“Stress is nothing more than a socially acceptable form of mental illness.” ~Richard Carlson, American author, psychotherapist, and motivational speaker (1961-2006)
It was a lump. Allison didn’t want to admit it, but she couldn’t deny its existence. She had checked and double checked, but it was definitely there. Her regular cursory check in the shower had discovered it and the doctor’s exam had confirmed it. The mammogram, which the doctor had scheduled immediately, was still several weeks away.
Allison started to take stock of her life. Her personal spirituality emphasized the importance of cultivating a good attitude and positive action as opposed to allowing the negative stresses of her life to have their way. As she contemplated the previous several months a realization came to her. She had been allowing the stress of daily living to weigh upon her. Small slights had bloomed into significant offenses. Irritations which in the past would have gone unnoticed were now sticking to her like a bur on a cocker spaniel.
It was time to start dumping the bad karma. Over the next several weeks she conscientiously went about eliminating stress in her life. Sometimes she avoided certain situations or people. Other times she had to rely on exercise, yoga or meditation. Whatever it took, she did it. Gradually she could feel herself unwind.
The day came for the mammogram. The test was incredibly uncomfortable. Whoever described it as having a piece of glass laid across your chest and a truck parked on top of it got it right. She waited anxiously for the results. Finally the clinician called her.
When she came to her in the waiting room the clinician seemed perplexed. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, but we can’t find a lump…anywhere.” “We’ve checked and double checked, but we can’t find anything.” We have no explanation.” “We suggest you check in with your doctor again in six months.”
Allison thanked the woman, shrugged on her jacket and headed for the door. She smiled to herself: “They may not have an explanation, but I sure do,” she mused.
Our lives can be very toxic. Not simply because of pollutants in our air or bacteria in our water, but because of the lives we live. Our lives seem filled with toxic events, toxic people, toxic jobs and toxic relationships. Some of us even have toxic commutes. Just like free radicals in our circulatory system we carry hurts, fear and resentments around with us. This emotional debris divides our attention, drains our energy and steals our happiness even when nothing bad is happening at the moment.
It is as if we were dragging a bag of rocks around with us. These rocks are laden with latent emotion. Some are old and slimly because they have been held onto for a very long time. Some are new, perhaps still hot from a recent argument.
At times when we are not already sufficiently unhappy we take a rock from the bag and examine it, thereby conjuring up anew all the raw negative emotion of an old event. Professional counselors call this technique, “wearing a groove in your head” the result of reliving negative experiences over and over again.
Being good stewards of ourselves means eliminating the toxicity from our lives. The answer is to empty the rocks from our bag. The answer is simple, but doing so is not so simple. It may mean letting go of a resentment, making an amends, asking for forgiveness, extricating ourselves from a toxic job or relationship, receiving counseling to discover the source of latent fears, or simply taking time to relax.
Detoxify your life. Our life is a gift from God and we are called to care for ourselves just as much as we are to care for others. Drop the rocks! Get rid of the bag! Don't let your mind bully your body into believing it must carry the burden of its worries (Astrid Alauda).
Dear God: When I am stressed help me focus on you.
“It ain’t what ya eat what gives ya ulcers, it’s what eats you.” ~unknown
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
Period of Adjustment
“Perfection is the goal, but the law is Murphy’s.” ~ Unknown
Like Zacchaeus, Ace Adams was a diminutive man. Rather than climbing trees to get a better view his habit was to sit on the backs of chairs and benches with his feet on the seat. With a name like Ace Adams it comes as no surprise his chosen avocation was the Bowling Pro at the Route 19 Bowling Center in Washington, Pa.
In my teens I joined a Saturday morning bowling league. Not so much because I liked to bowl, but because there were girls my age there too. Unfortunately, my bowling skills left much to be desired. The harder I tried the worse it got. The good news was I was welcomed onto a team because my handicap was so high. The bad news? I didn’t impress anyone with my skills, particularly the ladies.
Finally one afternoon, after a particularly poor performance in a tournament, I asked Ace for help. A day and time were arranged. The following Thursday afternoon I appeared at the lanes with my bag, ball and shoes. Ace took me to a lane at the farthest end of the building.
As was his custom he sat on the back of the plastic bench as I changed shoes and placed my ball on the return rack. Turning to face him I crossed my arms and awaited instructions. “Go ahead,” he said, gesturing toward the lane. “Don’t you want to show me what to do?” I asked. “No, go ahead and let me see you bowl.” Puzzled by his response, I half heartedly threw the ball down the alley. Even before the ball reached the pins I turned and awaited a response. “Again,” was all he said.
This went on for nearly ten minutes. After a plethora of gutter balls, missed spares and several attempts where the ball actually slipped out of my hand I was completely frustrated. “I thought you were going to teach me to bowl,” I whined. “I am,” he said with a crooked little smile. My face and posture telegraphed my surprise.
“Look,” he began. “There are two ways to teach you to bowl.” “I can show you a standard address, with a three step approach and a basic arm swing.” “You will learn to bowl quickly, but you will only be average.” “Or, I can watch you for a while, make periodic adjustments and let you practice those adjustments.” “You won’t learn to bowl quickly, but you will learn to bowl well.” “OK?” Ace asked with a smile. “OK” I responded, looking at my feet. (I had been hoping for some more immediate gratification.)
Every Thursday afternoon, for what seemed like months, I had a half hour session with Ace. Each one was the same. He would watch me for 10-15 minutes and then make minor adjustments: sometimes it was the release, the slide, the rotation or the spot. As a result, I slowly improved and my handicap steadily dropped.
I still remember the day I bowled my first 200+ game. Joyfully sharing the news with Ace, I glibly remarked, “Guess I won’t need lessons anymore!” “Have you bowled a perfect 900 series yet?” Ace asked. “No, I replied sheepishly.” “Then I’ll see you next Thursday,” Ace responded with a twinkle in his eye.
All of us want to be accomplished at living. We think there is a formula to be followed which will minimize our stress and make us happy. Numerous self help books fill our shelves (or electronic readers) suggesting they have the answer to life’s issues; that we can be happy if we will only follow a few simple instructions.
In point of fact, like my first day of bowling lessons when I expected Ace to “teach me to bowl,” we often look for instant gratification and immediate success. In other words, show me the basic techniques of living so I can get on with my life.
Such an approach can lead us to a superficial and single dimensional existence. Life is, in and of itself, a learning process, much like Ace’s bowling lessons. We start living and we make adjustments. Things happen (or don’t happen) and we make the necessary changes. Hopefully there are people like Ace in our lives who point things out and help us adjust.
We all want so desperately to be “complete” human beings. We want our current state to be a state of perfection. On the other hand, if you asked someone: “Do you want to have a future?” Most would answer, “Absolutely!” And yet, if we are “complete,” we have no future! Incompleteness, therefore, is a gift. It gives us opportunities to make adjustments and try again; to have a future.
Our need for growth is what gives us a future. Is it any wonder God loves us in our brokenness…our incompleteness? Our brokenness does not condemn us, rather it gives us life…it gives us a future. When it comes to life we will never have a perfect score, but we will have opportunities to grow and we will have a future.
Dear God: When I am frustrated or impatient, remind me that you are not finished with me yet.
“Growth implies a person is not finished and, therefore, has a future.” ~Companions in Hope: The Art of Christian Caring by Robert J. Wicks, Thomas E. Rodgerson
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Like Zacchaeus, Ace Adams was a diminutive man. Rather than climbing trees to get a better view his habit was to sit on the backs of chairs and benches with his feet on the seat. With a name like Ace Adams it comes as no surprise his chosen avocation was the Bowling Pro at the Route 19 Bowling Center in Washington, Pa.
In my teens I joined a Saturday morning bowling league. Not so much because I liked to bowl, but because there were girls my age there too. Unfortunately, my bowling skills left much to be desired. The harder I tried the worse it got. The good news was I was welcomed onto a team because my handicap was so high. The bad news? I didn’t impress anyone with my skills, particularly the ladies.
Finally one afternoon, after a particularly poor performance in a tournament, I asked Ace for help. A day and time were arranged. The following Thursday afternoon I appeared at the lanes with my bag, ball and shoes. Ace took me to a lane at the farthest end of the building.
As was his custom he sat on the back of the plastic bench as I changed shoes and placed my ball on the return rack. Turning to face him I crossed my arms and awaited instructions. “Go ahead,” he said, gesturing toward the lane. “Don’t you want to show me what to do?” I asked. “No, go ahead and let me see you bowl.” Puzzled by his response, I half heartedly threw the ball down the alley. Even before the ball reached the pins I turned and awaited a response. “Again,” was all he said.
This went on for nearly ten minutes. After a plethora of gutter balls, missed spares and several attempts where the ball actually slipped out of my hand I was completely frustrated. “I thought you were going to teach me to bowl,” I whined. “I am,” he said with a crooked little smile. My face and posture telegraphed my surprise.
“Look,” he began. “There are two ways to teach you to bowl.” “I can show you a standard address, with a three step approach and a basic arm swing.” “You will learn to bowl quickly, but you will only be average.” “Or, I can watch you for a while, make periodic adjustments and let you practice those adjustments.” “You won’t learn to bowl quickly, but you will learn to bowl well.” “OK?” Ace asked with a smile. “OK” I responded, looking at my feet. (I had been hoping for some more immediate gratification.)
Every Thursday afternoon, for what seemed like months, I had a half hour session with Ace. Each one was the same. He would watch me for 10-15 minutes and then make minor adjustments: sometimes it was the release, the slide, the rotation or the spot. As a result, I slowly improved and my handicap steadily dropped.
I still remember the day I bowled my first 200+ game. Joyfully sharing the news with Ace, I glibly remarked, “Guess I won’t need lessons anymore!” “Have you bowled a perfect 900 series yet?” Ace asked. “No, I replied sheepishly.” “Then I’ll see you next Thursday,” Ace responded with a twinkle in his eye.
All of us want to be accomplished at living. We think there is a formula to be followed which will minimize our stress and make us happy. Numerous self help books fill our shelves (or electronic readers) suggesting they have the answer to life’s issues; that we can be happy if we will only follow a few simple instructions.
In point of fact, like my first day of bowling lessons when I expected Ace to “teach me to bowl,” we often look for instant gratification and immediate success. In other words, show me the basic techniques of living so I can get on with my life.
Such an approach can lead us to a superficial and single dimensional existence. Life is, in and of itself, a learning process, much like Ace’s bowling lessons. We start living and we make adjustments. Things happen (or don’t happen) and we make the necessary changes. Hopefully there are people like Ace in our lives who point things out and help us adjust.
We all want so desperately to be “complete” human beings. We want our current state to be a state of perfection. On the other hand, if you asked someone: “Do you want to have a future?” Most would answer, “Absolutely!” And yet, if we are “complete,” we have no future! Incompleteness, therefore, is a gift. It gives us opportunities to make adjustments and try again; to have a future.
Our need for growth is what gives us a future. Is it any wonder God loves us in our brokenness…our incompleteness? Our brokenness does not condemn us, rather it gives us life…it gives us a future. When it comes to life we will never have a perfect score, but we will have opportunities to grow and we will have a future.
Dear God: When I am frustrated or impatient, remind me that you are not finished with me yet.
“Growth implies a person is not finished and, therefore, has a future.” ~Companions in Hope: The Art of Christian Caring by Robert J. Wicks, Thomas E. Rodgerson
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Time Sensitive
“All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence.” ~Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., American Baptist Minister and Civil Rights Leader (1929-1968)
Ann Marie wasn’t very happy. As part of her company’s consolidation strategy her office had been moved from her local community to Woodland Hills. Her short commute had become a twice daily odyssey. The Metrolink train took her only as far as the Chatsworth Station. From there she relied on bus service to get to her office. Today it had been a half hour wait for the bus. When it did arrive the bus number was off by one number.
Concerned and confused she clambered aboard flashing her pass to the driver. “Does this bus stop at Warner Center?” she asked tentatively. The driver flashed here a radiant smile, “Don’t you worry, I’ll get you where you need to go!” “Pick yourself a nice seat." "We’ll be there soon.” Ann Marie couldn’t help but smile back. The door closed behind her with a “whosh-click” sound. She made her way to the first open seat and plopped into it.
As the bus pulled away from the curb Ann Marie pondered her encounter with the driver. He was a tall black man in his late thirties or early forties and seemed too well groomed and dressed to be a bus driver. Then she realized he was humming as he drove.
The bus slowed to a stop at another pick up point. A Hispanic mother and her three children started to climb aboard, but the mother faltered as she tried to negotiate the stroller up the narrow steps. Out of his seat in a flash the driver deftly caught up the stroller in a single movement and lifted it aboard simultaneously offering a cheery greeting.
This scenario was repeated at every stop. No matter the station in life of the person entering the bus they received the same warm, non judgmental greetings and attentive treatment. Little old ladies had their heavy shopping bags lifted into the bus; teenagers on their way to school got high-5’s and a “Wass-up!”
Those departing the bus received the same treatment. They were gently returned to a harsh world with a “have a nice day, see you soon” or “you have a good day, OK?”
As they pulled up to yet another stop Ann Marie noticed, what appeared to be, a homeless man sitting in a wheelchair near the tiny bus shelter. A tattered American flag hung limply from the top of a stick which was duct taped to the frame of the chair. On his lap was a battered box of toffee candies in waxy wrappings. “Wheelchair comin’ on!” the driver chirped. Two teens sitting on the flip up bench under the wheelchair sign quickly moved to seats in the back without being asked to do so.
The ramp dropped from the side of the bus and the homeless man rolled aboard. The driver produced a crisp dollar bill. “Did you save one of those candies for me?” he asked the homeless man. “Sure” the man replied in surprise, breaking into a grimy, nearly toothless grin. The driver selected a candy from the box, pocketed it with a smile and returned to his seat. The bus rumbled off again.
Ann Marie was surprised to realize they were arriving at Warner Center. The ride hadn’t seemed quite so long today. Heading toward the front of the bus she guided her laptop bag and purse between the seats. She reached the top of the stairs and turned to head down them. “You have a nice day now,” came the voice from behind her. When she turned back she met the same sincere smile which had greeted her when she had boarded earlier that day. “You to,” she replied returning the smile.
She turned and headed down the stairs and out into the warmth of the morning sun feeling a little better about her commute.
The impact we have upon the world will not be measured by our station in life, but by what we do with our station in life. Some think they need power, prestige or position to effect change in the world. In point of fact, we can have as much positive impact on the world from behind the steering wheel of a bus, as we can from the corner office of a downtown high rise; perhaps more.
Many of us view the stewardship of time on a quantitative basis. We ask: How much time should I give to my church? How much time should I spend volunteering in the community? How much time should I spend with my family, etc.? Being good stewards of our time on earth is not always measured in minutes and hours however. More often it is measured by the quality of the expenditure: the smiles it generated, the love it demonstrated and the human kindness it distributed.
Quantitatively the bus driver was spending his time working, but the way in which he did his job made all the difference. Not only did he influence the attitude of the others he served, but he modeled Christian behavior for them as well. His life was a homily we will never hear in church.
Every moment of our lives, every encounter with another human being is an opportunity to make a difference in their lives and our lives as well. In the end, the world will not be saved by a few grand gestures, but by a million small kindnesses.
Dear God: remind me to live my life so as to positively affect the lives of all I meet.
“If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.” ~Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., American Baptist Minister and Civil Rights Leader (1929-1968)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Ann Marie wasn’t very happy. As part of her company’s consolidation strategy her office had been moved from her local community to Woodland Hills. Her short commute had become a twice daily odyssey. The Metrolink train took her only as far as the Chatsworth Station. From there she relied on bus service to get to her office. Today it had been a half hour wait for the bus. When it did arrive the bus number was off by one number.
Concerned and confused she clambered aboard flashing her pass to the driver. “Does this bus stop at Warner Center?” she asked tentatively. The driver flashed here a radiant smile, “Don’t you worry, I’ll get you where you need to go!” “Pick yourself a nice seat." "We’ll be there soon.” Ann Marie couldn’t help but smile back. The door closed behind her with a “whosh-click” sound. She made her way to the first open seat and plopped into it.
As the bus pulled away from the curb Ann Marie pondered her encounter with the driver. He was a tall black man in his late thirties or early forties and seemed too well groomed and dressed to be a bus driver. Then she realized he was humming as he drove.
The bus slowed to a stop at another pick up point. A Hispanic mother and her three children started to climb aboard, but the mother faltered as she tried to negotiate the stroller up the narrow steps. Out of his seat in a flash the driver deftly caught up the stroller in a single movement and lifted it aboard simultaneously offering a cheery greeting.
This scenario was repeated at every stop. No matter the station in life of the person entering the bus they received the same warm, non judgmental greetings and attentive treatment. Little old ladies had their heavy shopping bags lifted into the bus; teenagers on their way to school got high-5’s and a “Wass-up!”
Those departing the bus received the same treatment. They were gently returned to a harsh world with a “have a nice day, see you soon” or “you have a good day, OK?”
As they pulled up to yet another stop Ann Marie noticed, what appeared to be, a homeless man sitting in a wheelchair near the tiny bus shelter. A tattered American flag hung limply from the top of a stick which was duct taped to the frame of the chair. On his lap was a battered box of toffee candies in waxy wrappings. “Wheelchair comin’ on!” the driver chirped. Two teens sitting on the flip up bench under the wheelchair sign quickly moved to seats in the back without being asked to do so.
The ramp dropped from the side of the bus and the homeless man rolled aboard. The driver produced a crisp dollar bill. “Did you save one of those candies for me?” he asked the homeless man. “Sure” the man replied in surprise, breaking into a grimy, nearly toothless grin. The driver selected a candy from the box, pocketed it with a smile and returned to his seat. The bus rumbled off again.
Ann Marie was surprised to realize they were arriving at Warner Center. The ride hadn’t seemed quite so long today. Heading toward the front of the bus she guided her laptop bag and purse between the seats. She reached the top of the stairs and turned to head down them. “You have a nice day now,” came the voice from behind her. When she turned back she met the same sincere smile which had greeted her when she had boarded earlier that day. “You to,” she replied returning the smile.
She turned and headed down the stairs and out into the warmth of the morning sun feeling a little better about her commute.
The impact we have upon the world will not be measured by our station in life, but by what we do with our station in life. Some think they need power, prestige or position to effect change in the world. In point of fact, we can have as much positive impact on the world from behind the steering wheel of a bus, as we can from the corner office of a downtown high rise; perhaps more.
Many of us view the stewardship of time on a quantitative basis. We ask: How much time should I give to my church? How much time should I spend volunteering in the community? How much time should I spend with my family, etc.? Being good stewards of our time on earth is not always measured in minutes and hours however. More often it is measured by the quality of the expenditure: the smiles it generated, the love it demonstrated and the human kindness it distributed.
Quantitatively the bus driver was spending his time working, but the way in which he did his job made all the difference. Not only did he influence the attitude of the others he served, but he modeled Christian behavior for them as well. His life was a homily we will never hear in church.
Every moment of our lives, every encounter with another human being is an opportunity to make a difference in their lives and our lives as well. In the end, the world will not be saved by a few grand gestures, but by a million small kindnesses.
Dear God: remind me to live my life so as to positively affect the lives of all I meet.
“If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.” ~Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., American Baptist Minister and Civil Rights Leader (1929-1968)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Peace Treaty
“Are we not all children of the same God?” ~ Karol Józef Wojtyła known as Blessed John Paul II (1920-2005)
Three days a week Maizah traveled from the Muslim Quarter in East Jerusalem to 26 King David Street. It was her personal time. She took the bus though it could be confusing even if you had lived there all your life as she had. When she arrived, Maizah dutifully showed her pass and was admitted to the facility. Having completed the check-in process she turned and headed toward the designated room.
Miriam loved the old city and had lived there all her life as her family before her. There were problems yes, but Jerusalem was the center of her faith and the “HaRova HaYehudi” (the Jewish Quarter) in the western part of Jerusalem had always been a special place. Still, two or three days a week, she would go to King David Street. Today was one of those days.
The domed roof of the building looked a little like a mosque, but the green, lush grass in front was always inviting. Miriam traversed the entryway and carefully presented her ID. Having been admitted, she headed for a room at the end of the hall.
Arriving at the open door Miriam entered carefully. As always the Palestinian woman was already there. The woman was removing her “hijaab” the scarf many Muslim women wore around their heads. Miriam walked carefully past her.
Maizah, was removing her “hijaab” when the Jewish woman arrived. She always seemed to be there at the same time as Maizah. She pretended not to notice her. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as the Jewish woman removed her head scarf a “tichel” or “mitpachat” as they called it and placed it in her bag. It looked much the same as her own scarf she thought. Maizah bent to relace her shoes and noticed the other woman doing the same.
Miriam sensed Maizah's eyes upon her and turned to meet her gaze. They embraced each other with their eyes for only a moment or two. Then…a single, slight, simultaneous nod to one another and they returned to their laces.
They went to their respective stations, made the necessary adjustments to the equipment and seated themselves on their stationary bikes. For the next 30 minutes they would pedal, side by side, burning the same calories and pumping the same red blood through their circulatory systems. For you see, 26 David Street is the location of the *Jerusalem International YMCA.
There is a difference between negotiating a truce and making peace. Battles can be won, but they do not create peace. Truces can be negotiated and tolerance agreed to, but the so called “peace” which results is usually a synthetic peace.
Real peace is cultivated, not declared and it can only grow out of a willingness to accept, love and try to understand one another. The killing of an international criminal does not solve the problem of our unwillingness to reach out to those who share our values, but not our faith or the way we express our faith.
Whether we worship God, Y*w*h or Allah the message has always been the same. We are called to love one another as much as we love ourselves. Yet, we live in a world where we spend more money on guns than food. Given the same resources we spend on war we could easily conquer world hunger and poverty.
If peace is to become a reality it will begin with people like Miriam and Maizah. It begins with sharing space, brief eye contact, a subtle nod of recognition, or a faint smile of acknowledgement. Peace grows as we become comfortable with one another.
In short, it begins with our willingness to let down our guard. After all, the handshake evolved out of a demonstration you didn’t have a weapon in your hand.
Miriam and Maizah probably don’t think of themselves as diplomats or peacemakers, but they are, even though there are no borders to be negotiated or treaties to be signed. They are the beginnings of peace though they share neither the same religion, language, nor the same culture. There is one common ground however. We all sweat in the same language, don’t we?
"Here is a place whose atmosphere is peace, where political and religious jealousies can be forgotten, and international unity fostered and developed." ~from a dedication address by Field Marshal Edmund Lord Allenby at the Jerusalem International YMCA April 18, 1933.
*Established in 1878 and operated by YMCA of the USA since 1920, the Jerusalem International YMCA (JIY) is a safe haven for religious, cultural and intellectual freedom for the people of Jerusalem. Jewish, Muslim and Christian people of all ages come to JIY to enjoy the atmosphere of understanding and unity. For its efforts in promoting the dignity of humankind and peace in the region, JIY was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993.
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Three days a week Maizah traveled from the Muslim Quarter in East Jerusalem to 26 King David Street. It was her personal time. She took the bus though it could be confusing even if you had lived there all your life as she had. When she arrived, Maizah dutifully showed her pass and was admitted to the facility. Having completed the check-in process she turned and headed toward the designated room.
Miriam loved the old city and had lived there all her life as her family before her. There were problems yes, but Jerusalem was the center of her faith and the “HaRova HaYehudi” (the Jewish Quarter) in the western part of Jerusalem had always been a special place. Still, two or three days a week, she would go to King David Street. Today was one of those days.
The domed roof of the building looked a little like a mosque, but the green, lush grass in front was always inviting. Miriam traversed the entryway and carefully presented her ID. Having been admitted, she headed for a room at the end of the hall.
Arriving at the open door Miriam entered carefully. As always the Palestinian woman was already there. The woman was removing her “hijaab” the scarf many Muslim women wore around their heads. Miriam walked carefully past her.
Maizah, was removing her “hijaab” when the Jewish woman arrived. She always seemed to be there at the same time as Maizah. She pretended not to notice her. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as the Jewish woman removed her head scarf a “tichel” or “mitpachat” as they called it and placed it in her bag. It looked much the same as her own scarf she thought. Maizah bent to relace her shoes and noticed the other woman doing the same.
Miriam sensed Maizah's eyes upon her and turned to meet her gaze. They embraced each other with their eyes for only a moment or two. Then…a single, slight, simultaneous nod to one another and they returned to their laces.
They went to their respective stations, made the necessary adjustments to the equipment and seated themselves on their stationary bikes. For the next 30 minutes they would pedal, side by side, burning the same calories and pumping the same red blood through their circulatory systems. For you see, 26 David Street is the location of the *Jerusalem International YMCA.
There is a difference between negotiating a truce and making peace. Battles can be won, but they do not create peace. Truces can be negotiated and tolerance agreed to, but the so called “peace” which results is usually a synthetic peace.
Real peace is cultivated, not declared and it can only grow out of a willingness to accept, love and try to understand one another. The killing of an international criminal does not solve the problem of our unwillingness to reach out to those who share our values, but not our faith or the way we express our faith.
Whether we worship God, Y*w*h or Allah the message has always been the same. We are called to love one another as much as we love ourselves. Yet, we live in a world where we spend more money on guns than food. Given the same resources we spend on war we could easily conquer world hunger and poverty.
If peace is to become a reality it will begin with people like Miriam and Maizah. It begins with sharing space, brief eye contact, a subtle nod of recognition, or a faint smile of acknowledgement. Peace grows as we become comfortable with one another.
In short, it begins with our willingness to let down our guard. After all, the handshake evolved out of a demonstration you didn’t have a weapon in your hand.
Miriam and Maizah probably don’t think of themselves as diplomats or peacemakers, but they are, even though there are no borders to be negotiated or treaties to be signed. They are the beginnings of peace though they share neither the same religion, language, nor the same culture. There is one common ground however. We all sweat in the same language, don’t we?
"Here is a place whose atmosphere is peace, where political and religious jealousies can be forgotten, and international unity fostered and developed." ~from a dedication address by Field Marshal Edmund Lord Allenby at the Jerusalem International YMCA April 18, 1933.
*Established in 1878 and operated by YMCA of the USA since 1920, the Jerusalem International YMCA (JIY) is a safe haven for religious, cultural and intellectual freedom for the people of Jerusalem. Jewish, Muslim and Christian people of all ages come to JIY to enjoy the atmosphere of understanding and unity. For its efforts in promoting the dignity of humankind and peace in the region, JIY was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993.
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Sacred Spaces
Sitting outside my professor’s office I was getting antsier by the minute. It just wasn’t fair and I would tell him so! Dr. Bleasby’s Oral Interpretation class was required for every Speech Major. It was a simple class really. All one had to do was read aloud various pieces of literature in such a way people understood what each reading was about.
In preparation I practiced each assignment for hours in my dorm room to the point where every one was committed to memory. But, no matter what I did, or how much I prepared, I could never manage better than a ‘B’ from Dr. B.
Thoroughly frustrated I had made an appointment under the guise of asking for some “coaching.” In doing so, I figured I would get some answers and have the opportunity to convince him I deserved more A’s than B’s.
In the midst of my third (silent) rehearsal of what I was going to say, the door to Dr. Bleasby’s office suddenly swung open and there he stood. “Come on in Jim,” he said with a friendly smile and a beckoning wave of his hand. He motioned to a leather chair opposite his old wooden desk which he sat behind facing me. The afternoon sun filtered through the window warming the back of my neck.
Dr. Bleasby leaned back in his chair; his glasses perched on the end of his nose and his hands steepled in front of him. He looked like a painting by Norman Rockwell. “How can I help you?” he asked in his soft, mellifluous voice. “I would like to talk to you about these,” I responded, handing the rating sheets across the desk to him. My hand was steady, but my voice quavered a bit. He gave them what appeared to be only a cursory glance, as if he knew exactly what was in each one.
“What about them?” he asked. This was my opening. Leaning in slightly I launched into my well rehearsed rationale for why I deserved A’s and not B’s. Most of my arguments hinged on how hard I had worked and the amount of preparation I had done. Finishing with a flourish I leaned back in my chair crossing my arms.
Dr. Bleasby sat there quietly considering me for a bit, his chair swiveling slightly side to side. Finally he pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and leaned forward over his arms which rested on his desk. “That was a nice little speech Jim,” he said with half a grin. “Your work is just fine and I can tell you spend a lot of time preparing.” “That’s not really the issue though.” “Even your elocution is good, but it’s not pronunciation or inflection that’s your problem.” I listened carefully as he seemed to be getting to his point. “If you want to learn to do this really well the solution is simple.” “You read the words, but you must learn to read the spaces as well.”
Great music requires notes and rests; otherwise what we call music would be nothing but a single tone modulating in pitch and volume. If musical rhythms are made up of rests (spaces) of different durations then the rhythm of our life must be made up of these same “rests” or spaces as well.
Our daily lives are filled with activity and events often overlapping, even occurring simultaneously (what we call multitasking.) Extended periods of activity give us a sense of purpose and a feeling of accomplishment, but they can often mask or distract us from fears of unworthiness or doubt. “If I stop moving something might happen to me.” Or, “If I don’t work all the time I might lose my job.” We seem to operate very successfully on the surface, but the result can be that our lives lack depth or what someone once called “interiority.”
Successful living is not measured by the amount of activity in our lives, but in the content of our lives. This “content” can often only be recognized in times of quiet contemplation and reflection. Otherwise it is like taking a vacation without ever getting off the bus.
In our lives we need to learn to read the spaces as well as the words. In other “words,” along with experiencing daily activity, we must take time to experience the spaces in between. To some of us this may feel like goofing off. Taking a few minutes to ourselves now and then will seem uncomfortable or unnecessary at first. Regardless, take the time to take the time to pause and reflect. Ask yourself “how are things going?” “What have I done well so far today?” “What could I do a little better?” “For what am I grateful today?” “What relationships need mending or tending to?” and so on.
The presence of God is found in the spaces of our lives, not in the flurries of activity. Take time to “read the spaces.” You will find it is the best part of your day.
Dear God: Remind me to meet you in the spaces of my life.
“The spaces between the beads are just as important as the rest of the rosary.” ~Unknown
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
In preparation I practiced each assignment for hours in my dorm room to the point where every one was committed to memory. But, no matter what I did, or how much I prepared, I could never manage better than a ‘B’ from Dr. B.
Thoroughly frustrated I had made an appointment under the guise of asking for some “coaching.” In doing so, I figured I would get some answers and have the opportunity to convince him I deserved more A’s than B’s.
In the midst of my third (silent) rehearsal of what I was going to say, the door to Dr. Bleasby’s office suddenly swung open and there he stood. “Come on in Jim,” he said with a friendly smile and a beckoning wave of his hand. He motioned to a leather chair opposite his old wooden desk which he sat behind facing me. The afternoon sun filtered through the window warming the back of my neck.
Dr. Bleasby leaned back in his chair; his glasses perched on the end of his nose and his hands steepled in front of him. He looked like a painting by Norman Rockwell. “How can I help you?” he asked in his soft, mellifluous voice. “I would like to talk to you about these,” I responded, handing the rating sheets across the desk to him. My hand was steady, but my voice quavered a bit. He gave them what appeared to be only a cursory glance, as if he knew exactly what was in each one.
“What about them?” he asked. This was my opening. Leaning in slightly I launched into my well rehearsed rationale for why I deserved A’s and not B’s. Most of my arguments hinged on how hard I had worked and the amount of preparation I had done. Finishing with a flourish I leaned back in my chair crossing my arms.
Dr. Bleasby sat there quietly considering me for a bit, his chair swiveling slightly side to side. Finally he pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and leaned forward over his arms which rested on his desk. “That was a nice little speech Jim,” he said with half a grin. “Your work is just fine and I can tell you spend a lot of time preparing.” “That’s not really the issue though.” “Even your elocution is good, but it’s not pronunciation or inflection that’s your problem.” I listened carefully as he seemed to be getting to his point. “If you want to learn to do this really well the solution is simple.” “You read the words, but you must learn to read the spaces as well.”
Great music requires notes and rests; otherwise what we call music would be nothing but a single tone modulating in pitch and volume. If musical rhythms are made up of rests (spaces) of different durations then the rhythm of our life must be made up of these same “rests” or spaces as well.
Our daily lives are filled with activity and events often overlapping, even occurring simultaneously (what we call multitasking.) Extended periods of activity give us a sense of purpose and a feeling of accomplishment, but they can often mask or distract us from fears of unworthiness or doubt. “If I stop moving something might happen to me.” Or, “If I don’t work all the time I might lose my job.” We seem to operate very successfully on the surface, but the result can be that our lives lack depth or what someone once called “interiority.”
Successful living is not measured by the amount of activity in our lives, but in the content of our lives. This “content” can often only be recognized in times of quiet contemplation and reflection. Otherwise it is like taking a vacation without ever getting off the bus.
In our lives we need to learn to read the spaces as well as the words. In other “words,” along with experiencing daily activity, we must take time to experience the spaces in between. To some of us this may feel like goofing off. Taking a few minutes to ourselves now and then will seem uncomfortable or unnecessary at first. Regardless, take the time to take the time to pause and reflect. Ask yourself “how are things going?” “What have I done well so far today?” “What could I do a little better?” “For what am I grateful today?” “What relationships need mending or tending to?” and so on.
The presence of God is found in the spaces of our lives, not in the flurries of activity. Take time to “read the spaces.” You will find it is the best part of your day.
Dear God: Remind me to meet you in the spaces of my life.
“The spaces between the beads are just as important as the rest of the rosary.” ~Unknown
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Re-Fresh-Ment
“Sometimes the most urgent thing you can possibly do is take a complete rest.” ~Ashleigh Brilliant, English author and cartoonist (b. 1933)
We had scored two coffees in a place where coffee was definitely not the drink of choice. They even had a “bold pick of the day.”
Initially, the cold, icy drizzle had driven us inside to warm up. But the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed coffee had beckoned us like a siren’s song until we succumbed to buying two medium size cups. The counter person placed the cups in front of us as I handed her the requisite payment. “Do you have lids?” I asked, as she handed me the change. “If you turn right ‘round they are just there by the milk and sugar.” “Americans always ask for them,” she added with a smile. The reference was lost on me.
We snapped the lids down on the cups, turned up our collars and headed for the door, waving goodbye as we shouldered it open. The counter person waived back, but there was an expression on her face which I couldn’t quite read...amusement perhaps?
We headed down High Holburn toward Charterhouse Street. We were meeting a friend at St. Etheldreda’s Church (the oldest functioning Catholic Parish in the city). It was brisk and damp, the kind of weather which seeps into your bones, but the excitement of being in London drove out any discomfort we might have experienced. The coffee warmed us as we sipped away while we walked.
We had gone out of our way to avoid looking like Americans: no bright, white athletic shoes, no logo wear and no fanny pack (or bum bag as the English call them). The colors we wore were subdued and we were dressed a bit nicer than the usual tourist. Still, we seemed to catch people staring at us. One old gentleman greeted us with; “Pardon me Yank,” as he squeezed passed me.
We finished our coffees and began looking for a public trash can. There was none to be found. Undaunted , we finally ditched our cups in a public restroom. We reached Ely Place and turned toward St. Etheldreda’s where we found our friend waiting out in front. After a litany of greetings we shared our good fortune at finding an American coffee purveyor right in the heart of London.
“God, you didn’t take your cups out into the street, did you?” she asked dramatically. “That is soooo American.”
Traveling in a foreign country is often a good way to learn more about oneself. That which is common behavior in one country might be looked upon as amusing or even inappropriate in another. We Americans pride ourselves upon being great multi-taskers, particularly when it comes to food and drink. It is habitual for many of us to eat at our work stations and take our liquid refreshment (particularly coffee) whenever we can and wherever we go…even while we drive. A quick trip down any auto accessory aisle will reveal all manner of travel cups, cup holders and even refrigerators for your vehicle.
Unfortunately “multi-tasking” could very well be a euphemism for “being inattentive to more than one thing at a time” and perhaps for “being inconsiderate to more than one person at a time.” During our recent trip to London we learned the joy of “tea time.” What we discovered was the term “Refreshment” is not simply an object but an experience. “Refreshment” applies to not only the beverage, but the time taken to enjoy it.
Being a good steward of time is not simply a matter of the quantity of activity packed into a particular time frame, but the quality of the time spent. We need to find restorative time in our lives... daily periods when we take the time to restore our spirit, mind and body (and our relationships). Rather than gulping the latest energy drink at our desk in the afternoon, perhaps we would be better served to sit down with someone over a cup of tea and a scone just to decompress and clear our heads. We refresh our computers. Perhaps we should take time each day to refresh our lives as well.
Dear God, remind me to take time for refreshment.
Two woodcutters challenged one another to see who could chop the most wood in an eight hour day. The first diligently swung his ax over and over again, never once stopping during the entire eight hour period. At the end of the day, when their respective piles of chopped wood were compared, it was discovered that the second woodsman’s pile was much larger than that of the first. “You cheated!” the first man blurted out. “I watched you! Every hour or so you stopped to rest; I cut wood all day long. How could you have possibly cut more wood than I did?” The second woodsman smiled knowingly. “Yes, it is true I stopped every hour and a half to rest, but while I rested I was sharpening my ax.”
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
We had scored two coffees in a place where coffee was definitely not the drink of choice. They even had a “bold pick of the day.”
Initially, the cold, icy drizzle had driven us inside to warm up. But the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed coffee had beckoned us like a siren’s song until we succumbed to buying two medium size cups. The counter person placed the cups in front of us as I handed her the requisite payment. “Do you have lids?” I asked, as she handed me the change. “If you turn right ‘round they are just there by the milk and sugar.” “Americans always ask for them,” she added with a smile. The reference was lost on me.
We snapped the lids down on the cups, turned up our collars and headed for the door, waving goodbye as we shouldered it open. The counter person waived back, but there was an expression on her face which I couldn’t quite read...amusement perhaps?
We headed down High Holburn toward Charterhouse Street. We were meeting a friend at St. Etheldreda’s Church (the oldest functioning Catholic Parish in the city). It was brisk and damp, the kind of weather which seeps into your bones, but the excitement of being in London drove out any discomfort we might have experienced. The coffee warmed us as we sipped away while we walked.
We had gone out of our way to avoid looking like Americans: no bright, white athletic shoes, no logo wear and no fanny pack (or bum bag as the English call them). The colors we wore were subdued and we were dressed a bit nicer than the usual tourist. Still, we seemed to catch people staring at us. One old gentleman greeted us with; “Pardon me Yank,” as he squeezed passed me.
We finished our coffees and began looking for a public trash can. There was none to be found. Undaunted , we finally ditched our cups in a public restroom. We reached Ely Place and turned toward St. Etheldreda’s where we found our friend waiting out in front. After a litany of greetings we shared our good fortune at finding an American coffee purveyor right in the heart of London.
“God, you didn’t take your cups out into the street, did you?” she asked dramatically. “That is soooo American.”
Traveling in a foreign country is often a good way to learn more about oneself. That which is common behavior in one country might be looked upon as amusing or even inappropriate in another. We Americans pride ourselves upon being great multi-taskers, particularly when it comes to food and drink. It is habitual for many of us to eat at our work stations and take our liquid refreshment (particularly coffee) whenever we can and wherever we go…even while we drive. A quick trip down any auto accessory aisle will reveal all manner of travel cups, cup holders and even refrigerators for your vehicle.
Unfortunately “multi-tasking” could very well be a euphemism for “being inattentive to more than one thing at a time” and perhaps for “being inconsiderate to more than one person at a time.” During our recent trip to London we learned the joy of “tea time.” What we discovered was the term “Refreshment” is not simply an object but an experience. “Refreshment” applies to not only the beverage, but the time taken to enjoy it.
Being a good steward of time is not simply a matter of the quantity of activity packed into a particular time frame, but the quality of the time spent. We need to find restorative time in our lives... daily periods when we take the time to restore our spirit, mind and body (and our relationships). Rather than gulping the latest energy drink at our desk in the afternoon, perhaps we would be better served to sit down with someone over a cup of tea and a scone just to decompress and clear our heads. We refresh our computers. Perhaps we should take time each day to refresh our lives as well.
Dear God, remind me to take time for refreshment.
Two woodcutters challenged one another to see who could chop the most wood in an eight hour day. The first diligently swung his ax over and over again, never once stopping during the entire eight hour period. At the end of the day, when their respective piles of chopped wood were compared, it was discovered that the second woodsman’s pile was much larger than that of the first. “You cheated!” the first man blurted out. “I watched you! Every hour or so you stopped to rest; I cut wood all day long. How could you have possibly cut more wood than I did?” The second woodsman smiled knowingly. “Yes, it is true I stopped every hour and a half to rest, but while I rested I was sharpening my ax.”
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Obituary
“One thing I can still do is pray. So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll pray for you” ~Stella Rodzanskas Forte, wife, mother, grandmother, caregiver (1920-2011)
A cold, icy rain was falling as we laid Stella to rest in the old church graveyard. The site, located in southwestern Pennsylvania, overlooked both the house she had lived in most of her life and her Parish Church, St. Luke’s. She had been baptized, married and now buried here.
While Stella never carried the title, she had been a “caregiver” most of her life. She cared for her invalid mother Rosalia for nearly ten years while continuing to run the family store and raising her children Teresa and Peter. She would often sleep on the floor next to her mother’s bed in case Rosalia needed her during the night. Even after her mother died Stella continued to send letters, often containing money, to her mother’s family in Lithuania; a family she had never met nor would ever meet.
Stella’s, and her husband Pete’s, best friends were Marie and Sty. When Sty contracted terminal lung cancer Marie took an unpaid leave of absence from work to care for him. At 2:00 AM one morning the phone rang in Stella’s bedroom. It was Marie. “I just can’t deal with this anymore” she cried. Stella woke Pete. They quickly dressed and made the hour long drive to their friends’ house in Pittsburgh. They stayed three days until Sty died. Even after the burial Stella and Pete went to Marie’s house every weekend to help her clean, cook and do household chores.
When Stella’s neighbor John, started going blind from glaucoma, Stella visited him twice daily taking him his meals, cleaning his house, driving him to doctor’s appointments and helping him pay his bills. Shortly before he died John offered to deed his house to Stella and Pete. They gently refused the gesture.
Throughout most of her life Stella brought groceries to shut-ins, cleaned houses for the elderly, drove people to medical appointments, gave generously to the needy and cooked meals for bereaved families. Finally her own health began to fail and her husband died.
In April of 2007 Stella became a resident of Vintage Senior Living in Simi Valley, California. Crippled with arthritis and suffering from bouts of dementia she spent most of her time confined to a wheel chair in the “Reminiscence” wing of the facility. One would have thought her years of serving others was over, but it was not. Somehow she found a way to be a servant to those who served; a giver of care to other caregivers.
Once she remarked to a Caregiver, “I know I’m old and my head doesn’t work right all the time, but one thing I can still do is pray.” “So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll pray for you.”
Caregivers would seek her out for solace and comfort. “Whenever, I was having a bad day I would go see Stella,” was an often heard comment. Stella offered people her bed when she wasn’t using it, food when they didn’t have any in front of them and money when she didn’t think they were paid enough.
From her little room with a few necessary pieces of furniture and a small closet of basic clothes she proved daily her greatest possessions were love, compassion and generosity. Stella passed quietly into the next world on a Saturday morning at 6:45 AM; three days short of her 91st birthday. Almost poetically her heart beat for 10 minutes after her breathing had ceased.
Many people leave legacies after they die. They leave charitable foundations, buildings, businesses, estates, wills and trusts. But the legacy Stella left us was a legacy of love and compassion. In her own way she was both Mary and Martha. Like Martha, she served at table making sure everyone else was fed and cared for first. But like Mary, she found time to kneel at the feet of Christ by attending Mass daily; a ritual carried on by the ministers to the sick and homebound who visited her weekly.
She created this legacy of love by constantly serving others. It mattered not what she had, but what she gave. Like a member of a religious order she lived simply, proving daily it is not money or power or prestige which makes a difference in this world. If the world is to be saved it will happen through the love, compassion and generosity of people like Stella.
“If you ever need anything, you come to me.” ~Stella Rodzanskas Forte, wife, mother, grandmother, caregiver (1920-2011)
© 2011 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 James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
A cold, icy rain was falling as we laid Stella to rest in the old church graveyard. The site, located in southwestern Pennsylvania, overlooked both the house she had lived in most of her life and her Parish Church, St. Luke’s. She had been baptized, married and now buried here.
While Stella never carried the title, she had been a “caregiver” most of her life. She cared for her invalid mother Rosalia for nearly ten years while continuing to run the family store and raising her children Teresa and Peter. She would often sleep on the floor next to her mother’s bed in case Rosalia needed her during the night. Even after her mother died Stella continued to send letters, often containing money, to her mother’s family in Lithuania; a family she had never met nor would ever meet.
Stella’s, and her husband Pete’s, best friends were Marie and Sty. When Sty contracted terminal lung cancer Marie took an unpaid leave of absence from work to care for him. At 2:00 AM one morning the phone rang in Stella’s bedroom. It was Marie. “I just can’t deal with this anymore” she cried. Stella woke Pete. They quickly dressed and made the hour long drive to their friends’ house in Pittsburgh. They stayed three days until Sty died. Even after the burial Stella and Pete went to Marie’s house every weekend to help her clean, cook and do household chores.
When Stella’s neighbor John, started going blind from glaucoma, Stella visited him twice daily taking him his meals, cleaning his house, driving him to doctor’s appointments and helping him pay his bills. Shortly before he died John offered to deed his house to Stella and Pete. They gently refused the gesture.
Throughout most of her life Stella brought groceries to shut-ins, cleaned houses for the elderly, drove people to medical appointments, gave generously to the needy and cooked meals for bereaved families. Finally her own health began to fail and her husband died.
In April of 2007 Stella became a resident of Vintage Senior Living in Simi Valley, California. Crippled with arthritis and suffering from bouts of dementia she spent most of her time confined to a wheel chair in the “Reminiscence” wing of the facility. One would have thought her years of serving others was over, but it was not. Somehow she found a way to be a servant to those who served; a giver of care to other caregivers.
Once she remarked to a Caregiver, “I know I’m old and my head doesn’t work right all the time, but one thing I can still do is pray.” “So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll pray for you.”
Caregivers would seek her out for solace and comfort. “Whenever, I was having a bad day I would go see Stella,” was an often heard comment. Stella offered people her bed when she wasn’t using it, food when they didn’t have any in front of them and money when she didn’t think they were paid enough.
From her little room with a few necessary pieces of furniture and a small closet of basic clothes she proved daily her greatest possessions were love, compassion and generosity. Stella passed quietly into the next world on a Saturday morning at 6:45 AM; three days short of her 91st birthday. Almost poetically her heart beat for 10 minutes after her breathing had ceased.
Many people leave legacies after they die. They leave charitable foundations, buildings, businesses, estates, wills and trusts. But the legacy Stella left us was a legacy of love and compassion. In her own way she was both Mary and Martha. Like Martha, she served at table making sure everyone else was fed and cared for first. But like Mary, she found time to kneel at the feet of Christ by attending Mass daily; a ritual carried on by the ministers to the sick and homebound who visited her weekly.
She created this legacy of love by constantly serving others. It mattered not what she had, but what she gave. Like a member of a religious order she lived simply, proving daily it is not money or power or prestige which makes a difference in this world. If the world is to be saved it will happen through the love, compassion and generosity of people like Stella.
“If you ever need anything, you come to me.” ~Stella Rodzanskas Forte, wife, mother, grandmother, caregiver (1920-2011)
© 2011 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 James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
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