Kindness of Hearts

Yesterday, I spent the day at Lake Compounce with my extended family. This included my elderly mother for whom we brought  a motorized scooter.

Moments after 7PM, a few sprinkles came down over the park. Like many others, I looked up, saw only small gray clouds and shrugged it off, continuing to enjoy the rides and attractions.

My niece and I helped my mother onto the "Twister" ride, as the rain started to come down heavier. Concerned that her iPhone was getting wet, my niece asked to be released from the ride. Then, concerned that her hairdo was getting wet, my mother asked for the same. So I got off and escorted my mother to the nearest shelter, which was a tree beside the exit gate.

The ride started up as I raced through the steady rain to help my husband cover up the motorized scooter.

Then the skies opened fully and a deluge came down. We helped my mom under a more substantial shelter and then I ran back out for the scooter. With plastic still covering the controls I powered it toward the shelter of a nearby restaurant, getting completely soaked in the process. Halfway to the shelter though, the scooter stops - dead.

The battery still has a charge, but the motor will not function. And with the motor not engaged, the wheels locked. My husband and I had to literally pick up the scooter and carry it the rest of the way.

We tried to dry everything off, going through handfuls of napkins, but nothing seemed to work.

In the middle of this chaos, the power at the amusement park cut out.

Usually Lake Compouce is very responsible, having people off the rides LONG before any severe rains come in. But what seemed sprinkles from a stray grey cloud, bloomed into a downpour within minutes - out of nowhere! People were stranded on the rides; some wound slowly and silently down to the the ground in neutral positions. A crowd of people were stuck on the chain of the roller coaster in the downpour. Many were watching from the top cars of a motionless ferris wheel.

In the midst of all this, my family debated how to get my mother back to the car and how to get the scooter back to our van. My sister was convinced we would be stuck hand-carrying this heavy scooter all the way back to the van. By ourselves.

I, on the other hand, had a lot more faith in the people around me and the people that worked there.

Before my sister wandered off, a park employee named Angie came over and asked if they could help. Here the park was scrambling with clearing rain-soaked riders from disabled rides, and handling the surge of people in the shops and restaurants. Yet... she saw a disabled scooter on its side and came over voluntarily and offered us help as well.

Before we could even ask, they offered and made arrangements for a substitute wheelchair for my mother. They also came up with a creative solution to get the scooter to our van, using an oversized wheelbarrow. Another employee, Dylan, came with us, helping my husband to lift, move and transfer the scooter into the van.

My sister offered money to those who helped, but it was refused, politely but firmly. So my husband and I stopped by the customer service booth. While the manager there dealt with a string of grumbles and shouts about being stuck on rides and similar complaints from dripping, irate customers, we brought a compliment on how helpful their staff was.

We never asked for the help; they offered it out of the kindness of their hearts.

If we think the worst of people, often the worst we see.

When we think the best of people, the best there can be.

~ ESA

Bang, Bang - You're Dead

I've read, wept and prayed over the tragedy in Aurora. I've shed tears and pray each time I hear news of violence. Yesterday, the news struck closer to home, just outside the Empire State Building in New York. While I no longer live in New York and work in Manhattan, it is where my roots are.

There are many who will use this and other recent shootings as a platform for gun control. New York has the strictest gun-control laws, yet several people were shot on the street during rush hour yesterday. It has happened before in New York. I remember stepping off the commuter train at Grand Central Station and someone in the crowded mass of humanity was shot 20 feet from me, in the middle of morning rush hour.

And I still clearly remember the 5:35.

On December 7, 1993, there was a mass-shooting on the 5:35 pm train from Penn Station to Long Island. This was my regular commuter train home each night. I will not share the grizzly details of what I witnessed; the basic information is at the link.

But I know this: Guns do not kill people; people kill people. If you take away guns, there will be knives. If you take away knives, there will be box cutters and scissors. If you take away all blades... a broken glass bottle will do. I hope you see the pattern.

We fixate on the tool and never get to the root cause.

What is broken is people, and society. It is how people treat people. It is how the media fixates on horrific crimes rather than angelic acts of good will. This way, some see the horrific acts as the only way to send a message. It is often a last desperate attempt.

Is there an easy answer to fix this so there will be no more crazed killings when people are pushed too far and snap? There is no easy answer; but there is always how we treat one another and our prayers.

Following the Aurora shootings, Angelic Insights shared a beautiful post titled: Tragedy, Angels and Prayer. I encourage you to read this post, if you feel inclined, but I will share a potent part with my readers below, the prayer:

Beloved Creator,
I don’t understand. How could anyone cause so much harm?
I’ve been angry, I’ve been sad, I’ve been confused…
But I hope I would never be in that place to hate and kill so many.
Please God, help me see that it’s all a matter of degree—
Heal me, dear Lord, of all my anger, frustration, judgment,
Whatever within me is a faint echo of what would motivate a madman
To kill and injure and maim and create terror.
Heal me, dear Lord so that I can bring peace within ME to be more peace on earth,
And help me to be a healing presence to others as I heal myself.
Please send angels to comfort and heal all those in the world who are affected
In some way by what has happened,
Please send angels to help heal those who are on their way to being capable
Of such acts, so that more acts like this are averted.
I don’t claim to understand why…but I ask that you cleanse and purify and heal me…
Heal everyone who allows it—and heal our world…. Please.
Through all that is sacred and holy and within you, I give thanks. Amen. 

~ ESA

Everyday Words

If you go to a library or bookshelf at home and randomly pick up a book and open it, what kind of words will you see? Will you see quotes translated from someone two millennium ago? Or will see words that you might write today?

Someone asked for feedback on a preaching video; I suggested he stick with everyday words, as though he were sharing good news from his job, his family or a recent game.

Everyday words connect us on the level with our brothers and sisters. We are not standing before the crowd behind a podium, using complex or antiquated words and phrases. We are not projecting the image that we are better than they are. We are simply sharing a wonderful message with the world - in everyday words.

Speaking of videos, I've seen this on another's blog recently, which presents an excellent example of sharing the message of God and Love with the world - in everyday words. She is not at a podium. She is not preaching. In fact, she doesn't speak at all...

~ESA

 

A girl's message to all Christians

Cover Story

Too often we focus on appearance, rather than the spirit that is within our brothers and sisters. We ridicule that which is different. We don't give people the benefit of the doubt. Or we assume something based on the person's position or place in society.

Too often we judge someone before we know them.

And sometimes we see something that takes us by surprise and reminds us: Don't Judge a Book By It's Cover.

Following are two videos I hope my readers watch. They are pure, heart-moving examples how we should never judge based on what we see as outward appearances. Their stories speak for themselves...

~ ESA

 Susan Boyle

Sung-bong Choi

River of Opportunity

I spent yesterday at an amusement park with extended family. One of the attractions has the rider sit in an inflatable tube and drift lazily down a meandering river-like waterway. Anyone who has ridden in one may know how tricky it can be to navigate one's tube lying on their back with a strong current and several other tubes between you and your objective. When my niece, riding a double with me, declared she had enough, I struggled to get to the exit, finally needing one of the lifeguards to pull us toward the exit area.

When several in our family group opted to go to another ride, I stood near the departure point to literally pull in the rest of the family as they floated by, so we could all go together. While I was pulling in the group in ones and twos, there was a woman who called out to me with her hand extended. She wanted to get off the ride too but could not reach the exit and was rapidly being swept "downstream" despite all her attempts, not unlike my own attempts about five minutes earlier.

When she thanked me for the help and asked if I was part of the staff, I answered simply, "No, I'm just out here looking to pull my mother in." It wasn't until I was back in the stream looking for my mother - the last of our group to exit - that it dawned on me...

If I wasn't already out there, I never would have seen this woman struggling or been there to help her.

How many opportunities to help a fellow human being - my brothers and sisters - have passed me by because I was not already helping out there, but merely sitting back waiting for the opportunity to come knocking on its own?

How much can pass
When the river of opportunity flows past
And I am not standing in the current?

-ESA

Battle With Oreos

This past week, I've tried NOT to eat the oreo cookies in the recently-restocked vending box down the hall from my office. Recently, I read something on using root-cause-analysis to understand "temptations" I see in this world. And, to anyone who loves oreo cookies and is trying to loose weight, the call of the oreos mere steps away certainly a temptation. ;-)

Why do I want to eat those oreo cookies? Well, at first, I admitted that the kid in me likes to open it up, eat the middle and then the cookies - especially with a glass of milk, just like the commercials. But looking only a bit deeper, I had to admit a strong pull was the "comfort food" factor.

Why do I have the need for comfort food? (<-- part of getting to the root cause) I have some lack within me that seeks to be met - to be comforted and made happy. The oreo cookies take me back to a happy, safe time as a child when I didn't have worries over bills to pay, a job to keep, and other stresses of adult life. A bag of potato chips may call up happy memories of gatherings with friends or family, even when I can polish off most of it sitting alone in front of a TV...

Why do I have the need to be comforted NOW when I didn't then? With this question, still in mind, I spent the day with extended family including 7 kids. Not having been blessed with children of my own, it's amazing soon how I forget that they easily express themselves without holding to the strictures of "personal space" that adults do. Granted, this ranges from temper tantrums and tears, to sudden hugs when they are happy. Growing up, I learned strict limitations in broaching another's "personal space." Most contacts are limited to handshakes and pass the salt. There are no touches on an arm or shoulder and certainly no spontaneous hugs.

Why are there strictures of "personal space" that I obey? When a psychological aspect of "personal space", which is space in the immediate vicinity of the person's body, is looked at, am I not drawing a line that says everything within this space is "I, me, myself, mine" and everything outside is "you and yours"? But in reality, am I not interconnected to all as I live my life? Do I not rely on someone else's work for the food I eat, the shelter I live in, and everything that I need or use in this life. There is also the trees used to build my shelter, the animals/fish for my meat, the bees that pollinate the plants I eat, etc. So in essence, I am quite interconnected to both other people and other things in this world.

But when I draw a line around myself and focus on "I, me, myself, mine", I fail to recognize that interconnectedness. The simple act of a child's hug shouts gladly, "You are a part of my life; what you do makes me happy!" I may say the words "thank you" or nod, or even forget to do those simple things. I've cut myself from others and from the world around me.

And with that void, I've tried to fill that loss with oreo cookies. That is a sorry replacement indeed. So instead of oreo cookies, perhaps I should seek the company of coworkers or share a hug with someone.

Many lives
One world
Interconnected

-ESA

Little Something

I just got a letter from someone I know who is in prison. I've been writing to her, trying to keep her spirits up and even sent her a few of my stories. This is the first time she wrote me and I was surprised at how much my little notes and stories meant to her.

Sometimes the little things you do just to make someone smile can actually impact them strongly in ways you've never imagined.

Often we do a "little something" to help someone and walk away, continuing with our own busy lives. Rarely do we see the look on the face of the people we help, the tears of hope that shine in their eyes, or the light that gets rekindled deep within them. When we actually catch a glimpse of that, it's something wonderful.

Touch
And be touched
Deep inside

- ESA

The Little Wolf that Cried "People!" (Story)

Hi, folks!

As we're just about at Halloweeen, I think this is a good story to post. Not every traditional fairy tale ends in happily ever after....

Warning: This may not be appropriate for all ages; parental discretion is advised.

______________________________________________

THE LITTLE WOLF THAT CRIED "PEOPLE!"

Once upon a time there was a small pack of timber wolves roaming in the territory their kind have always known as home. At this point in time, their numbers had dwindled to a small pack of indeed and into this pack was born one of the smallest wolves they had ever seen. Though small, he did have a very keen nose and sharp eyes. While he would never be the hunter his father is and would always be low wolf in the pack hierarchy, they did find his gifts useful.

When it had been determined that he was grown enough and had learned all that the pack could teach him, he was granted the responsibility to watch over the pack as it slept during the daytime. At first, the little wolf took this responsibility very seriously. And much occurred during the day that he would tell the others about in the cool evening twilight before he himself would get a few hours of rest. For you see, during the daytime there were other animals awake and active. Even more fascinating were the people and the many curious items they brought with them into the wolves' territory.

One twilight, the little wolf told the others of the pack, “I saw people today. They came nearby on the flat rock-river in a large container that roared and chugged something fierce. Then the container stopped and sighed itself to silence. The sides of the container opened and people came out. There were four of them, male and female from the scents. Their scents didn’t even match each other, so they may have been from different packs. In their forepaws they carried these little silver items with something that looked like a dead fish’s eye. They pointed the eye at me and there was a brilliant flash of bright light. The females made some soft pleased noises and the males nodded their heads. Then they all got back into the container. The container sprang back to life with a ear-splitting roar and a horribly bad-smelling plume from its hindquarters. Then they continued on their way down the rock-river.”

The wolf pups loved to hear his stories of what occurred during the day. The elder wolves would smile knowingly and tell him about what he had seen. No matter what new story he would bring to the pack each twilight, the wolf pups ate it up with the evening meal and the elder wolves would tell him it’s been seen before. “Just once,” the little wolf thought to himself, “I would like to tell a tale about people where the elder wolves would be in as much awe as the pups.” Some nights, he would lie there thinking about what he could say, instead of getting the rest he needed. And one night, while listening to the melodic howling of his pack and the echoing sounds of the reply from a distant pack he came up with a story.

A few nights after that, he padded down from the hilltop where he lay watching the surrounding area during the day. His eyes were bright with mischief. “Listen all,” he barked, “I have seen something never seen before.”

All heads turned as one in his direction and he was met with the cool knowing lupine gazes of the elders as well as the wonder in the pups’ eyes.

The little wolf faced the pack and dropped to his hindquarters, his forelegs straight so he could meet all the wolves nose to nose if not eye to eye – after all, he was still a low wolf in this pack. “The people are invading!” he blurted out.

The elder wolves exchanged worried glances and the pack leader asked the little wolf, “How do you know this?”

The little wolf puffed up his chest with false pride. “I have seen them. They come while you are all asleep during the day. They carry new things and bigger containers. They have come to take our territory and make it their home.”

The little pups yelped in fear and ran to their mothers, hiding among their legs. The pack leader and elder wolves exchanged thoughts in the silent lupine body language known their kind. Then the pack leader turned back to the little wolf and nipped him on the muzzle. “Little fool!” he growled. “If this is so, you should have awakened us immediately so we can defend our territory.”

“B- B- But it was daytime,” yelped the little wolf.

“Are we afraid of the sun? Are we afraid of people? No matter what they bring into our territory, we will defend our home!”

As the high wolves nipped and growled at the little wolf, he promised that should this occur again, he would wake the others. Quickly he dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back, acknowledging his place in the pack.

Day by day, his humiliation before the pack ate at the little wolf's inside. Now even the young pups ridiculed him for his actions. Things didn’t change much and the novelty of the daytime events wore away. “This task is boring,” thought the little wolf, “and I’m never going to get any recognition in my pack.

Days turned into months, and the moon flowed through its changes time and again. Game moved to the south and the winter snows followed. One day, the little wolf got an idea as he noted that the people and their containers also left tracks in the snow. On a particularly boring day, the little wolf waited until he was sure the pack was deep in sleep. Then he lifted his chin and howled for all his worth!

Immediately the pack was awake and came running up the hill to the vantage point where the little wolf stood perched with hackles up. “What is the danger?” asked the pack leader immediately, fangs bared and ready.

The little wolf pointed with his nose and ears in the direction of the rock-river. People had come again to invade our territory. I scared them away with my growl. You can see their tracks in the snow. They are gone now. But because you required it of me, I awakened you with my howl.

The pack leader approached the little wolf, and the little wolf’s ears swiveled, fearing he was about to get bitten on the muzzle for doing wrong again. Instead the pack leader just placed his jaws lightly over the little wolfs nose, letting the little wolf know that he was still the low wolf but had done the right thing. The little wolf licked the pack leader’s muzzle in gratitude.

The pups also came up to him, pride shining in their small faces and they actually licked the low wolf’s muzzle. That show made the little wolf’s heart glow warm with pride. “I must do this again,” he thought to himself. “Even though the people will never invade as I have made that story up, the pack will give me a little more respect each time and I will rise in the ranks.”

The little wolf waited through another dance of the moon’s cycle before he tried his plan again. On a particular brutish day with the winds howling their own fierce song and the driving snow stinging the nose, eyes and eartips, the little wolf tilted back his head and howled his message to the others of his pack.

They were slower to arrive to the hilltop as the snow was deeper and the weather was dangerous with it’s hidden ice both beneath the white blanket and overlying the snow as a breakable crust that could cut the unwary paw. The pups, the little wolf noted, were left back in the winter dens where they were warm and safe.

The pack leader was the first to clear the hilltop and gazed around through the storm. “What did you see?” he growled to the little wolf.

“People tried to invade again.”

“In THIS weather?” growled the pack leader baring his sharp fangs at the little wolf.

“Th- They did! They came but they left when I chased them down toward the rock-road. You would see their tracks, but the blowing snow has covered them up.”

The pack leader chuffed in the little wolf’s direction and padded slowly and purposely toward the rock-road, sniffing as he went trying to detect the scents of man and his machines. Within the hour, the pack leader returned to the hilltop and faced the pack.

“I find little evidence to support our watcher’s story, but if people have indeed returned to invade our home after they were chased off the first time, we must warn the others.” As one voice, the wolf pack howled the message to the other packs and the message was passed from pack to pack all along the winter landscape. “Beware, people are invading.”

Shaken by the fact that the pack leader searched for evidence to his story, the little wolf decided he should be more careful the next time he tried his trick. Time passed again. Winter snows melted and the ground became muddy and bright green as the new growth pushed up from the warming ground toward the sun. The game moved north again, following the sun’s own journey to its summer home. And the little pups that once admired the little wolf were now members of the pack and hunters themselves and would often make the little wolf show his belly to them.

With the return of the warmer weather, the little wolf spied more people again. Now is the time for my trick. “Surely” he thought to himself, “I would not be the low wolf if I could get the pack leader to confirm my story of the invasion.”

So one day, he put his brilliant plan into action. When the people were still there, aiming the silver object with the dead fish eye at him, he tilted his head back and howled. Instantly, the others came running and charged the people.

Many of the people screamed and jumped into their containers. But one grabbed a thunder stick from the back of his container and pointed it at the charging wolves. The little wolf had never seen a thunder stick before, but when the crack of thunder and the flash of lightning issued from the stick, he knew what it was from the tales the elder wolves told him when he was a pup.

The little wolf felt the bite of the thunder stick across his right shoulder. The other wolves swiftly scattered but just as quickly reconverged when they realized the little wolf was injured. “Can you run?” the pack leader barked at him as others growled and hunkered themselves down between the little wolf and the thunder stick.

“Yes,” hissed the little wolf as he climbed to all four paws despite the pain.

“Then everyone back to the hilltop. We defend our territory, our pups and our home!”

As one, the wolves lumbered up the muddy hillside and turned to face the invaders. The one person outside the containers lowered the thunder stick back into the back of his container and stood next to the opening on one side of another container, talking to the people inside. Curiously, the wolves listened, but understood little.

The little wolf had better hearing than most of his pack, and had even learned to understand some of the people’s spoken language. But there was one word he did not understand that was mentioned again and again: “rabid.”

That night, the pack howled the message to the other wolf packs around their territory. A sad tale was also passed on to them, one of sickness. A sickness from the game had come into one wolf pack and made them go mad with thirst and mindlessness. They chased shadows and turned on friends and disregarded the pack order. People had come to this pack and now that pack is no more but vanished in one day.

The little wolves pack was shaken to their souls and they howled a sad lamentation for the pack that was no more. Afterwards, they worried about their own plight with the people. The new pups would be born soon and preparations had to be made to keep them safe.

A young but larger wolf was assigned to watch during the day with the little wolf. After what occurred, the little wolf decided it was time he stopped this trick. When he tried to rise in the pack order, all he got was a sore shoulder and someone that was assigned to the same duty, as if he were no longer worthy of even this position. A depression came upon the little wolf and he cared less and less about the activity around him during the day.

His companion, however, was ever curious, as this was all new to her and she would ask the little wolf many questions about what she saw. One day the young wolf spied people. The little wolf sniffed the air and confirmed, “Yes, that’s people.” He didn’t even raise his muzzle from the warm grass where he lay.

The young wolf rose on all four paws and barked, “They’re coming up the hill and they have thunder sticks.”

The little wolf’s ears shot up and he raised his head, but the moment was passed before he knew it. The roar of the thunder stick echoed off the distant hills as his young companion dropped beside him, a strange tube embedded in her throat.

The little wolf raised his muzzle to cry the warning and heard the thunder stick again. A hot jab of pain pierced his own throat and the world around him became a warm fuzzy blur. “It’s the sickness,” his panicked mind thought just before he drifted into it’s warm welcome. One last thought crossed his drifting mind as his chin touched down on the warm grass, “I never did issue the warning this time…..”

- ESA