Random Acts of Kindness

I was recently talking to a young lady that I encounter occasionally where I work. We discussed the weather, which happened to be inordinately cold for the past several days. Some statement in our conversation reminded her of an incident which occurred one night when she was at college several years before. The weather that evening was bitter also and she found herself leaving a building after dark, alone, and some distance from her dorm. She was not appropriately dressed for the temperature and was hoping someone would come along and offer her a ride, but this didn’t happen. Before she had walked much distance, she found herself becoming so cold she could barely move. The buildings around her were dark and she knew the likelihood of being able to attract attention enough to gain access was slim and she pressed on. Soon, she felt she couldn’t take even one more step. In a state of quiet desperation now, she cast about in her mind as to what to do and a thought rose to the forefront of her thoughts that she should pray, which she did. As she stood like an ice statue in the road, praying a simple plea for help, a voice in her head began to speak, saying something to the effect of “Do you remember when you used to be on the beach in Florida? Well, imagine yourself there right now. Imagine the sun’s heat, the hot sand, the warm breezes.” So she did and soon found that she had generated enough internal warmth that she could continue to walk, eventually arriving at her dorm, so stiff and cold that she could only kick at the door until someone let her in.

As she finished her story, she searched my face cautiously. “You probably think that’s weird, don’t you?” she said.

“No,” I replied, “I’ve read about and been told things like this before, and I’m very convinced that God intervened in your situation, spoke to you, and saved your life.”

She agreed.

Later I began to think about how often this does happen and how embarrassed people are to recite such incidents to others, lest we think them “weird” or worse yet “religious nuts.” Imagine if all the people to whom such things had happened were to go on television, on the nightly news and recount their tales and night after night, day after day, there was a series of such interviews. Wouldn’t we find it more interesting, more inspiring and faith-and-joy building than what we do get treated to that is called news? Wouldn't be begin to believe such things, be more accepting of their occurrence? Wouldn’t we find ourselves in awe, first of all with how consistently involved God truly is with the human race and how many are His random acts of kindness? Thinking about this reminded me again of the character quality I love most about God – His humility. Though He gets badmouthed constantly and blamed for every thing that goes wrong (usually as a result of human choice), He doesn’t explain or justify, just goes about doing good, raining on the just and unjust alike, finding, apparently great pleasure in this kind of one-on-one secret, special, interaction. He doesn't find it necessary to toot His own horn apparently, knowing as He does the reluctance of the recipients of such rescue to tell others.

The results of such an experience are usually mixed, I find. Some people, like this woman, feel that it was a God-thing, but others remain doubtful and may attach another type of interpretation. Still, even then, there is a bit of a sense of wonderment that bleeds through, a softened perspective and attitude. I know that for me personally, whenever I’m touched in such a way, I’m left different than I was, less full of myself and my own solutions to life, and filled with a bit more gratitude for the extension of time I’ve been given to continue this marvelous adventure called life on earth. In addition, I emerge minus some of the fear and random anxiety that can stalk me like a mountain lion if I let it. I’m more inclined to walk right up to those enemies of my soul and face them down.

I’d love to hear some of your stories and maybe I’ll tell some of mine in future posts – as long as you promise not to think I’m “weird.”

Until then, blessings.
Carol

Little things

I’m often amazed at how slight an event or word it can take to change the entire tone of a day. Maybe I’m just the moody sort but I can be grinding along with my mind digging mental trenches of a certain length and depth, when I open an email or leaf through a book or someone speaks a word, and suddenly there’s a new light about me. I realize again that life is good, bad things are never all bad and don’t last forever, and there’s hope for my sorry person yet. Conversely, a “discouraging word” has the power to accelerate my mental ditch digging until I find myself wiping the sweat of hell’s heat from my furrowed brow as I bewail the damnable difficulties of life and wonder how I’ll ever make it through. Maybe in my case it is simply temperamental moodiness, but it is an internal reality I have to deal with and I’m sure I’m not the only one who struggles in this way. I know all too well how far the ripples spread from a small stone skipped across a lake. If I’m producing ripples, I’d like them to be of the encouraging, inspiring, and comforting variety, not readily evoked perhaps as a great event in the recipient's life or likely to win me any medals for heroism but still, of the nature that I won’t have to look back upon my way in this world with regret. We moody types often wrestle with this regret thing as a matter of course. I try hard to mind what I say and how I treat people and the Golden Rule. I’m not always successful and there are days when I’m painfully aware of the bleed-through of my moods and attitudes into my behavior toward others. I don’t like this at all. I’ve made some degree of progress over the years. The aging process alone does mellow an individual, whetting a more patient tolerance with the stone of experience, but I’d like to become proactive in the process, to seek out ways to bring more light to the worlds of others and to spread some of that Christmas joy everyone at least talks about for those fleeting three or four weeks during the year. I’d like to learn to more consistently do this during the ordinary, tedious, mundane times of my life when it seems to count for more and is more difficult to maintain.

So that’s one New Year’s resolution for my list, one I know I’ll need huge helpings of grace to be able to keep. Fortunately, we have a secure promise of grace for such things. God knew better than to leave us to our own devices on that one.

Peace on earth and good will to you all.

Carol

Judgment or Love?

In 1985, on Christmas Eve, my father lapsed into a coma. He’d been ill off and on for a period of time, having lost a leg a couple years earlier to arteriosclerosis, the result of too many years of hard drinking and smoking and other sins against his body. Now there were other problems that had landed him in the Veteran’s hospital for what was supposed to be a routine exploratory procedure. Something didn’t go right and he suffered a stroke and then the coma. We were notified Christmas Eve day and so I spent my evening beside his bed, listening to him breathe and wishing he would open his eyes. He never did, although there were a couple of precious moments when he managed to squeeze my hand, letting me know he heard the words of love I murmured in his ear. He died New Years Eve. I was thankful that he died peacefully, in a bed, and not mangled in some car accident, something we’d feared would be his fate for years when I was young. Dad was an alcoholic and eventually did lose his license because of a DWI accident. He didn’t drive again until in his 60’s, after he’d stopped drinking.

I had thought at the time of his death that things were reasonably okay between us but recently as I was writing an essay about this event for our memoir group, I realized that in actuality, I had been in a state of deep emotional detachment from my father for some time before his death. A resentful kind of pride had crept into my heart about the past and the poverty and trauma we’d endured as a result of his drinking and now that my situation was considerably more comfortable, I’d become full of judgment toward my father, and a hardness and lack of concern had settled over me. In place of the childish infatuation and adoration I had for my father throughout my childhood and adolescence, now as an adult, I was judging him as inferior, as a failure as a person, and especially as a parent. Because of my judgments, I found myself unable to truly forgive him the way I wish now I had, and to love him in the lavish manner he deserved at this point in his life and that would have freed me from the lingering regret I tried to justify for years. I realize now that it was the judgment I was passing on my father that truly hurt my soul far more than my father’s actual past behavior and the judgments that made forgiveness necessary at all.

I guess I wanted to tell this story and the conclusions I reached because I know that many people struggle with their relationships at this time of the year and the past rises up with a vengeance for some, not allowing them to enjoy holiday events or to connect lovingly with family members. Maybe, like me, they can’t let go of the hurts and resentments, but have become numb to the fact, because of subtle judgments they have made and continue to hold against others. Let’s face it, my Dad had his problems and they affected my life, but he was just a man, doing the best he could and learning along the way. When I became a parent myself, I discovered how difficult it is to not make mistakes, sometimes big ones, sometimes repeating the very mistakes your parents made that you swore as a child you’d never commit. I’m so thankful when my now-grown children tell me that they don’t even remember some of the things I bring up in my fits of regret. What they do remember, I’m told, is that when I realized I’d messed up, I acknowledged it and apologized and that they always knew I loved them, even if I was acting like an idiot. I would hate to think they were withholding their affections from me now, even unconsciously, because of old judgments and that our brief time together on planet Earth was being sabotaged by these old ghosts.

I miss my father deeply and I’d give anything to have him back with me so I could spoil him and enjoy him and tell him how much I appreciate all the good he made possible in my life. I can’t redo this, not with my father anyhow, but there are others with whom it’s not too late. Maybe you have someone too. Let’s face it, the only thing we’re going to take with us when we leave this place is our relationships so let’s make them worthy of an afterlife.
Blessings.
Carol

Oh Holy Night

For me this “holiday season” is about Christmas. It always has been, both as an inherent aspect of my culture and my religious faith. I don’t resent anyone else having their own set of observances and celebrations although it’s difficult for me to keep all that straight, when to say Merry Christmas, which acquaintances or co-worker to give a card to and which not, etc. so I decided I wouldn’t and don’t plan to worry about it. I think those of us who are truly celebrating the birth of Christ should be content to do so with our friends and family who share our beliefs and with spreading our cheer and good-will primarily amongst ourselves, not self-righteously expecting that others defer themselves to our dogma . Once upon a time our society was predominantly Christian-oriented but not anymore. This holiday (as well as several others) has been hijacked by the mercantile segment of the population for its own profits and gains and we have contributed to this happening. If I had my way, much about the season would change and my hard-earned dollars would find their way into more fitting coffers. Of course, I do have my own way and am gradually making necessary adjustments. Bucking long-held traditions isn’t easy. But I’m getting older, crankier, and I hope wiser. I’m not as easily swayed by Hallmark sentiment or the strains of Joy to the World over the loudspeaker in Walmart. This no longer incites me to spend money I don’t have. It does remind me, however, that I’m immensely fortunate to live in a nation where I have the freedom to practice my faith as I see fit and to spend the few dollars I have left over after taxes on whatever I desire. There’s no doubt in my mind that things were better in our nation when God was welcome in more places and prayer was an acceptable form of public speech but the fact that not everyone realizes this does not faze me. And if I, in a momentary fit of general good will find myself wishing someone a “Merry Christmas” and realize that they’re not receiving my words in the spirit intended, well, I’m not going to worry about that either. As I said, for me, this holiday season is about Christmas, about Christ and His birth and life and death and all that it means. I’d say I’m sorry for being so traditional and politically incorrect, but I’m not. I couldn't possibly be. Blessings to all.

Launching

Every so often someone will say, oh I read your blog, and ....whatever response they had to it...and it reminds me that I haven't posted in a while. I write all the time because I journal daily, I'm part of a memoir writing group and I participate in a monthly online forum called Book-in-a-Week where members sets daily page goals that they will write during a one-week period. It's so easy to drift away from writing because it is hard work and can be mentally and emotionally draining as anyone who writes knows all too well. I've started several projects to post here but for one reason or another, I don't finish them up and post until I get the I-read-your-blog reminder. One reason I wanted to begin a blog at all is to get some exposure for and feedback to my writing because I do aspire to publish but lacked confidence. The feedback I've received has been motivating and helpful, so, thanks and blessings to those of you who have taken the time to read and comment.

Last time I wrote that I was beginning an association with a group called Ladies Who Launch. I attended a four-week session with four of five other ladies, some with established businesses and others in the incubation or launching stages of their business ideas. It was both productive and nurturing as I find it generally to be when a group of likeminded women get together to accomplish something. I learned some interesting things about myself, my ideas, and how differently the process of business building happens for women than it generally occurs for men. This is a main premise of the Ladies Who Launch network, that for women, these ventures don't necessarily get off the ground as the result of careful and purposefully structured planning but more organically, often as the result of some twist of fate or tribulation that sets the person onto a new life path long before they thought they were ready for such a change. This can be the loss of a job, a spouse's job loss or relocation, a child's illness, or any number of encounters with the unexpected. Life comes at you fast, the insurance company ad tells us. How women respond to these alterations in the cosmic fabric is often to design and tailor a new fashion line, something they've wanted to do since forever but never had the opportunity The furnace of adversity just becomes a better place to bake that great bread recipe they found, and hey, while we're at it, let's open a deli. I started a successful business once and it was just that way, organic, absolutely macrobiotic. It had a life of its own from the beginning and was the pinnacle experience of my life, bearing me on angels wings over fifteen of the most trying years of that same life. When the thought first came, it seemed impossible; I had so little to work with, yet somehow those crumbs were enough. I want to do it again. By the grace of God, I will. I feel it pressing through the soil and ready to emerge into the sunlight.

If you are interested in incubating some long-dormant dream and desire and want to network with others who are in all stages of the process, log onto the Ladies Who Launch website - www.ladieswholaunch.com. Women working together - there's no limit on what can be done. Let's face it, we've been bringing new things to the world since the beginning.

Until the next time.
Carol

Incubating

I recently read that the secret of success was being able to make what you are doing interesting to other people. The key to this is to be personally interested and enthusiastic enough about your own doings and this is what others will find interesting, Great, I thought. I’m doomed. When all is said and done, my life has not been particularly interesting and more than likely only those who love me and are personally involved with me would find it so. Still, I did realize one thing about me that people seem to find interesting. Fortunately for me, this is the arena in which my dreams of success lie.

The other day on a walk I spotted a rope swing with a wooden seat hanging from a large old maple tree in the front yard of a home on North Broadway. We don’t see this kind of homemade swing all that often anymore and the sight of it filled me with nostalgia. A favorite activity as a child was swinging. Each summer my two grandfathers would install a big rope swing somewhere on their property for the grandchildren, hanging them from as high a branch as it was possible- the higher the better of course for the long, deep swoops and lofty updrafts. I was never happier than when I could swing for hours, soaking in the summer sunshine and fresh country air, my mind and spirit suspended somewhere above the trees, in the clouds, in the land of dreams. I feel sorry for many children today who rarely have this kind of solitude and undisturbed time to incubate their thoughts and ideas, to repose with the creative angels in the land of new births. This is where I developed a deep and satisfying relationship with myself, with my own thoughts, and ultimately with God.

When I was young, I thought I would be an actress or a dancer, a writer and producer of important plays and programs, or of a great novel like Gone With the Wind. I dreamed of being a scholar and teacher, or perhaps a preacher, someone who would inspire fertile young minds with a love for learning, for reading and writing and to following God. And then there was the constant urging of close friends who saw my future in social work and psychology, counselor to them all that I was. It all sounded good and some of it I did pursue for a time but I became sidetracked and never achieved any level of professionalism nor have I viewed myself as particularly successful.

I’m at a crossroads in my life again, seeking this success somewhere, somehow, chasing what has seemed like an elusive life’s purpose. My latest endeavor is to participate in an organization called Ladies Who Launch. I’ll be attending a session they’ve entitled an incubator, along with other searching women like myself. We will share our dreams, our ideas, our needs. From here we will hopefully “launch.” I’ve toyed with the idea that I would make a good leader for one of these groups. I’ve been preparing to launch for years. In this vein of thought this morning, I considered the idea of how I would go about effectively coaching another person on how to launch and the thought came to me to “make love to your own thoughts. All births begin with such a union.” Let’s face it, if we’re not in love with what’s inside our own hearts and minds, what have we really got to give to others. I like that. Birthing new ideas, this is what I want to do, being a mid-wife of sorts, encouraging and inspiring in a world that is desperately in need of both. Daydreams, night dreams, it’s all the same. God speaks us into being and we learn to do the same, speaking some wonderful thing into being that wasn’t there before we came. I’m excited about this. I’ll keep you abreast of how it goes.

A Merry Heart

I really took a vacation from this. Why is it so difficult to pick up again once you let your momentum die with a thing? This has been a major problem with me, and with so many others that I know, for the better part of my life. I always find beginnings exciting. I fairly sparkle with enthusiasm and grand ideas but all too soon, usually with the advent of the first real problem, I'm like one of those balloon figure-things that businesses put outside to attract attention - flailing away first at the sky then nearly flopping to the ground until a fresh blast of enthusiasm sets me upright again. Oh well. I do tend to accomplish a thing or two in my "outbursts" but it's the consistency factor that I'm lacking and where, it seems to me, real progress is made. In any event, here I am again intending to tilt at windmills for a bit.

Today I read Proverb 15:15 which states that "he who has a merry heart has a continual feast." It made me think how we generally turn this situation around in our heads to read that continual feasting will give us a merry heart or something similar. Favorable circumstances are to us the key to happiness, to joy and laughter and yet this word of wisdom reverses the order and tells us that keeping our hearts merry will produce this feeling of having supped sumptuously, drank lavishly, and connected socially in deeply satisfying ways. That is after all the essence of a true feast, is it not? This feast is described as continual, an everyday party for the soul. I like that. I have a great desire for this enduring type of fulfillment and satisfaction and must confess I have yet to experience it. The trick would seem to be in finding ways to keep the heart in a merry state of being. Interesting. In place of the usual quest for more of that outside ourselves which we perceive brings satisfaction, is put a preoccupation with merriment, laughter, joy, gratitude, good cheer and the maintenance of that condition. It obvious to me as I consider this, that there wouldn't be much room left over for worry, depression, criticism, complaining, listening to the news (I had to thrown that in. What a dreary litany of misery is most of what broadcasters call the news!) or all the "cares of the world" that we tend to be obsessively concerned with and involved in and which leaves us with that persistent, nagging, hungry feeling, eventually results in dis-ease of some kind or another. In another proverb we're told that "a merry heart does good like a medicine."

My new strategy then is to find ways to keep my heart, the wellspring of my life, in a state of merriment, of cheerfulness. This should be fun, although a challenge. Life is full of what could be interruptions to joy, unless that joy runs deeper than the earth's surface, and deeper than the physical heart of a human being. Each of us needs to discover our personal wellspring, that ultimate source of reality to which we must acquiesce for without this, maintaining a delighted heart is impossible. We must know that ultimately all is well, that the universe and all its beings are in capable, loving hands and that there is a sound plan and purpose at the bottom of it all. Then we can relax, like children growing up in a good home with loving parents. It's not difficult for such children to be merry, to consider themselves "lucky", and to fall asleep with satisfied smiles upon their sweet faces at night.

I keep going back to that which I've lost from childhood. It seems important somehow to get some of it back, to revive the fires that fueled my growth and progress for so many years, and which made life a continual banquet of adventure and discovery. What's your thoughts about this? I'd be interested to know - truly. Keep smiling.