Dust in the Wind

A young couple visited us last night. During the dinner conversation they mentioned that they were having trouble getting their children to cleanup their rooms. I told them this story. 

When a teenager our son, Brad, was the original trash monster. Photographs, tapes, books, papers and schoolwork constantly covered the floor of his room. We have found moldy, half eaten sandwiches in his desk drawers.  Only those with strong stomachs dared look under his unmade bed: pizzas, chips, spilled cokes, and mildewed clothes decayed there. No sane adult dared entered his bathroom:  uncapped toothpaste tubes, spilled shampoo, unrolled toilet paper and wet towels littered the floor. 

We tried everything: Gold stars, money, bribes, lectures, restrictions, grounding. Nothing worked. 

Brad was not a sullen, obstinate or rebellious child, but, on the contrary, he was a delightful, fun loving kid who just had better things to do than clean up his room. He was always a whirlwind of unkempt joy. 

Finally, we just let the messy room collect detritus. 

Vicki and I were stunned, no we were shocked to the core, when Brad returned from college for Thanksgiving weekend and said, “My roommate and I get along in every way—except he’s real messy.  He throws his clothes down on the floor, won’t make up his bed and leaves books and papers scattered everywhere.  I like to have my desk and room organized.”      

For young parents contemplate this message:  Don’t get too upset with your kid's filthy rooms.  Some kids are naturally messy; some kids are neat.  Allow those frowzy kids to be themselves.  

If you complain excessively about their messiness and meaningless things then they won’t pay attention to important rules and regulations, such as “no drugs and alcohol” and “nothing good happens after midnight.” 

Enjoy your children’s fun loving spirits.  Spend time with them: Read to them; listen to them.  Praise them more.  Appreciate them more.  

Pay attention to the big things; ignore the little things.  

Cleanliness and orderliness will come with time.

The Gift of Solitude

Standing by the window, nose pressed against the glass. Watching. Sitting on the porch steps hoping for a grandson to drop by. Wondering. Scrutinizing the email for a response from a job application. Waiting. Checking for a text message from a boyfriend. None. Wishing for someone to come; someone to write; someone to call. And no one does. That’s loneliness. 

Skiing down an undulating slope with no one around. Hiking alone under a canopy of green. Curled up reading a book. Just sitting, listening to music. Losing ourselves in contemplative prayer. That’s solitude. 

All of us—at least those of us who remain unencumbered by wordily things, those who maintain some sense of spirit—have experienced a oneness with life when we’ve felt the most insignificant. 

When we’ve sought solitary places we see, with inward eye, our soul bound to nature’s harmony. Solitude keeps us in touch with those things most holy. We become mindful of God. 

Wait! Hold it! Those sentences sound great. Poetic. Romantic. A word picture. But that’s not the way life really happens. 

A deadline looms. After that I've got to take the trash out before the garbage man arrives. Need to book a hotel reservation. A fax requesting medical records just came in. 

Now back to my writing. Excuse me. That was Vicki asking me to pick up some bread and milk at the grocery store. And, “Oh yes,” she says, “You better check your right front tire. It looks real low to me.” 

Phone ringing. Voices calling. Deadline menacing. Tires flattening. Always noise and stuff. Stuff that breaks. Stuff to do. 

Occasionally we overload ourselves with tasks to avoid loneliness. 

That’s life: Demanding duties; tasks calling, clamor disrupting... and sometimes loneliness. 

We can’t always be blessed by the silence of soft snow falling, but we can teach ourselves to pull back and cultivate serenity deep within.

Thou Art Thy Mother's Glass

Twenty years ago to honor our daughter, Wende, on her first official Mother’s Day, my mother, Vicki and I took an automobile trip to El Paso where she lived at the time. 

As we entered the El Paso city limits my mother’s eyes brightened. She looked to the right and then to the left; she leaned forward and began to ask questions: 

“Why is the land so green over there? Is that Mexico? What’s the population of El Paso? What do people do for fun around here?” 

My mother, a lifelong learner, loves adventure and anything new. She has been across the United States more times than an Amtrak locomotive. For ten summers she had been a hostess for the YMCA in the Rockies in Estes Park, Colorado. 

In all things cultural she reigns supreme: classical music, opera, the visual arts, literature and etiquette. To her dangling a participle, splitting an infinitive and mixing metaphors mark the unsophisticated as clearly as eating the main course with a salad fork. 

And yet her worldliness fails to dampen her innocence. She remains as bright beamed as a child. 

This point was driven home a few hours later as I watched Wende’s seven-month-old daughter, Lori, take in the world around her. Lori had the same excited naiveté as my mother 75-years her senior. 

Counting Lori as a future mother we had four generations of mothers in the same room. From that experience I now know what makes grand parenting so special. A grandparent can enjoy a child without the daily responsibilities of parenting. But more important a grandmother enjoys watching her daughter love her child and remembers:

Thy art thy mother’s glass 

and she in thee 

calls back the lovely April of her prime. 

A mother sees in her daughter the mother’s childhood reflected. The grandmother sees childhood and parenting reflected. Memories pile upon memories making each generation’s recollections richer. 

Maybe memories make my mother meritocratic. A Spanish major, she wished to work for a major USA corporation as a translator in Mexico—an idea that failed to fit with my grandfather’s conservatism. 

He clipped the wings of her ambition that enabled her, later, to encourage her sons to soar with the eagles. She told us that with hard work and perseverance we could achieve anything. She encouraged us to take risks, do things for the excitement of doing and, most important, to do our absolute best everyday. 

On that trip 20-years ago for the sake of her unfulfilled college wishes, I took her to Juarez for Mother’s Day and got pleasure from her delight in wheeling and dealing in Spanish with the open market vendors. She conversed kindly with the beggars and laughed with the taxi drivers as they took us to restaurants unmarred by tourists. 

She told me margaritas killed Giardia and E. Coli so we ate without fear. She must have been correct because we experienced no revenge from Montezuma. 

Now 96-years old she is as frisky as a filly. She seems to get smarter every year. She visits art galleries and the opera; plays card with her friends; and goes to church each Sunday. She brightens any room.

May all mothers make memories as mine has made for me and may the eyes of sons and daughters mirror remembrances of things sought and gained.

A Mighty Citizen of Valor

The answer to our complaints can be found in the ancient texts. How ancient? About 3160 years ancient.

We think we have problems. What about the poor little Israelite nation back then? 

At that time they were being attacked by the powerful Medianite nation who for seven years completely destroyed the countryside. Whenever the Israelites planted their crops, the Medianites would sweep through the land like swarms of locusts ruining the harvest, not sparing a living thing.

According to the story in Judges 6 an angel of the Lord appeared to Gideon with the words, “Hail you mighty man of valor.”

Gideon replied: “You must have the wrong guy. You must be confused. I’m far from mighty. My tribe is the weakest tribe in all of Israel. My family is the weakest family of our tribe. I am the weakest man of my family.”

The angel rebutted, “You are a mighty man of valor because God is with you.”

Gideon countered: “If God is with us, how come the Midianites beat up on us year after year?”

The angel replied: “Go in strength and save Israel." 

Those familiar with Gideon’s story know that with the power God gave him, his unarmed band of 300 routed 15,000 Medianites.

How did 300 defeat 15,000? They made a lot of noise.  They blew their trumpets and broke the jars that were in their hands. They shouted and held up their torches. The enemy became so confused that they fled in fear.

In our time we can do more than make a lot of noise. Griping and complaining just causes others to gripe and complain.

Instead of creating tumult, we can do things that make the world better. Why are people hungry? Answer: Feed them. Why is their sickness? Answer: Nurture them. Why are people so angry? Answer: Be a peacemaker.

We can find ways to bring people together by focusing on one thing that will improve our world.

Meet our neighbors. Organize a block party. Give time and service to local organizations. Become active in our churches, synagogues and mosques. Participate in local politics. Attend city council meetings.

There are dozens of ways we can make the world better.

Because most people do nothing to make the world better, a mighty citizen of valor—just one person—can bring huge changes. 

Go in strength you mighty citizen of valor.