A LOOK AT SEPTEMBER 11

Many of us can remember the day President Kennedy was assassinated. We know where we were when we heard the news. We can say the same about hearing the news of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. There were also the unexpected deaths of Elvis and John Lennon. Each individual left some form of impact on us. We could tell other generations how it was like, being part of history.

We had no idea that the next chapter in history would involve the assassination of thousands, on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. The killings this time were not prominent figures of our society. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters died that day. They kissed and hugged their families good-bye that morning, expecting to return home that evening. Many were looking forward to the upcoming football season, while others were thinking about the open house that evening at a child’s school. There were the newly engaged, dreaming of wedding plans, and those finding out they were going to become a mom or dad, excited to become a parent for the first time, or maybe for the second or third time. The new baby would join the family of siblings, ages two and four.

There were others flying to get home, anxious to be back with their loved ones. Some were on business trips, preparing to make a presentation or be attending one. Cell phones were at work, callers telling those on the other line to have dinner ready, looking forward to a favorite casserole. Still others were in the military, doing what was necessary to keep our country the safe place that it has been since 1776.

In an instant, all of this was taken away from us. Instead of mourning one individual, there were those thousands of individuals to mourn. The wrath of one group of people changed innumerable lives. Mommy or Daddy would not be coming home; those season tickets for an NFL game would go unused. Weddings were not going to take place and becoming a parent within the year was no more. In its place were fear, grief, tears, questions and anger. Dissipated was the nuclear family, broken, unable to be replaced.

Living two thousand miles from this heinous act, I could provide prayers for many. However, to feel the terror those did on that day is not something I can empathize. I can express my condolences, but I cannot say, “I know how you feel.”

I was not covered with ashes, the results of destruction. I did not hear the sounds of panic, nor did I take in the odors they inhaled. When I shut my eyes, I do not see plumes of smoke, the mass running of thousands to nowhere, or people jumping from windows to their death. I did not have someone knock on my door to say my loved one didn’t make it, nor did I have to rush from one person to the next, photo in hand, to ask if someone had seen this important person in my life.

It has been nine years since the assassinations. Those who were in grade school are now in high school. Weddings have taken place and babies have been born. The void remains, however, of those lost that day. Survivors remember as if it happened yesterday.

Many more have lost their lives since then, giving up their freedom so we may keep ours. Loved ones continue to experience falling to their knees in agony, after hearing of another death. The sense of security no longer exists as it did before. The unknown lingers heavily on the minds of all people. There is a look of alarm in the surviving victims, never letting one’s guard down. Lives have been rebuilt, but not at the same endurance and strength as before. There is a determination to be the ones in control, but in the back of everyone’s mind is the thought to be careful, to be ready for anything.

I commend those who were directly affected on September 11, 2001. They have had to keep living, in spite of the torment experienced. Time goes on, with that second hand never slowing down on the clock. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into months and months into years. No one can turn back time. It has been a long, continuous, journey, not over yet. My prayers and compassion will always be there, as they travel this arduous road.

AT LONG LAST

Greetings! At long last, I am back to my writing. It has been quite awhile since I felt well enough to write. I went in to get medical tests done, only to come out worse than before the tests. Apparently, the tests triggered something else in the body, causing additional problems.


At times, I have felt so ill that I began to wonder if I would ever have a quality of life again. Those fleeting thoughts only lasted seconds, as I knew my life was much better than that of others. I had food to eat, water to drink, a roof over my head and a dear family to care for me. I also felt that my suffering was nothing compared to that of our Lord Jesus. In fact, I became closer to Jesus because of all the additional problems.

It is easy to take for granted what each of our days brings us. We tend to be busy from the moment we open our eyes and get out of bed each day. There is the morning rush, getting out the door, not wanting to be late for our destinations. Around us, everyone else is also running, usually with a sense of worry. “Will there be much traffic? Will I find a parking place? I hope I can get a seat and not have to stand during the ride. Why do I have to attend that meeting? It is always such a waste of time.”

Nowhere, in these conversations with ourselves, or with another person, is there a thought for God. We are just too busy. Our days remain busy, taking care of this need and that, forgetting the need to say a prayer, thanking our Lord for another day. At the end of the day, there is again the traffic to deal with on the way home, the meals to fix, the family activities to attend, the helping with a child's homework, and the house to clean. There is the television show to watch, so everything has to be complete by then. Once again, there is not the time to think about a prayer, praising Jesus for getting through one more day.

It is a vicious cycle, day in and day out. It is not until our health changes, and we cannot keep up with our hectic lives, do we sit back, remembering whom it is that lets us have a family, gives us beautiful sunrises and sunsets, and makes fertile ground so we may have food on the table.

Though I continue to wear out easily, I am adjusting to my new quality of life. I continue to pray for others listed in my prayer journal, aware we are never alone as we carry our crosses. Overcoming our challenges is a motive of God’s, teaching us to become stronger in our faith. It is faith that gives us hope. Once we have hope, we will believe God is right there with us, as we climb through the obstacles to reach our goals. If we fall, God will help us rise and persevere, no matter the journey. Thank you, dear Lord, for always being there.

Hope, Faith and Wisdom

When I lose something, I get mad at myself, wishing the item could speak, saying, "I am over here!" Until I find my lost item, I have a hard time doing anything else. My mind is remains focused on the displaced article. I do stay calm while searching, unlike my husband. As I hear the sounds of frustration coming from the other room, I know he is madly trying to find something. I stay quiet, not wanting to add to his anxiety.

Eventually, we do find what we have misplaced, letting out a sigh of relief. We easily forget how much time we spent looking, moving on with our lives. It is not always so easy, though to forget and move on when a life is lost. I recently heard a story from a 13 year old, about her mother passing away when she was only ten. As the story unfolds, I forget to take a breath, as it is such a tragic occurrence. I am learning not only about the loss of a mother; this young person feels responsible for her death. Why? Because a goodnight kiss was not shared the night before this terrible fate.

For three years, this child has internally taken the blame. I do what I can to console this young person, attempting to ease the thoughts, that it had nothing to do with a goodnight gesture. It was an unexpected illness. I wish I could make life as it was before for this precious little being. What I can do is remember to keep life in perspective. If something is not where I usually keep it, it is no big deal. I will picture the solemn face of an innocent child understanding the true meaning of a loss. Though somber, the young teen tells me hope and faith remain. Someday, mother and child will reunite in Heaven. Once again, I learn it is the wisdom of a child where I learn the true meaning of life.

EVERYTHING

EVERYTHING


Recently, I finished a book by Jan Karon, the writer of The Mitford Series. The books are a joy to read, about the happenings in a small community. The main character is a preacher, who can get himself into different predicaments. If he is not involved in one directly, he is there to assist someone get out of the difficult situation he or she is in.

I came to a part in the book that left quite an impression upon me. Father Tim is to stand in for another preacher, to give the weekly sermon. He does not know how to begin his sermon, much less what to say after he makes his introduction. Suddenly, the words come to him, “In everything, give thanks.” He knew these words came from the Bible, but how could someone give thanks for everything?

This got me to thinking how hard it is to give thanks for everything. After all, life is not always a bowl of beautiful roses. Still recovering myself from a painful procedure a few days ago, I do not exactly want to thank the medical team for the pain inflicted. People get the willies just hearing what happened. However, I am thankful I was placed in excellent hands. The doctor was friendly and relaxed, as were others in the room. The nurse was special, someone you could think of as being ‘everyone’s mother.’ Afterwards, I had my family greeting me, taking care of me during recovery. How thankful I am, to have loved ones surrounding me.

We face different levels of challenges in our daily lives. What we must do is trust in God as we greet them, having the faith to know we can make it, not giving up on hope. Without hope, we would be lost. We wonder how we can keep living after a dearly loved one passes. What we have to do is have the faith to know we will see our beloved again someday. We thank God for the hope we grasp onto until that day comes. We give thanks for the friends, families and strangers placed beside us as we struggle through each day.

The past cannot be altered. We have to say thank you for the time we did have together, picking up pieces of wisdom from those whom have gone before us. Those seeds of wisdom are planted, bringing forth words of faith and hope to all generations. We say a prayer of thanks for those words, which blossom and fade, leaving more seeds to grow and prosper the next year, and the year after that.

If things always go smoothly, we forget to take time to actually see and feel what has been given to us. We do not inhale a deep breath and let out a sigh of gladness, just for life itself. No, things do not always go the way we want. It is not always up to us to decide on what is to happen with our lives. We thank God for giving us the freedom of choice, asking Him for the strength of faith, hope and love when the choices of others affects us. We thank Him for His trust, while coming to terms with our excitements and sorrows. We are thankful for those words of wisdom, always reseeding, allowing us to grow in His Spirit, today and always.

THE TREASURE OF ALL TREASURES

Describing what a treasure is depicts different images in everyone’s mind. For a child, it may be a ladybug seen on a blade of grass. A young teen may treasure a new pair of shoes, now the fad. An older teen will love the improved cell phone. As a young adult, there is the dream car, waiting many years to save the money to buy one. The older adult will treasure memories of their children, as they go through their growing years. The senior adults treasure the letters and cards sent by the grandchildren, keeping them by their favorite chair.


As I reflect upon my treasures, my loved ones are invaluable to me. My faith and God are priceless as well. Thinking back to my years of teaching, I will never forget the treasured gifts I received. What made them so special was that they were handed to me with such strong emotions.

I never worked at a school located in an upper income class neighborhood. My students came from homes where a chicken is served once a year on Thanksgiving. There were no birthday presents. They had never been to a restaurant, not even to have a popular fast food hamburger or taco diner.

One year, I had a boy, about nine years old, who started to bring me a present a day. I was still in my first years of teaching, taken with his generosity, knowing how his family had little money. Some days, it was a candy bar or a package of sunflower seeds. At times, it was a small paperback book, usually one meant for a teenager. He had proudly signed his name and mine inside the cover of each of them. After this had been going on for a little over two weeks, a couple of his classmates approached me, out of earshot of the bighearted gift giver. Apparently, he was going to the little store down the street from the school, stealing something to give me the next day. I was horrified!

After school that day, I called the manager of the store, describing the child who frequented his store daily. I said he had been stealing something from him daily, over the past few weeks. There was a silence for a moment on his end, coming to life suddenly, announcing to me, “Here he comes, RIGHT NOW!” The phone went dead as he went to pursue the gift-giving robber. My student was back in class the next day, as if nothing ever happened. I am not sure what the manager said to him in the store, but it must have made an impression, as all presents stopped. I dimly remember going over to the store, offering reimbursement for all stolen items. The manager did not charge me, only glad that the stealing had stopped.

Having stolen items on me was not a treasure, but it still spoke to my heart. I treasured the thought that the boy wanted to make me happy. I had made him happy in my classroom; now he wanted to do the same for me.

Another year, I had told students how much I loved the Spider Man comics. This was years before there was a movie on the webbed creature. They loved to hear my excitement, as I would tell Spider Man episodes. It made me become a person, just as they were, not someone who came in from nowhere at the beginning of the day and return to nowhere at the end of it. This is the typical thought of a student, that there is no chance a teacher has any other kind of life.

As Christmas came around that year, a student approached me, having something wrapped for me. It was rolled up tightly, a ribbon circling the gift several times. His eyes were big, standing in front of me, as I unwrapped his gift. Inside the wrappings was his own treasure; a very well worn comic book of Spider Man. I almost started to cry, it meant so much to me. He had so little at his house, yet he wanted me to have his most valuable possession. This meant more to me than the many boxes of chocolates teachers were getting from students living in other neighborhoods. I will never forget the token of love shown. He knew what Christmas was truly about, not the television ads on what would bring meaning and happiness.

I had another highly-prized gift handed to me another year. The mother of a particular student did not like me. She truly despised me. Her mentally challenged son had passed from one year to the next, playing games all day long. Now that I had him, I did not want the games. I wanted him to learn to read, write and do math problems. His mother was furious I was having him work. Sometimes, he would come up to my desk to warn me his mom was coming by after school to yell at me. He would continue to come up numerous times on that particular day, to tell me the time was getting closer for his mom to yell at me.

In time, the mother began to see how much her son had learned. He was asking her to buy the classical music I played in the class as they worked, had outstanding penmanship, could read and was multiplying numbers. She was now showing up after school, coming in with her sponge and bucket of suds, to clean the classroom for me. She would ask me if I remembered how much she used to hate me, as she scrubbed one desk after another. I grinned, assuring her I certainly did recall those times.

At the last week of school, her son proudly handed me a wrapped gift from him and his mother. He said they saw the book on a table outside a store and decided it would be the perfect gift for me. Inside the wrappings was a book. The title was, Love and Desire and Hate by Joan Collins. A little summary inside the used book cover talks about the love, greed and lust action, a definite page turner. It is signed, with pride and with love, by both the mother and son. This became another treasure, though I must admit, I never did read it. The mother came by after school, her eyes twinkling as bright as her son’s, over this gift. I hugged them both, saying how special it was to me. The mother, who worked two or three jobs to put food on the table, said they just had to buy the book for me, as I was now important in their lives.

I would never trade my riches with anyone. If I did, I would lose those treasured memories that came with them. True treasures always come from the beloved heart.

MY CHOICE

On a daily, short, reflection I write on Facebook, “Spirituality From A Wheelchair,” I posted recently about my prayer to God. I asked Him to forgive somebody I know. God immediately responded to my prayer, telling me, “I already have forgiven. Now, it is up to you.” This was a revelation for me. My eyes opened wide, followed by a smile. Of course, He has forgiven, as He does not hold grudges. We are the ones whom are guilty of this.

Granted, it has taken me a long time to learn not hold onto a grudge. I was even holding a recent grudge, as I asked God to forgive another. It is an on-going process to move on, instead of remaining stagnant. I have had to ask God to help me move-on, to give me to the strength to do so.

I can be stuck in a whirlpool, asking repeatedly, “How can I forgive this person who has done harm to another of God’s family? Because of those actions, others will never be the same!” I am not progressing anywhere in my life as I continue to ask this. If I take my faith seriously, then I must leave this vicious cycle behind. It is not going to change what has happened. All it does is let me focus on the perpetrator rather than on the innocent victim. I have let badness take priority over goodness.

It is amazing to me that once I have taken the path of forgiveness, that person’s face and name is no longer taking precedence in my head. The actions of a co-worker, someone close to me, or a person I only heard about in the media, is no longer in my thoughts. It is as if God has this enormous chalkboard eraser, wiping my slate clean, as soon as I say I have forgiven.

I cannot just instantly say, “I forgive,” because if I do, I do not feel the sincerity in my words. However, I do not let it linger, as I used to do. At times, I do ‘pass the buck’ onto God, asking Him to help another understand the difference between right and wrong behaviors. I no longer will carry it on my shoulders.

There is such a relief in my tight muscles as I let it go. I may also pray for the troubled one, but now, it is at a different level. There is no longer a feeling of wrath; rather, there is an emotion of being at peace.

I silently ask others to live in the image of God, not in the image of my ideas. God has made each one of us unique and special, holding gifts, burdens, joys and sorrows. We are the ones who must make the choices with what He has given us. If we recognize the choices of others as being in error, ask God to help them get back on the correct path, during their spiritual journey.

A little first grader told me once how angry she was when she saw someone steal a sweater at the store. She wanted to get very angry with the person, proceeding to ask me why this person would take something he did not pay for. I told her about choices God gives us. Continuing, I asked her to pray to God to help the man understand not to this anymore. I gently told her not to stay angry. She could not change this man, but to pray for him. Let him feel God’s love. When he becomes aware of this love, he will not want to take things not belonging to him.

Challenges are part of our daily lives. As God told me, “Now, it is up to you.” These words will remain in my thoughts. I will take the challenges and be at peace with my decisions, living in the image of God.

THE HANDS

For a number of days, I have been contemplating how important our hands are. My mental and written lists have grown endlessly. I realize I could write a thesis on their significance. Just as I wrote that last sentence, another use of them came to my mind, as I scratched a bug bite!

We can join our hands together for many different reasons. I put them together in the form of prayer often, extending outward toward the heavens. I do it in formal prayer and constantly to say another thank you to God for one blessing after another He bestows upon me.

There is also the pressing of the palms together, fingers squeezing opposite hands. Anxiety is expressed. It might be watching the race, excited to see who will win. Maybe it is while watching a movie, the unpredictability hardly able to take. There can be the squeezing of the hands in tenseness, not knowing what the recent medical tests will foretell.

While in the dental chair, I’m sure the dentist looks down at the hands, to see if the patient is handling the procedure with a sense of calmness or one of being quite nervous. I have willed myself, through prayer, to appear quite calm for the dentist. In reality, my fear begins as soon as I hear him or her sit down on that stool on wheels behind me, in the dental chair, rolling up to be by my side.

There are the hands of a brand new baby, so very tiny. There is not a mark on them, so fresh and new. We study those hands, wondering how they will be used in the newborn’s lifetime. The first thing we tend to do is reach out our hands to those wee fingers, watching the grasping of them being wrapped around ours. What joy this brings! A connection is made, a feeling of a warm love being shared between two of God’s souls.

The infant grows into a little being. We hold onto the child’s hand, to protect him or her from fear, or while crossing the street. We put band-aids on those tiny scratches, hands busy at work while at play.

It is a blissful moment as the toddler reaches out for our hand, taking us to see an amazing sunset, the fruit in the garden, or to smell a flower. We can get busy rushing through each day, only to have a child remind us what really counts, as we live and breathe the air of the Holy Spirit.

As the individual grows, food and shelter are necessary for survival. Those hands nurture crops to raise an abundant harvest. . It is shared with others. .A created shelter, made by the hands of many, gives a place to live, bringing friends and family together.

As friends and family gather, there is the greeting through a handshake, placing the hands and arms around one another in a hug, and the holding of hands while sharing a blessing of the meal. After the meal, there continues to be sharing, during board or electronic games, all needing the hands.

Noticing the hands of all who gather, there can be seen hands showing life has not been easy. They are rough to feel and have a look of leather. Others may be soft to touch, but hold deep lines of wisdom There will be the teen, whose body has not yet grown into his or her hands. In time, they will show the signs of experience, just as those who have made it through those struggling years.

We see the hands of honesty as a promise is taken. It may be a creed for an organization, or while taking an oath of office. A hand usually goes up to express what is being said is the truth. Those same hands are raised to give out blessings to our brethren.

Gifted hands provide enjoyment for others, through the many art forms, whether it is music, calligraphy, something on canvas, or dance. The given talents can take our breath away, letting us forget about everything else in life except for the moment.

To join hands in marriage, becoming one, is beautiful. The unity of hands will bring forth many memories in the years to come.

Last night, a story was shared of the mother who saw only a wounded soldier’s hands, seen on the national news. The moment she saw those hands, she knew they belonged to her son, as only a mother would. She made the proper phone calls to ask about him. Soon, there was a knock at her front door to acknowledge it was indeed her son; he had passed away while fighting for our freedom.

God holds us up with His hands. His son died with his hands raised, on the cross. He holds up everyone, at all times, not allowing anyone to hold burdens alone. His mother holds us in her gentle hands, never judging, only giving unconditional love. We only have to open up our hearts to receive the affections of the Holy Family.

Let all of us raise our hands in prayer, for those hurting, those needing a blessing, the joys and the struggles, and in thanks, feeling the eternal love and blessings given to each of us.

Marie T. Morrison
July 20, 2010

MOM WILL NEVER FIND OUT

As one more little pet of the family passes on, it brings me back to our first house pet, Woody, the parakeet. My daughter’s second grade teacher was Mrs. Woody, having a classroom parakeet, known for saying, “Buenos dias!”

My daughter would let Woody out of the cage, sometimes leading to an escape from her bedroom. All chaos would break lose, with yells to quickly shut all windows and doors. This accomplished, the next task would be to capture the bird. He would take flight as soon as someone was close enough to wrap his or her arms around it. It could take up to 30 minutes, with adult supervision, to protect floor lamps and precious items during these escapades.

It came time for me to return to work as a classroom teacher, a week before my three children would begin their year of school. I was very nervous about leaving them, at the tender ages of eleven, eight and five. Relatives would be in and out all day, as would be the neighbors, but I still hesitated about leaving my precious cargo behind. I knew they would be good children, but I still had one rule: Do not let Woody out of the cage while I am gone.

Mid-morning of that first day back, the secretary paged my classroom, to say I had an emergency phone call. Cell phones were in seldom use at this time, leaving me to sprint to the office phone, my heart going into my stomach, both pumping and thumping at top speed. My eight year old is on the line, sobbing. They had let Woody out of the cage, thinking I would never know about it. While running after it, the five year old stepped on the bird, as it landed on the floor. It was not moving. My eleven year old, in bare feet and eyes filled with tears, had scooped up the bird, running down the street to the vet’s office, only two blocks away.

Hearing the news, my heart and stomach slid back into place. From my end, there was not much to say, except that I was sorry. I did not have to add the line of “I told you so,” as this was apparent, told to me through the heaving sobs.

I called the vet’s office. I am seeing dollar signs in front of my eyes now, of the pet hospital’s attempt to save the $15 bird. The receptionist was kind, saying they had never taken in a bird before. However, to see this slender boy, in his shorts and bare feet, crying through his big brown eyes, and asking if they could take care of his little sister’s bird, they were going to give it a try. A vet was tending to the tiny bird at that very moment.

After I returned home from work, the children and I went to check on Woody. We walked to a back room, where a makeshift oxygen mask was covering its small beak. It was resting on the floor of a cage meant for a small, four-legged animal, as it breathed in the oxygen. This would continue through the night and through most of the next day. The children were thrilled, literally jumping up and down, big smiles on their faces. I was happy for them, but I could not help but think of what that oxygen was costing me per hour.

The veterinarian called to say Woody was fine; it was time to pick him up. What excitement there was! As he presented the bird to my eight year old’s cupped hands, the doctor turned to me, smiled, and said, “There is no charge. To see your son’s care for his little sister and the happiness they now have is enough for me.” My expression of thanks was heartfelt. The bird was fine, the vet was pleased, the children were laughing and I was ready to dance a jig.

We did leave a box of chocolates for the vet soon after. We enjoyed Woody for many more years. None of us forgot that day, nor did the children ever let the bird out of the cage if I was not home!

NO MORE

In a former post, I mentioned the telling of a little white lie. Now, I would like to tell you a story of honesty. One Valentine season, my three children and I were in a store I would name “Knick Knacks,” as it was full of items according to the named celebration. As always, Knick Knacks was filled with prospective customers, enjoying the unusual displays of goodies. Suddenly, there was a sound of broken glass in the back of the room. Just as suddenly, a girl, wearing glasses, her light brown hear surrounding her rosy-cheeked face, appeared in front of the cashier. She asked her, in her childhood voice, “You know that little glass heart filled with candy hearts on the back shelf?” The clerk nodded, knowing which one it was. The girl continued, “It’s no more.”

I was impressed with this young lady. I have never seen a young person, much less an older one, come forward to say he or she had broken something. I admit, I was also impressed with her use of words to explain what had happened. It still makes me laugh, as it does others, when I have shared this story.

The clerk was very nice, thanking her for letting her know. She was not to worry about it, the clerk said, as she went off to clean up the shattered glass.

What a lesson for all of us that day. Because of her honesty, I am sure many more have come forward if something gets broken. I remember going up to a clerk after one of my children knocked a tiny four-dollar porcelain angel off the shelf. On her be-half, the store had clutter everywhere, on the floor and on the shelves, making it very hard to maneuver around. However, the point being, it was still a broken item. I went forward to tell the store’s owner to say what happened. He pulled out his sales pad and charged me, plus tax.

His actions have not stopped me from being honest, though. All I have to do is hear that sweet girl’s voice saying, “It’s no more.” I heard them the day when two of my children, who never argued or fought, decided to give one another a poke right in front of a display promoting a special liquor for the holiday season. We were on the way to the pharmacy, passing the liquor department right before it. Down went the boxed bottle with two drinking glasses, the sound of shattering glass resonating. I was furious. Why, I asked, did you decide to quit being best friends at that very moment? I marched over to the cashier, embarrassed, bringing out my wallet to pay for the mess. He was most kind, telling me to put my money away. My own children did not get away with it, though. It led to a lecture. They hated one of my lectures, leaving me with the feeling this would never happen again.

They continued being best friends, never fighting, never arguing, UNTIL the next year. The moment we passed the same display in the same spot, it was as if something pulled them into a whirling pool. They wordlessly turned around, at the same time, to give a poke. This time I was ready, blocking their hands, saying, “Don’t you DARE.” We made it by, the display staying intact. I did have to give a tiny lecture. It prevented any future incidents.

Though it has been 15 years since I witnessed the exchange between the tween and a clerk, her image will always remain with me. By now, she will likely be married and have a child or two of her own. They do not know what an effect their mother had on all of us that day, making the world a better place.

A LITTLE LIE

While privately working with a 10-year-old one day, we got on the subject of honesty. I mentioned how it is not good to lie, as it can only do harm. He responded by saying that at times, it actually is okay to tell a lie. Surprised, I asked him on what occasions this would be acceptable. He said, “When you don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.”

What a beautiful reply. I instantly thought of a dinner a family member has slaved over, so proud of what has been served. How sad it would be, if someone had said, “This dinner is the worst meal I ever ate!”

Many times, we have caught ourselves wanting to say one thing, but saying something else. We are aware of the feelings of another, not wanting to harm the emotions. It is a good question to ask oneself, “Do I cause more detriment by saying what I really think or do I prevent this by watching my choice of words?”

This does not mean we need to go overboard with what we say, to keep another feeling pleased about the mentioned endeavor. To say, “I am pleased with this beautiful dinner you have served,” may be the start of the makings of a great chef.

I know each of us can think of the teacher we had in school who had made a negative remark to someone in our classroom. Instead of making constructive criticism, it was downright critical, leaving it on the mind to this very day. It is so much better to look at the positive instead of the negative. When another asks how you like his or her new clothes, it would be so easy to say, “Ghastly!” To not hurt any feelings, it would be better to say you are glad they are wearing the latest fad or how great the color is. Maybe hard-earned money was saved to buy it. No, it is not something we would even think of wearing, but unless it would bring harm to the individual in front of you, just let it go.

“Let it go.” What a memorable sentence. Don’t hurt someone’s feelings. Let it go. In its place, use encouraging words, permitting those placed before us to nurture their own body, soul and spirit, wherever life takes them.

A YEAR AGO TODAY

My daughter and I just returned from visiting the roadside memorial site of four teens, losing their lives a year ago today, at the hands of a drunk driver. One of the teens was the best friend of my daughter. They had met in second grade, never imagining that nine years later, one of them would meet their fate.


I wrote about Alyssa a year ago, about her giggle, the camping trips my husband would take the two girls on every spring break, her creativeness and how smart she was. It has been a tough year for my child, not understanding how such precious lives could end in the way they did. Hundreds of teens have asked the same question. Somehow, all in our community had connection to one of the four. It may have been through pre-school, soccer, church, drama or in one of the elementary, mid, or high schools they attended. At times, it was a friend of a friend. Of course, there are also the many relatives, some living across the ocean from us. All are touched in ways that words cannot explain.

Several were to graduate from high school this year. At my daughter’s graduation, she wore her bright pink high top shoes, with Alyssa’s name written along the side, to honor her. Alyssa loved wearing her own pair of pink high tops. When my daughter found a pair just like her best friend’s, it made the two of them giggle with glee.

We arrived at the site while a steady, light, rain fell. There stood four wooden crosses, standing about 3 feet high, two feet across. Each has the name of one of the victims beautifully written on the crosspiece. Objects having a meaning to the particular teen surround them. There are religious items, candy, stuffed animals, jewelry, candles and endless flowers. A marker is there, for people to write messages on the crosses, each board being about 3 inches wide. Alyssa’s cross is a bright pink, while the others are in shades of blue, yellow and pink. Added today by my daughter was the Cookie Monster, the Sesame Street character Alyssa adored. It will remain in a plastic bag at the bottom of the cross, shielding it from whatever the weather may be.

After pulling a few weeds from the wet ground from all the crosses, we remained silent, reflecting upon our times with Alyssa, remembering her from childhood years to the young woman she had become. We wrapped our arms around one another’s waist, our eyes never leaving her marker. The rain continued to come down. It did not cease us from the cherished memories we carried.

Many more teens had been there before us today. Brightly colored fresh flowers were placed thoughtfully before all of the crosses. There were roses, sunflowers and so much more. As we were there, more teens arrived, all placing something in front of one or more of the memorials. A silent smile was shared through the rain with each newcomer, each then going back into his or her own world, treasuring special moments of the past. Cars zipped by on the highway behind us, but were non-fazing.

Standing there, I began to picture how many futures were lost that day. No one will get to see how he or she could have changed the world, with his or her knowledge, music or laughter. There will be no marriages, children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren that in turn could have changed the futures for many. One of them may have been the one to find the cure for a terminal disease or a solution to save our world from the deteriorating environment, war or the terrors we face today. What a useless loss. Alcohol won out that day, destroying not only those lives that day, but in all of those left behind. Nothing will ever be the same. We love you Alyssa, Rose, Julian and Kate

THE BUTTERFLY

Silently fluttering in

And out of the blossoms,

Bringing a cry of joy

By all whom see it.

Bright yellows, reds,

Oranges and blues,

Patterns of perfection

Upon both

Of its wings.

We can feel

God's powerful

Silence, sending

A message

Of His

Quiet and gentle presence.

This magnificent creature

Vanishes as

Quickly as it appears,

Taking flight,

To another

Field of

God's spiritual beauty.


Marie T. Morrison