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| Sunday Roses |
It's Sunday, my second favorite day of the week. The first being Saturday because I get a whole day at home AND still have one day at home left and the third being Friday because, well, it's the weekend! Sitting on the sofa after morning prayer, cafe con leche in hand, I clicked on cnn.com and read an article about the nun who wrote the book "Dead Man Walking" which got turned into the movie with Susan Sarandon and Sean Penn. Now, I am very much a supporter of the death penalty. My sister (who knows the Bible backwards and forwards, I do not) and I have had some interesting discussions about this topic. I am, usually, very much an eye for an eye person, it is in the Bible, I tell her. She comes back with that was before Jesus came into the picture and it no longer applies. I disagree. I would have no problem whatsoever flipping the switch on murderers, rapists, those that torture, maim, inflict hurt purposefully on innocents. However, just like I wonder whenever I see a homeless person when their spirit, their soul, was broken, I wonder what broke inside, when it broke, what it took to break, the criminal's soul. Because, except for the rare ones who are born with a genetic flaw something they have no control over, we are not born criminals. We are not born hating, it is something that somehow gets planted within us and grows, like an evil, poisonous thing, taking root in our hearts and minds. It is an ugly side of humankind and one that not a whole lot of people are willing to take a look at. They would rather look the other way, make believe it is not there. Turn a blind eye, the same way they turn a blind eye to the homeless, the poor, the "great unwashed" as someone once said, I forget who*, but the phrase stuck in my brain.
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| Bowl of Comfort |
The same concept applies to animals, a dog approaches your pristine lawn, clearly lost, panting, you react by dousing it with water from your water hose, or throwing something at it, yelling "Shoo, shoo! Go away!" Maybe you call Animal Services. You yell at the kids "Do NOT even THINK of petting, feeding, giving it water! It's dirty, it will bite you and give you rabies!" Or maybe it's a cat. You do the same thing. Go away, go away, you're ugly, filthy dirty and you do NOT belong here! You could put a bowl of water out on the porch, but then you'd be encouraging it, right? Same thing with the homeless, you give them a dollar and next thing you know, the next time they will expect you to give them some money, because you are an easy mark? Then you get up Sunday morning, don your best duds and off to church you go. You put a dollar in the collection plate, think you've done your part for the "poor children in (fill in country of your choice here)" and go off to the country club for lunch. Or maybe to a nice restaurant with family and friends. Your kind.
Now, I am not saying we should open our doors (and hearts) willy-nilly to all the homeless, the hopeless, the abandoned, out there. Or stop going to nice restaurants, enjoying life. We all work hard, we deserve our pleasures and treats. Heck, I am addicted to scented candles and two certain brands of purses. I spend an indecent (to some) amount on them, on manis and pedis. I spoil my furry progeny silly. Right now they are all spread out on the sofa, soundly sleeping after a lovely (if a bit smelly) lunch consisting of seafood feast and turkey and giblets feast. What I am saying is, we need to look at the world around us, see the reality, the harshness some people live with on a daily basis. Realize we are ALL connected. Be grateful, not entitled, for all we have been blessed with. The rough and the smooth. The bitter and the sweet. We all share the same planet. Like it or not, our actions create a domino effect. What we put in, we get back, three-fold. Instead of exuding harshness, coldness, not caring, of putting negativity out, try a bit of kindness instead. You do not have to give the dirty, smelly homeless guy money, but maybe meet his (or her) eyes and say good morning, be careful out here. Say God bless you (and mean it). Instead of running that animal off your pristine lawn, put a bowl of water out for it, maybe it is the only kind gesture it will know in its life. You do not have to "save the world" as someone once told me. "You would like to make sure everyone is fed, bathed and has a safe roof under which to sleep! You can't do that. You can't save the world!" they said. True. But I can make sure that whoever I come across is met with kindness. Even when they happen to be wearing designer clothes and a most snotty attitude. Their issue. Not mine. Do unto others. Wow, what a concept.
Which brings me back to Sister Helen Prejean. While I do not wholeheartedly agree with her point of view, I can certainly understand it. I have lost three people to violent acts during different times in my life. One while I was a child, the other two in my 30s. Two were related to me, the third was a friend. All unsolved. Their killers still walk free as far as I know. Would I like to see them brought to justice? Absolutely. It is doubtful they ever will be though. They are three of thousands, maybe millions. Could I possibly retaliate if they were brought before me and it was proven beyond shadow of a doubt they were guilty? Oh, yeah. But would I? I don't know. I like to think that before I pulled the trigger, flipped the switch, I would sit down with each individual, look them in the eye and ask them to tell me their life story. I would want to know what was it, what series of events in their lives, led them to such a rage within their heart, soul, mind that it felt right to take another life. To shoot someone at point blank range. To watch their life drain out of them. Without any regard for them, their loved ones. No regret for shattering lives. For destroying joyful, loving innocents and those that loved them. When exactly did their hearts harden, their souls break? Was it one cataclysmic event or a series of harsh, unrelenting acts of indifference, cruelty.
Maybe they would tell me, maybe they would spit in my face or mock me. Maybe they would tell me a bucketful of lies. But at least I would know I tried. I would tell them, you took a loved one away from me, I want to know why. What drove you, what compelled you to destroy life, joy, beauty. Once when I was volunteering in the pediatrics department of a hospital, I ran across a little boy. He was a handful, the Energizer Bunny on speed, funny, bright, loved cars and drums, banging away on anything he could get his hands on or creating wonderfully screechy car chases that inevitably wound up in spectacular pile-ups and he'd go "Boom!" raising his little arms in the air. One afternoon he had an epileptic seizure while playing with me. The next day he came over to me, tugged on my jacket and in a very low voice he said "I'm sorry." I said "For what? You didn't do anything!" and he said "I was bad yesterday, my Mommy hates it when I do that." Something along those lines. I just gave him a hug. Wondered what did that child's mother say, or do, to him to make him think his having a seizure was him behaving badly? A few days later he was gone from the hospital. I never saw him again, but he has always remained with me. Thinking of him often, hoping somehow he survived childhood and is having a happy, healthy, loving life.
Sometimes I remember my family, how it was before we left my birth country. True, I was very young, but I remember everyone (for the most part) getting along. Getting together at each other's houses, family trips with a caravan of cars off to the beach, the mountains. Great big gobs of people of all ages sitting around tables laughing, talking, eating, singing. Somehow we lost that connectivity when we arrived in the U.S. Or maybe their true selves were revealed, I don't know. Back in our native country, they were sure of their place, they belonged. Here, they felt like they had to prove themselves and they did. Some more financially successful, socially prominent, than others. Some liked (and thrived in) the limelight, others low-key, preferring to be out of that particular arena, happy to just live their lives, raise their child. But everyone had jobs, a house, food on the table. Still, it was never the same. The long-running, ever present feud between my aunt and uncle got harsher than ever here. It seemed like there was some kind of competition all the time. My parents withdrew from all that, we settled in L.A., kept in touch with everyone, visited across state lines, but they were not really part of our lives, nor were we part of theirs. At one point there was a family wedding, we were looking forward to seeing everyone. Then we got a telephone call asking would we mind not going, there were going to be so many people, it was going to be so expensive for us (not really), maybe it was better if we did not travel. I was perfectly fine with that, since we were going to change plans to visit Disneyland to travel to the wedding. To this day, I'll take hanging out with Mickey and Donald any day over hanging out with grown-ups. But my grandparents were incredibly hurt, it was their grandchild getting married and they were told, basically, they were not wanted there. I wonder, at what point in time did it become okay, in their child's (the parent of the bride) mind to do that and, if they never meant for us to attend, then why send the invitation at all? Were that to happen today, I would respond with a well-placed "WTF?" It's a moot point, of course, mostly everyone has died, the bride and groom eventually divorced (and she married a lovely, lovely guy years later), the bride now is in her early 70s, I think (and I hope she has had a wonderful, joyful life). I wonder when (if) they got to Heaven, did they run into each other? Were apologies exchanged? Or is it just all blotted out, hugs exchanged, slate wiped clean? Hugs, I love hugs, they can be darn soul-healing. Do unto others. Wow, what a concept.
Well, I have veered, bobbled and weaved. I have vented. The rest of the day beckons. Until next time, be blessed, be grateful, be joyful and keep the faith!
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| Keeping the Faith |
*Turns out it was Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1803-1873 (whatever did we do before google came along? Oh, yeah, encyclopedias, libraries ...), an Englishman, rather interesting life story, apparently he was Secretary of State for the Colonies at one point and also had a rather acrimonious divorce. "The pen is mightier than the sword" and "In pursuit of the almighty dollar" are also attributed to him. Funny, isn't it, how everyone fusses about people that pursue that ever elusive dollar, yet everyone, critics and non-critics, seem to want it?
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