Monday, January 18, 2010
Beautiful Day, Isn It?
The day started out rotten. She overslept and was late for work. Everything that happened at the office contributed to her nervous frenzy. By the time she reached the bus stop for her homeward trip, her stomach was one big knot. As usual, the bus was late – and jammed. She had to stand in the aisle. As the lurching vehicle pulled her in all directions, her gloom deepened. Then she heard a voice from up front boom, "Beautiful day, isn't it?" Because of the crowd, she could not see the man, but she heard him as he continued to comment on the spring scenery, calling attention to each approaching landmark. This church. That park. This cemetery. That firehouse. Soon all the passengers were gazing out the windows. The man's enthusiasm was so contagious she found herself smiling for the first time that day. They reached her stop. Maneuvering toward the door, she got a look at their "guide": an older gentleman with a beard, wearing dark glasses and carrying a thin, white cane.
A Good Heart to Lean on
When I was growing up, I was embarrassed to be seen with my father. He was severely crippled and very short, and when we would walk together, his hand on my arm for balance, people would stare. I would inwardly squirm at the unwanted attention. If he ever noticed or was bothered, he never let on.
It was difficult to coordinate our steps - his halting, mine impatient - and because of that, we didn't say much as we went along. But as we started out, he always said, "You set the pace. I will try to adjust to you. "
Our usual walk was to or from the subway, which was how he got to work. He went to work sick, and despite nasty weather. He almost never missed a day, and would make it to the office even if others could not. A matter of pride.
When snow or ice was on the ground, it was impossible for him to walk, even with help. At such times my sisters or I would pull him through the streets of Brooklyn, NY, on a child's sleigh to the subway entrance. Once there, he would cling to the handrail until he reached the lower steps that the warmer tunnel air kept ice-free. In Manhattan the subway station was the basement of his office building, and he would not have to go outside again until we met him in Brooklyn' on his way home.
When I think of it now, I marvel at how much courage it must have taken for a grown man to subject himself to such indignity and stress. And at how he did it - without bitterness or complaint .
He never talked about himself as an object of pity, nor did he show any envy of the more fortunate or able. What he looked for in others was a "good heart", and if he found one, the owner was good enough for him.
Now that I am older, I believe that is a proper standard by which to judge people, even though I still don' t know precisely what a "good heart" is. But I know the times I don't have one myself.
Unable to engage in many activities, my father still tried to participate in some way. When a local sandlot baseball team found itself without a manager, he kept it going. He was a knowledgeable baseball fan and often took me to Ebbets Field to see the Brooklyn Dodgers play. He liked to go to dances and parties, where he could have a good time just sitting and watching.
On one memorable occasion a fight broke out at a beach party, with everyone punching and shoving. He wasn't content to sit and watch, but he couldn't stand unaided on the soft sand. In frustration he began to shout, "I' ll fight anyone who will tit down with me!"
Nobody did. But the next day people kidded him by saying it was the first time any fighter was urged to take a dive even before the bout began.
I now know he participated in some things vicariously through me, his only son. When I played ball （poorly）, he "played" too. When I joined the Navy he "joined" too. And when I came home on leave, he saw to it that " I visited his office. Introducing me, he was really saying, "This is my son, but it is also me, and I could have done this, too, if things had been different." Those words were never said aloud.
He has been gone many years now, but I think of him often. I wonder if he sensed my reluctance to be seen with him during our walks. If he did, I am sorry I never told him how sorry I was, how unworthy I was, how I regretted it. I think of him when I complain about trifles, when I am envious of another's good fortune, when I don't have a "good heart".
At such times I put my hand on his arm to regain my balance, and say, "You set the pace, I will try to adjust to you."
It was difficult to coordinate our steps - his halting, mine impatient - and because of that, we didn't say much as we went along. But as we started out, he always said, "You set the pace. I will try to adjust to you. "
Our usual walk was to or from the subway, which was how he got to work. He went to work sick, and despite nasty weather. He almost never missed a day, and would make it to the office even if others could not. A matter of pride.
When snow or ice was on the ground, it was impossible for him to walk, even with help. At such times my sisters or I would pull him through the streets of Brooklyn, NY, on a child's sleigh to the subway entrance. Once there, he would cling to the handrail until he reached the lower steps that the warmer tunnel air kept ice-free. In Manhattan the subway station was the basement of his office building, and he would not have to go outside again until we met him in Brooklyn' on his way home.
When I think of it now, I marvel at how much courage it must have taken for a grown man to subject himself to such indignity and stress. And at how he did it - without bitterness or complaint .
He never talked about himself as an object of pity, nor did he show any envy of the more fortunate or able. What he looked for in others was a "good heart", and if he found one, the owner was good enough for him.
Now that I am older, I believe that is a proper standard by which to judge people, even though I still don' t know precisely what a "good heart" is. But I know the times I don't have one myself.
Unable to engage in many activities, my father still tried to participate in some way. When a local sandlot baseball team found itself without a manager, he kept it going. He was a knowledgeable baseball fan and often took me to Ebbets Field to see the Brooklyn Dodgers play. He liked to go to dances and parties, where he could have a good time just sitting and watching.
On one memorable occasion a fight broke out at a beach party, with everyone punching and shoving. He wasn't content to sit and watch, but he couldn't stand unaided on the soft sand. In frustration he began to shout, "I' ll fight anyone who will tit down with me!"
Nobody did. But the next day people kidded him by saying it was the first time any fighter was urged to take a dive even before the bout began.
I now know he participated in some things vicariously through me, his only son. When I played ball （poorly）, he "played" too. When I joined the Navy he "joined" too. And when I came home on leave, he saw to it that " I visited his office. Introducing me, he was really saying, "This is my son, but it is also me, and I could have done this, too, if things had been different." Those words were never said aloud.
He has been gone many years now, but I think of him often. I wonder if he sensed my reluctance to be seen with him during our walks. If he did, I am sorry I never told him how sorry I was, how unworthy I was, how I regretted it. I think of him when I complain about trifles, when I am envious of another's good fortune, when I don't have a "good heart".
At such times I put my hand on his arm to regain my balance, and say, "You set the pace, I will try to adjust to you."
Love Is Just a Thread
Sometimes I really doubt whether there is love between my parents. Every day they are very busy trying to earn money in order to pay the high tuition for my brother and me. They don't act in the romantic ways that I read in books or I see on TV. In their opinion, "I love you" is too luxurious for them to say. Sending flowers to each other on Valentine's Day is even more out of the question. Finally my father has a bad temper. When he's very tired from the hard work, it is easy for him to lose his temper.
One day, my mother was sewing a quilt. I silently sat down beside her and looked at her.
"Mom,I have a question to ask you," I said after a while.
"What?" she replied, still doing her work.
"Is there love between you and Dad?" I asked her in a very low voice.
My mother stopped her work and raised her head with surprise in her eyes. She didn't answer immediately. Then she bowed her head and continued to sew the quilt.
I was very worried because I thought I had hurt her. I was in a great embarrassment and I didn't know what I should do. But at last I heard my mother say the following words:
"Susan," she said thoughtfully, "Look at this thread. Sometimes it appears, but most of it disappears in the quilt. The thread really makes the quilt strong and durable. If life is a quilt, then love should be a thread. It can hardly be seen anywhere or anytime, but it's really there. Love is inside."
I listened carefully but I couldn't understand her until the next spring. At that time, my father suddenly got sick seriously. My mother had to stay with him in the hospital for a month. When they returned from the hospital, they both looked very pale. It seemed both of them had had a serious illness.
After they were back, every day in the morning and dusk, my mother helped my father walk slowly on the country road. My father had never been so gentle. It seemed they were the most harmonious couple. Along the country road, there were many beautiful flowers, green grass and trees. The sun gently glistened through the leaves. All of these made up the most beautiful picture in the world.
The doctor had said my father would recover in two months. But after two months he still couldn't walk by himself. All of us were worried about him.
"Dad, how are you feeling now?" I asked him one day.
"Susan, don't worry about me." he said gently. "To tell you the truth, I just like walking with your mom. I like this kind of life." Reading his eyes, I know he loves my mother deeply.
Once I thought love meant flowers, gifts and sweet kisses. But from this experience, I understand that love is just a thread in the quilt of our life. Love is inside, making life strong and warm……
One day, my mother was sewing a quilt. I silently sat down beside her and looked at her.
"Mom,I have a question to ask you," I said after a while.
"What?" she replied, still doing her work.
"Is there love between you and Dad?" I asked her in a very low voice.
My mother stopped her work and raised her head with surprise in her eyes. She didn't answer immediately. Then she bowed her head and continued to sew the quilt.
I was very worried because I thought I had hurt her. I was in a great embarrassment and I didn't know what I should do. But at last I heard my mother say the following words:
"Susan," she said thoughtfully, "Look at this thread. Sometimes it appears, but most of it disappears in the quilt. The thread really makes the quilt strong and durable. If life is a quilt, then love should be a thread. It can hardly be seen anywhere or anytime, but it's really there. Love is inside."
I listened carefully but I couldn't understand her until the next spring. At that time, my father suddenly got sick seriously. My mother had to stay with him in the hospital for a month. When they returned from the hospital, they both looked very pale. It seemed both of them had had a serious illness.
After they were back, every day in the morning and dusk, my mother helped my father walk slowly on the country road. My father had never been so gentle. It seemed they were the most harmonious couple. Along the country road, there were many beautiful flowers, green grass and trees. The sun gently glistened through the leaves. All of these made up the most beautiful picture in the world.
The doctor had said my father would recover in two months. But after two months he still couldn't walk by himself. All of us were worried about him.
"Dad, how are you feeling now?" I asked him one day.
"Susan, don't worry about me." he said gently. "To tell you the truth, I just like walking with your mom. I like this kind of life." Reading his eyes, I know he loves my mother deeply.
Once I thought love meant flowers, gifts and sweet kisses. But from this experience, I understand that love is just a thread in the quilt of our life. Love is inside, making life strong and warm……
To See You
Many say their most painful moments are saying good-bye to those they love. After watching Cheryl, my daughter-in-law, through the six long months her mother suffered towards death, I think the most painful moments can be in the waiting to say good-bye. Cheryl made the two-hour trip over and over to be with her mother. They spent the long afternoons praying, soothing, comforting, and retelling their shared memories.
As her mother's pain intensified and more medication was needed to ease her into sedation, Cheryl sat for hours of silent vigil by her mother's bed.
Each time she kissed her mother before leaving, her mother would tear up and say, "I'm sorry you drove so far and sat for so long and I didn't even wake up to talk with you."
Cheryl would tell her not to worry, it didn't matter, still her mother felt she had let her down and apologized at each good-bye until the day Cheryl found a way to give her mother the same reassurance her mother had given to her so many times.
"Mom, do you remember when I made the high school basketball team?" Cheryl's mother nodded. "You'd drive so far and sit for so long and I never even left the bench to play. You waited for me after every game and each time I felt bad and apologized to you for wasting your time." Cheryl gently took her mother's hand.
"Do you remember what you would say to me?"
"I would say I didn't come to see you play, I came to see you."
"And you meant those words, didn't you."
"Yes, I really did."
"Well, now I say the same words to you. I didn't come to see you talk, I came to see you."
Her mother understood and smiled as she floated back into sleep.
Their afternoons together passed quietly into days, weeks, and months. Their love filled the spaces between their words. To the last day they ministered to each other in the stillness, love given and received just by seeing each other.
A love so strong that, even in this deepened silence that followed their last good-bye, Cheryl can still hear her mother's love.
As her mother's pain intensified and more medication was needed to ease her into sedation, Cheryl sat for hours of silent vigil by her mother's bed.
Each time she kissed her mother before leaving, her mother would tear up and say, "I'm sorry you drove so far and sat for so long and I didn't even wake up to talk with you."
Cheryl would tell her not to worry, it didn't matter, still her mother felt she had let her down and apologized at each good-bye until the day Cheryl found a way to give her mother the same reassurance her mother had given to her so many times.
"Mom, do you remember when I made the high school basketball team?" Cheryl's mother nodded. "You'd drive so far and sit for so long and I never even left the bench to play. You waited for me after every game and each time I felt bad and apologized to you for wasting your time." Cheryl gently took her mother's hand.
"Do you remember what you would say to me?"
"I would say I didn't come to see you play, I came to see you."
"And you meant those words, didn't you."
"Yes, I really did."
"Well, now I say the same words to you. I didn't come to see you talk, I came to see you."
Her mother understood and smiled as she floated back into sleep.
Their afternoons together passed quietly into days, weeks, and months. Their love filled the spaces between their words. To the last day they ministered to each other in the stillness, love given and received just by seeing each other.
A love so strong that, even in this deepened silence that followed their last good-bye, Cheryl can still hear her mother's love.
His Gracious Guidance
He touched me from Heaven above and filled me with His tender Love, For Christ said we were to be wise as serpent, but harmless as dove.
He moved on me from the start to learn to love Him with all my heart, As this gracious change in my heart was indeed the message to impart.
He made my troubled anguish cease and filled me with a gentle peace, Around this world it will not be, yet in my heart it shall increase.
He helped me in due time to see what it was that He wanted me to be, Which was someone to share with the world his or her Eternal needs.
He helped me deal with each daily nuisance with a God given patience, As evidence to all around me that Christ makes a profound difference.
He helps me each and every day with all the words I needed to say, For He just might bring one in need of The Word across my path today.
He taught me how to deal with abruptness with a true loving-kindness, For people, like I once did, are dealing with a Spiritual blindness.
He helped me through The Spirit to walk all of the words that I talk, For it's hypocrisy inside The Church that makes people outside balk.
He changed my tendency to be coy, by filling me with His Eternal Joy.Not an emotion for a time to enjoy but something no one can destroy.
He filled me with a Holy Fear to understand that His return was near, As a Christian my duty is clear, you must be ready, when He appears.
He moved on me from the start to learn to love Him with all my heart, As this gracious change in my heart was indeed the message to impart.
He made my troubled anguish cease and filled me with a gentle peace, Around this world it will not be, yet in my heart it shall increase.
He helped me in due time to see what it was that He wanted me to be, Which was someone to share with the world his or her Eternal needs.
He helped me deal with each daily nuisance with a God given patience, As evidence to all around me that Christ makes a profound difference.
He helps me each and every day with all the words I needed to say, For He just might bring one in need of The Word across my path today.
He taught me how to deal with abruptness with a true loving-kindness, For people, like I once did, are dealing with a Spiritual blindness.
He helped me through The Spirit to walk all of the words that I talk, For it's hypocrisy inside The Church that makes people outside balk.
He changed my tendency to be coy, by filling me with His Eternal Joy.Not an emotion for a time to enjoy but something no one can destroy.
He filled me with a Holy Fear to understand that His return was near, As a Christian my duty is clear, you must be ready, when He appears.
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