Throughout my life I have been the blessed object of charity, well beyond my deserving or anyone’s imagination. It begins with the early memory of me as a five-year-old kid at our church/school picnic. My uncle gave me a quarter. That amount was huge, enough for five ice cream cones or a hamburger, a cone, a candy bar, a strawberry soda pop and then another cone.
When I was in high school preparing to teach in the church I received a most unusual gift. A bride from my home church had gone through the ritual of that time to pass around the bride’s shoe and the guests would put in coins as a special gift for her. She decided not to keep it but to send it to me to help with my tuition.
When I was in college I did not have the money even for a bus ticket from Concordia Chicago to Texas at Christmas time. So on December 23rd I was busy as a bar tender at a Christmas party at the Oak Park Club. When I got to my dorm after midnight there was a check from another uncle for $100.00, a full term’s tuition at that time!
My first assignment after college graduation was as principal of St. Paul’s Lutheran in Tracy California. At Christmas the parents of my students gave me the cash to spend Christmas with my fiancé teaching in Michigan. When we returned a year later as a new couple the pantry shower held for us caused our kitchen to overflow with goodies. This was followed by chicken for the fryer, tomatoes to can and an occasional six-pack to enjoy.
The gifts kept coming. One night at my next parish in Glendale, California we went to a dinner at the end of which a big television was rolled into the room. It was our first TV ever.
From there we went to Hong Kong where colleagues and parents of students even out of their poverty were most generous with gifts of many kinds, including, for example, two freshly laid eggs a grateful mother sent from her meager little operation in gratitude for the education her children were receiving. Just before we boarded a flight to the USA to take to a hospital my wife who was suffering from a cerebral aneurysm, my 12-year-old son came running into the house. “Dad, the woman at that little shack of a store at the end of our street heard that Mom was sick. Here, she sent an orange for Mom and a bottle of beer for you!”
When a long recuperation period for my wife was demanded, the generosity we experienced more than matched our anxieties. The faculty wives of Concordia Chicago baby-sat a couple of times a week. Mabel Warnke who had visited us in Hong Kong provided a refrigerator and meals twice a week. When the editor of the church’s periodical realized I did not have an overcoat he literally took his off his back and placed it on my shoulders.
It goes on to great lengths which overwhelms me (and might bore the reader): “The green fees are on me”; Gift cards like “dinner for two at the steak house”; “I’ll host a meal at Ghaddi’s in the Peninsula”; “Just take those hearing aids. I have been looking for someone who could use them”; Next month Jane and I take off for 3 weeks in China, all First Class and all paid for by friends, old and new!
Probably most amazing of all is that when I get all these undeserved gifts the donors have never made me feel like “an object of charity”. I have never felt like an object, but always like a person who reflects in gratitude, wonder and praise to the Giver and the givers of all these good and perfect gifts.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
Four Strong Women
I have been blessed to be in a family line that has included many very strong women. Lately I have reflected upon just 4 of them.
Great Grandmother Friedrich grew up in the post-Civil War sparsely settled ranch and farmlands of Texas. She raised the vegetables, the hogs, the calves, the chickens that kept her family fed and nourished. At one pint she noticed that the number of chickens in her coop seemed to be diminishing at a rate faster than what she had been slaughtering them. Then she noticed that this reduction seemed to occur during the night. So one night she stationed her self in the back of the chicken pen armed only with a very strong flashlight. Sure enough: In the middle of the night a figure appeared in the doorway. As he stepped in she flashed the light upon him and recognized him as a young farm worker who lived in one of the huts on her farm. He was, of course, as startled as she. He stammered, “I am lost. Can you tell me the way to Giddings?” (a nearby town). Immediately Great Grandma stared him down and said, “You (expletive deleted) know the way to Giddings as well as I do. Now get out of here because if you come again I will have something stronger than a flashlight on my hand!” From then on the only chickens that disappeared from her hen house were those that ended up in her frying pan.
Aunt Elizabeth became a widow responsible for two young children when she was just in her thirties. She managed it all by raising chickens and marketing them and the eggs they produced. In her old age she lived alone. One night a young man (possibly on drugs) appeared in her room. He was armed. He demanded she go get him money. She refused to budge. Instead she started a conversation. She reminded him that somewhere he must have a mother who loved him and who would be disappointed to see him robbing an old defenseless widow. She kept the conversation going as the would-be robber became more reflective, decided not to pursue the robbery and was about to leave. At that point Aunt Elizabeth said “No, wait. Sit down. We are going to have a prayer.” And so she prayed for the young man, his mother and his future. She was never intruded upon again.
My Mother had to be physically strong. She bore nine children. One summer she “put-up” 800 quarts of vegetables and fruits to feed us through the winter. She washed our clothes without a hot water heater, wrung the clothes dry by hand and hung them up on wash lines. Then she starched and ironed basketful after basketful of them. She nursed us all through red-eye, measles, mumps, whooping cough, scarletina, poison ivy, broken bones and broken hearts.
One image stands out for me. Somehow or other the very large pasture surrounding our house, barn and sheds caught fire in the midst of a dry Texas summer. The parched grass and broom weeds were blazing and heading toward our home. Dad was not at home. Mother marshaled us. She got out 5 cans holding 5 gallons each and old burlap bags. I can still see my mom lugging two enormous cans each holding five gallons of water. She ran to the edge of the fire some 100 yards away, wet down the burlap bags and beat down the flames at the edge of the on-coming conflagration. Then she ran back refilled those cans, again she lugged them to the fire, instructing us to join her. She repeated this until the fire was extinguished. I still see her, not only struggling with those heavy containers, but after the fire breathing very heavily, completely exhausted, sweating, black with ash and sighing after saving our home from destruction.
My sister Mimi had already proven herself by rising to be first the head nurse and then the widely acclaimed administrator of a community hospital. Then one average Saturday morning she walked into the small Walburg State Bank to make a simple transaction. In the midst of this, two angry men walked in, armed and aggressive. They ordered Mimi to lie face down prone on the floor. She did. They ordered the teller to turn over the cash. He complied and still they fired at him with the bullet grazing his head. One of the robbers stood over Mimi straddling her body. Then just before exiting he fired and blew the skull off the back of her head. Ambulances arrived, emergency care was provided. Contrary to every prognosis and due to Providence, old ammunition, and the strength and determination of one very strong woman, Mimi recovered enough to advance in her profession and receive statewide acknowledgment of her skills and leadership. Then recently she had “ a medical incident”. The attending physician who had not really studied her medical history said to her “Hmm, this activity seems to be the result of some severe trauma to your brain. Do you have any memory of something like that happening?” She remembers, of course, but it has not kept her from being one more of those strong women who continue to be for me much-valued models and inspiration.
Great Grandmother Friedrich grew up in the post-Civil War sparsely settled ranch and farmlands of Texas. She raised the vegetables, the hogs, the calves, the chickens that kept her family fed and nourished. At one pint she noticed that the number of chickens in her coop seemed to be diminishing at a rate faster than what she had been slaughtering them. Then she noticed that this reduction seemed to occur during the night. So one night she stationed her self in the back of the chicken pen armed only with a very strong flashlight. Sure enough: In the middle of the night a figure appeared in the doorway. As he stepped in she flashed the light upon him and recognized him as a young farm worker who lived in one of the huts on her farm. He was, of course, as startled as she. He stammered, “I am lost. Can you tell me the way to Giddings?” (a nearby town). Immediately Great Grandma stared him down and said, “You (expletive deleted) know the way to Giddings as well as I do. Now get out of here because if you come again I will have something stronger than a flashlight on my hand!” From then on the only chickens that disappeared from her hen house were those that ended up in her frying pan.
Aunt Elizabeth became a widow responsible for two young children when she was just in her thirties. She managed it all by raising chickens and marketing them and the eggs they produced. In her old age she lived alone. One night a young man (possibly on drugs) appeared in her room. He was armed. He demanded she go get him money. She refused to budge. Instead she started a conversation. She reminded him that somewhere he must have a mother who loved him and who would be disappointed to see him robbing an old defenseless widow. She kept the conversation going as the would-be robber became more reflective, decided not to pursue the robbery and was about to leave. At that point Aunt Elizabeth said “No, wait. Sit down. We are going to have a prayer.” And so she prayed for the young man, his mother and his future. She was never intruded upon again.
My Mother had to be physically strong. She bore nine children. One summer she “put-up” 800 quarts of vegetables and fruits to feed us through the winter. She washed our clothes without a hot water heater, wrung the clothes dry by hand and hung them up on wash lines. Then she starched and ironed basketful after basketful of them. She nursed us all through red-eye, measles, mumps, whooping cough, scarletina, poison ivy, broken bones and broken hearts.
One image stands out for me. Somehow or other the very large pasture surrounding our house, barn and sheds caught fire in the midst of a dry Texas summer. The parched grass and broom weeds were blazing and heading toward our home. Dad was not at home. Mother marshaled us. She got out 5 cans holding 5 gallons each and old burlap bags. I can still see my mom lugging two enormous cans each holding five gallons of water. She ran to the edge of the fire some 100 yards away, wet down the burlap bags and beat down the flames at the edge of the on-coming conflagration. Then she ran back refilled those cans, again she lugged them to the fire, instructing us to join her. She repeated this until the fire was extinguished. I still see her, not only struggling with those heavy containers, but after the fire breathing very heavily, completely exhausted, sweating, black with ash and sighing after saving our home from destruction.
My sister Mimi had already proven herself by rising to be first the head nurse and then the widely acclaimed administrator of a community hospital. Then one average Saturday morning she walked into the small Walburg State Bank to make a simple transaction. In the midst of this, two angry men walked in, armed and aggressive. They ordered Mimi to lie face down prone on the floor. She did. They ordered the teller to turn over the cash. He complied and still they fired at him with the bullet grazing his head. One of the robbers stood over Mimi straddling her body. Then just before exiting he fired and blew the skull off the back of her head. Ambulances arrived, emergency care was provided. Contrary to every prognosis and due to Providence, old ammunition, and the strength and determination of one very strong woman, Mimi recovered enough to advance in her profession and receive statewide acknowledgment of her skills and leadership. Then recently she had “ a medical incident”. The attending physician who had not really studied her medical history said to her “Hmm, this activity seems to be the result of some severe trauma to your brain. Do you have any memory of something like that happening?” She remembers, of course, but it has not kept her from being one more of those strong women who continue to be for me much-valued models and inspiration.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Blog: Sounds, Silence, Community
SOUNDS: There are so many sounds I just love to hear. The Dr.’s voice “Mother and baby are both fine” The grandkids in the room next door just having fun together. The key opening the front door as my teen-ager returns from her date. The Hallelujah Chorus. The roar of the crowd at a home game with my team scoring the winning run. The plop at the bottom of the cup after a long putt. The intimate whisper that says, “I love you” The very personal sounds of satisfying sex with one’s spouse. The train whistle in the dark distance. The hustle and bustle of people, cars, buses, policemen, hawkers of central Hong Kong or downtown Manhattan. Soft and gentle or raucous and lively, I love sounds.
SOUNDS: There are so many sounds I hate to hear. A parent yelling putdowns to her child. Heavy rock metal. Your flight has been delayed. The stock market is down 500 points. A religious zealot telling me that “if you just…” The answering machine telling me I have 21 messages. Unfortunately the test results came out…” The talk show host who just won’t shut up. The alarm clock after what seems like just minutes since I fell asleep.
SILENCE: There is a silence I love. I walk in silence under the majestic redwoods of Muir Woods. The TV is off, no one speaks, no cars are within earshot. The rare quiet of the sanctuary before the prelude. The loud couple at the restaurant table next to ours has just signed their credit card. Parent-teacher conferences are over for the day and I sit at my desk alone. I stand alone at sunset over my parents’ grave in the Texas country church graveyard. I lie awake at 2:00 am and just reflect and all is okay.
SILENCE: There is a silence I don’t like. I wait for the phone to ring with good news, but there is no ring. I make a presentation to a class, ask for reaction and no one speaks, I ponder a tragedy, I ask, “WHY?” and can hear no response from anywhere. I do something well and await some affirmation but no words reach my ears. I seek for just the right words to say to someone in pain but come up only with silence.
COMMUNITY: I reflect upon SOUND and SILENCE as I read about David Brooks new book, “The Social Animal”. From it I learn an essential truth: In all my sounds and silences there is a part of me that is seeking a “connection, a closing of the loneliness loop, an urge to merge a community. In all my sounds, in all my silences, I am never completely alone. I am connected with nature, with others, with the eternal.
SOUNDS: There are so many sounds I hate to hear. A parent yelling putdowns to her child. Heavy rock metal. Your flight has been delayed. The stock market is down 500 points. A religious zealot telling me that “if you just…” The answering machine telling me I have 21 messages. Unfortunately the test results came out…” The talk show host who just won’t shut up. The alarm clock after what seems like just minutes since I fell asleep.
SILENCE: There is a silence I love. I walk in silence under the majestic redwoods of Muir Woods. The TV is off, no one speaks, no cars are within earshot. The rare quiet of the sanctuary before the prelude. The loud couple at the restaurant table next to ours has just signed their credit card. Parent-teacher conferences are over for the day and I sit at my desk alone. I stand alone at sunset over my parents’ grave in the Texas country church graveyard. I lie awake at 2:00 am and just reflect and all is okay.
SILENCE: There is a silence I don’t like. I wait for the phone to ring with good news, but there is no ring. I make a presentation to a class, ask for reaction and no one speaks, I ponder a tragedy, I ask, “WHY?” and can hear no response from anywhere. I do something well and await some affirmation but no words reach my ears. I seek for just the right words to say to someone in pain but come up only with silence.
COMMUNITY: I reflect upon SOUND and SILENCE as I read about David Brooks new book, “The Social Animal”. From it I learn an essential truth: In all my sounds and silences there is a part of me that is seeking a “connection, a closing of the loneliness loop, an urge to merge a community. In all my sounds, in all my silences, I am never completely alone. I am connected with nature, with others, with the eternal.
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