's in the passenger seat next to me.
Driving her to school. She's in the seat behind him.
Twenty-five minutes each way; fortunately, their two destinations are only a few blocks from each other.

Me: I need a vacation.
Him: Nods his head.
Her: silence.
Me: No, what I need more than a vacation is a good wife. Do you wanna know why? What does a good wife do?
Him: Everything.
Me: Exactly, everything. I want a good wife for ninety days. I can't imagine what it would be like to discover clean laundry in my room and hot meals in the kitchen without having to cook them or clean up after them.
Him: So get yourself a maid for a month.
Me: No, I'd want a maid for 90 days.
Him: How much would a maid cost?
Me: I don't know, but it would be a lot. Or I could just get a good wife - and she would do everything, but she wouldn't get paid anything. Except for the gratitude and praise of her family.

Both of them: silence.

Me: That's your cue.

Him: What? I wasn't listening.

Me: (laughing) Exactly my point.

Me: (screaming) God, help me please!

I kept driving.

They're Back!

The images, the memories, the faces, the names, the stories. Haiti, with all its wonder, its brutality, its beauty, its pain, is back on my heart and in my mind. Not that it has ever been gone.

The memories made inside the bus as we learned each other's names and tendencies towards motion sickness.

Looking at that North Carolina Public School bus, riding in that bus on the kidney-splitting, bumpy roads of Haiti, and disembarking from that bus into four days of life in the tiny town of Bayonnais, I found myself asking, in the words of Mother Mary, "How can this be?"

The images seen from the bus on our way to Bayonnais: the photos above and below were taken from opposite sides of the bus on the same stretch of road.

Some views were more pleasing than others, but every view was cause for both gratitude and petition.

They are all back - those beautiful and handsome and serious faces, those colorful shirts, and their ready smiles and strong handshakes.

Watching a brief, but fiery faculty meeting outside the school at Nicholas. Apparently, faculty members frequently arrive late. Apparently, the tardy arrival of teachers is frowned upon. That morning, they were reminded of their teacherly responsibilities. I don't speak Creole, but I could feel the heat emanating from that corner of the school grounds.

I remember looking back at that building and thinking: How can that possibly be a school? What do they do when it rains?

Standing next to the building from the previous photo, I saw this view down into the valley. Then I wondered, how can they concentrate on schoolwork from this vantage point?

Making our way down from the higher mountain school to the lower mountain school, the view was both bleak and beautiful. I didn't know such a combination was possible until I was in Haiti.

Tonight, the Haiti team is having a reunion, so I have no choice but to be thinking about it again.
To be thinking about them again. They are back. I'm glad.