Let Inward Love Guide Every Deed

a few days ago, my wife and i traveled about 70 miles from our home to tour two homes that had been the dwellings of a famous writer.  both homes are on the same property, so seeing both in one trip was convenient.  we had talked about making this trip ever since we moved here six years ago but had never gotten around to it.  as we drove, my wife told me that she didn't really care to spend the money to tour the homes and would be happy just to see and photograph them from the outside.  i wanted to see the interior of the homes, so she suggested that i go on the tour while she waited outside for me.

when we got to the welcome center and museum where tickets could be purchased, we talked with the young woman at the reception desk about the length and cost of the tours.  we discovered that a museum of artifacts belonging to the writer and her family were part of the tour tickets, as well as a short film about her life.  we went into the gift shop in the welcome center to look around and discuss what we wanted to do.  i told my wife that i would be satisfied just seeing the homes from the outside, while she insisted that i take the tour alone.  i replied that i didn't want to take the tour without her.  to my surprise, she said that we ought to go ahead and buy tour tickets for both of us.  i was struck by her willingness to go with me on the tour, even though i knew she wasn't really interested in the homes' interiors.  as a compromise, i suggested that we only tour the first home and simply take pictures of the outside of the second because it didn't have as deep a connection to the writer as the first home.

that pleased my wife, and we agreed on that plan.  we both enjoyed the tour, the film, and the museum.  the timing worked out perfectly, since we had several errands to run on the way back to our home.  by leaving out the second home tour, we were able to get back home earlier and have a restful evening at home before retiring for the night.  

my wife's desire for me to be able to do what i wanted on this visit to the writer's property made me aware of her deep love for me, as i hope my willingness to give up some of what i wanted touched her.  this is what love for one another is all about: putting the needs and desires of another on an equal footing with our own.  a few years ago, one of us would have insisted to having our own way, while the other would have been angry because they didn't get their own way.  by reaching a compromise, we both got some of what we wanted, and the end result made the day work out perfectly.

may we realize that part of love is not insisting on one's own way.  may we express our needs and desires honestly without demanding that others fulfill them.  may we be willing to give as well as to take.  shalom.

How Blind Can She Be

this morning i was awakened by a dream.  it was troubling, and i couldn't go back to sleep, so i got up and began my morning routine.  in my dream, i was working on a project to benefit another family member.  i was trying to do something unique and special for this loved one.  the project involved a lot of trial-and-error experimentation to get my intention just right.  every time i seemed to be on the right track i would be interrupted by someone who needed my help.  when i set my project aside to help the person who had called for my assistance, another person would come along and thoughtlessly undo what i had accomplished on my project.  i was never able to complete what i wanted to do and was left feeling as if my work was unappreciated and that i was not valued by others.

as i reflected on the feelings i was experiencing in my waking moments, i tried and am still trying to discern the meaning of my dream.  i wonder if my unconcious mind wants me to discover something.  perhaps, the dream was inspired by a conversation between two dear friends that occurred the previous evening as we were playing cards.  in this instance, the husband of the pair was complaining, as he often did, about the pastor of the church they attend.  this pastor often brings his personal political convictions into his sermons, and our male friend disagrees with his pastor's politics in the profoundest way.  our friend's wife became quite agitated as he spoke of his discomfort with their pastor's pronouncements from the pulpit.  while she agreed with her husband regarding their shared political beliefs, she thought her husband should accept their differences with their pastor and try to get what good they could from his sermons and their participation in worship.

i could see both of their viewpoints, but i was left feeling that the husband in the couple was being told that he shouldn't express his frustration with their pastor, that he was wrong to voice his deep distress, and that his wife didn't want to hear him because he was wrong to speak about how he felt.  as i reflected on that conversation and my dream, i wondered, too, if i hadn't suppressed my own opinions and emotions in the name of being thoughtful to others around me.  perhaps my dream was telling me that i needed to be more assertive and forthcoming, rather than constantly giving in to others and trying to please them.  i recalled an evening some days earlier when my wife had said something that hurt me deeply.  rather than telling her how i felt, i became angry and lashed out at her, trying to hurt her as she had hurt me.  she hadn't intended to be hurtful in her remark, and after i allowed anger to arise in me, i realized how i had inflicted the same hurt on her that she had on me.  as i calmed down and realized what i had done, i apologized and promised that i would handle the situation differently if it arose in the future.

her remark had made me feel as if my feelings weren't valued, that i could be spoken to in any way another chose without regard for how another's words hurt me.  i realized then, and my dream may have been reinforcing that realization, that i had a right to let others know when their words or actions were hurtful or offensive.  my feelings are just as important as anyone else's, and i do myself or them no favor by feeling guilty for being hurt and refusing to acknowledge how their words or actions have wounded me.  my obligation is to express my hurt without trying to retaliate, to let the other person know how their behavior has caused me pain.

may we each stand up for ourselves in ways that are non-retaliatory.  may we honor our own feelings rather than suppressing them.  may we not allow our emotions to rule us so that we lash out at others when they have injured us.  may we realize that lovingkindness isn't the same as suppressing our feelings, but rather lovingkindness extends to ourselves as well as others.  shalom. 

I Move in My Own Timing

as i continue to write about those who've gone before me and to honor them in this way, i remember my aunt bess.  she was my maternal grandmother's sister and my favorite of all my grandparents' siblings.  aunt bess was like a third grandmother to me.  she grew up in rural southwest arkansas with my mamaw and her other siblings, the youngest of my great-grandmother's children.  after mamaw and papaw married and moved to magnolia, arkansas, aunt bess joined them there so she could complete high school and go to college.

because of the opportunities that education afforded her, she was interested in art and music in a deeper way than any of her siblings.  none of her brothers or sisters had gone beyond the eighth grade, since that was as far as the rural school they attended would take them.  since aunt bess was able to enroll in the high school and college in magnolia, she was much better educated than most people in those days.  she was more independent and adventurous than women were supposed to be in those days.  when lindbergh returned from his record-setting flight from the united states to france, she traveled by train to st. louis by herself to see him honored by that city, an unheard-of trip for a single woman to make in the society in which she lived.

she insisted that my mother take piano lessons, an opportunity she never had.  she knew that her sister, my mamaw, played by ear and hoped that my mother had inherited that ability.  because my grandparents didn't have the money to pay for lessons and a piano, aunt bess paid for them herself.  by that time she had married and had gotten a job working in a large building supply company in magnolia, so she had more financial security than my grandparents who put everything they had into caring for their four children and keeping their business afloat.

after her first husband died, aunt bess remarried.  as i have written earlier, my great-grandmother lived with aunt bess by that time and couldn't stand my aunt bess's second husband, ben, because he was a "yankee."  her distaste for ben, who died after the birth of his and aunt bess's only child, caused grandma kate to move in with my mamaw and papaw.  aunt bess doted on her daughter, betty sue.  she and my mother were like sisters, and i remember betty sue as a beautiful, vivacious woman with a wonderful sense of humor and a laugh that was like music.  aunt bess gave her piano, voice, and violin lessons, and she became an excellent musician.  i'll have to write more about her later.

aunt bess owned a large home on one of the main streets in magnolia.  she created two apartments in the home, leaving a large suite of rooms consisting of a living/dining room, a large eat-in kitchen, as well as two bedrooms and two bathrooms, for herself.  she had arranged the rooms in her part of the house so that she could subdivide her quarters into a private space for herself while the other side of her area could become a third apartment because there was a small kitchen behind one of the bedrooms.  at times when housing availability was tight, she would consent to letting out half of her living quarters, though she preferred to keep all of her space to herself.

when i became a teenager, i would stay with my aunt bess while attending week-long music workshops for high school students that were held on the local college campus.  aunt bess loved having me stay with her and spoiled me with delicious food.  she talked to me as if i were an adult, and i always felt happy in her presence.  later, when i attended college in magnolia, i often visited with her and attended church with her.  after my wife and i married we lived in a town about thirty minutes from aunt bess, and i continued to be close to her, often stopping by to visit with her when we travled through magnolia.

as she got older, she had difficulty caring for her large home and longed to see more of her daughter and her grandchildren.  betty sue and her family lived in one of the suburbs of phoenix, arizona, so aunt bess decided to sell her home and move to live with betty sue and her husband.  by that time her two grandchildren were grown and living on their own, so there was plenty of room in betty sue's home.  i was heartbroken that aunt bess was moving so far away, but i understood her need to be with her daughter and her daughter's family.  by that time, mamaw had passed away, and aunt bess longed for more companionship, especially since she had given up driving.

i learned many lessons for aunt bess.  she was the exemplar of kindness, always looking for and desiring the best in others.  she was an independent woman in a day when women were supposed to be dependent on their husbands.  she was an astute businesswoman who lived on her own terms but always treasured her family connections.

may we learn from women like aunt bess.  may we refuse to conform to the gender roles society assigns us without becoming hard and callous.  may we remember that business acumen and kindness are both possible.  may we know the value of family.  may we treat others, no matter how young, with respect.  shalom.

They Spell Mother

this morning when i awakened, my mother was on my mind.  she died about twenty years ago, a victim of pancreatic cancer.  she was about my age when she died.  at the time she was stricken with cancer, she was still a vibrant woman.  when she was diagnosed with cancer, we took her to a major teaching hospital where the doctors initially held out some hope that they might be able to surgically remove the cancer.  upon further investigation, they found that the cancer had spread to her liver and told us that surgery was no longer an option.  this meant that her death was inevitable within a few months.  

she remained at home as long as she could, but eventually the pain became too great and she had to be hospitalized.  her doctor in the town where i lived and where she was hospitalized assured us that he could keep her pain-free until the end.  in the last weeks before she died, she was given heavy doses of morphine and was largely unconscious.    my sister, my dad, and i took turns sitting at her bedside, but it was my sister who was with her when she took her last breath.  

one of the things she told my wife and me, while she was still lucid, was that the only regret she had was not seeing so much of the world that she had longed to see.  "go while you can, don't put it off," was her advice to us, advice we have taken, and continue to take, to heart.  at the end, my sister said that she longed for mom to say something to her that would let her know that mom was aware of her presence.  we assured her that mom knew she was there, even though our mom couldn't acknowledge it.  i'm not sure that was true, but we wanted my sister to feel that in mom's last moment it was worthwhile for my sister to be with her.

my mom was my friend and my champion as i grew up.  she always encouraged and believed in me.  she was sometimes exasperated with me because i was not always as kind or as gracious as i should have been.  she tried to teach me to think of the feelings of others.  i think she succeeded in the main but it took many reminders to my younger self before the lesson sunk in.  she expected me to do well in school and was ready to help me whenever i was baffled by something i needed to learn.  she accepted me as i was, never trying to make me into something someone else wanted me to be.  when other boys took up sports or engaged in rough play, i wasn't interested.  i preferred to stay inside and read or play the piano, and she let me be myself, even though others thought she was wrong.  her belief that i should be allowed to find my own way was a lesson that we practiced with our own children, and i think it's the best way for a child to grow up.

when the church in which she had been raised and in which we children grew up took a turn towards extreme conservatism and began to demand a rigid conformity in beliefs and behavior from its members, my mom spoke out strongly against the direction of her denomination.  she agreed with other members of the church and her pastor that, so long as the national leaders of the church continued on their current path, contributions from their local congregation should be withheld from the national body.  when i changed denominations as a result of the church's move to the right, she was encouraging and supported me and my wife.  she had raised me to stand up for what i believed, just as she did.

when the democratic party nominated george mcgovern for president, she reluctantly supported richard nixon, believing that mcgovern was too extreme.  she later told me that was one of her biggest mistakes.  nixon betrayed the trust americans placed in him, and my mom said she would never support anyone who was not a democrat again.  she didn't condemn me when i voiced my support for mcgovern and encouraged me to vote my conscience.

i could always go to my mom when i was uncertain about a decision i had to make.  she was never judgmental, but she led me to decisions that i think were wise ones.  she had a way of simply asking questions that caused me to see things from other perspectives without injecting her own opinions.  her approach made me believe that the decisions i made were my own, because she didn't say, "this is what i think you should do."  i trusted her completely.  when she died, i was bereft, feeling that i had lost a mother, a confidant, a supporter, and the greatest source of strength in my life.  there is a piece of my heart that is missing that only she could fill.

may each of us find people like my mom who are there for us when we need them.  may we honor their memory when they are gone.  may we give them credit for helping us to become our best selves.  may we do whatever we can to be that someone for others.  shalom.

What Makes A Sad Heart Sing

this week i write about my paternal grandfather, papa w.  he and my grandmother, mama w, lived in a large brick three-bedroom home they had built on the main highway leading through town.  it was on a huge lot.  in front of the home were towering hickory trees which produced delicious nuts that we grandchildren loved gathering when they were in season.  they also owned a large pasture behind the house.  in the middle of the pasture was a barn where boxes and boxes of records from papa w's business dealings were kept for reasons known only to him.

papa w's domain in the house was a suite of rooms that included his bedroom, a den with a wall of windows on one side, and a small study.  his den was called "the sunroom" because it was so filled with light.  a door made up almost entirely of small window panes led to the yard.  the floor was covered in linoleum in a pattern that looked like rectangular reddish-brown stones.  in front of the window wall was a small gas heater on which papa w set a small pan of water to humidify the room when the heater was lit during the winter.  opposite the window wall, was a long couch where papa w often napped during the day.  a large radio housed in a dark wood cabinet stood at one end of the couch.  papa w often listened to the bbc on the short wave band of the radio when he was alone in his den.

papa w had severe arthritis.  while he was mobile to the end of his life, his legs ached and his activity was largely limited to walking to the opposite end of the house at meal times and driving to church services in a nearby town on sunday mornings.  i was always perplexed as to why he and mama w slept in separate bedrooms.  their bedrooms adjoined a jack-and-jill bathroom which they shared.  the furniture in his bedroom was made of a dark wood that looked oppressive to me.  i always found his bedroom to be somewhat frightening.  the bed was positioned so that the tall headboard of the bed almost completely covered the only window in the room, so it was always quite dark, in marked contrast to his well lit sunroom.

it was obvious that papa w was a well-respected man in his small town because, when he need a haircut, the barber came to his house rather than him waiting his turn in the barbershop.  in like manner, the president of the local bank came to see him in his den when he had business matters to take care of.  papa w kept a stock of silver dollars in the chest-of-drawers in his bedroom.  when we grandchildren came to visit, he usually gave each of us a silver dollar when it was time to leave.

during the time their children were growing up, papa and mama w led separate lives which may explain why they didn't share a bedroom.  he operated a large sawmill in a town about 150 miles away from their home.  because road conditions were so poor in those days, he stayed in housing at his mill from late sunday afternoon until the following saturday morning each week.  this meant the mama w had all the child-rearing responsibilities, and his children saw little of him.  the mill operated through most of the 1920s and even through the depression.  as the country prepared for world war two, the demand for wood increased, and the mill prospered as never before.  it must have been quite an operation, with worker housing and a company store.  during the depression when cash was scarce, workers were paid in company scrip that could only be spent at the company store.  at one time, i had a wooden coin manufactured for use in that store, but over the years it has disappeared.

because of this arrangement between papa and mama w, their children were all a little distant from papa w.  it was clear that my father and his siblings loved him, but they never seemed comfortable around him.  papa and mama w continued their pattern of living separate lives even after papa w sold his mill and other properties and retired.  she had her domain on one end of the house, while he had his on the other end, and they met only for meals and church attendance.  i think this is one of the reasons mama w and i had such a close relationship.  during most of the year, she was alone in her end of the house, and she delighted in having some company during the weeks i stayed with her during the summer.

like many of his generation, papa w was a racist.  i never heard him speak ill of members of another race, but he and mama w left the church in the town where they lived to become members of a church in the next town that had as one of its principals the belief that the white race was superior to all others and that those of african descent were ordained to be inferior and the servants of others.  i know that mama and papa w both held these beliefs, and it was painful to me to realize as i got older that their religious and political beliefs were so bigoted.

my father seemed to resent attempts by his father to control him.  after he and my mother married, papa w wanted to provide a house for them, but my dad refused, choosing instead to buy a home on his own.  my dad's older brother and papa w were much closer.  it seemed as if my uncle curried favor with papa w, often acting as his driver when papa came home and being his business partner when my uncle was old enough to take part in the family business.  my dad kept his distance and worked for the business but never owned a part of it.  my uncle tried to get dad to go into business with him when my uncle and his family moved to the northern part of the state to operate a large mill up there, but my dad refused.  he wanted to stay in the little town where we had settled and divorce himself completely from reliance on papa w and my uncle.

like my dad, i was never quite sure how to relate to papa w.  he was always kind to me but we were never close.  like many successful men of his time, he viewed child-rearing as "woman's work" and was uncomfortable around young children.  in return, we grandchildren were never comfortable around him.  he didn't talk to us directly, beyond asking how we were when he first greeted us each time we visited.  all his conversation was directed toward the adults present in the room, while we children either went someplace else to play or set silently as the adults conversed.

i suppose papa w did the best he knew how for his family.  he provided well for them and left mama w well off when he died a few years before she did.  i'm sorry that i was unable to have a close relationship with him but i always knew he loved me and all the other members of his family.

may we try to understand those who have gone before us, even when their actions are difficult to fathom.  may we look for the good in them and forgive the bad.  may we remember that all of us wrestle with flaws that we may have difficulty overcoming.  shalom.