Soup Story (Story)

Hi folks,

I'm re-posting a story I wrote around this time last year:

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As we’ve now entered the time of year when what is planted and tended is finally harvested, I believe it’s time for a soup story…

There was once a little village in a time not so long ago. Unlike the days of old when the villagers once worked the land as their ancestors, these villagers got into their cars and traveled a distance – sometimes a great distance to get to the jobs they worked. For you see, these jobs paid for the food on their table, paid for the clothes on their back and paid for the roof over their head. But in those days, taxes weren’t so high, jobs paid well, and there was even time for leisure where the village would hold picnics and parties and music concerts on the village green. Neighbors and friends had time to visit one another and even help one another. It was a close knit community. There was even money to spare, and the village would raise funds to donate to charities, such as the soup kitchens in the nearby cities. This went on for several years.

Then times changes, as they sometimes do. Businesses closed nearby and the villagers had to travel even further from home. Leisure time became less. Neighbors stopped seeing each other as much, but would still make time to attend the gatherings on the village green. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the time to visit each other nor help one another like before. Money was still good, but not as good as before. Donations were slimmer at the charities. This went on for some years.

Times changed again. Businesses were laying off, and taxes were rising. The villagers also changed a bit more inside. It had been some time since they knew their neighbors. There were fewer and fewer people they recognized at the village gatherings. Who were all these new people? Where did they come from? Are they after our jobs? If they take our jobs, how will I feed my family? Will we loose our home?

The the news spoke of terrible things that neighbor did against neighbor, and informed one and all that they should be alert against strangers. The attendance at the village green shrank and eventually the village no longer held these outings. Villagers would get home, stay on their own lot and lock their windows and doors, careful not to be noticed by any strangers in their midst.

Then taxes continued to rise, the price of gas skyrocketed and jobs were cut again. With money only trickling in and signs that there were even tougher times ahead, donations dried up. The nearby soup kitchens closed.

Now, during this time, on a bright October day, a minister to the poor and hungry in the nearby city decided to try the local villages to see if he could get any donations to reopen the soup kitchens. But try as he might, house by house, block by block, no one had anything to spare, not even a box of macaroni and cheese or a can of soup. Some would not even open the door because he was a stranger.

It didn’t take this minister long to see that not only had this village come upon hard economic times, but the community itself that once thrived in villages like this had also vanished. Taking the villagers into his heart, he decided to do something to help them before he went on his way to the next village.

Near the town green, he spied an old propane grill on one side of someone’s home. He knocked on the door again and said to the surly man who answered, “Excuse me, sir, I know you do not have any food to spare, but I just noticed your gas grill – the one rusting on the side of your house. Could I borrow it to heat up some food out there on the green? You see, we’re going to have an end of the season party, a nice one with food and games and music and laughter. We could use your grill.”

The surly man eyed the minister suspiciously. “Why? There’s no any gas for it.”

The minister merely shrugged, “I would appreciate it if you let me borrow it all the same. I will certainly return it when I’m done.”

The surly man gazed at the minister a long minute and ran his eyes over the expanse of the village green. A few lonely oak trees stood majestically, brightly colored leaves fluttering to the empty lawn beneath them. There was no one on the green or even outside. “Who’s the ‘we’ at this party? There’s no one out there.”

The minister smiled broadly, “Oh, the whole village is invited; you’re more than welcome to come too. It’ll be fun!”

The surly neighbor’s eyes narrowed and he thought a few moments. “What will you charge for those attending?”

“Charge?” asked the minister shocked. “Why nothing! This is merely a friendly gathering. Friends don’t charge friends when they gather together. But” added the minister, “if you feel like bringing anything out to share, it will be more than appreciated. However, it’s not a requirement.”

The surly man shook his head and the beginnings of a smile crept at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re up to, you old coot. But sure, you can borrow my grill. But I can’t give you anything else…” He stepped out of his home and unlocked the grill from the metal pole that secured it.

“I thank you for your loan, that is more than sufficient,” added the minister as he wheeled the grill across the road and onto the village green.

Next, the minister found another gas grill – this time with an empty propane tank. After a similar conversation, he wheeled the second grill next to the first.

Then he found someone who had a little propane left in his tank a little further from the green and managed to acquire this and connected it to the first grill.

After that, the minister wound his way to some of the neighbors and was able to obtain four oversized pots – two for each grill.

With a little bit of a jig in his walk, the minster then went in search of water. “Just a little tap water will do just fine” he told them. Soon he had all four of the borrowed pots full.

By now, the villagers had become very curious. Even though they were suspicious of this stranger in their midst, what kind of harm could he do with four large pots of water, two gas grills and barely enough propane to light one grill for two minutes. They started to gather on the green, keeping their distance from this strange minister and each other, but curious one and the same.

The minister looked up from his work as he finished pouring the last of the water into the forth pot. He smiled broadly and pointed to the nearby picnic tables that had become grey and weathered and long since unused. “It’s going to take some time before the soup will be ready. Perhaps you could sit there and play some games until then.”

The villagers looked wide-eyed at the tables and back to the minister. “There’s no games over there,” one of the villagers called back.

The minister looked over at the tables as if surprised. “Oh, I haven’t gotten them yet. Does anyone know who would be willing to loan us some cards or maybe a board game we can play until the soup is ready?”

“I have some cards I can bring out,” one villager called back and hurried back to her home.

“My kids have some fun board games,” replied another and he hurried off in a different direction.

In no time there were quite a few villagers out on the green on this nice sunny autumn day. Some brought a baseball, bat and gloves and started an impromptu game in one corner; others were playing dodgeball or tag, while those gathered around the picnic tables watched or played the various games that had started there.

In the meantime the minister went out again, asking house to house for some salt, pepper, and common herbs and seasonings. These he added to the cold water in the four large pots above the two unlit grills.

A young man, at the prompting of some neighbors went over to the minister. “How do you expect to heat this soup without any propane?”

The minister tapped the gauge of one tank -- just under a sixteenth of a tank. “This is enough to start. But if someone could donate a little more, I would greatly appreciate it. It will heat up the soup that much faster.”

The young man, smiled and almost laughed. “I’d say it would….” He paused and glanced over at his family. “Say, I have about half a tank at home. This is probably the last time we’d have to use it. I’ll bring it over.”

The minister grinned broadly, “Thank you.”

By the time the young man walked back to the green with the propane tank on his shoulder, a second villager was heading out to get his. Soon the two grills were lit and a vapor of steam wafted off the surface of the contents of the four pots.

A middle-aged woman wandered over as minister was stirring with a long-handled wooden spoon he managed to borrow from somewhere. She glanced into the pots with a knowing eye and commented, “That’s a mighty thin soup you’ve got there.”

“Yes,” replied the minister with a sad smile. “But these are thin times and we can not give what we don’t have…”

The woman glanced at the minister and then at the growing crowd on the village green. “I have some potatoes I was planning for our dinner tonight. It looks like we’re going to be eating here instead, so I’ll bring them out to you. It’s not much but it will help your soup.”

The minister smiled broadly and the hints of tears appeared in his eyes. “That would be a very generous donation, ‘mam. Thank you very much.”

The woman returned with an armload of potatoes, just enough for one and a half in each pot. When she returned to the villagers gathered around the tables, some asked her why she gave the stranger her food. When she told them her reasons, a few others nodded and departed to their kitchens. Soon a few limp carrots and some cabbage were added to the pots.

An old man wandered over to pots and commented to the minister. “You know, sonny. I remember a lean time long before this. My mum would make soup like this back in the ‘30’s. It was a real treat for us when we could get hold of some chicken necks to toss in there.”

The minister’s nose crinkled a bit. “Chicken necks?”

“Aye, sonny, there’s some meat to be had on the necks and there’s flavor from the bones.”

The minister nodded and laughed a little. “It’s a nice thought, but I don’t think the local supermarket carries chicken necks.”

“Laugh and think what you will, sonny. But I used to be a butcher. I still do some butchering now and then.” And the old man winked at the minister. “I have some in my freezer now, if you promise not to tell the others what they are. They think I’m old and crazy as it is.”

The minister’s eyes widened with delight. “That would be wonderful!”

The old man shuffled off to his home humming an old tune that arose from his heart.

Little by little, the small donations the villagers made thickened the soup. Soon the aroma filled the village green and the hungry villagers passed the remaining time playing games, and singing songs accompanied by the guitars and other musical instruments people had brought out. Laughter and the buzz of conversation among neighbors rose in the village green as the shadows of the great oaks extended across the October grass.

In the fading daylight the villagers headed home for their bowls and mugs as well as jackets and wraps. They lined up peaceably while the minister spooned out the soup to any who wanted it. In the cool air after a fun day in the sunshine, the soup was warm and wonderful. Everyone had a smile on their face.

Those who loaned the pots were surprised there was some soup leftover and offered some to their neighbors as they headed home.

When the gas grills where wheeled away and the last of the villagers were heading home in the darkness. The minister returned to his car with a sigh. He didn’t accomplish what he planned to do here; there was still no food for the soup kitchen… Then he heard two people talking as they walked by his car on their way home.

“You know, Joe, that was fun. We should do that more often.”

“You’re right, Bob. It’s amazing how far so little food could go.”

The minister smiled to himself as he realized maybe he didn’t fail at all…

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- ESA

Tripod of Growth

There are three things that will help someone grow in Spirit and Soul. These are prayer, fasting and good works. Like three legs of a tripod, they must work together in harmony and balance; too much of one or not enough of another and the whole thing will fail.

Prayer is the direct communication between humanity and God. It's not a one-way monologue, as God does communicate to us even if only our Spirit can understand it. Nor should prayer be a wish list; we need to be open and ready to change and guidance for the help we request.

Fasting does not only mean to refrain from eating or to not eat certain foods. In a broader context, fasting means abstinence (an act or practice of refraining from indulging an appetite) or a period of such abstention or self-denial. In essence, we refrain from something in our life as a means of self-discipline. It is often associated with something we enjoy (food being the most common, but also TV, internet, etc.), but it can also be abstaining from something we revile about ourself, such as lying, cheating or procrastination. When we take on the challenge of self-discipline through fasting, our strength to resist temptation grows.

Good Works are anything we can do to help another in this world. For these good works to count in personal growth, they must be done either in secret or accomplished in such a way that as few people as possible know who is doing these works. This is the most difficult leg to develop. Often we are tempted to illustrate the good works that we do (see prior posts), but that only deflates the values of the good works. The good works need to stand on their own merit without our shouting about it or putting a spotlight on it. If it's a true good work, the act, deed, word or work WILL stand on its own. Others will see it or the results and KNOW "this is a good thing."

Not only does the good works need to be done in secret, they MUST be done for the benefit of another. When we do good works to better ourselves, we only serve ourselves. If a work is done so we can brag about it, add it to our resume, or call attention to ourself, sadly we have already received our reward and it does not serve to support our personal growth.

Only when we truly help another selflessly does the work itself take us to the personal growth we seek. This is often best accomplished through humility. When we humbly serve another, seeking nothing for ourselves, something grows within us, opening us up to greater awareness and ways we can perform even greater works. But if we seek this greater awareness and ways first, we will only find deception, corruption and lies as the enemy will use this to lead us astray.

That is why humility plays a key role here.

It's a tricky path.
But worth it.
Always.

-ESA

Wings (Poem)

This is something I remember from my very early childhood. I don't know if it was something I was told or just made up myself, but I'd like to share it here. I think it's a beautiful allegory.

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When we are born, we are given a pair of wings. (\/)
These wings cannot be seen or felt. (\/)
But they are with us all our lives. (\/)

At the very moment we are born, (\/)
The wings are just the right size. (\/)
But as we grow and age, (\/)
The wings need to grow with us. (\/)
If not, they will fail. (\/)

As we live our lives, (\/)
The good that we do in this world cause these wings to grow. (\/)
The bad that we do in this world cause the wings to shrink. (\/)
If we do nothing, they will fail. (\/)

At the end of our lives, a trap door opens beneath our feet. (\/)
If our wings aren't strong enough, (\/)
They support the weight of our lives on our souls (\/)
-we fall! (\/)

If they can support us (\/)
But not large enough to let us to soar like an eagle, (\/)
We still have some work to do. (\/)

But if our wings are full and strong, (\/)
They can carry us into the Glories of Heaven above. (\/)
And there, our souls will rejoice! (\/)

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How fares your wings? (\/)
Will you fall? (\/)
Or soar! (\/)

-ESA

Sorry Excuses

There have been many times in my life when I've used excuses. Some were legitimate excuses, "I'm late; I was in car accident on my way here." Others were lame excuses I either used to get out of something or to placate someone.

The lame excuses arise because I’m ashamed. The shame stems from the realization that I acted poorly, did something wrong, or didn't do something I should have done. "No, boss, I didn't do the work you assigned me; I was busy with something else," is an excuse I'd often use after I was caught chatting with a friend or playing a game instead of doing real work.

Sadly, this is something that is not only prevalent in society, but it can even be celebrated when one who is very skilled at coming up with creative excuses is praised. Be it so; it's still wrong. The excuse only hides the shame; the shame is still there, buried. One way or another, we will eventually have to face the reality of WHY we did or did not do things, and the shame will spring up in our faces unexpected, raw and even painful.

In addition, lame excuses hide the real reasons we do things. This means we cannot learn or grow from the experience. We continue doing what we should be ashamed of doing. For example, I continued to chat with friends and play computer games instead of getting the work I should be doing done first. It nearly cost me my job, but I continued to lie to myself with these excuses, and that hid the reality that I had a problem. I did not learn until my job was threatened and then reality came crashing in like a ton of bricks.

Even more recently, I've also discovered that good acts can be used as lame excuses. For example, at one point I was taking the time to help one friend through withdrawal, consoling someone else, and working on a project for a third. Then I bit someone's head off. I said, "Sorry, but I'm helping one friend through withdrawal, consoling someone else, and working on this project. That is the reason I bit your head off."

At first, this appears like it's a legitimate excuse, like the car accident above. But let's look at this from a different perspective. I was doing all three things independently and without anyone's awareness save the people directly involved. These were good works I had been doing in secret. But because I now used them as an excuse, only for the sake of alleviating the shame I felt, I had trumpeted those good works (see below) trading all of the value of what I had done for the mere patch to cover that bit of shame I felt.

On Twitter @Jesus_ posted a nugget of wisdom: "Just say sorry, don't complicate the matter by using excuses." I can see now, why that is true. Christ also mentioned that we should simply say "yes" or "no" and everything beyond that is of the evil one (Matthew 5:37) who can use it to advantage. The same can be said of said of apologies; simply say "sorry." What advantage does the evil one have with a few extra words? Evidently from the case described above, those extra words cost me the value of the good works as I have called the spotlight to them.

In our world, we're tempted to add "but" followed by whatever we can think of that will cover our shame or placate the recipient of the words - even if the recipient only ourselves.

Don't complicate the matter by using excuses.
Don't give away good works.
Keep it simple.

-ESA

Sound the Trumpet

Earlier this week, I had an eye-opening experience.

Our office building (with a handful of businesses with one to four employees each) decided to collectively gather donations of clothing, baby items, toiletries, school supplies, etc. to send down to flood-stricken Georgia.

While I was packaging up the boxes to be shipped out on Monday, one of the women who works in the building came down the stairs and watched. She made very certain I knew which of the bags were from her.

Within one bag I found the receipt, which I just handed to her without glancing at it. Then the woman started itemizing each and every item she donated AND THE PRICE of each one. Then she added after summing up her contribution, "I see that some people only brought in used clothing to donate. *I* went out and BOUGHT new stuff. After all I believe one must really SACRIFICE in order for the good deed to count." With that she strutted up the stairs.

I was disgusted by her behavior. I know times are lean and people can only contribute what they can afford. Some donated used clothing, but others had purchased new items as well. For the bulk of the contributions, none but the giver knows who placed them in the box. But this woman made it sound as if her contribution was far greater than any other.

A friend of mine had the right train of thought; he said "She got her reward." Like Christ said of those who clashed the cymbals as they made their way through the street calling everyone's attention to their fasting or prayers, those who make a "big to-do" over what they do call the spotlight to themselves. That one little moment that the spotlight touches them IS their reward. That's it. If that truly is all they seek, then let them have that spotlight.

But for those who seek more than a moment of fleeting fame, let them do things in secret. If not in secret, at least don't call attention to what you do or shout about what you've done for all to hear. The acts, deeds, works and words WILL speak for themselves so others can see the good of those things. And in the life to come, God will know who performed those things and did not call the spotlight to them.

The rest is just stardust that blows off our skin and clothes in the coming storm.

Works that are done in secret
Wonders of the next life
Forever

-ESA