"You have not lived a perfect day, even though you have earned your money, unless you have done something for someone who will never be able to repay you." Ruth Smeltzer
The topic was the panhandler near our office. One person said anything you give them just goes for alcohol and drugs. Another told of scams run by people who make more money begging than they would at a job. Our office manager said she never gave them any money, because they should be working. When someone suggested that the particular panhandler in question might be disabled and unable to work, our boss laughed scornfully and replied, "Well, that's what I pay taxes for." I thought of piping up with, "Are there no poorhouses?" To give proper credit to Charles Dickens, the exact words of that famous miser Ebenezer Scrooge were, "Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?" Like my boss, Mr. Scrooge didn't think the less fortunate were his problem either.
It's important to be mindful of how you spend your money, and I think thrift is a commendable trait. However, there is a fine line between being frugal and being stingy. What is the miser afraid of anyway? Is there any amount of money that will make her feel prosperous enough, secure enough, blessed enough to open her pocketbook and her heart to the world? For you see, the stingy person isn't just stingy with her money. She tends to be stingy with her time, her talents, her praise, her heart. She lives in a world of her own making, the gray, cold world of Never Enough. Like Scrooge, she sits hunched over her coins, counting them, guarding them fearfully.
My boss didn't hurt the panhandler when she didn't help him out. There are plenty of generous people in the world, people who know they are blessed and want to bless others. The person she hurt most was herself, when she cheated herself out of the joy of giving, the joy of living life with open hands and an open heart.
Susan
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
The Silent Killer
"A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song." Maya Angelou
Our neighbor told us children that a foster daughter would be coming to live with her. She told us that the little girl did not talk. She knew how to speak, but something very bad had happened and she stopped talking. Our neighbor asked us to please include the girl in our play, but not to ever ask her what happened. We complied, and the little girl started talking again, and after a while, she was chatting just like the rest of us. I don't know what had caused her to lose her voice. I never asked, and it's none of my business. I do hope that at some point she told her story. I hope she found her voice.
Just last week I heard a woman say she had been homeless for a while when she was a child, then she was in the foster system. She quickly added that she was a private person and she didn't like to talk about it. I understand. It's none of my business. But I hope at some point she tells her story. I hope she finds her voice.
I've heard it said that silence is golden, but silent shame is a killer. Why do we as children and young people feel such shame when it isn't our fault? Why do we protect those who hurt us with our silence? Why do we keep their dirty secrets? Why do we allow our voices to be silenced?
It hurt so much the first time, will talking about it mean reliving it all over again? What will we see in the face of the listener? Disbelief, disdain, disgust? Will people still love us if we tell them who we really are?
I hope that you, my reader, have never experienced the kind of hurt that causes the silent shame. I hope for a world where no child or young person ever has to feel that. But if you know all too well what I'm talking about, then I have two questions for you. Have you ever told your story? Have you ever found your voice?
Susan
Our neighbor told us children that a foster daughter would be coming to live with her. She told us that the little girl did not talk. She knew how to speak, but something very bad had happened and she stopped talking. Our neighbor asked us to please include the girl in our play, but not to ever ask her what happened. We complied, and the little girl started talking again, and after a while, she was chatting just like the rest of us. I don't know what had caused her to lose her voice. I never asked, and it's none of my business. I do hope that at some point she told her story. I hope she found her voice.
Just last week I heard a woman say she had been homeless for a while when she was a child, then she was in the foster system. She quickly added that she was a private person and she didn't like to talk about it. I understand. It's none of my business. But I hope at some point she tells her story. I hope she finds her voice.
I've heard it said that silence is golden, but silent shame is a killer. Why do we as children and young people feel such shame when it isn't our fault? Why do we protect those who hurt us with our silence? Why do we keep their dirty secrets? Why do we allow our voices to be silenced?
It hurt so much the first time, will talking about it mean reliving it all over again? What will we see in the face of the listener? Disbelief, disdain, disgust? Will people still love us if we tell them who we really are?
I hope that you, my reader, have never experienced the kind of hurt that causes the silent shame. I hope for a world where no child or young person ever has to feel that. But if you know all too well what I'm talking about, then I have two questions for you. Have you ever told your story? Have you ever found your voice?
Susan
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Why Me?
"There is nothing more exhiliarating than to be shot at without result." Winston Churchill
A dismal diagnosis at the doctor's office, the pink slip at work, a break-up, can all cause a cry to go out to the universe, "Why meeeeeeeee?" How can it be that we see misery and unfortunate circumstances all around us, yet we somehow expect to be exempt? We may engage in magical thinking, that if we are good people, follow all the rules, attend church every Sunday, we can escape the common miseries of life. We are surprised and not a little indignant as we ask, "Why me?"
Hospitals are filled with sick people. Why NOT me? Unemployment in this economy has hit record numbers. Why not me? Lovers go their separate ways all the time. Why not me? Bad stuff is a normal part of life. It comes and it goes. We can save ourselves a lot of pain if we accept that fact. Then take the energy that goes into bemoaning our sad fate into finding creative ways to solve the problem, or at least cope with it in a healthy way.
Have you ever thought about all the bad stuff that never happened to you? The first time this idea hit me was one winter evening many years ago when I was working late. I rarely worked overtime, but this night I stayed an extra thirty minutes to finish something important. It was freezing, snow was falling, the parking lot was icy and the roads were not in great shape. I carefully pulled out onto the road that would lead me home, and soon saw the bright lights of emergency vehicles ahead. All the lanes were blocked. It looked like a serious accident. I turned around and took another route to get safely home, and learned from the news later that it was indeed a very bad situation, with some seriously injured and one fatality. Who knows, but if I would have left work at my usual time, that might have been me. While I felt very sad for those involved, there was a certain sense of relief and gratitude for the bullet I dodged.
Susan
A dismal diagnosis at the doctor's office, the pink slip at work, a break-up, can all cause a cry to go out to the universe, "Why meeeeeeeee?" How can it be that we see misery and unfortunate circumstances all around us, yet we somehow expect to be exempt? We may engage in magical thinking, that if we are good people, follow all the rules, attend church every Sunday, we can escape the common miseries of life. We are surprised and not a little indignant as we ask, "Why me?"
Hospitals are filled with sick people. Why NOT me? Unemployment in this economy has hit record numbers. Why not me? Lovers go their separate ways all the time. Why not me? Bad stuff is a normal part of life. It comes and it goes. We can save ourselves a lot of pain if we accept that fact. Then take the energy that goes into bemoaning our sad fate into finding creative ways to solve the problem, or at least cope with it in a healthy way.
Have you ever thought about all the bad stuff that never happened to you? The first time this idea hit me was one winter evening many years ago when I was working late. I rarely worked overtime, but this night I stayed an extra thirty minutes to finish something important. It was freezing, snow was falling, the parking lot was icy and the roads were not in great shape. I carefully pulled out onto the road that would lead me home, and soon saw the bright lights of emergency vehicles ahead. All the lanes were blocked. It looked like a serious accident. I turned around and took another route to get safely home, and learned from the news later that it was indeed a very bad situation, with some seriously injured and one fatality. Who knows, but if I would have left work at my usual time, that might have been me. While I felt very sad for those involved, there was a certain sense of relief and gratitude for the bullet I dodged.
Susan
Dumb Blondes
"I like intelligent women. When you go out, it shouldn't be a staring contest." Frank Sinatra
Blondes. The hair color commercial told us they have more fun. Leo Robin and Jule Styne wrote a song telling us that gentlemen prefer them. Recently one of them mailed me something, but just around the time I was wondering where it was, she texted me that it had come back to her. She had written my name and street address on the envelope, but the postal service likes to know the city, state and zip as well. She texted "sorry but I'm a blonde." I laughed because she is whip smart and about as far away from the stereotype as one could get.
The dumb blondes come across as all ditzy and flustered and adorably clueless, and they get what they want that way. Maybe some do it consciously, but if it began in childhood, chances are it happens without them even realizing.
Perhaps they learned as kids that boys don't like smart girls, or at least they don't like girls smarter than them. While I guess there might be a handful of men who prefer their blondes dumb, it's kind of insulting to guys to play down your smarts around them. Bright and beautiful are not mutually exclusive, and a real man is not at all intimidated by an intelligent woman.
Have we forgotten that our daughters and granddaughters are observing us, as they try to figure out what it means to be a woman? Some of us need to grow up. We are more than old enough to know better, to drop the persona and let the person we really are shine through.
Susan
Blondes. The hair color commercial told us they have more fun. Leo Robin and Jule Styne wrote a song telling us that gentlemen prefer them. Recently one of them mailed me something, but just around the time I was wondering where it was, she texted me that it had come back to her. She had written my name and street address on the envelope, but the postal service likes to know the city, state and zip as well. She texted "sorry but I'm a blonde." I laughed because she is whip smart and about as far away from the stereotype as one could get.
The dumb blondes come across as all ditzy and flustered and adorably clueless, and they get what they want that way. Maybe some do it consciously, but if it began in childhood, chances are it happens without them even realizing.
Perhaps they learned as kids that boys don't like smart girls, or at least they don't like girls smarter than them. While I guess there might be a handful of men who prefer their blondes dumb, it's kind of insulting to guys to play down your smarts around them. Bright and beautiful are not mutually exclusive, and a real man is not at all intimidated by an intelligent woman.
Have we forgotten that our daughters and granddaughters are observing us, as they try to figure out what it means to be a woman? Some of us need to grow up. We are more than old enough to know better, to drop the persona and let the person we really are shine through.
Susan
Monday, May 16, 2011
In the Sweet By and By
"The world you desire can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible, it is yours." Ayn Rand
This hymn by S. Fillmore Bennett and Joseph P. Webster describes the comfort of a sweet after life, a place where we are reunited with loved ones.
Do you know the story of Lazarus? He and his two sisters, Mary and Martha, were close friends of Jesus. He had often been a guest in their home. When he received word that Lazarus was very ill, Jesus did not rush to him immediately. He waited two days and in that time, Lazarus passed away.
Martha heard that Jesus was finally on his way to their home, and while her sister stayed inside, Martha ran down the road to meet him. The first words out of her mouth were, "If you were here, my brother would not have died." Was she angry, hurt, disappointed? I don't know, but I can guess. Then she added, "But even now, I know that God will give you whatever you want."
Jesus told her that her brother would rise again, and Martha, who was a woman of faith, replied that she knew he would, on the last day. In the sweet by and by, if you will. Jesus said, "I am the resurrection and the life." Then he walked right into the house and raised Lazarus from the dead. Literally, really and truly. Right then and there.
Could it be the life we want is already ours? Could it be that we are so focused on hoping for it to happen sometime in the future that we fail to see we already possess it?
Susan
This hymn by S. Fillmore Bennett and Joseph P. Webster describes the comfort of a sweet after life, a place where we are reunited with loved ones.
Do you know the story of Lazarus? He and his two sisters, Mary and Martha, were close friends of Jesus. He had often been a guest in their home. When he received word that Lazarus was very ill, Jesus did not rush to him immediately. He waited two days and in that time, Lazarus passed away.
Martha heard that Jesus was finally on his way to their home, and while her sister stayed inside, Martha ran down the road to meet him. The first words out of her mouth were, "If you were here, my brother would not have died." Was she angry, hurt, disappointed? I don't know, but I can guess. Then she added, "But even now, I know that God will give you whatever you want."
Jesus told her that her brother would rise again, and Martha, who was a woman of faith, replied that she knew he would, on the last day. In the sweet by and by, if you will. Jesus said, "I am the resurrection and the life." Then he walked right into the house and raised Lazarus from the dead. Literally, really and truly. Right then and there.
Could it be the life we want is already ours? Could it be that we are so focused on hoping for it to happen sometime in the future that we fail to see we already possess it?
Susan
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Play, Rewind, Erase, Record. Repeat as Needed
"Shame is a lie someone told you about yourself." Anaïs Nin
On my smart phone, I have a voice recorder. It's the modern version of the old tape recorder I used to love to play with when I was a child. It was fun to record others speaking, especially when they were unaware the tape recorder was on. Not that I would do that today. Please don't even worry about that.
Inside my head, there is a tape recorder. My parents and other powerful people in my life (like teachers) made recordings long before I had the cognitive ability to discern a lie from a truth. So for a while I had to take what was on the tape at face value. I hit the play button, and the tape went on and on in an endless loop of everything that was wrong about me. There was some truth on the tape, but mostly lies. Even the most well-intentioned adult can tell a lie.
Have you played with the tape recorder that's inside your head lately? Push play and your tape will start. As soon as you hear a lie, hit rewind, then erase, then record. Now speak a truth about yourself, recording right over that old lie. At first you might not immediately realize a lie when you hear it. But if what you hear makes you feel bad or sad or ashamed, chances are good it's a lie. You could also check it out with a truthful person whom you love and trust. Play, rewind, erase, record. It's easy and fun and in no time at all you'll be really good at it.
Susan
On my smart phone, I have a voice recorder. It's the modern version of the old tape recorder I used to love to play with when I was a child. It was fun to record others speaking, especially when they were unaware the tape recorder was on. Not that I would do that today. Please don't even worry about that.
Inside my head, there is a tape recorder. My parents and other powerful people in my life (like teachers) made recordings long before I had the cognitive ability to discern a lie from a truth. So for a while I had to take what was on the tape at face value. I hit the play button, and the tape went on and on in an endless loop of everything that was wrong about me. There was some truth on the tape, but mostly lies. Even the most well-intentioned adult can tell a lie.
Have you played with the tape recorder that's inside your head lately? Push play and your tape will start. As soon as you hear a lie, hit rewind, then erase, then record. Now speak a truth about yourself, recording right over that old lie. At first you might not immediately realize a lie when you hear it. But if what you hear makes you feel bad or sad or ashamed, chances are good it's a lie. You could also check it out with a truthful person whom you love and trust. Play, rewind, erase, record. It's easy and fun and in no time at all you'll be really good at it.
Susan
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
The Exception to the Rule
"How glorious it is, and also how painful, to be an exception." Alfred de Musset
She posted her eighth grade school picture on Facebook. It was adorable in a funny way. Her hair is somewhere between curly and frizzy, her bangs are larger than life, and her eyebrows are...well, formidable I guess is the best word to describe them. It was 1987, and what looks so odd now was cutting-edge back then. Do you remember those days in your own life? Early adolescence is where the peer group becomes of utmost importance. Fitting in, having the right clothes and the right hairstyle, is crucial. And that is all very normal, a part of growing up and figuring out who you really are. Being different can be very painful at that age.
However, as we grow and mature and become more comfortable in our own skin, we adults should develop an individuality about us. Notice I use the word "should" because I think we all know adults who are still following the crowd, who are afraid to just be who they are.
The people who truly make a difference in this world are the exceptional people. To be exceptional, is by definition, to be an exception. These folks are not afraid to go against the tide of popular opinion. They think for themselves. They are individuals. They are sometimes misunderstood, and they lose some friends along the way. It can be painful to be different, not just at 13 but at 33 or 63. It's easier to take the path of least resistance, to go along to get along, but at what cost? Live to please and appease others, and you give away precious pieces of yourself until there's nothing left.
Susan
She posted her eighth grade school picture on Facebook. It was adorable in a funny way. Her hair is somewhere between curly and frizzy, her bangs are larger than life, and her eyebrows are...well, formidable I guess is the best word to describe them. It was 1987, and what looks so odd now was cutting-edge back then. Do you remember those days in your own life? Early adolescence is where the peer group becomes of utmost importance. Fitting in, having the right clothes and the right hairstyle, is crucial. And that is all very normal, a part of growing up and figuring out who you really are. Being different can be very painful at that age.
However, as we grow and mature and become more comfortable in our own skin, we adults should develop an individuality about us. Notice I use the word "should" because I think we all know adults who are still following the crowd, who are afraid to just be who they are.
The people who truly make a difference in this world are the exceptional people. To be exceptional, is by definition, to be an exception. These folks are not afraid to go against the tide of popular opinion. They think for themselves. They are individuals. They are sometimes misunderstood, and they lose some friends along the way. It can be painful to be different, not just at 13 but at 33 or 63. It's easier to take the path of least resistance, to go along to get along, but at what cost? Live to please and appease others, and you give away precious pieces of yourself until there's nothing left.
Susan
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