The Walking Dead

My neighborhood houses a facility for people with mental illness, who shuffle up and down Main Street and annoy some of the parents because they smoke in a park near the swings and slides that the kids could use. No kids ever go there because everyone avoids the smokers.

One of my neighbors calls them "the walking dead." Recently I was given an assignment for a class that I'm taking, to go somewhere out of my comfort zone, see the people through the eyes of compassion and write a reflection. The next few paragraphs are a shortened version of that reflection.

When I arrived at the park, I sat on the bench trying to put myself in a state of prayerful silence. Immediately, one of  residents whom I usually find most annoying plopped down next to me.

“Are you new here?” she shouted.

I tried not to cough on the smoke that kept drifting in my direction. I tried not to notice the huge sore on her upper lip.

Instead I asked her name and she told me that it was Laurie. I remarked that cigarettes these days must be really expensive. She agreed and informed me that because cigarettes were now $8 a pack, most of the residents smoked cigars, which were only $1.50 a pack. Her voice became less obnoxious as time went on. When silence returned I prayed that her cough would get better.

Everybody in the park was either smoking, lighting up, or bumming a cigarette from another person.
The spring chatter of the birds was punctuated by coughs from those human chimneys. I also noticed that when each person got up to walk back across the street to the nursing home, he or she would say “Good –bye” and politely explain why he was leaving. Albany Care is a community of people who need to be connected, just like me.

Soon “De BOR ah,” as she likes to be called, sat down next to me, with a great big beautiful smile on her face. “Maary!” she shouted. ‘Thanks for coming to visit me.” I know Deborah from church; she is a robust African American woman with bleached blond hair, who covers her face with gold sparkly foundation. She loves to pray, dramatically, with her hands and head held high, most often standing, occasionally after the rest of us have sat down. She always has a huge smile for me, when she asks me for a dollar. If I offer it before she asks, sometimes she turns it down.

When she’s not smiling, she’s actually looking down in a forlorn manner. Today she told me about her boyfriend who would help her find her own apartment. She also told me that she felt that it wasn’t fair that her mother treated her poorly. I listened and exchanged small talk with her and when she wasn’t talking to me. I prayed silently that her pain around her mother would be healed and that she would be protected from anyone who might try to take advantage of her.

She asked for money. I gave it to her and then we walked together to the corner store, where she used it to pay off a pair of shoes that she had put on a kind of informal layaway. She kept telling me that she wanted to pay me back. She wanted to give me something. I told her that all she needed to do was remember that she is loved and if she wants to she can pray for me.

Immediately, right there on the park bench, Deborah folded her hands like a child before bed and fervently prayed a beautiful and lengthy prayer for me.  Crazy as it may have seemed, that moment felt holy, right there on that park bench. It felt just as holy as Easter Sunday in my community at St. Nicholas Church.

There were many more moments of connection in that two hours. Before I left we hugged.

I understand that I should be careful about hugging people whose illness can cause them to be unpredictable. I understand that I can’t always expect a lucid conversation from each person from that facility. But most of all, I understand that God’s love shines on them as much as it shines on me and you. I really do them too!

Extreme Kindness Virus Strikes Again

You've heard about "extreme sports" right? I like to participate in "extreme kindness" instead. In fact, about a year ago, I wrote about how contagious "extreme kindness" can become and how my neighborhood has been looking a lot better because of all the kind people who have been picking up litter and going that extra mile for each other.

The other day the Obama administration called for a day of action for health care. So I figured that would be the perfect opportunity to spread the kindness virus a bit. Guess what? It worked.

I posted an opportunity for just 5 people to join me in visiting elders in our local nursing home. There were already 4 of us who visit the nursing home regularly, and we had discovered that there are plenty of elders who love to have visitors on a regular basis. We had already made friends with Grace, Evelyn, Eileen, and many others and we enjoy birthdays, holidays, and ordinary days with them.

Anyway, the plan was to show up at the nursing home and just talk to anyone who happens to be sitting in the hallway or sitting outside the rooms of the people whom we regularly visit. I made it clear that this was not going to be a one-day activity where a group of volunteers shows up to play bingo so that we could feel good about ourselves.

The idea was to make a real connection as a friend with one or two people and then let them know that each of us would be back to visit. It worked beautifully! All 9 of us connected.

Afterwards, all the volunteers told me that they had a lot of fun learning about the lives of their new "friends" and also that for sure they would visit regularly.

That was about a week ago. Yesterday, my daughter and I showed up with a pizza for Evelyn's birthday. Evelyn told us that one of the new volunteers had already stopped by with non alcoholic champagne to celebrate and that she had been waiting for the pizza to go along with it.

Another one of the new volunteers emailed me to let me know that she was on her way to sit with Grace, who has been living there for more than 2 years with no known friends or family.

So now 9 of us have caught the "virus." But instead of making us sick like real viruses, we have all discovered, one by one, that this "kindness virus" actually brings us joy.

We experience joy, because we realize that "others" who may need us, actually have much to offer us, and that we have much to offer them, the gift of our presence.

As I grieve over last week's death of Marjory, who I had been visiting for two years. I celebrate her gifts to me. At 87 years old she played piano for me almost every week. She played hymns from memory while she talked at the same time. She played Christmas songs even in the summer. We didn't care. She constantly reminded me to "love in many ways." And best of all, even up until the end she recited the Beatitudes from memory.

So as we pass the virus on one person at a time, I pass my gift from Marjory to you.

Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are the meek: for they shall possess the land.

Blessed are they who mourn: for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after justice: for they shall have their fill.

Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the clean of heart: for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.

Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Pretty soon if the "Extreme Kindness Virus" keeps spreading, it won't be "extreme" any more at all, it will just be "normal life."

My Day of Hope

Hope crept in on the dreariest day of the week. Even though it had been raining all morning and the temperature was planning to hover only around freezing, I shoved my sunglasses in my pocket and headed out to the lake on my bicycle. That small flicker of hope kept nudging me to wish for just a bit of sunshine. I'll tell you about my "day of hope" after I tell you why I needed it so much.

Getting through February, the shortest month of the year, had dragged on endlessly. February pretended to be the longest month of the year. The bleak weather had been holding me hostage for way too long. Many of the times when I did get out, the bleak lives of my neighbors at the halfway house for people with mental illness had been haunting me.

I had been having a lot of trouble trying to process the sadness that stuck to me after my weekly visits. I'm talking about a place where the smell of cigarettes, and stifling heat make you want to throw open every window despite the freezing temperature outdoors.

Each week I cram myself into a tiny little elevator, virtually nose to nose with four or five of the residents, and try to make small talk with "the Pope" or "Princess Diana's relative." I visit a woman who is so paranoid that for 4 weeks in a row, she could not get out of her bed. She would lie there, flat on her back, telling me how scared and how sick she felt. Her husband told me that he couldn't get her to drink water because she was too afraid to go into the bathroom. The tiny cluttered room has barely enough space for the twin beds that she and her husband sleep on. There are no locks on the door and people wander through the halls mumbling and arguing.

I have been struggling with so many questions. Are my short weekly visits really making any difference? Why does anyone have to live that way? How can anyone get better without fresh plants, pets, sunshine, space, and fresh air?

The biggest question that haunts me is this. Why do we warehouse people?

Now, back to the day hope replenished my spirit. 

Two days before "my day of hope" when I had walked along the lake, deadly silence had muffled the shoreline. The entire lake all the way to the horizon had looked like it was frozen solid. I have lived near this lake for many years and have never seen it like this. No waves lapped against the rocks, no sun even dared to peak out from behind the clouds. The cold stony ice produced nothing but cold dead silence.

The next time I ventured out, was my "hope day." Yes, it was raining like crazy. Yes, it was freezing cold. No, I didn't need my sunglasses. But yes, hope began to sneak back in on the songs of the birds who seemed to appear out of nowhere. The huge lump of ice slowly melting and floating away was somehow carrying off that huge lump of despair that had been lodged in my throat.

Then I realized it. My hope is in you! Maybe you can help me to carry hope to others. Hope is not heavy like despair. It is light and can be easy to carry if we do it together.

Could you take a look around where you live? Take fifteen minutes, a half an hour, or an hour each week to visit someone who lives in an isolated or unhealthy environment? It could be a nursing home, a prison, or a neighbor's home that needs a friendly face.

You don't really need to belong to a volunteer organization. You can walk in, talk to a social worker, or the activities director, and ask to visit someone. Or maybe when you meet someone on the street who needs a friend, make a plan to visit that person, or take her to lunch. Maybe..... just maybe....it would break up the day or help that person to understand that he or she deserves to be loved.

By the way, after my "day of hope" at the lake. My neighbor who couldn't get out of bed, got up and sat in a chair, smiled at me and asked me to bring strawberries the next time I visit. You bet I will!

Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime,
Therefore, we are saved by hope.


Nothing true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history;


Therefore, we are saved by faith.


Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone.
Therefore, we are saved by love.

No virtuous act is quite a virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as from our own;


Therefore, we are saved by the final form of love which is forgiveness.

Reinhold Niebuhr

Day of Service Update

More pictures from our National Day of Service Shoveling Event

Accessibility and Much More

I am so grateful for the many many shovelers who showed up and worked untiringly during our "Martin Luther King Day of Service" curbcut clearing event. I could hardly believe my eyes as the small army of volunteers began appearing in the parking lot behind my building. They kept coming and coming and coming. There were so many of them, all with huge smiles on their faces, eager to help. 

What a contrast to the lonely morning two Sundays ago, when I shoveled curb cuts for two hours to prevent my daughter from getting stuck in her wheelchair during her one block trek to church. Really, those lovely kind hearted neighbors of mine had no idea how much their presence meant to me!

We all learned a lot. The volunteers learned how difficult it is to clear those huge piles of snow after the temperature drops. It was in the teens today. I learned that when we do it next year, I need to be a bit more organized.

But the most important thing I learned is that I am not alone and I live in a fantastic part of the country.

They came from my neighborhood in Evanston, IL. They came from Chicago, and they came from Wilmette. Children, young adults, older adults, all shoveled sidewalks, chipped huge mounds of ice, and cleared curbcuts. So that people with disabilities and elders could get around safely. Some even brought food donations for the Chicago Food Depository. Everybody was excited, energized and more than happy to help out.

While we drank coffee and hot chocolate afterward, some of us discovered that we had been living within just a couple of blocks of each other and we laughed at the fact that it took the internet and a community service project for us to finally connect. 

What a day! I've been smiling so much that my cheek muscles hurt. No, we didn't solve the problem completely. And yes, there's still plenty of snow to shovel and we still have to figure out how to get the city to stop plowing the snow into the curbcuts. But I am absolutely certain that "yes we can" improve our community when we work together.

Each of these extremely hard workers needs to be recognized. Thanks, thanks, thanks! 

Below is one of the messages that I received from volunteer Steve. It may not sound like we accomplished much, but you can't believe how long it took to clear each corner.

Wow, what a great turnout! .....I don't have to tell you how hard it was to cut thru some of the ice but we prevailed and did some pretty good work.

The only remarkable piece was at the corner of Monroe and Elmwood (NW crossing heading South). The snow was piled at least 4 feet high and the entire walkway was buried(daunting). I just couldn't tackle that one after breaking up the ice on Ridge. However, a team of really hardy souls just dove right in and opened the entire crossing. 

Our entire group was terrific, no one complained, they all jumped right in and did an awesome job.

We took many more pictures which I will post soon. These are just a few of us who stopped in at the coffee shop afterward.


Some people went home and shoveled again or shoveled at their own homes if they weren't able to join the group. Believe me, it's a lot harder than it looks here!

As probably many of us did today, I shoveled two spots near my apartment this afternoon. Happy to have a greater consciousness of how I can help.

Every blessing,

Terri

National Day of Service

After spending two hours chipping away and shoveling out gigantic piles of snow that city plows had pushed into the curb cuts that are supposed provide access to cross the streets, I began to feel frustrated and exhausted. So I started talking to God, kind of like Tevia in Fiddler on the Roof.  

I cried out in frustration, "Why God, did you create snow?" Surprisingly I got an answer. "So that you can learn to help each other."

Of course all this was in my mind. I wasn't really talking. I didn't want anyone to think that I was delusional. But it did make sense to me. If we are on this earth to learn to love each other, than how can we do it unless we serve each other?

The next day I received the Michelle Obama invitation to sign up for the National Day of Service on January 19 in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.  You can click on the website and find an event in your area or you can host your own. 

So I'm hosting a snow shoveling event in my neighborhood. Our object is to clear the curb cuts and walkways for elders and for those who use wheelchairs. We will meet at noon. Everybody will bring their own shovel and we will create an accessible neighborhood. 

I'm so excited. A few people have already signed up. I don't care if it's an army of volunteers or just a handful. If we can raise awareness and work on a problem at the same time it will be worth it.

If you can't join us and you live where there is snow, you can simply look around your own neighborhood and spend an hour or so shoveling out someone's car, driveway, walkway or curb cut. It's exercise too and costs less than a health club.  

Click here to learn about and sign up for our event.

Click here to find an event in your neighborhood or host your own.

See Boston story here.

Michelle and Ed

Ever since I found out about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, I have been working harder than ever to make sure that every plastic bottle or bag that crosses my path gets recycled.  And even though I have been picking up litter every day and everywhere, it had been feeling like it's a losing battle.  It continues to accumulate, especially around the train stations.

I am hopeful though thanks to Michelle, a kindred spirit who lives a few blocks from me. I liked her the first day that I met her. But now I like her even more because she has made me realize that I'm not alone.

Michelle tells me that she also picks up litter on a daily basis. And that's not all. "See those flowers over there?" She points to what used to be a raggedy patch of dirt near the alley. "My neighbor and I planted those."

I then tell her about my unofficial litter patrol. The people who ask me for money on the street work with me. I give them my spare cash if they walk a few blocks with me and help me recycle and throw away litter. I tell her about how really helpful Ed has been and that I find out a lot about him as we work.

For example, he walks on the side of his feet for a reason. They hurt. A few years ago he had to jump from a window to escape a fire in an apartment building on Chicago's west side. 

He never knew his mother and rarely sees his brother. But he really likes living in our neighborhood because people help him. He's wearing new sneakers that one of the other neighbors recently bought him. 

Well guess what? Michelle knows Ed pretty well too. She and her husband last winter bought him a scarf. 

There are many more people like Ed who live on the fringes and there always seems to be trash thrown around by the train stations and bare patches of dirt where flowers could grow. 

But I'm grateful for Ed and the others who are willing to tell me their stories and help me keep our community clean. And I'm grateful for Michelle and the guerilla gardeners and all those who practice random acts of kindness. 

Acts of kindness can make you happy too. Sonja Lyubomirsky, PhD, has discovered through research that performing random acts of kindness increases our sense of well being.  

I think you'll really love this video from the Global Oneness Project.

"Wherever there is a human being there is an opportunity for kindness." 

Seneca

Self Gift

The best gifts have a way of breaking through life in a flash, in a gasp, only to disappear when self consciousness moves in.

When I meet you on your terms, when I turn myself upside down, you spring to life and grace me with immeasurable joy. I forget the me and for just a second I become the you.

It never seems to happen when we schedule it. It never seems to happen when I ask for the gift. It only happens when I self-gift. 

Moments like this happen every day with fathers and daughters, with mothers and sons, and with sisters and brothers. How can we find the gift in those who are marginalized because of circumstances beyond their control. How can we find the gift in the person who we consider "the other?" 

Have you ever thought that you needed to perfect your life or make your first million before you could contribute to the lives of others? 

Maybe not. Perhaps we could give the gift of self any time even in the midst of overwhelming grief. 

Read the New York Times article about parents who turned the loss of their daughter into an opportunity to serve.