Seize the (Ordinary) Days

 

“Carpe Diem”, “Today is the first day of the rest of your life!”, “Make the most of every day!”, “This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”

I recently lost a friend. She was one of those people who was (almost) always positive. No matter what was going in in her life, she did her best to put a good spin on it, and keep a smile on her face. Being a natural cynic, I could have seen this as disingenuous, but as I got to know her, I realized that she was nothing if not genuine.

She was the type of person who would take these aphorisms to heart, whereas I am the kind of person who struggles with them…finding them easy to say and to repeat, but much more difficult to follow.

Of course, there are some days when it is easy to find reasons to rejoice…

For example, not too long ago, my girlfriend and I spent a few days at the shore. While there, we had a great time! We spent time in the town checking out shops, that evening we watched a thunderstorm rolling over the beach from the roof of the B & B, and then walking the boardwalk in the sunshine the next day.

On days like that it’s easy to find reasons to rejoice and be glad! When I was at the beach, I wanted to seize the day and hold onto it as tightly as I could. In the same way, the worst days can also inspire us to hope, turning us to our Higher Power and to each other for support in the midst of tragedy and loss. But what about the regular days? The days ground out at a job that is uninspiring, filled complaints, deadlines and stress, not to mention long commutes and having to deal with shopping and other chores once work is through?

How do we motivate ourselves to make the most of those days when we keep watching the clock and wishing it would speed up as we trudge towards quitting time? When we don’t feeling like savoring every moment and instead, want the time to go quickly?

I think this is a valid question: How to rejoice and be glad when faced with the monotony of ordinary days? It may be a good question, but there are no easy answers.

But then, when are there ever easy answers in life?

I don’t have any answers myself…if I did, perhaps I’d be rich enough so that my days wouldn’t be quite so ordinary; however, what I do have are suggestions!

You can take them for what they are worth (remember I have two degrees and still work in a call-center, so any suggestions can be taken with a large grain of salt).

We can start by simply, by being grateful for breathing. It seems like nothing, but just being able to breathe is pretty important to setting the tone for the day…even if those breaths are not always easy, it is a gift to simply be alive to enjoy an ‘ordinary’ day.

If we can practice the joy of living on a daily basis, despite any challenges we may face during that day, we are ahead of the game!

During the midst of our busy day, we can stop and look at the sky, even if it’s raining or snowing. While it helps to get outside, this is not always possible, so just making that connection with nature, even if it is through glass, can make a big difference in our attitude.

In regard to work, even if it is not the job we want, or even like, we can be grateful for it. No matter how insufficient, having a steady paycheck and benefits are crucial. At least we are being paid, and not wondering where our next dime will be coming from (not an exaggeration, I have been there). This is something many do not have to count on. This means that your shitty job could be one that some people would feel lucky to have.

That said, we can also make the most of the day by doing something nice for others. We can help those who are struggling with the challenges of life, by simply offering them kindness and friendship. We can make our day better by showing compassion to those who may not feel as if they have many reasons to rejoice.

We can also remember the great gift of having other people in our lives…even those we do not like very much. Every person we come into contact with can teach us something, and therefore, enrich our lives. It is even more important to have people we share a deeper connection with, like family, friends, and/or a ‘significant other’. These are the people who can give us support and show us care when life can get a bit overwhelming.

It is these relationships that add value and meaning to our lives.

For those of us who are able to get up, and get to work or school, or just plain out and about, we can be grateful for our health, even if it is less than perfect. Any day we can get up and get active has the potential of being a good day…

No matter what else is going on in our lives, it is great to be able to be present for them, and to be able to ask for help.

Clearly, not every day is over-flowing with perfection, and there are many when the joy of living seems far away, we can do what my friend often did: ‘flip the switch’ and seek out the positive in the midst of the difficult…or ordinary.

This can enable us to grasp at whatever sparks of happiness that can light up the darkness, no matter how fleeting these sparks may be.

Each day gives us an opportunity to celebrate that joy of living, knowing that no matter what we are facing we are not alone, because we have a power greater than ourselves walking with us. That power may be a deity, it may be nature, science, the universe, or simply the power of compassion shared among those we care for. The point is that having faith can allow us to face the darkest…or even the most ordinary of days and still be able to see the light of hope shining brightly.

This light reminds us that this IS the day the Lord has made for us to rejoice and be glad in; and this is especially important when reasons to rejoice are not self-evident. Like with the friend that recently passed.

Although she not only sought out reasons for rejoicing during her struggle with cancer, long before she was diagnosed, my friend always sought out the positive in any situation…no matter how dark the day, she would always be able to find a spark of happiness, a reason for rejoicing, which gave her a smile that that would light up any room.

She shared this light with all of the people who knew her, and this light will stay with us…

Even on the most ordinary of days.

Milo’s Dad

 

I remember how the old train car rattled and creaked.

It still had the old wicker seats, the ones where the backs moved so you could change the direction you sat, either facing the front or the back on the train. It also had the globe lights and faded brass fittings. Fortunately, the windows also opened, which was our only source of ‘air conditioning’ as the fans mounted along the ceiling were ineffective.

Milo’s dad took this train every day during his commute to his Publishing job in New York City (almost the same commute as I would be taking about 15 years later), and he explained that this was one of the old Eerie Lackawanna train cars, untouched since the 1920’s (fifty years in the past); I was impressed, but I think he was being sarcastic. We were on our way to Hoboken, where we would visit the famous (though I did not know it then) Clam Broth House, where we would feast on steamed clams!

I was disappointed that there were not fried, until I got a good taste of the fare.

I am not sure if we made it into Manhattan that day…though I do not think so, as the point was to make it to Hoboken, where Milo’s dad had some errands to run, and to visit the restaurant.

“Milo” was one of my best friends.

I had known him so long that I do not even remember when we met, although we knew each other from church, where our parents had become friends. Milo and I would hang out a lot together, both at church and when we could get rides to each other’s houses. He lived in West Orange; I was in East Orange. Although he lived in a nicer neighborhood, he had smaller house. I remember the he shared a room with his sister, there was small partition between the rooms, closed off by a curtain, but she had to walk through his room to get to the hall, bathroom and stairs. This was annoying for them both, but irrelevant in terms of this story, except that it did lead to some Barbie and GI Joe interaction from time to time (always platonic) when I was over there playing.

I also remember that Milo had a great comic book collection, and could skateboard better than me (not really difficult to do).

During the winter, we would sometimes go to the sledding hill at South Mountain, until it was closed for safety (at the bottom of the hill was a busy street, and there were no fences, which led to some unfortunate results), during the summers we’d sometimes go to the YMCA, Vacation Bible School, or just explore the neighborhood with the other kids.

But mostly, we saw each other at church. In fact it was after the service one day, during the Social Hour, that Milo and I were wrestling, when he pushed me, causing me to crack head on a step…leading to yet another trip to the ER and another cool scar!

This did not hurt our friendship at all, as I never thought to blame him, it was only an accident, just like when I broke my toe while playing Batman and The Joker with another friend.

However, our friendship did end a short time later, very suddenly during a summer vacation trip.

Because my father was a College Professor, we would often take long summer vacation trips to see friends and family of to go camping. As this was before the internet or smartphones, when on these trips, we were out of the loop in regard to news from home.

Therefore, every few days my mother would call home and talk to one of my older brothers to check on the house, dogs, etc. It was during one of these calls that she found out that Milo’s dad ‘came-out’ to his mom, which was not well received after 20 years of marriage, and she abruptly took the kids and moved home to Iowa.

I never knew my parents to engage in gossip, but this was pretty big news…especially for the mid-seventies, and being friends, my parents were worried about the impact on the whole family.

I was shocked when I heard the news, and found it hard to understand what had actually happened. Remember, I was a kid and I really did not k now a lot about what it meant to be Gay back then…only what I saw on TV and heard from my friends.

With this as a reference, I thought that this was terrible news, and felt so sad for Milo, his sister and their mother…and I was sad that I had lost a friend.

By the time we got home from vacation, the rumor-mill was in overdrive, and it was not kind to Milo’s dad as no one was feeling a whole lot of sympathy for him. The focus was on the rest of the family, and he was seen as being selfish and cruel to have been ‘living a lie’ for so long.

As if he had a choice.

Despite all the talk, and the occasional dirty look, Milo’s dad continued to come to church, but was kept at arm’s length by most of the kids who had known him through Milo and his sister. Although it was never said out loud, and there was never any reason for it, there was the vague perception he might be a threat to us…especially the boys.

While this was very ignorant of us, we were kids, the sad thing is that it was not just kids who felt this way.

It was not that we meant to be mean, we just missed our friend, and we didn’t get it…we did not understand.

A few years after the break-up and divorce, Milo and his sister came back for a visit. Unfortunately, I did not get to spend much time with my friends. I only saw them once after church, and due to the circumstances and gossip, it was awkward – no one knew what to say and it was as if they were strangers. Within the week they were back on their way to Iowa, and I never saw them again.

As far as I remember, my parents did not buy into all this talk. They continued to show friendship and support to Milo’s dad and offered their support. Any time they caught me repeating gossip or expressing any other Homophobia, I would be chastised and told to learn more about the subject, instead of listening to rumors.

I would like to say I listened…but learning would take some time.

It wasn’t until I was well into my high school years, that my thinking began to change. That was when I found out that (gasp) I knew more than one LGBTQ person, and once I really got to really know these people, I realized that they are just that: people!

It was one of those real ‘duh’ moments.

As I continued to grow up and learn, I began to see the challenges that LGBTQ people have had to face in their lives, simply for being themselves, and looking for their own happiness in life. They have been denied housing, education, jobs, marriage, parenthood, and they have been marginalized, imprisoned, beaten and killed.

While in Seminary, I got the opportunity to spend time with people who were struggling with, and dying from, AIDS. I also got to see how many other people were suffering due to this new prejudice (on top of all the old ones), which was caused by the fear of this disease. I had the opportunity to listen to their stories and I was moved by them.

This is how I learned, and learning opens minds.

Today, I will sometimes remember Milo’s dad, and wonder about what it must have been like for him, how difficult it must have been for him. So many of us were focused on Milo, his sister and mom, and tended to think of his dad as a ‘bad guy’ for up-ending their lives.

Yet, he paid a heavy price for coming out. His confession broke his family, his kids were taken away from him, he lost friendships, which took away a lot of the support that could have seen him through these difficult times. I remember him as a good person, kind and thoughtful, and he did not deserve the treatment he received.

It is easy to excuse my behavior, by saying I not know any better, that I was just a kid, but to do so ignores what I was taught, both by my parents and by my church.

Every Sunday we heard preaching about the Grace of God, which was given for ALL people through the sacrifice of Christ. We heard how Jesus reached out to those who were homeless, imprisoned, marginalized, and embraced all people as God’s children.

We learned that Jesus was concerned about how we treated each other, calling upon all his followers to treat others with compassion, with love.

From all that I learned, I do not believe that Jesus would have been joining in on the gossip and recrimination, but he would have embraced Milo’s dad with understanding, and offered him comfort in the midst of his struggles and pain.

What I should have learned (if I was paying attention) was that none of us have any business throwing stones, but that we should be following the example of Jesus, who spoke out for those who knew injustice and prejudice.

The truth is that we should have known better, I knew Milo’s dad for most of my life, should have been able to see him as the person he was, and not as a label.

Looking back, I realize it took real courage for him to stay involved in our church and community after he came out. It might have been easier for him if he had moved away, and started over somewhere new, like Manhattan, which was a little more welcoming, and closer to his work.

Yet, he stayed long enough to find some small measure of acceptance once again.

Recently, there has been some controversy about the Pride events being held in June, with a few saying “Why do THEY have to make a big deal out of it, why can’t they just live their lives?” There was even a call for a “Straight Pride” march in Boston!

These calls miss the whole point of the Pride events…

It would be great if “they” could just live their lives as choose, in peace, without having to face prejudice and scorn. However, even today it is not that easy. LGBTQ people are still facing grave injustice and stereotypes, and they are still being beaten and killed for being who they are.

It certainly wasn’t that easy for Milo’s dad.

I liked him and looked up to him when I was still friends with Milo, before he told his truth. Today, I can admire him for his courage, and am sorry for how I treated him and others before I grew-up and learned better.

Knowing better is helpful, but I am no saint, and still have so much to learn (or unlearn), I still struggle with many prejudices, but at least I am aware of them and am trying to be a better person.

I am also looking forward to the time when we won’t give a second thought to who anyone chooses to love and care for, because what really matters is LOVE, expressed and shared!

For in this broken and divisive world herein lies our hope: that we follow the call of Christ to Love one another above and beyond all the other bullshit that can get in the way.

 

Making Connections

Connections:Making Connections

I only speak a few words of Spanish, like “no hablo Español” and “por favor”; to be honest, I sometimes have enough trouble with English, so I don’t often try out my limited Spanish.

He spoke almost no English, so we were about evenly matched.

I was told he was Central American (not sure of the country) but that he had served in the Cuban Military before coming to the US, and it was while in Cuba that he got the blood transfusion which gave him HIV. This was 1994 when the treatment had not advanced very far, and AIDS was seen as a death sentence in slow-motion (sometimes not that slow).

I did not know how he got to this Philadelphia hospital room, and really did not care.

It was during Seminary, and I was on my Hospital Chaplaincy Internship. I was on-call that night, and the patient had taken a turn for the worse. The nurse knew he was dying and was alone, his family had been called, but it was the middle of the night and they did not have access to a car so it would be hours before they arrived by bus.

Not being able to stay with him herself, the nurse asked me to come over and sit with the man.

When I got to his room, the nurse introduced me in Spanish and then left to tend to her other patients, and there we were in the dimly lit room, just he and I, with nothing to say to each other.

Because AIDS was so misunderstood at that time, I was required to wear a mask and gloves – I hated this, as I did not feel that this offered real comfort to the man. I had worked with other AIDS patients who were in hospice, and learned that all we really needed to do was wash our hands carefully and use our own common sense…but these were hospital rules.

Fortunately, I was wearing my clerical collar, so he knew I was some sort of clergy as soon as I walked in, and this helped break the ice. I reached out and took the man’s hand and he nodded to me, I nodded back, greeting him in the way that men do, and the only way we could understand each other. I then said his name, pointed to myself said my name, and we smiled at each other.

After this, the awkwardness fell upon us, and I found myself hoping that his family would get there soon, not only so he could see them, and have someone to talk to, but also so I could go back to bed – with a new baby at home, I appreciated any opportunity to sleep.

However, it would be some time before they arrived, and so we waited.

Although we were unable to talk with each other, we were able to communicate…to a point. We said the Lord’s Prayer together, which he knew, and we also read some Psalms – at least he knew it was the Bible, and I am sure he caught the cadence…I believe we were both grateful for anything that drowned out the sound of monitors that would counting down his life.

Although we could not talk to each other, we formed a bond through our words, a touch, a look. I could tell he was happy to not be alone, and so was I.

And it seemed like he knew how awkward this was for me too.

As we faced the long, dark hours together, that shared experience brought us together. We were no longer strangers who did not speak each other’s language, people from different cultures, but two human beings sharing an impossible moment together: one of great transition, a moment that called for reverence…and a bit of fear, but which was also incredibly boring.

As we were waiting, waiting and waiting…

For his family to arrive and for death to take him, unsure of who would arrive first.

Finally, just as the sky outside of the window was just beginning take on that deep purple color that announced the arrival of a new summer day, the nurse came in with the man’s family! They had taken three buses in the middle of the night, to arrive at this bedside just in time!

His face lit up, and he smiled as they greeted him. I squeezed his hand, said “goodbye” and took a few steps towards the door, thinking that the family needed their time with him. One family member stopped me, and said that the nurse told her that I had been sitting with her relative for hours, she thanked me, and asked me to say a prayer with them before I left. Fortunately, most of the family understood some English, and they all understood prayer.

I do not remember what I said, there in that room, as we held hands and prayed for comfort, but I know that I was moved by the love that this family shared, and that they wanted to include me, if only for a moment or two.

When the prayer was over, I had an awkward moment of not being sure what to do, when the nurse motioned to me from the doorway, and that was my opportunity to say my goodbyes (again) and leave.

I went back to the sparse on-call room as the sun was rising and managed to sleep for about three hours before going back on duty. I got busy with training and visits, and did not find out what had happened with the man, until later in the morning, when I was called back to the unit.

I saw a cart of empty coffee cups and untouched cookies by this room, and knew that he had died. His family was gone, and now a young priest was standing by the room, looking anxious. He too was in training, and this was to be the first time he ever said Last Rites for someone by himself. He was anxious about performing the rite and about being in the room with the deceased person, and had asked for a chaplain to stand with him.

I was happy to help, and as we walked into the room, I told the priest what I knew about the man, and how I had sat with him throughout the night and prayed with his family. I watched as the new Priest gave the man his final honors, and prayed with him as we commended this man, a soldier, an immigrant, AIDS victim, a son, brother and father, into the hands of the Almighty.

Although the priest only knew the man in death, I could see how he was moved by providing the last rites, shaking and holding back tears…and I was right there with him as we bonded in grief for a man we really didn’t know.

While I never actually got a chance to talk with this man in his own language…and cannot even remember his name, my time with him has had an impact. Twenty-five years later I can still remember the look in his eyes when I took his hand and prayed with him. How we connected just by the sound of each other’s voice, and how relieved I felt when his family arrived!

When it all comes right down to it, there is much more that brings us together than separates us…as we are all bound by our humanity, and held together by our compassion. How, no matter who we are, or what we believe in, that we are all well-loved children of God, and all in this world together…so we might as well make the most of it.