A White Christmas?

“You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You get what you need.”

 ~ The Rolling Stones “Let it Bleed” Album

“Go clean up your room,” Kurt’s mother said emphatically. “But, Mom,” he began. “No buts about it,” she responded. “The only butt around here is yours. And, it will be in a sling if you don’t go to your room and get it cleaned up.” Kurt reluctantly trudged off to his room.

He opened the door and surveyed the chaos. Clothes hung on the bed posts and his chair. Dirty underwear was piled in the corner having somehow missed the hamper, which was right next to the pile. Papers were piled on his desk and the floor was strewn with a variety of toys and games. “It looks alright to me,” he thought. “Besides it’s my room anyway, what does Mom care what it looks like?”

With a deep sigh he reluctantly began his task.  Kurt picked up his Apache Attack Helicopter to put it away. In a moment, his imagination transported him to a secret combat rescue mission in some foreign country, his room-cleaning duty quickly forgotten.

An hour passed and Kurt’s mom had not heard or seen her son since he slunk off to his room in a pout. Kurt was a good boy; but like most boys, his chores always seemed to be easily forgotten with a plethora of excuses as to why they weren’t done. She decided to check in to see how the cleaning assignment was going.

Quietly opening the door to Kurt’s room, she was greeted by the usual visual chaos. Nothing had been touched. There on the floor sat Kurt surrounded by a variety toys in some mock battle arrangement.

“Kurt!” Startled by her voice, Kurt turned and faced his irritated mother, standing in the doorway fists on hips. “What have you been doing for the last hour?” The boy stared at the floor. “It’s my room,” he began. Somehow his argument didn’t sound as persuasive as it had an hour ago. 

“Really?” his mother replied, her arms now crossed. “I suppose this means you’re going to launder that pile of dirty underwear in the corner yourself?” “Well… I… need new underwear,” was his stammered reply.  Kurt knew he was not getting himself out, but into deeper trouble with his mom. His mother’s right eyebrow arched, which was a bad sign.

“You have an hour to clean up this room,” his mother ordered with a sense of finality. “I’m surprised, with Christmas coming, you aren’t trying to do a better job of convincing Santa you were good this year.”

“I don’t believe in Santa anymore,” Kurt replied staring at the floor. His mother glowered at him for a moment. “Good to know,” she said finally, and closed the door.

The three weeks leading up to Christmas passed quickly. Kurt had all but forgotten the room-cleaning incident and assumed his Mom had also. He had been hoping for a new radio-controlled sports car, or maybe that new video game.

At 6:00 am Christmas morning, Kurt and his sister Suzy shot down the stairs to the Christmas tree in the living room. His parents were already there with their cups of morning coffee. Christmas music was playing on the stereo and the tree lights were lit.

Kurt and his sister said “Merry Christmas,” to their parents as they headed for the tree. As was their family custom, everyone retrieved their gifts from the tree then stacked their gifts in front of them. Each one opened a gift while everyone else watched and commented.

To Kurt’s surprise and dismay, he had only two packages. Both were roughly the same size and shape and were relatively flat. Usually, he and Suzy opened their packages first. This year, for some unexplainable reason, his parents made him go last. This was disconcerting since Kurt had to wait impatiently while everyone went ahead of him.

Finally, it was his turn. Kurt anxiously ripped off the Christmas wrapping paper. There, in his lap lay a package of JC Penney briefs. His Mother smiled at him. “You said you needed new underwear.” Kurt’s eyes fell on the package of “tighty whities.”

They went around a second time. Kurt hurriedly tore his second package open. This time he found a package of JC Penney white t-shirts. Speechless, he stared at his mother. “That’s what you get when you stop believing in Santa Clause; you get underwear.” She said with a smile.  Kurt stared at the two packages.

  

The family went around a third time. When they got to Kurt, he had nothing left to open. “I don’t have any more presents,” he said dejectedly. From behind her chair his Mother produced a beautifully-wrapped package. “Try opening this,” she said with a smile.

Kurt opened it carefully. Inside was the radio-controlled sports car he had been hoping for. “I don’t understand,” he exclaimed, looking at his Mother.  “It’s simple,” she replied. “As you get older, you are going to have more responsibilities. Things in which you used to believe, don’t seem as important. But always know that, even though you stop believing, you will always be loved.”

If you no longer feel close to God, who moved? It is easy to view our relationship to God as a “give and get” arrangement. I give God my time and attention while in turn He gives me what I ask for. The problem arises when we don’t get what we wanted or thought we needed.

“Be careful what you pray for. You may just get it.” Our perceived needs, wants, and desires are all time-bound and usually self-serving. We never really see the big, big picture. Those things which seem desirable or beneficial to us now, may not seem so later. Likewise, a temporary hardship or inconvenience may reap long-term benefits later on.

God’s love is relentless. It is unfailing, unflagging. It is inevitable and without measure. It is not contingent upon what we do and what we don’t do. Because this is so, we ultimately receive what we need; even if it is underwear!

Dear God: Remind me that all I need to do to be happy, is believe.

“The reality of loving God is loving him like he's a Superhero who actually saved you from stuff rather than a Santa Claus who merely gave you some stuff.”  Criss Jami (born Christopher James Gilbert) ~ Lead singer of the rock band ‘Venus in Arms’, poet, essayist, existentialist philosopher, and the founder and designer of Killosopher Apparel (b 1987)..

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

Prayer Power

“Never forget the three powerful resources you always have available to you: love, prayer, and forgiveness.” ~H. Jackson Brown, Jr., American Author, Best known for “Life’s Little Instruction Book.” (b 1940)

Our friend was dying. There was no other way to put it. No way to see it in a positive light. Mick was dying and that was that.

It was Monday morning. Veterans Day. We sat at the conference table trying to plan our most important fundraising event of the year. But, try as we might, our thoughts kept drifting back to Mick.

He had been a constant contributor to the community. Always diligent. Always generous with his time, talent and treasure. Sadly, his fortunes had gradually deteriorated in recent years. With the sliding small business economy, Mick’s business had slumped and his house went into receivership. It was posted and locked up tight by the county sheriff, all his belongings still inside.

Then came the diagnosis: untreatable stage 4 liver cancer.

Locked out of his house, Mick had resorted to sleeping in the cramped office at the rear of his rented business space. There he stayed, waiting to die.

I turned from our now seemingly-trivial dinner meeting agenda and noticed my friend Karina starting to tear up. Karina, Jewish by birth, often teased me about our friendship. A Jew and a Catholic deacon. What an unlikely pair! And yet, we both understood and respected the depth of each other’s faith.

Sensing I was looking at her, Karina turned and met my gaze. In an instant she turned to the rest of the committee. “We need to pray,” she announced and, taking my hand, she led me out of the room to a nearby vacant office.

We sat facing each other, holding hands, palms to wrists. Quietly we took turns speaking words of prayer for Mick. Long pauses separated our words. The silence allowed us to empty our minds, filling them with God’s presence and thoughts of Mick. Time paused.

Even as the quiet engulfed us, without warning, Mindy burst into the room and held out her phone to Karina. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she stammered, “but this call is what you’re praying about.”

Karina hesitantly took the phone. “Hello?” For the next several minutes Karina spoke little, but punctuated the conversation with, “uh huh.” I would later learn that, thanks to calls made by Karina and others, a community leader was now involved. Arrangements were being made to move Mick to a care facility.

His house had been sold the day before, contents and all. But efforts were already being made to contact the new owner. (Days later, though he had every legal right to keep them, the new owner would voluntarily relinquish Mick’s documents and some of his key possessions.)

Karina said thank you and clicked off. “We need to finish praying," she said simply. We resumed our prayer vigil until finally, without looking at each other, we simultaneously said, “Amen.”

As our eyes slowly became accustomed to the light, we both breathed a sigh of relief. “Wow!” I exclaimed. “That may be the fastest response I have ever gotten to a prayer.” Karina produced an impish grin. “I’m not the least bit surprised,” she chirped with mock seriousness. “One of the Chosen People -- a female no less -- and a Catholic clergyman praying together? God had to take notice!”

We stood and stretched. “Let’s go,” she said finally. “We’ve got a dinner to plan.”

How often do we hear people say, “There is nothing else we can do. Now all we can do is pray.”? F.B. Meyer once said, "The greatest tragedy of life is not unanswered prayer, but unoffered prayer." Rather than our last resort, perhaps prayer should be our first resort.

Often, when people ask, “How do we get stewardship started at our parish?” or, “How do we go about doing a better job of evangelizing?” or, “How do we deal with this problem?” they sometimes become frustrated when it is suggested that they start with prayer. For most, “prayer” seems too undefined.

What they really are asking for is a game plan, a road map, or a set of step-by-step instructions.  But the game of life has no instructions inside the box lid. In fact, most of the really important things in life, like marriage, raising children or helping a dying friend don’t come with instructions.

We must come to accept the power of prayer. We must come to believe God has entrusted us with a force which can bring the power of heaven to earth.

Start and end everything with prayer. You may be surprised by the results.   

Dear God: Remind me to pray always.

“Prayer is not an old woman’s idle amusement. Properly understood and applied, it is the most potent instrument of action.” ~Mahatma Gandhi, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi was the preeminent leader and freedom fighter of Indian nationalism in British-ruled India. (1869-1948)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

Guardian Policy

“A smile is the light in your window that tells others that there is a caring, sharing person inside.” ~Denis Waitley, American psychologist, author, lecturer and counselor (b1933)

Esmerelda loved going to school. Her favorite subject was numbers. She loved the way Ms. Mendoza taught her how to write numbers. It seemed like she was singing: “Make a three and close the gate. This is how we make an eight” Ms Mendoza would say.

The other thing she liked about school was that she felt safe there. The teachers and even the big kids went out of their way to make sure she was safe. It wasn’t like that anywhere else; even at home.

One night she was awakened by something that sounded like firecrackers; pop, pop, pop they went. Her aunt came running into the room. She lived with her aunt because she wasn’t sure where her mom was. Her aunt looked really scared. 

“We’re going to sleep on the floor, Esme,” she said nervously. “Why can’t I sleep in my bed?” Esmerelda whined. “Because I say so,” her aunt replied, her voice quavering.

They spent the rest of the night sleeping on the floor. Every so often she was awakened by the funny “pop, pop, pop” sounds. Once she heard glass break across the street and someone yelling.

Finally it was morning. Time to go to school, where she knew she was safe.

This particular morning her aunt was in a hurry. She dropped her off across the street. Esmerelda didn’t like crossing the street by herself. People were crazy and drove really fast. But today Mr. Carter was there. He was a big friendly man who always seemed to be laughing. 

Mr. Carter strode across the street to where Esmerelda stood. “Good morning, Esmerelda,” he announced loudly. “Can I help you across the street?” Esme nodded and grabbed his hand. “What do you do?” she asked innocently. “I’m the Crossing Guard,” Mr. Carter replied with a flourish. 

By now they had reached the other side of the street. Esme stared at Mr. Carter for a moment. “Does that mean you’re my guardian?” she asked seriously. The question caught Mr. Carter off-guard for a moment. He knelt down and looked thoughtfully into Esmerelda’s liquid blue eyes. “Yes, I suppose it does…for today anyway.” “Good!” she replied and headed off to class.

One of the great and often quoted statements is “Am I my brother’s keeper?” The short answer is an emphatic “YES!” We hear a lot these days about “no bullying policies”, “zero tolerance policies” and “anti-bullying training.” 

The great psychologist, Dennis Waitley, once asked, “How can you motivate someone by teaching them the negative of an idea?”  

A recent study in northern Texas concluded that students at schools with anti-bullying programs might actually be more likely to become victims of bullying. It also found that students at schools without bullying programs were less likely to become victims. The conclusion was “No Bullying" programs actually taught people how to be bullies.

It is interesting that most of the Ten Commandments begin with “Thou shalt not…” In other words, “Don’t do this.” But when Jesus is asked, “What is the greatest Commandment?” he chooses two “positive” responses: “Love God and Love People.” In other words: “Do this!”

Being a good steward means accepting responsibility for the well-being of others. Perhaps most of the world’s ills could be addressed, not by so-called “corrective measures" (anti programs) but rather, by learning how to care for others. After all, is not war just an extreme form of bullying?

Loving others is not about avoiding bad behavior toward them, it is about caring for them.

If someone asked you, “Are you my guardian?” how would you respond?

Dear God: Teach me to treat others the way I want to be treated.

“Change the changeable, accept the unchangeable, and remove yourself from the unacceptable.” ~Denis Waitley, Founding member of the National Council for Self-Esteem (b1933)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

Self? Image?

You are made in the image of what you desire. ~Thomas Merton, Trappist monk and mystic (1915-1968) 

Javier was big. Not just big for an 8^th grader, but big by any standard. Even in 7^th grade he could throw a football the length of the parking lot. Fortunately, Javier was usually good-natured and friendly. He never used his size to take advantage of the other students. On the other hand, because of his size, the other students often deferred to him. So, by default, he often got his way.

Mr. Antonio was the Teaching Assistant (TA) for the Kindergarten Class. But, at 6 feet, 8 inches tall, he towered over everyone, even Javier.

No one really knew how the disagreement started or, for that matter, what it was about. The only thing for sure was that the two of them (Javier and Mr. Antonio) were standing face-to-face in the middle of the playground with their voices steadily escalating in volume.

As a student, Javier should have done whatever the TA told him to do. This time however, Javier had chosen to stand his ground. Now, students were noticing the confrontation; some stopped playing and turned to see what was going on. Others sat on the benches along the exterior walls and just watched.

Finally, the fracas caught the attention of the school principal. She arrived on the scene and with five simple words: “Javier, come to my office,” it ended as quickly as it started. Javier received a disciplinary slip and nothing more was said about the incident.

At 7:25 am the next day, Mr. Antonio parked his old Honda Civic in the teacher’s lot and headed for the Kindergarten classroom.  He surveyed the room to make sure everything was in order. In the process he instinctively reached for the cell phone in his hip pocket where it should have been. It wasn’t there. He quickly patted himself down. No luck. “I must have left it in the car,” he thought. Giving the classroom a last glance, he headed for the parking lot.

As he neared his car, he noticed something white stuck under the windshield wiper. It appeared to be a small envelope. He located his cell phone on the passenger’s seat then plucked the envelope from its resting place. Mr. Antonio opened the envelope and read the enclosed note. He paused, looked around and then read it again. After a moment’s consideration, he headed for the Principal’s Office.

The Principal sat at her desk staring at her computer screen. Mr. Antonio entered without knocking. “I need to show you…” but his voice trailed off when he noticed a similar white envelope on the Principal’s desk. “Have you read it?” she asked, without looking away from the screen. “Yes,” he replied. “Twice.” “Then we don’t need to discuss it, do we?” responded the Principal, looking up from her screen with a glimmer of a smile. “No, I guess not,” replied Mr. Antonio. He turned and exited the office.

The note lay open on the Principal’s desk. It read simply: “I’m sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. I messed up. Please forgive me, Javier.” 

Maturity is not about learning to navigate flawlessly through life’s treacherous waters. Rather, it is about how we respond when we “mess up.” And, we will mess up. Perfection is the goal, but the law is still Murphy’s.

The issue we must confront daily is “image” versus “self.” Image is how others perceive us or how we want them to perceive us. “Self” is the real deal…the real us. The problem is when the two are in conflict with each other – when we want to look good even though we know we are wrong.

The conflict between image and self arises in all walks of life: business, family, politics and even, sad to say, religion. We create images for ourselves we can’t live up to. Then when things go awry, we are left with only two choices: to get in contact with our “self” and admit our fault or to protect our image by placing blame, arguing beyond rationality, covering up, or denial.

Javier knew the answer was to do the right thing – to take responsibility for his actions and admit fault. As a result, he not only freed himself to live with a clear conscience, but he mended the relationships which had been strained.

We are all called to be the persons God created us to be. After all, we are smarter than an 8^th grader; aren’t we?

Dear God: Help me to become the person you created me to be rather the person I am not.

“You are who you are when nobody's watching.” ~Stephen Fry, English actor, screenwriter, author, playwright, journalist, poet, comedian, television and radio presenter, film director, activist, and board member of Norwich City Football Club. (b1957)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by Deacon James E. Carper, Director of Marketing and Development at Holy Name of Jesus School in south/central Los Angeles. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the “© 2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message. Questions or comments may be directed to Jim Carper by return e-mail or at the contact information found below.

 

UNSUBSCRIBE

Our records indicate that you like receiving e-mail from 90 Second Stewardship. If you would prefer not to receive email from this ministry, please send an email to 90.second.steward@gmail.com and I will remove you from this e-mail list. Please do not click Junk Mail, or filter this message as SPAM.

Not Now

“Love yourself enough to be able to say yes or no.” ~Susan Gregg, American Author (b 1961)

Mariah loved to go to school. Every day, five days a week, she would dutifully place her “Dora the Explorer” backpack and her pink lunch bag in the back seat of Mom’s fifteen-year-old green Volvo for the ten minute ride to school through inner city Los Angeles. The view wasn’t all that great. There were a lot of odd-looking people pushing shopping carts with what looked like junk in them. People stood on street corners waiting for buses.

Still and all, the excitement of going to school kept Mariah occupied. She knew when they arrived, her Mom would park across the street from the back gate to the school. Mr. Herbie would be there to greet her. Mr. Herbie was the 75 year old crossing guard. Her Mom said he was “older than dirt.” Mariah didn’t know how old dirt was or how Mr. Herbie could be older than that, but it didn’t matter. He would be there.

The car rumbled to a stop, the brakes squeaking in protest, and the nearly bald tires brushing against the curb. Mariah, quickly unbuckled her seat belt and got to her knees. Kneeling on the back seat she had a better view. Sure enough, there was Mr. Herbie walking toward them with his brightly colored vest and the big red sign in his hand that read “STOP.”

“Good morning Mariah,” Mr. Herbie said in his slow, craggy voice. His voice sounded ancient to Mariah. Maybe he was older than dirt, she thought. He helped her out of the car. Then, closing the car door, he turned and, holding up his sign, he escorted Mariah safely across the street.

“Have a good day,” croaked Mr. Herbie when they reached the other side. But Mariah paused thoughtfully. “Mr. Herbie?” “Yes, Mariah,” he answered. “Can I see your sign?” she asked. “Sure,” he replied with a shrug, holding the big, red “Stop” sign toward her.

Mariah stared at it for a few moments. “Can I see the other side?” she asked. A little perplexed by the child’s persistence Mr. Herbie carefully rotated the sign and then held it up again. Again Mariah stared thoughtfully at the sign. “Thank you; that’s what I thought,” she said finally

.

“What did you think?” asked Mr. Herbie. “That there is something wrong with your sign,” Mariah replied.

Mr. Herbie instinctively examined both sides of the sign.  “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, still looking at the sign. “It says ‘STOP’ on both sides,” she said matter-of-factly. “Yeah, and?” responded the confused crossing guard.

“Well,” began Mariah shouldering her backpack. “Shouldn’t one side say ‘GO’?”

All too often we try to teach concepts of proper behavior by teaching their negative. Even the Ten Commandments have their share of “Thou shalt nots…” The exceptions are the two commandments Jesus holds up as the two most important: “You shall love the Lord your God (etc.)” and “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” They read more like positive affirmations than rules.

Mariah’s child-like perception was surprisingly accurate: Shouldn’t every “Stop” sign have a corresponding “Go” sign? If learning to behave well always means not doing something, we run the risk of analysis paralysis. The default position becomes to not take action because we might be wrong.

Would it not be better for us to learn how to do a better job of loving and accepting one another? For instance, the Catholic school where I work does not have a bullying problem. But it is not because we have a “no-bullying” policy. Rather, it’s because we teach love and respect and help our students come to understand they are responsible for one another. In other words, how to be stewards of one another.

Mariah was right. We need the “Go” signs in our lives. Focused on positive, affirming actions, we learn to live full and productive lives. On the other hand, if we go through life, doing nothing but trying to avoid doing the wrong thing, sooner or later we will find ourselves tied up in “NOT’s.”

Dear God, help me to say “yes” to the person you created me to be.

“I thank you God for this amazing day…which is infinite, which is yes. ~E. E. Cummings, American poet, painter, essayist, author, and playwright (1894-1962)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

Magic Words

“Be willing to be a beginner every single morning.”  ~Meister Eckhart, German theologian, philosopher and mystic (1260-1328)

It was 7:27 am on a Tuesday morning. I stared across the street at the fenced parking lot of Redeemer Baptist Church. The two mastiffs which guarded the lot were ambling about, sniffing the ground aimlessly. In the distance, I could hear the rotor of a traffic helicopter thumping the air as it hovered over the 10 freeway. 

Mr. Herbie, our 70+ year-old crossing guard, was on medical leave following knee replacement surgery.  Every weekday, from 6:30 to 8:30am, he stood dutifully, with his hand-held stop sign, at the corner of Jefferson Blvd and Cimarron in south/central Los Angeles. His job was to escort students across the street as they arrived at Holy Name of Jesus School. 

His was no simple task, particularly as 8:00 am, the school start time, approached. Parents stopped or parked on both sides of the street. At the same time, morning commuters, on their way to work, did their best to squeeze through the stopped traffic. The result was sometimes just plain scary.

With Mr. Herbie convalescing at home the de facto crossing guard duties had fallen to me. The job was one of flurries of hectic activity with long intervals of waiting and watching. To bide the time I found myself waving to people in the passing cars and shouting “Good morning!” Pedestrians too received my cheery greeting. Nobody was safe from my morning salutation, not even transit and garbage truck drivers.

At first, I was greeted with suspicion, surprise or was just simply ignored. As the days wore on, however, slowly, some started to return my gesture. There is an old Chinese proverb that goes something like: “If a man sits on his porch long enough, the whole world will come to him.”

Here at my little corner of the world, it seemed this might be true. I saw everything from gang-bangers in low-riders and rice rockets to a vintage Lincoln Continental with oodles of chrome. There were groups of construction workers crammed into old pickup trucks and vans. It truly seemed as if the world was passing by my little corner, all slowly warming to my well intended greeting.

One overcast morning, I stood facing a late-model Volkswagen Beetle with my back to the traffic. I was helping a mother and her two daughters carefully exit their vehicle. A horn ‘beeped’ behind me. The noise startled me. I turned quickly and caught sight of a large, late-model pickup truck passing behind me. Then, in a moment, I saw four or five calloused hands stuck out the windows, followed by a chorus of “Good morning!” 

“It’s catching on,” I thought, smiling to myself; and returning to the task of getting the two girls safely across the street.  

There is a kind of magic in a sincere greeting such as, “Good morning.” Setting aside the fact that simple civility is waning in this day and age and people are surprised to be treated with civility, people also need positive affirmations. “Good morning,” is not simply a greeting. It is a way of saying to someone, “You deserve to be here…on this planet…in this place…sharing it with me and the others around us.”

If you have ever wondered how to start being a good steward, start by saying, “Good morning,” to everyone you meet. Do not skip anyone. After all, for some your “Good morning,” may be the only “good” thing that happens to them all day!
Dear God: Remind me daily of the magic in, “Good morning.”

“Remind yourself every day that you are here on earth for a reason. You have talents and qualities that can bring goodness to others. A kind smile, a good word, a loving gesture - simple things that can change people.” ~Gino Whitley

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

3 Rows Back

“Those who are happiest are those who do the most for others.” ~Booker T. Washington, African-American educator, author, orator, and adviser to presidents of the United States (1856-1915)

Ron and his wife edged their way up the narrow center aisle toward their seats in 32 A and 32 B. The overhead space was filling quickly, but he managed to find space for their carry-ons just in front of their seats. 

As he was stuffing the bags into the cramped compartment he noticed a woman sitting three rows back with two small twin boys; perhaps three to four years old. He wasn’t sure why they had caught his attention, but before he had time to consider it, someone behind him asked if he could move.

Ron plopped into his seat and all but forgot about the woman and the two children. After the perfunctory announcements and mandatory instructions the plane rumbled down the runway and lifted off. Leveling off at 30,000 it began the long arced path toward Los Angeles.

Fifteen minutes into the flight it started. The twin boys began screaming and whining; sometimes together, sometimes separately, but always incessantly shrill and annoying. The woman did her best to calm the children, but without success. Even over the thrum of the jet engines their wails and cries could be heard throughout the plane.

Ron’s wife turned to him: “How awful for that poor woman. Remember what it was like taking our children on a plane trip when they were little?”

Unfortunately, peoples’ sympathy quickly turned to irritation. Passengers peered around their seats and up the aisle to see what was causing the fracas. Some went so far as to stand up and stare at the woman and her children as if that would quiet them. The wailing continued.

Passengers, headed for the restrooms, glowered at the children as they passed. Twice the Head Stewardess went back to “have a chat” with the woman. Nothing seemed to appease the children. The shrill cries of the two boys went on for nearly an hour. Several times the twins quieted down, but just when it seemed serenity would reign they started up again.

Finally, when it seemed peace would never return again, a man in 28C stood up. He turned and looked in the direction of the woman with the children. His face was passive and calm. A slight, patient smile seemed to play across his face for a moment. He removed his headset, placed it on his seat and walked back to where the three were seated.

“Hi, I’m Robert,” he said. “I have two young boys of my own. Maybe I can help.” He carefully took one child in each arm and began to walk up and down the aisle, talking to them as they went. The boys quickly became quiet. They even began to laugh and smile. Soon they leaned their heads against the man’s chest and fell asleep. He returned the sleeping children to the woman.

The grateful woman thanked him profusely. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “This has been a very difficult week for them.” “You see, I’m not their mother. I’m their grandmother. Their mother, my baby girl, was killed in a traffic accident. I’m all they've got left.”

Being willing to offer to help is the trademark of a faithful Christian steward. However, unlike the story of the “Good Samaritan,” help is usually without the drama of a roadside rescue, in a desolate countryside, with danger lurking in the shadows. Rather, these opportunities, more often than not, present themselves, in common places: on street corners, in parking lots, in grocery stores and even on airplanes.

It is at times like these that we may ask ourselves: “Why doesn’t someone do something about this.” But, all too often that “someone” could or should be us.

Our perspective of the story of the children changes as we come to understand the situation. At first it is easy to assume the woman is simply an incompetent mother who can’t control her children. When we discover that the children are orphans our empathy ramps up. But shouldn’t we always approach others with empathy?

God’s plans for us don’t usually appear on our day planners and cell phones. God puts us in the paths of others who need our help. And, like the man in 28C, we are called to rise to the challenge.

Dear God, Who do you need me to help today? 

“There is no exercise better for the heart than reaching down and lifting people up.”  ~Rev John Haynes Holmes, prominent Unitarian minister and pacifist, founding member of the NAACP & ACLU (1879-1964)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by Deacon James E. Carper, Director of Marketing and Development at Holy Name of Jesus School in south/central Los Angeles. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the “© 2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message. Questions or comments may be directed to Jim Carper by return e-mail or at the contact information found below.

UNSUBSCRIBE

Our records indicate that you like receiving e-mail from 90 Second Stewardship. If you would prefer not to receive email from this ministry, please send an email to 90.second.steward@gmail.com and I will remove you from this e-mail list. Please do not click Junk Mail, or filter this message as SPAM.

Name Answering

“People are too complicated to have simple labels.” From The Amber Spyglass by Phillip Pullman, British writer (b 1946)

Howard stared with trepidation down the long expanse which led to his first period class. The terrazzo-paved halls lined with industrial tan lockers looked more like a gauntlet than a pathway to higher learning. 

Who knew what humiliation or intimidation lay around the corner somewhere between social studies and the humanities? He had so looked forward to going to High School; but now, six weeks into his first semester, he wished he were back in Junior High.

It was 1968 and Howard was a high school freshman. His father was a local policeman who worked in drug enforcement.  His father’s vocation was no secret, and growing up during the height of the “drug revolution” of the late 60’s made him a readily available target for his classmates who were members of the “drug culture.”  Usually their taunts were subtle. An “oink, oink” sound made under their breath as they passed by. Or, “Soo-ee, Soo-ee!” shouted in the staircase behind him.

Other times he would get roughed up or his books unexpectedly knocked from my hands or his locker trashed, even though it was locked. If a teacher or the principal appeared his persecutors always managed to either disappear or appear casually uninvolved. 

To add insult to injury, the teachers always seemed to unexplainably attach blame to Howard. “What’s-a-matter with you, Kulkowski! Can’t you hold onto your books?” the teacher would quip.

The “Stoners” favorite pastime was to call him “piglet” since his father was, after all, a “pig.” The fact that Howard was on the pudgy side didn’t help matters much. He knew he physically fit the description.

Howard did his best to hide his problems from his father. This wasn’t always possible since he sometimes arrived home from school with torn clothes or a bloody nose.

His father’s interrogations were almost as bad as putting up with the “Stoners.” Dad’s answer was always the same -- aggression. “Do more damage to them than they do to you; then they will leave you alone,” he would say.  This never seemed like a viable option since he was usually outnumbered two or three to one. Even one-on-one he wasn’t sure he was equipped for a direct assault, since his aggressors were mostly upper classman.

One day, while visiting his grandparents, who lived nearby, Howard’s grandmother noticed bruises on his arms -- the result of being grabbed by two assailants and then slammed up against a locker. The marks were the remnants of their handprints. At first he lied, too embarrassed to tell her what had really happened. 

But, after some gentle encouragement, Howard broke down and told her everything, right down to the embarrassing nickname, “Piglet.” She listened thoughtfully the whole time, never interrupting, questioning or judging.

When Howard had finished he sat there staring at his hands. Finally, the silence was too much for him. “Whadaya think, Grandma?” he asked, not looking up. His grandmother gently reached out, placed her knuckle under his chin, and lifted his head.

“It’s been my experience that people like that gain more satisfaction from the responses they generate than the acts they commit. In other words, the more you ignore what they do, and the less you respond to their actions, the sooner they will get bored and move on.” Howard looked at his hands again.

“As for the names they call you?” she continued. “Try to remember, it’s not the names that people call you that matters. It’s the name you answer to that’s important.”

We have become a society of labels: Democrat, Republican, Conservative, Liberal, Tea Partier, Wall Street Occupier, etc.  Sadly, labeling others does not enhance our relationships with them; it simply makes it easier to dismiss them. I’m a Democrat so I don’t associate with Republicans. I’m a Conservative so I don’t want anything to do with Liberals…

We seem to have forgotten that racial slurs and racist or cultural remarks are also forms of labeling. The reverse problem is when people begin to buy-in to the labels others give them. Calling others stupid, lazy, or worthless can leave scars deeper than any cutting instrument. 

Unfortunately, like Howard, we often can’t control what others call us. But, his grandmother was right; we can work at not buying-in to the names we are called. It’s the names we answer to, not the names we are called that matter.

One of those names is “Child of God.” As loving and grateful stewards we would do well to remember that, “I know I’m somebody because God don’t make no junk.” We are called to treat others like the Children of God that they are and know that that’s what we are, too.

Dear God: You knew me before anyone else…I will answer when you call.

    

“Once you label me you negate me.” Soren Kierkegaard, Danish philosopher, theologian, poet, social critic, and religious author (1813-1855)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

Crossing Over

“The first step toward change is awareness. The second step is acceptance. ~Nathaniel Branden, a Los Angeles, California-based Canadian psychotherapist and writer (b 1930)

Billy stood nervously at the edge of the road, staring; first one direction, then the other. His hands were fisted and his body tense. Swallowing hard and licking his lips, he tried to generate some moisture in his otherwise dry mouth.

Suddenly a car whistled by at an alarming speed. Billy took a quick step back to avoid bits of flying gravel and dirt, quickly closing his eyes against the swirl of dust. The car disappeared into the distance.

Silence reasserted itself.  Billy resumed his vigil, carefully watching for cars on McMurray Road.

Earlier, he and his sister Bonnie had walked the tenth of a mile down their long gravel driveway. The large family mailbox, which served both their house and the house of their grandparents, was placed strategically on the opposite side of the two-lane asphalt country road.

Once a day, during the summer, Bonnie would take him by the hand and they would journey down the driveway and back to retrieve the mail. The scary part for Billy was crossing the road.

For some time, Billy had pleaded with his sister to allow him to cross the road by himself and fetch the mail. Billy kept furtively looking in both directions, clenching and flexing his fists. 

Bonnie had carefully instructed him to look both ways and to walk, not run, across the expanse from the driveway to the mailbox.

It was the moment of truth.

Suddenly, he bolted, scampering across the vacant road to the other side, his sister’s voice yelling, “Walk… I said walk!” ringing in his ears.

Reaching the other side, Billy was filled with exhilaration. He turned to face his sister, raising his hands in triumph as if he had just won a 100-meter dash.

Bonnie stood on the other side, her hands on her hips, irritated by the instructions he had ignored. “Get the mail!” she yelled finally.

Billy pulled the mailbox door down and retrieved the letters and packets inside. Securing the door again, he stood facing his sister with an armload of mail.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Now you have to cross back.”

It is a general misconception that the Hebrew people wandered in the Sinai Desert for 40 years in search of the Promised Land. Actually, they discovered the Promised Land fairly quickly.

Moses sent out 12 “Spies” (scouts), one from each tribe. Only two, Joshua and Caleb, returned with accurate, optimistic assessments. The other ten spread false reports and created discontent (grumbling) amongst the Hebrew people.

So God decided to be done with his grumbling “chosen people.” But Moses convinces God to relent. Instead God strikes down the 10 unreliable scouts and “sentences” the unhappy Israelites to wander the desert for 40 years until the current generation dies. Instead of crossing the Jordan River into the Promised Land, they receive the punishment they prophesied for themselves: wandering in the desert until they die.

How often do we stand at the edge of our own “Jordan River” looking at our own “Promised Land” and fail to cross over? How often is our failure, not the result of real obstacles, but because of imagined fears?

Billy approaches his “crossing” with a certain amount of fear and hesitancy. Yet, he is not alone. He has the support of his big sister who is standing there next to him. Just as it is a short trip to cross the road, it is a short trip to cross our personal rivers and yet we hesitate even though God stands next to us.

God offers us a wonderful life, but we often live in fear and trepidation. We stand there staring at God’s promise of a better life, but afraid of what might happen to us or what people might think of us. As a result, we wander in a secular desert, unhappy and unfulfilled.

Be happy! Cross the Jordan! You’ll be glad you did.

Dear God: Give me the courage to cross over, knowing that you are there waiting.

“Faith is taking the first step even when you can't see the whole staircase.” ~ Martin Luther King, Jr., American clergyman, activist, and leader in the African-American Civil Rights Movement (1929 – 1968)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by Deacon James E. Carper, Director of Marketing and Development at Holy Name of Jesus School in south/central Los Angeles. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the “© 2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message. Questions or comments may be directed to Jim Carper by return e-mail or at the contact information found below.