From Me to We

A few months ago, someone suggested I change the way I think and pray. Each time I would use the words "I" or "me", I should use the words "we" or "us". This change brings about a few things.

First, I acknowledge my connectedness to others - to everyone. There is not a thing that I do that does not affect at least one other, usually several others - and always more than I will ever realize. This includes my thoughts, as thoughts guide our actions and our responses - conscious or not. Thoughts can even affect others indirectly, whether we realize this or not.

We are none of us alone
What we send out
Into the lives of others
Comes back into our own
- E Markham

When I change "me" to "we", I eliminate the "me/you" mentality. Instead I am left with the awareness that whatever my impact on another - good or bad - will likewise impact myself. Who in their right mind would want to harm themselves? Thus this kind of thinking should lead to love, compassion, empathy, kindness and generosity.

Further, by thinking "we" instead of "me" I work towards what will be beneficial to us all, not what is beneficial to me alone and the rest are on their own. If I pray for Love, Guidance, Help from God - I do it not just for myself, but for all.

This works both ways. When I hold grudges against someone, I am holding my own guilt like a dark shade of bias and prejudice before my eyes. Thus is why Christ instructs that when we forgive, we are forgiven - by thinking in terms of "we", I either condemn myself when I condemn another or free both of us together.

I will admit, though, this change is a slow process. There are many times I still use the words "I" and "me" and think within the boundaries of my own skin. It's not easy to change, but it is possible. It's amazing how far-reaching thoughts, words or actions can be sometimes when I do hold "we" in mind, rather than just "me." Where I may not be able to do something alone - there is nothing WE cannot do when we work together.

When we work together
Something wondrous happens
We accomplish far more
Than the sum of our individual efforts.

- ESA

Waste Not

Yesterday at the Big E I experienced something I wanted to share, but did not want it lumped in with the rest of the snippets in my Big E blogpost.

We stopped to view a demonstration for one of the kitchen gadgets; my husband enjoys watching the sales pitches so we stayed a bit to listen. It was the same type of presentation I've seen before - it slices, it dices, it scrubs your kitchen sink!

But something in me caused me to mentally step back and see something with new eyes. I watched the sales rep take a whole potato and slice it up. He then did the same with a zucchini, then a carrot, some raw cabbage and at last the precarious tomato. Then I realized with ever-widening eyes - he was THROWING AWAY all that food. Swipe! Down the table-top hole to the garbage bin beneath.

I walked away with an acute awareness that there are people in this world, people in America, even people a few miles away - that are hungry and cannot afford enough food for themselves and their loved ones. Yet here this man is throwing away what would be a dinner for two every fifteen or so minutes!

I walked away with tears in my eyes and, after he coaxed it from me, told my husband what I came to realize I was actually seeing. Here was a horrible waste of food - just for the sale of a piece of plastic and metal! Yet I was at a loss of what to do or how to respond to this...

My husband has been following a "think globally, act locally" approach to things of late. And he tried to apply this to my dilemma too. It was a bitter pill to swallow when I had to acknowledge the times I also wasted food: when I prefer fast food over the leftovers in the fridge, when we cannot eat nor doggie-bag leftovers from a restaurant when we travel.

It's a crying shame when you realize how much is wasted in restaurants, but there are also health codes that must be maintained. One hope we shared together is that culinary schools have a cooperative effort with soup kitchens to feed the hungry with the class materials as the chefs learn their stock and trade...

There were other kitchen gadget vendors there too; some served salsa, vegetable smoothies or whatever products were produced during the demo (and who wouldn't be tempted by free food). But there were others who simply threw it away........

While this was sinking in, and I came to terms that I, myself, needed to change my behaviors and waste less too, I sought the comfort of a hug from my husband. Within his embrace, I heard a whisper in my hair. "I'm here. I'll always be here with you."

At that moment, I felt the same Peace I feel when I pray. It wasn't just my husband comforting me, nor just his words. For the first time in my life, I immediately recognized Christ reaching out to me through another. Often it would take days, months, even years for it to dawn on me. But this time, I knew right away, and I cannot describe the Peace and Joy inside that moment.

It only lasted about a minute, then my husband broke the spell by asking why he suddenly felt a "whoosh" of air blowing down on him; we were inside a building at the time. It could have been the remote controlled helicopter flying from the booth six feet away or it could have been something else. I don't care to speculate. The words and His presence were enough for me.

I will now make more conscientious efforts not to waste - food or opportunities to learn.

- ESA

Sunday Morning Under Big Top

Last year, my husband and I attended Mass under the big top for the first time at the Big E Circus. When we first heard about it, my first reaction was a blend of "Wow, that's something new to me" and "Isn't that where the animals perform and... well, do what we all do after eating?" Some may be appalled that someone even thought to place an alter to God in the center of a circus ring, but by the end of this post, I hope you see things as I came to understand.

Those who work at fairs and carnivals lead different lives than those who just attend them once in a while, but they are essentially the same as you and I. "Carnies" are known to be sly, trick your hard earned money from you, and perhaps lead a less than "saintly" life. Circus performers have similar reputation sometimes - for generations - perhaps stemming from the days when gypsies were more common, and equally misunderstood. The main difference between their job and most of ours is that they travel often and sometimes the trailer is their only home. But they are exactly the same as the rest of us; most are loving, caring and generous and a few can be less than savory.

When I first heard about Sunday Mass under the big top, I thought it was just a convenient place the Big E administration chose to house people who wanted to attend Sunday Services at the Big E. What I didn't understand until I went: this was the Mass for the circus performers and fair workers. They had opened it to share with the rest of us. Here is a group of people often ostracized by a suspicious society, yet where we draw circles to segregate them from "the rest of us" they erased that line in the sand by inviting us to share in a special celebration.

They are people from many different countries - literally around the world - gathered for a short time in a place far from home. Many do not share the same language, but together they are still brothers and sisters by profession - and by faith. Every Sunday morning there is an opportunity to gather with those who share their faith and celebrate it together.

No matter where in the world they are from, no matter where in the world they are now, no matter who is sitting by their side in the stands, all changing several times over the course of a year... they are still one. And they open this oneness to any who wish to celebrate it with them.

There is a group called "Circus Ministries" that celebrate Mass or other Sunday Services with circus performers, race-car drivers, carnival workers, and migrant farm-workers and fishermen. These people are on the cusp of our society, but they still get married, lose loved ones, need spiritual counseling and what many of us find in a place that is close to our home. But they have no permanent home, so the home they take with them is in their hearts. And they take time each week to visit that place and share it with others.

- ESA

Big E

To many outside of New England, the words "Big E" means nothing. To many in New England, the "Big E" is an annual fall event that is bigger than the State Fair and smaller than a World's Fair and encompasses a bit of both. There are rides, booths with everything from mops to the latest inventions, from agricultural products ranging from corn, cheese and syrup to beef jerky, alpaca and wool products, and sheepskin slippers. Each of the six New England States has its own exhibit hall and there are several large buildings that include vendors literally from around the world (the vendors, not just the products they sell), to 4-H, FFA (Future Farmers of America), National Parks and other organization's displays. The New England Grange building is fun to browse and meet people, as is the animal exhibits in the Mallory Complex. Competitions in the Coliseum include oxen-pulls and various equestrian skills. One year we were able to view the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, a spectacle I shall not forget anytime soon. There is a whole colonial re-creationist village made of authentic, relocated buildings from that era, a full circus, a circus miniature museum, several acts and performances from stage shows to walk-ups, and much more.

Why do I bring all this up in a blog where many of my readers are from distant lands and may never get a chance to experience the Big E personally? This is NOT an advertisement for the Big E (they do enough of their own - lol). This is to simply share some of what my husband and I do there that makes it a very special time of year. For us this is more than just attending a local fair...



For the past nine or ten years, my husband and I have purchased season ("17-day") tickets for the fair and spent much of our spare time there, including evenings on some work days and taking at least one vacation day to go during the week when the crowds are thinner, like we did yesterday.

We spend the majority of our time talking with the people there - the vendors, the performers, the volunteers - the people who spend the 17-days there trying to make it a wonderful experience for the rest of us, the fair-goers. By now, each year is like some giant family reunion. Vendors and volunteers know each other, and they know us too. We spend time each year catching up with each other on stories about what has happened near and far over the past year.

I remember in 2001, the International (Young) Building was mostly vacant for the first half of the Big E, especially as the Big E opened just over a week after 9/11. The travel restrictions - especially international - impacted many of the vendors. When they arrived, the stories of the 9/11 impact in their own home country was shared in their own words, through their own eyes.

There is a broomsquire that hand-crafts brooms, using broom straw he harvests himself, working in one corner of the village green. On the year he didn't make his appearance, many were concerned and called him up. You'd be amazed how much it feels like family when you take the time to know people who attend year-after-year. And when something is amiss - there is compassion and a need to reach out to them.

This year, my husband and I were greeted with some sad news. One of the crafters who has a booth behind the Connecticut exhibition hall/building had passed away November 2, just after the close of last year's Big E. This was a kind, loving and lovable man with white hair, white beard and crinkles that followed a generous smile behind his glasses. He was beloved by many of the displayers and vendors in that exhibit hall as he would always give them a hand building and tearing down their booths as well as his own. He even played Santa Claus in the neighboring (New Hampshire?) building. Many called him "Santa", though his name was Bob. Though, I admit, walking away from the subdued booth that more than seemed diminished by his lack of presence, I commented to my husband, "I feel like a kid who has just been told that Santa died..." May Bob rest in Peace for all the good he has shown in this world over the years.

There are many happy moments too. There's a vendor who befriended us a few years back and with whom we spent many hours bailing out her tent last year after she was assigned a location where the rain runoff formed a stream right through her shop. :P Over the course of this past year, she found a way to combine her love (and talent) of photography with her bread-and-butter business, the online/fair-attending boutique. She now has her own photographs on purses and handbags and is able to color-coordinate these with the shawls/wraps that is her mainstay business. We're happy for her!

Yesterday we also had an opportunity to spend about an hour or more speaking with syrup producers in the New Hampshire building. These people actually trudge out in the deep snow, tap the trees, haul the sap, spend days boiling it down, etc. - not simply sell the maple products. We learned a lot about the production, the difference in grades, how the sap changes early to late (more milky) in the season. One learns many things that is not the "by the book" but "by experience" when time is taken to listen to people. They know that "sugar time" (when the sap runs) is about to arrive when they start seeing the red-winged blackbird in their area. The end of the season has arrived when they start seeing moths in the buckets beneath the tree tap; when it's warm enough for moths to emerge, the season is over. The most explicit description was when he demonstrated the human yoke with which maple producers haul buckets of sap through the woods to the sugar houses to be boiled down. He added, "You know you've experienced it all, when you fall with these. There is no other experience like it. You are trudging through knee-deep snow, you trip on some unseen tree root and fall. Now you are wet from the snow, as it rapidly absorbs into your clothing, and sticky from head to toe from the sap that has now spilled all over you. Worst of all, this always seems to happen within a few feet of your destination. So you are not only wet and sticky, your are darn right pissed off because all the work and effort you just put into hauling that sap all that way is now wasted!" A snapshot of a life completely different from our own, shared for the mere cost of taking the time to listen. :D

After years of buying cheese from them, my husband and I had the opportunity to speak at length with some of the people from Cabot. They are usually swamped with visitors, especially since they give out free samples, but yesterday the crowds were lighter. It turns out that Cabot is actually not a company, per se, but a cooperative of several Vermont dairy farmers. The farmers get 100% of the income. For those who do not know, this is unusual in America. Save for local farm-stands, farmers received approximately 19-cents on the dollar. I'd rather the money go to those who work the land, get up early every day - even weekends and holidays - to care for the farm, the land, and/or the livestock rather than some corporate executive who sits at a desk or makes calls on his mobile device on a golf course pushing to buy-low/sell-high to keep the profits for the corporation.

While I often get my kettle-corn from the vendor behind the New Hampshire building - as they are the best kettle-corn at the Big E and well worth the line on weekends - I discovered yesterday that they are not some organization that goes fair-to-fair selling popcorn. These are people from the NH Department of Agriculture who does this as a fund-raiser each year at the Big E. They don't sell popcorn anywhere else. Each year, they greet you with a smile and a shovel the product hot into the bag from the kettle before you. That this is was a volunteer fundraiser, makes me all the happier to buy their product and recommend it to others.

For the second year in a row, we've seen a new addition to the International (Young) Building: Silk-Thread paintings. For those who have the opportunity to go to the Big E, I recommend just stopping by the booth. What looks like a painting at first glance is actually an awe-inspiring work of several layers of silk-thread embroidery - no paint whatsoever is used. This is a traditional form of artwork from China that was once only available to royalty. For those who do not have the opportunity, here is a website that explains a bit more.

There are many other snapshot moments I recall from yesterday. A young girl shyly held onto her grandmother's hand as she walked beside the wheelchair gazing at the wonders around her, hesitant to stray into new territory. A couple ate lunch out of cooler from the open end of Jeep in a grassy field turned parking lot. People who haven't seen each other for a year warmly shook hands and even embraced, slapping each other on the back, on the first day of the Big E. A child was fast asleep in a carriage by late afternoon, a partially eaten bag of popcorn was tucked into the back to be shared later. A father held his young son on his hip pointing and explaining the different sights. An old man nodded and smiled in a friendly way to a young woman a short distance away; he was waiting for his group to gather before the tour bus left and she was waiting with the pile of shopping bags for others from her group group to emerge from the restrooms before they continued their day at the fair. A fair-goer entertained kids big and small with the chipmunk puppet on his hand for nothing more than a smile. A family of five shared their surplus of Mardi-Gras beads from the parade that just passed by with vendors sitting inside who had no opportunity to try to catch the beads themselves. A group of friends called out "Marco" and "Polo" across the dimly lit parking area as they walked further and further apart to their separate cars. Many more beautiful moments of humanity were observed when I step back from my own thoughts to see what is going on around me. :D



We spent the whole day there, my husband and I. And we plan on attending other days this year too. There are those we have yet to see after the year's interlude, stories we have yet to hear, new people we have yet to meet. One thing I look forward to tomorrow - a tradition that we started last year - Sunday Mass under the Big Top. I will write about that later.

I know I rambled all over the place and this was quite lengthy. I thank you for reading this post and for the opportunity to share this experience with you. My closing thought is simply this: what can you receive when you open your eyes and your ears? What can you give another when you open your heart to them and let them share with you some of their life? Both can be far more precious than we realize.

-ESA

Soup Story (Story)

As the leaves turn here in New England, and pumpkins have been on the farm-stands for weeks, it's time to re-post this story, written originally in 2008.

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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 autumn 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 autumn-dry 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

Amish Neighbor (Story)

This story was passed on to me recently and I wanted to share with my readers.

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A family moved into Lancaster County in Pennsylvania, an area known for its Amish residents. As the family's belongings were being hauled in by the movers some local Amish paused to watch with the father as the seemingly endless stream of belongings moved from the large truck into the newly built house.

Upon seeing the computers, large high-definition plasma-screen TV, smaller flat-screen TVs and an assortment of other high-tech items, one of the Amish turned to the father and commented, "I see you have a lot of high-end technology."

"Yes, we try to keep up with it."

"Well, sir, if you ever have any trouble with it, let me know and I can help you out."

Shocked, the father turned to his Amish neighbor and eyed him up and down. Amish were known as simple folk, living without cars, electricity and most of modern technology. "I'm surprised. And curious. If you don't mind my frankness, how does an Amish man like yourself come to learn how to fix and operate this stuff?"

The Amish man smiled gently, "I didn't say anything about fixing it. I can teach you how to live without it."

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- ESA

Tuna Fish

The summer following my freshman year at college had an impact on me that I shall never forget. My roommate was eldest of eight girls. Her father lived apart in the Bronx and her mother and sisters moved to her uncle's place in upstate New York. How wonderful, I thought, to live in a place in the mountains, fresh air and countryside!

Just after finals, we borrowed a car from my parents and drove her up there. Her mother welcomed us both warmly and served up lunch on a wobbly folding table surrounded by an assortment of indoor and outdoor chairs. Lunch consisted of watery lemonade and tuna fish sandwiches. I don't like tuna fish - the smell, the taste, any of it.

Discretely I asked my roommate to see if her mom would make me something else. Shamed, she quietly told me there WAS nothing else.... Her mother had given me her own share of the meal.

What I didn't know until then, she was only at college on a full scholarship. The student-work she did on the campus was to pay for her room and board. Her family had no real income at all.

The run-down house-sized structure I sat before wasn't their house - it was 5 apartments! Her family shared a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor. Their uncle managed the place from his basement apartment. The reason we were eating outdoors wasn't because of the nice weather. It was because their kitchen consisted of a sink, stove and small fridge to one side of the small main room - too small for all of us to eat together.

I spent the night there. Sharing the sleeper-sofa with my roommate and one of her sisters. One of the girls had given up her spot on the bed and slept in a sleeping bag on the floor for me.

Over the years, I would visit that place many times. One thing that drew me back was, despite not having "the latest and greatest," this family was close and full of love. They shared everything they had, which wasn't much. Their mother worked as housekeeper at a local resort to keep food on the table. But there was so much love there; the sisters watched out for each other and helped each other. I never felt as welcome anywhere else at that time in my life.

It was the first of many times I've learned there is much more to humanity than what income and position offers.

And it was the last time I've turned down a tuna fish sandwich.

- ESA

The Newcomer (True Story)

This story was told to me a few times and dates back to the late 1970's in a New England church, near one of the prestigious technical universities.

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There was young man who excelled in math, but didn't always have the best social skills, caring little in the ways of social etiquette and appearance. He recently started attendance at the University, and far from home, went to attend services at the local church that Sunday.

His first time in the area, he did not realize how conservative this church was. Everyone there held to the old, traditional ways. Not one person dared cross the threshold without being properly dressed and hair perfectly in place.

The young man entered in jeans and a flannel shirt loosely buttoned. His clothing was clean but rumpled, his hair somewhat askew and a few days growth of stubble shadowed his chin. Worse! He was late too.

When he entered the church, people turned and stared. When he tried to find a seat, not one person would budge for he was certainly not welcome to sit with them. Row-by-row, the young man made his way up to the front of the church. By now, the service itself was disrupted as everyone stared, pointed and whispered. Even the preacher had paused.

No one would let him sit down in the pews, so - being a practical man - he dropped cross-legged right down in the main aisle, facing the man at the pulpit. All in the church were shocked!

Then from the back of the church, a new sound penetrated the profound silence. Tap, tap, click, tap, tap, click... The oldest member of the congregation - the one known to be the strictest and most adherent to the old ways - was making his way up the aisle with his cane. His suit was impeccably pressed, his tie straight, not a hair out of place.

The rest of the congregation ribbed each other with nods of understanding. This was the one to sort this young man out. Half of the attendees expected to see the intruder bodily flung from their church by the back of his shirt and the seat of his pants. They would not put up with such behavior!

Tap, tap, click, tap, tap, click. The preacher watched respectfully as the old man made his way slowly up the aisle. But when the old man reached the front, he wordlessly, limbs trembling, sat down beside the young man right on the floor.

Then he nodded to the preacher to continue.

After recovering, the preacher turned to the congregation and solemnly told them. "Years from now, you will not remember a word that I say before you today. But you will always remember what you have seen here today."

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- ESA

Little Blessings

This occurred a few weeks ago. One Saturday morning, a knock on our door announced some of the young kids who lived in our apartment complex.

I've known these kids to unabashedly ask anyone a lot of personal questions that many adults hesitate to broach. In this way, they discovered one of our neighbors didn't have a bed in which to sleep. Recently moved in with her young son, she ensured he had a bed, but did not have enough money to get one for herself and spent her nights on the couch.

These children then took it upon themselves to help her, and - without her knowledge - knocked on over 16o doors in our complex to try to raise money or get some people to help. After all, they concluded, everyone deserves a place to sleep at night.

How amazing it is that the loving actions of children can get people to open their eyes and see neighbors in need. Many of us have seen this woman around, a few know her name. None knew she needed help until these little blessings made it clear - we are here to help one another.

- ESA