My wife Jane still has that little book called “Select Songs for School and Home “: It has a Concordia Publishing House copyright date of 1922. I guess it is more than 70 years ago that I learned one of the songs-and it still resides gently in my consciousness. A few of the lines read: “Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the beauteous land.” Next verse: “And the little moments, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity”
I have been reflecting on a few of “those little moments” today. I have had a bunch of them this week. I wasn’t even out of the sanctuary yet on Sunday when a friend stopped me. “Hey. Mel, on that trip you’re taking to China in a couple months. Got your ticket yet? Just send me the confirmation number and I will use some of my Frequent Flyer miles to upgrade you to Business Class. (What a nice moment.)
On Monday we took an excursion to the Anza Borrego Desert. I stood among the cactae, the unusually bountiful and beautiful spring colored flowers, the expanse of sand and rocks and hills - and for just a moment I was in contact with eons of time, the change from ocean floor to desert, the Indians, the Spaniards and us all. (For just a moment I was in touch with the ages of the universe.)
Yesterday I played golf with a new golfing buddy. For months we had been challenging each other about who will beat whom when we finally play. As we got to the last holes and I just needed a couple pars to shoot my age and I was lining up a long putt, I actually felt this new partner rooting for me to get it home (A simple, yet warm moment.)
Just few minutes ago we had a simple lunch. I once again made a tuna salad. Once again I had to ask Jane what she wanted and didn’t want in the salad. And she, oh so gently, told me for the 125th time” just tuna, celery and a little salt.’ No reminders about how often she had told me that, or any half humorous comment on long and or short-term memory. Just another repetition of what she has told me so often. (Another little moment to give a gentle positive stir in the soul.)
“And the little moments, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages of eternity.”
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Lahore, Pakistan: Pain, Pleasure and Prayer
The headline screams: 43 Killed in Pakistan Blasts. The story gives the details. Suicide bombers hit a military section and the crowded market known as the R. A. Bazaar in Lahore, Pakistan. I read the details of another wave of violence carried out by Islamic extremist. Even though I am removed by time and distance from the place and the events, I hurt inside.
Twenty years ago I was in that Lahore bazaar and in recalling it my mind floods with pleasant memories. I had done a series of workshops in Karachi with school, business and religious leaders from around the country. As I neared the end of my stay my host offered to fly me to Lahore. A class member said her uncle lived there and would be my host. And what a gracious host he was. He welcomed me to his home. Dinner was set before us and his wife who cooked it hurried back into the kitchen for it was deemed inappropriate for this woman to be in our presence while we ate. As I got better acquainted I told my host that I enjoyed the meal. And I asked for permission to personally tell his wife that. He agreed and said it was okay for me to have a conversation with her- with him as interpreter.
The next day was tour day. My host showed me the marvelous centuries- old beautiful sites of Lahore. He took me to the famous Shalimar Gardens. While there he explained that it was the hour of prayer so he took out his prayer mat, knelt on the grass and prayed.
We shared our faith with mutual respect.
Later he offered to take me shopping for some take-home souvenirs. To my surprise he invited his wife to join us. She watched me but said nothing as I bought a small brass vase to take home. Then she disappeared. A little later she returned with an identical vase. “These would make a nice pair,” she said.” I think your wife would enjoy these side by side.”
When I left the next day she came to say good-bye. Her husband translated for her. She asked him to thank me: I was the only non-Pakistani male with whom she had ever
spoken. Together they gave me a peacock feather as a symbol of a brief but beautiful friendship.
And now I read of that beautiful city being blown up in the name of God. My prayers go to a God of all creation, whom I know desires peace upon earth.
Twenty years ago I was in that Lahore bazaar and in recalling it my mind floods with pleasant memories. I had done a series of workshops in Karachi with school, business and religious leaders from around the country. As I neared the end of my stay my host offered to fly me to Lahore. A class member said her uncle lived there and would be my host. And what a gracious host he was. He welcomed me to his home. Dinner was set before us and his wife who cooked it hurried back into the kitchen for it was deemed inappropriate for this woman to be in our presence while we ate. As I got better acquainted I told my host that I enjoyed the meal. And I asked for permission to personally tell his wife that. He agreed and said it was okay for me to have a conversation with her- with him as interpreter.
The next day was tour day. My host showed me the marvelous centuries- old beautiful sites of Lahore. He took me to the famous Shalimar Gardens. While there he explained that it was the hour of prayer so he took out his prayer mat, knelt on the grass and prayed.
We shared our faith with mutual respect.
Later he offered to take me shopping for some take-home souvenirs. To my surprise he invited his wife to join us. She watched me but said nothing as I bought a small brass vase to take home. Then she disappeared. A little later she returned with an identical vase. “These would make a nice pair,” she said.” I think your wife would enjoy these side by side.”
When I left the next day she came to say good-bye. Her husband translated for her. She asked him to thank me: I was the only non-Pakistani male with whom she had ever
spoken. Together they gave me a peacock feather as a symbol of a brief but beautiful friendship.
And now I read of that beautiful city being blown up in the name of God. My prayers go to a God of all creation, whom I know desires peace upon earth.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Morning Newspaper Antidote
Reading the morning newspaper can lead one to a feeling of sickness. The one I read yesterday is a good example. The lead stories were about the discovery of the body of a missing teen-ager. This came just days after the discovery of another one. Both from the near-by relatively small city of Escondido. Moving from local news to national was not more uplifting: “Kidnap Victim still Missing.” “Dr. and Wife Accused of Killing Dozens” “Drunk Driver Kills Teen-ager in Car Accident”. I try the international section and you know that story: “Car bombing in Baghdad, IUD Kills 12 in Kabul, Anarchy in Somalia, Starvation in Darfur”. My whole body and soul scream for for relief.
I find it. I say good-bye to visiting friends. They have with them their 50-year-old mentally retarded daughter. For 50 years they have cuddled her, taught her, nursed her, been patient with her, helped her smile. Then as I leave my apartment I see one of our neighbors entering another door. “Oh”, she tells me, “Mary has not been feeling well. I am bringing her some food.” I take my morning walk. A young father is jogging along- side his dog and is pushing a wheelchair. It holds the slumping head of his son, severely deformed, unable to walk. But the father’s stride is confident exuding care. “Beautiful day for a walk with my little one” is how he greets me. As I return to my house after the walk I see Chuck patiently, oh so patiently, walking to the dining room with his wife whom I know to have Alzheimer’s. He greets me with a cheery ,“Good morning. Isn’t this a nice day!” Jane and I have our morning prayers and at the end she says, “Just give me one more kiss. I love you so much!”
So, yes, I will continue to read the daily newspaper and more importantly, I will also look for those body and soul restoring antidotes of love, patience, care and respect.
I find it. I say good-bye to visiting friends. They have with them their 50-year-old mentally retarded daughter. For 50 years they have cuddled her, taught her, nursed her, been patient with her, helped her smile. Then as I leave my apartment I see one of our neighbors entering another door. “Oh”, she tells me, “Mary has not been feeling well. I am bringing her some food.” I take my morning walk. A young father is jogging along- side his dog and is pushing a wheelchair. It holds the slumping head of his son, severely deformed, unable to walk. But the father’s stride is confident exuding care. “Beautiful day for a walk with my little one” is how he greets me. As I return to my house after the walk I see Chuck patiently, oh so patiently, walking to the dining room with his wife whom I know to have Alzheimer’s. He greets me with a cheery ,“Good morning. Isn’t this a nice day!” Jane and I have our morning prayers and at the end she says, “Just give me one more kiss. I love you so much!”
So, yes, I will continue to read the daily newspaper and more importantly, I will also look for those body and soul restoring antidotes of love, patience, care and respect.
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