Today as the year of 2007 ends, I think of my father. His birthday was December 31, and he would have been 94 had he lived and not been unexpectedly shot as he sat at a bar in the Mississippi Delta in 1976. I am also thinking of him because my sister Judy sent me an electronic photograph from the late 1950's of our broken family sitting at a dining table for Christmas. Judy and I were both teenagers. She stands to the left of the photograph while our mother, I, and Daddy sit at the table. Our cousins are in the background. My father looks straight into the camera without a smile with those piercingly blue eyes of his. He has on a reddish color shirt with a sports jacket. He looks wonderful. Yet today, if I could ask of him any question, it would be that in Eric Clapton's famous song, "Tears in Heaven," "If I saw you in heaven, would you know my name?"
Our parents divorced in 1950 while Judy and I were quite small. He wasn't as if we never had a father because we knew of his existence. He simply was not around us but infrequently. We were not his only family even. He had married a young woman while he was in high school because she was pregnant with his twin boys, Billy and Bobby. He never lived with her, but in those days, it was essential that children "be given a name." He met our mother in 1937, some six years after he left his first family.
Judy and I have thought a long time about the reasons for our father's lack of responsibility for his four children and subsequent wives he married through the years. We simply have no answers for his neglect of us all. Yes, he was from a home that itself was rather tragic (his mother died when he was a baby, the aunt who raised him evidently was strict and mean, his father indulged his every wish), but is that enough to explain what he later became: a compulsive gambler, a thief, an alcoholic, and a womanizer?
Through the years, our father was around mostly to get a handout from Judy and me. He always needed money in order to catch the next boat down the river for another six weeks job as a deck hand on the Mississippi. He often came to our houses either drunk, suffering from what we called "the DT's," or hungover. The photograph Judy sent represents one of the few times he was in none of those conditions; it is priceless for that reason.
We wonder what life might have been without divorce, if we could have somehow managed to weather the crises and stay together as a family. Would our father know us then in heaven?
Monday, December 31, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Christmas in the Trailer
Last year my husband and I assisted in the task of feeding the homeless breakfast in downtown Little Rock. It was Christmas morning, and the group met at City Hall in order to feed the growing crowd but also to express the very real need for a permanent location. A year later the problem has been temporarily solved since the city has supplied a small trailer that sits near the Broadway Bridge where many of the homeless live. We arrived early yesterday morning with our cinnamon rolls in tow to a waiting crowd. Ms. Jessie soon arrived with the trailer key and allowed everyone to come in, sit in the chairs around the room, and wait for the other volunteers to bring the coffee, juice, fruit, and more food. I talked to Ms Jessie for a few minutes before the others arrived.
As I glanced about the chairs, I noticed several seemingly well-dressed men whom I assumed to be helpers. Later, as I saw them in the breakfast line, I realized they were indeed among the homeless themselves. Others were easier to identify: a young man who sat immobile without blinking his eyes and only occasionally twitching his right hand; a man without any crotch in his pants; and a tall man who delivered a wonderful prayer and blessing for the meal after singing quietly to himself, "Little Drummer Boy." Ms. Jessie also was telling me of some of the individual stories of the regulars as she pointed them out. "That blond woman thinks she has a chip in her head and that people are trying to do her harm. I just tell her to put a piece of aluminum foil over the spot, and that will protect her. One man was out of work and ashamed to go home for three months. Finally, his son found him and took him back with him. That couple over there get to have a king room tonight at La Quinta. Our group is renting fifteen rooms for them just for Christmas night. . . ." Although I tend to watch a lot of news regarding the homeless (I guess again I am interested because my father was always homeless himself), I was somewhat surprised to hear Ms. Jessie confirm what the newscasters tended to report. "About forty per cent of these folks are veterans, many are addicted to drugs and alcohol, and some are just down on their luck."
After breakfast, Ms. Jessie announced to all that, instead of going to the Economy Inn this year, they were going to a nicer motel. Everyone seemed excited about the upgrade and especially that the check-in time would be 8:30 this year, not 11 like last year. She passed around a bucket and asked that each one put some pennies, or whatever change or dollars they had into it, to help pay for the cost. I am sure she did not collect much, but her policy is to try to communicate the idea that one needs to try to help oneself, rather than to be a recipient only.
As a society, we still do not have any answers for those who are homeless. Many states try different approaches such as soup kitchens, temporary shelters, permanent apartments, jobs, and so on. The Bible says, "You always have the poor with you," and many use it as an excuse not to help at all; it should not be.
As I glanced about the chairs, I noticed several seemingly well-dressed men whom I assumed to be helpers. Later, as I saw them in the breakfast line, I realized they were indeed among the homeless themselves. Others were easier to identify: a young man who sat immobile without blinking his eyes and only occasionally twitching his right hand; a man without any crotch in his pants; and a tall man who delivered a wonderful prayer and blessing for the meal after singing quietly to himself, "Little Drummer Boy." Ms. Jessie also was telling me of some of the individual stories of the regulars as she pointed them out. "That blond woman thinks she has a chip in her head and that people are trying to do her harm. I just tell her to put a piece of aluminum foil over the spot, and that will protect her. One man was out of work and ashamed to go home for three months. Finally, his son found him and took him back with him. That couple over there get to have a king room tonight at La Quinta. Our group is renting fifteen rooms for them just for Christmas night. . . ." Although I tend to watch a lot of news regarding the homeless (I guess again I am interested because my father was always homeless himself), I was somewhat surprised to hear Ms. Jessie confirm what the newscasters tended to report. "About forty per cent of these folks are veterans, many are addicted to drugs and alcohol, and some are just down on their luck."
After breakfast, Ms. Jessie announced to all that, instead of going to the Economy Inn this year, they were going to a nicer motel. Everyone seemed excited about the upgrade and especially that the check-in time would be 8:30 this year, not 11 like last year. She passed around a bucket and asked that each one put some pennies, or whatever change or dollars they had into it, to help pay for the cost. I am sure she did not collect much, but her policy is to try to communicate the idea that one needs to try to help oneself, rather than to be a recipient only.
As a society, we still do not have any answers for those who are homeless. Many states try different approaches such as soup kitchens, temporary shelters, permanent apartments, jobs, and so on. The Bible says, "You always have the poor with you," and many use it as an excuse not to help at all; it should not be.
A Little Child Still Leads
In the busyness of the Christmas rush, our nine-year-old granddaughter, Caitlyn, called us the other night with some instructions. "Dress like people in Jesus' time, hold a small present, look down and then take a picture. You can bring them over to our house on Christmas Eve," she commanded quietly. I did not ask any questions since I am used to our creative granddaughter's imaginative games and role playing. The only aspect to her plan that I expressed reservations about was her command to do all this while we were on our knees. "I don't know if Pop B and I can get up again if we get on our knees," I responded. "O.K.", she acquiesced, "just stand then."
Garlan and I arrived at the Christmas Eve service at the church about forty-five minutes early so that we could reserve an entire row for the family who would be coming in: the other set of grandparents, my son and his wife and two children, plus a visiting uncle from Texas. As we all settled into the pew, I remarked to the one beside me, "Isn't Christmas a great time of year?" She responded by saying she preferred July 4 more and that her upstairs had boxes all over and was generally a mess.
Later, we went to Caitlyn's house. In the midst of many ongoing, and often animated, conversations about politics, sports, and movies and in the spirit of the evening, many drinks being poured, I noticed a small creche to the left of the dining table. It contained a little doll baby wrapped in a blanket. Surrounding it were four pictures: Caitlyn's four-year-old brother, Charlie, carrying a staff; her father dressed as a shepherd, her Pop B dressed as a wise man carrying a candle for Jesus; and me, dressed as a woman of Bethlehem holding a small tin of fruit for the Christ child.
Once again I raised the usual question to myself: Isn't this what Christmas should actually be about? Isn't it Jesus' time to be honored with gifts, not ours? A little child still is capable of leading us to where we need to go.
Garlan and I arrived at the Christmas Eve service at the church about forty-five minutes early so that we could reserve an entire row for the family who would be coming in: the other set of grandparents, my son and his wife and two children, plus a visiting uncle from Texas. As we all settled into the pew, I remarked to the one beside me, "Isn't Christmas a great time of year?" She responded by saying she preferred July 4 more and that her upstairs had boxes all over and was generally a mess.
Later, we went to Caitlyn's house. In the midst of many ongoing, and often animated, conversations about politics, sports, and movies and in the spirit of the evening, many drinks being poured, I noticed a small creche to the left of the dining table. It contained a little doll baby wrapped in a blanket. Surrounding it were four pictures: Caitlyn's four-year-old brother, Charlie, carrying a staff; her father dressed as a shepherd, her Pop B dressed as a wise man carrying a candle for Jesus; and me, dressed as a woman of Bethlehem holding a small tin of fruit for the Christ child.
Once again I raised the usual question to myself: Isn't this what Christmas should actually be about? Isn't it Jesus' time to be honored with gifts, not ours? A little child still is capable of leading us to where we need to go.
Just as We Were
It is an old Baptist joke that we sing "Just as I Am" in church every Sunday but then we leave just as we were. I often think about that hymn even though my husband and I have been regularly attending an Episcopal Church in downtown Little Rock for the past year. There is no altar call there each week. What replaces it, however, it seems is, in some ways, much more meaningful: communion. Communion has always been a time to reflect upon the events of past days, confess sins, and be renewed into the full fellowship and grace of God. I have been observing a young man (his name is John) who is blind as he receives the wafer and the wine from the priest. He sits alone on the first row, center, of the church pew and waits until his turn after everyone else has already moved forward to the front of the church.
I often wonder who his family is and what his background is. I think of the irony of those of us who have our sight and still remain spiritually blind, except on Sundays, of course. I think of another old Baptist hymn we have loved through the years: "Amazing Grace." Its lyrics are, "I once was blind but now I see," and I begin to imagine what heaven will be like for this young man. If we take Jesus at His word, John will be able to see again; he will have a perfect body and be able even to see God face to face.
In the meantime, we all continue to live in an imperfect world where those in poverty continue to struggle, those in poor health begin to fail even more, and those who are addicted to alcohol and drugs struggle to break old habits. Many of us open our eyes each day but still do not see the needs of those around us. We walk out of the church, cleansed of sins, but just as we were.
I often wonder who his family is and what his background is. I think of the irony of those of us who have our sight and still remain spiritually blind, except on Sundays, of course. I think of another old Baptist hymn we have loved through the years: "Amazing Grace." Its lyrics are, "I once was blind but now I see," and I begin to imagine what heaven will be like for this young man. If we take Jesus at His word, John will be able to see again; he will have a perfect body and be able even to see God face to face.
In the meantime, we all continue to live in an imperfect world where those in poverty continue to struggle, those in poor health begin to fail even more, and those who are addicted to alcohol and drugs struggle to break old habits. Many of us open our eyes each day but still do not see the needs of those around us. We walk out of the church, cleansed of sins, but just as we were.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Replaced by Rudolph
We talked on the telephone last night (or rather listened) to our two-year-old grandson, Cole, as he played. We already miss him from his trip home to Arkansas from Seattle two weeks ago. Since it was already December when he arrived, we decided to scurry around, buy the Christmas tree, put out the little Victorian village, and decorate the mantle. He was happy with his new found ability to use the remote to turn on the tree and the village. He seemed to like most of his presents, but he was happiest, however, to receive the classic Burl Ives' DVD on Rudolph. For the several days he was here, we frequently heard him request to see the movie. This action is a bit unusual because of his parents' decision not to allow him to watch television at home. In fact, the family gave away their television sets several months ago.
I think of how quickly we Americans become addicts to the small screen. When I was growing up in the Mississippi Delta in the early 1950's, we simply could not afford to buy a television with our waitress mother's salary and tips. In spite of that, I became a television addict by going back through the alley behind our apartment to Judy's and my good friends' (Lila Lee and Patsy) house. They had a television that was always turned in the afternoons to the Mickey Mouse Club. I was usually incensed, and often cried, if they were away from home when it came on. I loved the Spin and Marty series and especially loved watching the popular Annette Funicello as she pranced around looking ever so cute. It was not beyond me if Lila Lee and Patsy's dad was in a bad mood, often indicated by his cursing, to simply try to look through their windows to see the program.
I hope I haven't created the same kind of addict that I was in Cole. After they flew back to Seattle on the 5th of December, I did not get my daily phone calls from Cole telling me what he was eating every day. I waited patiently, and when I finally got another call, my daughter told me every time she suggested calling Mom B and Pop B that Cole simply replied, "Rudolph."
I think of how quickly we Americans become addicts to the small screen. When I was growing up in the Mississippi Delta in the early 1950's, we simply could not afford to buy a television with our waitress mother's salary and tips. In spite of that, I became a television addict by going back through the alley behind our apartment to Judy's and my good friends' (Lila Lee and Patsy) house. They had a television that was always turned in the afternoons to the Mickey Mouse Club. I was usually incensed, and often cried, if they were away from home when it came on. I loved the Spin and Marty series and especially loved watching the popular Annette Funicello as she pranced around looking ever so cute. It was not beyond me if Lila Lee and Patsy's dad was in a bad mood, often indicated by his cursing, to simply try to look through their windows to see the program.
I hope I haven't created the same kind of addict that I was in Cole. After they flew back to Seattle on the 5th of December, I did not get my daily phone calls from Cole telling me what he was eating every day. I waited patiently, and when I finally got another call, my daughter told me every time she suggested calling Mom B and Pop B that Cole simply replied, "Rudolph."
Monday, December 17, 2007
Seeing Through the Fog
Little Rock has recently had a series of foggy mornings in December. Since we live just north of the Arkansas River, I guess we are more prone to get fog than other places throughout the city on chilly days. I gaze out the back door of our house, which overlooks Pinnacle Mountain to the far west, a ridge of trees to the South, and an ample amount of horizon each day. I often cannot see the mountain. Since our Bible Study group has been studying the Old Testament this fall, several of us in the group have been wrestling, like Jacob, with the theological idea of immutability. The Bible tells us that God is the same today, yesterday, and tomorrow; yet we cannot see through the fog to see how this can be true.
What is troubling somehow to us is that God seems to be constantly trying new techniques to get the attention of those He created. For example, after the original sin in the Garden of Eden, God expels the couple out of the Paradise He created. As time goes on, He decides (after the first murder followed by many other sins) to destroy the people with a worldwide flood. When Noah and his wife and children survive to begin again, the cycle repeats itself. The Hebrews soon find themselves in slavery in Egypt, but they are soon free thanks to the leadership of Moses and his brother Aaron. When the people disobey, like Moses, who struck the rock instead of just speaking to it to obtain water, God punishes Moses by not allowing him to see the promised land. When Saul uses his reason and saves some of the best booty from a war, instead of killing all women, children, and animals, Saul loses the favor of God. When David sins with another man's wife, breaking one of the ten commandments, God allows the child born of that union to die. God gives humankind over 600 commands to keep in the Old Testament.
When we get to the New Testament, however, God has an entirely different persona. It appears that He has learned we humans simply cannot keep all of the laws precisely that He has set down for us. He becomes the God of love with the sacrifice of his only Son for the sake of the people. Christ reduces the previous 600+ laws down to two basic ones: love God and love our neighbor.
I do believe that God has always intended the best for us from the beginning. He wants to love us and to have an unbroken fellowship with us. In that respect, we see that God has had an unchangeable goal throughout the centuries. It seems, however, that his methods of reconciling us to Him are very changeable. Why can I not see through the fog to the majesty of the mountain more clearly?
What is troubling somehow to us is that God seems to be constantly trying new techniques to get the attention of those He created. For example, after the original sin in the Garden of Eden, God expels the couple out of the Paradise He created. As time goes on, He decides (after the first murder followed by many other sins) to destroy the people with a worldwide flood. When Noah and his wife and children survive to begin again, the cycle repeats itself. The Hebrews soon find themselves in slavery in Egypt, but they are soon free thanks to the leadership of Moses and his brother Aaron. When the people disobey, like Moses, who struck the rock instead of just speaking to it to obtain water, God punishes Moses by not allowing him to see the promised land. When Saul uses his reason and saves some of the best booty from a war, instead of killing all women, children, and animals, Saul loses the favor of God. When David sins with another man's wife, breaking one of the ten commandments, God allows the child born of that union to die. God gives humankind over 600 commands to keep in the Old Testament.
When we get to the New Testament, however, God has an entirely different persona. It appears that He has learned we humans simply cannot keep all of the laws precisely that He has set down for us. He becomes the God of love with the sacrifice of his only Son for the sake of the people. Christ reduces the previous 600+ laws down to two basic ones: love God and love our neighbor.
I do believe that God has always intended the best for us from the beginning. He wants to love us and to have an unbroken fellowship with us. In that respect, we see that God has had an unchangeable goal throughout the centuries. It seems, however, that his methods of reconciling us to Him are very changeable. Why can I not see through the fog to the majesty of the mountain more clearly?
Friday, December 14, 2007
Happily Ever After
Even though I knew it was coming (after all, we all know "there's no gettin' out" of the mob once in) it was still sad to see the demise of Adriana on The Sopranos. One of the critics described her as the only truly genuine sympathetic character on the show. I agree even though she, like all of us, had her vulnerabilities--her addiction to drugs and alcohol. She did, however, truly love her man Christopher. She longed to move into the witness protection program with him and live happily ever after. It just wasn't to be.
For several years the viewers of The Sopranos had agonizingly followed Adriana's tortured life as part of the family. We simultaneously wanted her to get her proposal from Christopher, along with a big ring, but we at the same time felt she deserved better. We wanted her to be able to have a child with her man because, it seems, the true legitimacy of a mob wife is gained only by becoming the legitimate mother of a mobster's child. We watched Adriana repeatedly support Christopher through his bullet wounds, his own addictions, and his volatile, often violent and abusive, treatment of her.
Yet, Adriana made a choice when the FBI puts the squeeze on her--go to jail essentially for the rest of her life or become an informer regarding Tony's activities and hope to get protection at a later date. She made her fatal choice by choosing the latter option. From this point on, it was just a matter of time until she too was whacked. Still, the scene was chilling with the television viewers' watching the last scene of her crawling on all fours in the woods. Thankfully, the director spared us a final look of her face as she was off-camera when Silvio fired two bullets.
Is it possible for one to ever fulfill the dream of living happily ever after, or is the idea reserved only for fairy tales? Life is too complicated to believe fairy tales can happen.
For several years the viewers of The Sopranos had agonizingly followed Adriana's tortured life as part of the family. We simultaneously wanted her to get her proposal from Christopher, along with a big ring, but we at the same time felt she deserved better. We wanted her to be able to have a child with her man because, it seems, the true legitimacy of a mob wife is gained only by becoming the legitimate mother of a mobster's child. We watched Adriana repeatedly support Christopher through his bullet wounds, his own addictions, and his volatile, often violent and abusive, treatment of her.
Yet, Adriana made a choice when the FBI puts the squeeze on her--go to jail essentially for the rest of her life or become an informer regarding Tony's activities and hope to get protection at a later date. She made her fatal choice by choosing the latter option. From this point on, it was just a matter of time until she too was whacked. Still, the scene was chilling with the television viewers' watching the last scene of her crawling on all fours in the woods. Thankfully, the director spared us a final look of her face as she was off-camera when Silvio fired two bullets.
Is it possible for one to ever fulfill the dream of living happily ever after, or is the idea reserved only for fairy tales? Life is too complicated to believe fairy tales can happen.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
The Missing Plates
Several years ago a television spot featured a large family setting the table for one of their meals. The point was to say there was always room for more children within a loving family. I believe the sponsor of the commercial was a church, but I do not remember for sure. Today, as Christmas approaches, I think about children with AIDS who are still at the table and many who are not.
In 1996, I met two children as part of a RAIN (Regional Aids Interfaith Network) team I had joined. At the time they were five and six and had already lived all of their lives infected with the AIDS virus. They had evidently contacted the disease from their mother while she was pregnant. She did not know of her own condition until they were born. She used to say frequently to me, "I can understand why I have AIDS, but why did God allow my children to have it?" I had no answer to her question.
Some decade or so later, we have both good news and bad news relating to the fight against this disease. The good news is that the total number of cases worldwide is down to 33 million. The bad news is that this decrease is not necessarily a result of saving more people, but simply the result of originally overestimating the numbers.
The two children I got to know with AIDS have been among the fortunate ones. When diagnosed, they were able to get into a research program in Maryland. They have flown out from Oklahoma once a month for treatment. Today they are both flourishing due to the many new advances in drug cocktails that inhibit the virus. They are seemingly healthy teenagers, ages 16 and 17.
Many children in the world, especially developing countries, however are not so fortunate. We need to keep the AIDS fight on our agenda and not let it slip away to a once-a-year commemoration on Dec. 1--or many more families will not be able to set plates at the table any longer for their children.
In 1996, I met two children as part of a RAIN (Regional Aids Interfaith Network) team I had joined. At the time they were five and six and had already lived all of their lives infected with the AIDS virus. They had evidently contacted the disease from their mother while she was pregnant. She did not know of her own condition until they were born. She used to say frequently to me, "I can understand why I have AIDS, but why did God allow my children to have it?" I had no answer to her question.
Some decade or so later, we have both good news and bad news relating to the fight against this disease. The good news is that the total number of cases worldwide is down to 33 million. The bad news is that this decrease is not necessarily a result of saving more people, but simply the result of originally overestimating the numbers.
The two children I got to know with AIDS have been among the fortunate ones. When diagnosed, they were able to get into a research program in Maryland. They have flown out from Oklahoma once a month for treatment. Today they are both flourishing due to the many new advances in drug cocktails that inhibit the virus. They are seemingly healthy teenagers, ages 16 and 17.
Many children in the world, especially developing countries, however are not so fortunate. We need to keep the AIDS fight on our agenda and not let it slip away to a once-a-year commemoration on Dec. 1--or many more families will not be able to set plates at the table any longer for their children.
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