My Perfect Roses

Last Sunday, my thoughts were just as drab and boring as the world I had been walking through.  I felt trapped as I made my way down the main aisle of the backroom of my workplace.  I was surrounded on all sides by dull, concrete floors, light gray steel beams, and plain brown cardboard boxes.  But then just like in the Wizard of Oz when black and white scenes suddenly blossom into brilliant color, I noticed something crimson red shining just to my left side.  I turned around and gasped as I caught my breath.

“Oh, those are beautiful!”  I sighed as I came to a complete dreamlike stop.  I suddenly forgot why I had been in such a hurry as I focused on the long stem roses that were lying in a blue basket.  The black handle of the square basket was resting across Bernard’s left arm.

“Do you want a rose?” the assistant manager asked me.

“Really,” I smiled.  “I can have one?”

“Of course, you can,” he answered as he offered the basket out to me.  I thanked him profusely and grabbed the stem of a large blooming red rose.  I pulled the luscious flower from the basket and held it up to my face to breath in the delicious scent of the petals.  “Okay,” Bernard said after I had been completely intoxicated with the sweet aroma.  “You have to let me take your picture now.”

That’s when I noticed that Bernard was holding a digital camera in his opposite hand.  I’ve always been very uncomfortable in front of cameras.  So, now, I shook my head.  “No, thanks,” I told him.  “I’ll have to give you the rose back.”  I started to place the beautiful, perfect creation back into the basket.  Refusing the picture was actually a graceful way out for me because I had suddenly realized that the roses actually had a special purpose.  The flowers were for Mommas.  I had completely forgotten through the course of my busy workday that it was Mother’s Day.  I don’t have children of my own and my mother had passed on seven years ago.  So, of course, I don’t really have a reason or a right to celebrate Mother’s Day and, honestly, it is a holiday that makes me really sad.  I sighed wistfully as I placed the rose back into the basket.

“No, it’s okay,” Bernard told me.  “You can have a rose.  Go ahead and keep it…and I won’t force you to have your picture taken either.”

I just shook my head no and slowly began to back away.  I didn’t deserve the flower.  “Thank you, Bernard,” I told him.  “I do appreciate it but I’m not a mother.  I don’t have any children.  These roses should go to mothers today.

Bernard just laughed then and said, “It doesn’t matter.  You can have a rose, too, if it makes you happy.  Come on.  Take one.”  He held the basket out to me again.

I couldn’t stop smiling now as I grabbed hold of the stem of the flower I had just returned and pulled it back out of the basket.  “Thank you,” I told him.

“That’s fine,” Bernard answered.  “Just enjoy it.

And I did.  Holding the rose and running my fingers over the red, feather soft petals made my day a little brighter.  I was really missing my mother and the rose made me think of her.  I thought about the rose bush my mother had planted and carefully nurtured in the corner of our backyard when I was a child.  But then, thinking about my mother who had sacrificed so much for me, I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty.  I wondered if I had taken a rose away from a woman who was much more deserving than I could ever be.  Did I just steal a rose from one of the many gracious women who went through the pain of childbirth and suffered sleepless nights taking care of sick children?

Honestly, I would have loved to have been one of those women.  But certain life situations and health problems such as ovarian cysts and uterine tumors prevented me from feeling worthy of a rose.  But I also had to admit that the flower and Bernard’s kindness, the way he included me in this simple tribute, made me smile and brightened my day.

A week later, Sunday, May 20, 2017, I was back at work and having a rather bad day.  I kept repeating to myself New Age affirmations to help me make it through my work hours.  “A good or bad day is just my perception.”  “I can use my power of positive thinking to make this a better day.”  But nothing seemed to help.  I spent the day struggling with even the most minor tasks.  I just couldn’t seem to adjust to the stress of the day and my frustration was pushing me to the point of tears.

As I struggled to pull myself together that afternoon, I suddenly heard someone calling out to me.  I turned around to see  Charles standing behind me.  “Here, this is for you, Jamie,” he said as he held out his hand to me.  “Take this and hold onto it until your day becomes better.”  I stared down at the small, red rose resting in his palm, and my heart suddenly filled with hope and gratitude.  I was so touched by Charles’s sweet gesture.  “Thank you so much,” I answered.  “That’s so sweet of you.”   I reached out and took the rose from his hand.  As Charles walked away , I pinned the rose to my shirt and immediately began to feel much better.  What an amazing blessing that gift was!  And now, after all of the positive thinking I tried to force on myself, that simple rose made me feel so much better.

I thought now about both roses I had received over the last two Sundays and I realized something.  Though I regret not being a mother, though I am ashamed of myself for not handling my frustration better, people still cared about me.  I don’t have to be anything in particular or do anything special for people to think of me.  I had no reason to feel inadequate or ashamed or lacking in my life.  I don’t have to have a great job or a lot of money.  Instead, all I had to do was be kind and have a good heart and there will always be people to support and help me.

My coworker’s kindnesses reminded me of the love Jesus Christ holds for all of us.  He knows our regrets and our failings and yet He continues to love and support us anyway.  He continues to help us grow strong and beautiful and blossom into special spirits….just like my beautiful perfect roses.  I am so blessed!

Thank you so much, Bernard and Charles, for your kindness…and my roses!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Alaska

Yugen

1. Important concept in traditional Japanese aesthetics. “Dim,” “Deep,” or “Mysterious”
2. Awareness of the universe that triggers emotional responses too deep and mysterious for words.

In 1996, Jon Krakauer, the author of Into Thin Air, published an amazing, thoughtful book entitled Into the Wild.  This book tells the true story of Christopher Johnson McCandless who, after graduating from college, spurned his former affluent life and the bright, comfortable future ahead of him.  Motivated by books he read by Jack London and John Muir, McCandless dedicated himself to a personal vision quest that began in the western and southwestern regions of America.  Changing his name to Alexander Supertramp, McCandless gave his savings of  $25,000 to charity, abandoned all his possessions, left his car in the Mojave Desert, and burned all of his cash to ensure that nothing would hold him back from his journey.  Looking for his own personal paradise on this earth, McCandless even threw away all of his maps and traveled only by his intuition.  In April 1992, McCandless hitchhiked into Alaska and walked into the vast cold wilderness north of Mount McKinley.  For a while, McCandless found shelter in an abandoned old school bus.  Four months later, however, his body was found by a moose hunter.

No one knows what ultimately motivated McCandless’s careless journey.  Questions still remain about a young man’s need to walk away from a rich and promising future to live homeless and starving  in the barren wildness of Alaska.  Some people claim that McCandless had a death wish and a need for self-destruction.    Others just dismiss McCandless’s actions as foolish and innocently reckless.

Well, I guess I am foolish and reckless too….

I don’t claim to know what was in McCandless’s head or why he choose his particular lifestyle, but there is a core element inside of me that feels so connected to his story.  In response to Krakauer’s consistent questions in the book about McCandless’s journey, I think I understand.

There are so many of us on this earth who don’t always feel that we belong in a world that overwhelms us with violent, materialistic, opportunistic situations.  Some of us who struggle to cope, do not medicate ourselves from the stress with alcohol, food, cigarettes, sex, gambling, or prescription drugs, but we do experience a deep and compelling lust all the same.  Wanderlust and the need to move, to travel, to create a universe of our own existence is a hunger that is rarely satisfied.

Restless, never able to settle down, I constantly look for opportunities to escape my existence.  I have no intention of doing this through self-harm.  I just have a relentless need to be lost.  When I travel, I rarely call or text anyone.  I love driving alone down deserted highways  without a single person knowing where I am in that exact moment.  I enjoy the solitude, the drifting away from my reality.  This has been my lifestyle for the last thirty years.

In July, 2016, I finally had the opportunity to realize a lifelong dream.  I spent time this summer exploring Alaska.  This was an amazing turning point for me.  I had made a vow to myself that I would drive through every state in America.  Alaska was the last state I needed to visit in order to satisfy this goal.  However, I refused to celebrate this accomplishment.  I didn’t post notices about it on Facebook.  I didn’t write blogs about my experience.  I just didn’t feel the need.

While I was in Alaska, I felt inspired to go completely off the grid.  I wanted desperately to be lost.  I wanted to cut off all communication to my former life.  I didn’t call or text anyone.  I only posted a few pictures on Facebook when I felt overwhelmed by the incredible scenery of glaciers, waterfalls, mountains, and animals.  But I only posted about 20 of the 350 photos I took.  I haven’t posted any more pictures or information about Alaska since I returned to Kansas.  There is a deep part of me that just needs to keep it quiet and hidden.  To experience so much of God’s amazing wilderness was so profound and awe-inspiring there was no way of putting it into words.  Even the beautiful pictures I have seem bleak when compared to the Alaskan landscape itself.  To this day, two months later, I have no desire to tell people about all of the amazing things that happened to me in Alaska.

However…

I think constantly of running away again to the “last frontier.”  I want to hide in her vast beauty and get lost in her majestic environment.  I want to run with her wilderness and dissolve into her endless splendor.

My life’s purpose was  redefined in Alaska.  I came into contact with who God intended me to be.  I was never meant to have the things of an ordinary life.  I was not meant to have a great job, or a wonderful marriage, or an incredible home.  My only life’s purpose is to grow closer to God.  To know him by his world, by the beauty that surrounds me.  I don’t have to be anything…in Alaska, I can just be…

I don’t care about success, or a home, or money.  Just knowing in my heart and soul that I can move and explore and witness God’s glory is enough for me in this lifetime.

I don’t know Christopher McCandless’s motivation for his journey.

I didn’t travel from this life as far as Christopher did.

But there are times I really wish I had followed him.

 

 

Unconditional Love

Friskie has not been a happy dog lately.  When I come home from work, she no longer jumps up excitedly.  She doesn’t wag her tail or bark happily.  Instead, she just continues to lie on her large brown puppy pillow.  She just glances up at me as I walk into the room.  Her big brown puppy dog eyes plead sadly with me for just a moment.  Then she lowers her head back down, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.  I stare at her for just a moment and think about all the fun we used to have together.  Friskie and I became fast friends when I first moved into my brother and sister-in-law’s home.  I considered Friskie my first real friend when I returned to Kansas from California.  The dog and I used to wrestle around the living room together.  We used to play tug of war with her toys.  Any of the toy I would toss across the room, she would fetch and bring back to me with her little tail waggling and laughter glowing in her eyes.  We used to cuddle and laugh together in bed at night before drifting off to sleep.

But now, she is silent and still.  I think she is depressed.  She is sad; sorrow is reflected in her eyes and joy no longer radiates off of her sweet, furry, brown and white face.  She whimpers for a moment now and then settles down and goes back to sleep.  And though she can’t tell me in words, I know why she cries.  I know why she is upset, but I can’t really do anything about it right now.  I tried to explain the situation to her with gentle, loving words, but, of course, she doesn’t have any idea what I am trying to tell her.

“Friskie,” I try to reason with her as I stand across the room from her fluffy puppy pillow.  “I love you but I can’t pet or cuddle with you right now.  I can’t take you into bed with me.  I’ve been so sick.”

And it was the truth, but I don’t think Friskie believes me anymore.  I had been working a lot of additional hours over the last few weeks, and though I was tired, I was feeling good….until last Tuesday.  Tuesday morning, I awoke feeling good until suddenly my stomach began to twist around in circles and I found myself in the bathroom hoping that my suddenly queasiness and vomiting would pass quickly.  Even though, I felt better after a few minutes, I was still feeling achy, dehydrated, and exhausted for the rest of the day.  That was just the beginning.  For the next five days, I was horribly sick with flu-like symptoms.  I continued to cough, sneeze, and vomit.  I suffered from diarrhea, nausea, and horrible prolonged headaches.  My muscles ached and I felt unable to control my movements.  In the middle of summer, I was freezing and couldn’t seem to get warm.  I was shivering horribly and yet would get up from the bed to find my pajamas and the sheets soaked with sweat.  I had absolutely no energy, mainly because I couldn’t eat anything.  Even the thought of food made me feel nausea and queasy.  I stayed completely behind the closed door of my room, only stepping out when I needed to use the bathroom.

As I struggled to heal, I stayed away from the sweet family pets.  I didn’t want to get any of the dogs or the cat sick.  I don’t know if the animals could catch any viruses from me but I didn’t want to take that chance.  I was too exhausted to deal with the animals.  I was too hot to cuddle with the dogs who are covered in hot, sticky fur.  I left the animals completely alone…and I think I hurt Friskie’s feelings.  Though the other animals seemed to understand and take the situation in stride, Friskie looked hurt and upset.  She seemed to be lonely and sad.  I don’t think she could understand why I had turned my back on her after we had been so close.  A few nights, I could hear her tapping her little paws down the hallway and coming to a stop right in front of my bedroom.  I would lie in bed fully awake as I listened to her scratch at my door.  Then my heart would break as I heard the dog start to whimper and cry to be let into the room.  I tried to ignore her.  I didn’t want to be around the tiny dog while I was so sick.  I really wanted to open the door, but I couldn’t pull my achy body out of bed.  My muscles just would not respond.  I couldn’t get up and walk to the door.  So I lay in bed and listened to my lovely furry friend crying for most of the night.  I wanted to call out to her to soothe her, but didn’t want to risk waking up the rest of the family.  As bad as I was feeling, hearing the dog cry made me feel even worse.  But there was nothing that I could do about it.

Finally, slowly, after five long days, I began to get back on my feet by Sunday morning.  Though I was still weak, I began to feel better and was finally able to get out of bed and move around a little.  But now, Friskie wanted nothing to do with me.  For days, I had ignored her.  For days, I had not played with her or pet her.  For days, I locked her out of my room and refused to cuddle with her.  I had broken her little puppy heart and now she was done with me.  She wasn’t happy to see me when I walked into the room.  She wasn’t excited or playful even as I grabbed some of her toys and tossed them across the room.  She just stared at me, her little doggy eyes watching me closely and suspiciously as I walked across the room and retrieved her toys myself.  I held them out to her but she refused to take them.  She had been my best friend and I had let her down.  She no longer trusted me.

I felt as if I had just lost my best friend and I couldn’t even begin to explain to her what had happened.  I wanted to just grab and cuddle with her, but she would wiggle away from me.  She refused my offers of food and comfort.  We ignored each other for several days, both of us with broken hearts and not sure how to fix this situation without the ability to talk out our feelings.  I began to realize that I would just have to be patient.  I had to let Friskie slowly come to trust me again at her own pace.  I didn’t force her to be with me.

And slowly, it began to happen.

Finally, on Wednesday, the fourth day of recovery, I sat on the living room couch with my nose in the book and pretending that I wasn’t concerned about the dog.  I tried not to make any sudden moves as I realized that Friskie was slowly climbing up onto the large square padded ottoman where I had my feet comfortably placed.  Friskie stopped for a moment and stared at my stockinged feet.  Slowly she reached out her paw and patted the top of my foot before quickly pulling away.  I put my book down and we stared at each other for a moment.   Once more, Friskie reached out and patted my foot.  As I looked up at her again, she seemed to smile shyly at me for a moment.  I turned back to my book.  Friskie slowly climbed up and used my legs as a bridge to cross over to the couch.  Tentatively, she climbed until she was cuddled in my lap.  I wrapped my arms around the dog slowly and cuddled her close as she playfully licked at my hands and fingers.  Then she nestled in close to my chest as she settled down to sleep.  After having her heartbroken, she had started to trust me again.  Over time, Friskie started to come into my room again.  She sits on my lap as I work on the computer.  She cuddles in bed with me at night.  I don’t know if she will ever know that she was turned away because I was sick.  I don’t know if she will ever understand the reason that she had been so rejected.  But regardless of the reason, she has trusted me again.  She is loving me again without question.  She is putting her heart on the line one more time in order to feel and know love.  Friskie, like so many other animals, has returned to love me without question or without asking for anything in return.

Why are humans the only creatures on earth that have to make love so complicated?  Love should be pure, giving, kind…love should be without question…love should be trusting and understanding…love should be the willingness to have your heartbroken.  I want to love as purely and simply as animals do.   Too bad all my relationships aren’t this forgiving, this loving, this kind…maybe I need to learn to trust when I want to run, to love when I want to fight, to give when I just want to take.  To love without fear or ego…and maybe God put animals on earth to teach us about unconditional love.

Human Chain

Last Monday, during a two-hour break between my classes, I decided to drive over to Clark’s, the local health food store and grab some healthy snacks.  I really enjoy shopping through all of the bulk bins that are at the front of the store.  I grabbed several plastic bags and began to fill them up with sesame sticks, blueberry granola, and unsalted peanuts.  Once I had chosen my snacks, I walked over to the registers and got in line.  A few minutes later, the clerk was scanning my purchases while I searched in my wallet for my credit card.  Suddenly, I heard a voice loudly saying to me, “What are you going to do with all of these peanuts?”

I glanced over to see my bag of peanuts suddenly dangling in front of my face as I heard a deep rumble of laughter.  At first, I was a little aggravated.  I don’t like to have my grocery selections questioned or my food touched.  I don’t always like strangers shouting at me, mocking me, or teasing me.  I never know how to respond.  So, yes, I could feel myself becoming irritated.  I looked up from my wallet and suddenly found myself looking into the face of a young man with the most dazzling, happy smile I had ever seen.  The smile was so kind and endearing, I couldn’t be upset.  I stared at the man whose eyes behind his thick glasses were slightly crossed and the look of Down’s syndrome graced his face.  The young man was wearing a green Clark’s apron.  The nametag on the apron had the word “Volunteer” stamped on it.  How cool!

Suddenly, I heard the female clerk’s voice laugh as she said, “Well, she is going to eat them.  What did you think she was going to do with all those peanuts?”

I started to laugh now.  “Do you like peanuts?” I asked the volunteer.

He shrugged his shoulders and said, “I like them.”

“I do, too,” I answered.   “I think they’re really good.”

“Yeah,” the volunteer answered, “that’s why you have a whole bag of them.”

“Yeah,” I laughed at his observation, “you’re right.  I guess that’s why.”

The clerk interrupted us then as she ran my credit card and asked if I wanted paper or plastic.  I told her I didn’t need a bag at all.  The clerk turned to the volunteer then and smiled, “She doesn’t want a bag, Mike.  Just hand her the items.”

But the volunteer still seemed fascinated with the bag of peanuts.  Suddenly, his face lit up.  “Hey,” he said then, “I know what you can do with all these peanuts!”

“What?”  I asked him as the clerk listened in on his suggestion.  “What should I do with all these peanuts?”

“You can make peanut butter!” he said triumphantly.

The clerk and I laughed then, “Yes,” I told him.  “That’s a great idea!  I just might do that!”

The volunteer handed me the plastic bags of peanuts and sesame sticks as I told him thank you and have a good day.  He smiled at me and wished me the same.  I walked out of the store and started walking over to my vehicle.

As I reached my car, I suddenly noticed a middle aged, blond woman in a silky short black dress and high black heels walking across the parking lot.  The woman was taking very small tentative steps as she pulled at her dress.  She continued to fret with the skirt of her dress, awkwardly pulling it down her legs to her knees as her fingers slipped and tangled in the loose flowing material.  I watched her for just a moment.  The woman walked a little sideways on the balls of her feet as if she was afraid she was going to fall.

As the woman approached me, I smiled and called out to her.  “You look really nice.”

The woman stopped and stared at me for a moment.  Then she smiled as she blinked several times as if to block tears.  “Oh, thank you so much,” she said.  “You look so nice, too.”

I smiled and blushed a little at her words.  I was wearing what I normally wear when I teach my classes.  I want to be comfortable so I wear a long skirt, simple shirt, and flat sandals.  And though I do think the woman was only trying to be nice to me, there was a hint of sincerity and kindness in her words that I don’t usually hear from a lot of people.

I smiled at the woman and said “Thank you.”  I was grateful for her kindness.  The woman stopped walking for a moment as I stood by my car door.  She hesitated as if she was going to say something more to me.  I waited, but she just stood awkwardly still, looking at me with a shy smile as her fingers tugged at the hem of her skirt.  We smiled at each other for a moment more before I said, “You have a great day!”

“Oh, thank you so much,” the woman said as she began to take awkward steps again.  “You, too.  You have a great day.”

I got into my car then and watched as the woman shuffled her way across the parking lot and then stepped inside of the sliding front doors of Clark’s.  As I watched the doors close behind her, I smiled as I thought of all the unusual, amazing people God had brought into my life that day.  I had the greatest feeling that the people I had encountered were in my life for a reason.  Just these brief encounters made me feel incredibly blessed.  I hoped that I had been an inspiration and blessing to other people as well, too.

I drove back to the campus feeling incredibly connected to the Oneness that bonds all souls.  I thanked God for allowing me, in some brief way, to be a link in His amazing human chain.  I don’t want to be the weak link in this chain!  I want to love and be kind to people.  It is always return to me. It comes back around.  For I love myself the most when I love other people.

Mother’s Day

“A queen is wise.  She has earned her serenity, not having had it bestowed on her but having passed her tests.  She has suffered and grown more beautiful because of it.  She has proved she can hold her kingdom together.  She has become its vision.  She cares deeply about something bigger than herself.  She rules with authentic power.” –Marianne Williamson

My mother has always been my best friend.  Maybe because we saw the world in a way that other people around us didn’t understand.  Mom and I shared visions and predictions.  We would get into long conversations about spirits, reincarnation, out of body experiences, and angels.  My mother would grip my hands, stare into my eyes, and say, “I can’t talk to anyone else the way that I can talk to you.”

You see, my mother was a seer, a psychic, a sensitive, a traveler, a seeker…and, for her, it was a horrible burden.  She would continually be misunderstand, mocked, and criticized.  She would suffer through 40 years of domestic abuse that left her depressed, bitter, and broken.  She would only regain her spirit after my father passed and my mother suddenly found herself alone and free to be the woman she was meant to be.  She began to reclaim her life.  She would then tell me the most amazing stories about God and the universe and I was always so eager to hear and to understand.

I share my mother’s gift.  I carry the same burden.  It was a tremendous relief for me when my mother finally found the strength to reveal her true self, even though there were still days that it left her lonely and confused.  Her visions and intuition had caused her to be lonely and isolated.  Being a sensitive, my mother was always aware of the thoughts and feelings of the people around her.

One night, I was with my mother in a hotel room in Atlantic City.  We had just spent a long week traveling through the northeast together, exploring Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty, and Niagara Falls.  I don’t know if it was exhaustion or exhilaration from our 8-week wander through America, but my mother sat on the bed with her legs tucked up under her.  She started to talk about her life, her visions, and the suffering she endured.  She began to say to me, “I know people don’t like me.  I know most people laugh at me.  But I can only be who I am.  I can only be me.”  Though her voice was strong and her declaration clear, the tears running down her face were breaking my heart.  I sat down on the bed beside her and wrapped my arms around my mother and together we shared tears and strength and visions until mom became silent and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, mom was up early.  She was dressed, packed, and ready to continue our journey through America.  I was so happy that I was able to share this adventure with her.  I was so glad I got to live with her every day for the last nine months of her life.  Though my mother always doubted herself, she taught me to be strong; she taught me to be proud of my visions; she taught me to enjoy all of the wonders of the universe, both on earth and in heaven.  And this I can say with deep love in my heart and joy in my soul: My Mother was the greatest woman no one ever knew.

Happy Mother’s Day, Momma.  I love you.  I miss you every day.

And to all of the mother’s, all over the world, who love their children, who teach their children respect and kindness, who hold their children close to their breast and even closer to their hearts, who give their children strength to stand on their own two feet and yet pick them up when they fall…

To all the mothers who give of themselves without asking for anything in return; who stay in the shadows and allow their children to shine…

To all the mothers who are proud of their children even when sing off-key, miss a dance step, or strike out every time they are up at bat…

I know who you are…

I had a mother just like you…

And though it may not always be said, you are always loved and honored…if not by family, if not by neighbors, if not by friends…

You are held in the greatest admiration of God and the Blessed Virgin…

They see your suffering; they know your heart; they understand your deepest intentions and listen to your continuous prayers….

Giving birth was a blessed event and a blessing event…

You are honored…

I wish you all a very Happy Loving Mother’s Day….

Coffee Talk

Last Monday, I received a phone call from a close friend of mine.  “I really need to talk,” she had said.  “Can we get together this morning?”

I eagerly agreed.  I didn’t have anything planned and I thought it would be fun to spend the morning talking with a friend over a cup of coffee.  We agreed to meet at 10:00 pm at a local McDonald’s.

I got to the restaurant about half an hour early but that was okay.  I had my books with me and would just relax and read for a while until my friend arrived.  I was really surprised, though, when I walked into McDonald’s.  The place was packed.  Every table was taken and a line of people waiting to order stretched across the lobby.  Wow!  Why was the place so busy this morning?  As I looked around at all of the people, it suddenly dawned on me.  Coachella Fest!  All of these people were on their way home from the big music festival that had taken place last weekend in Indio, California.  Instead of being aggravated as I took my place in line, I found myself smiling.  I am a notorious people-watcher.  I loved seeing all of the young, excited, dusty, dirty, colorful, beautiful people that were gathered all around me.  It was difficult not to get caught up in their excitement and peaceful happy exhaustion.

It took me a few minutes before I was finally able to get my hot cup of coffee.  HHhhhmmm….now to find an empty table.  Just then, a table right up front by the counter became available and I ran over to claim it.  I sat down and glanced around.  I wasn’t really happy at this table.  It was too close to the front where people were walking back and forth to the counter.  In between reading pages of my book, I kept glancing around for other open tables.  Oh, another table just became available closer to the back of the restaurant.  I grabbed my coffee cup and books and raced over to now claim this table as my own.  I sat my books on the table and then sat down.  Okay, this was better but I was in the center of the room, which usually makes me a little uncomfortable.  Over the pages of my book, I kept my eyes focused on the booths around the sides of the room.

Just then a young woman walked by me.  She was about 20 years old with pretty, waist-length long, dark hair.  Black plastic glasses were perched on her small nose.  She was dressed in respectable khaki shorts and a black Coachella Fest T-shirt.  The woman was carrying a tray of food over to a table beside the large picture windows.

“Excuse me,” I heard her say to the elderly woman who was already sitting there.  The older woman had been quietly reading the newspaper and sipping from a coffee cup.  “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

The elderly woman glanced up from her paper for a moment and stared at the girl over her silver wire-framed glasses.  The girl then explained.  “All the other tables are taken.  I have nowhere to sit.  Do you mind if I share your table so I can eat?”

The elderly woman now smiled at her and started to stack up the scattered sections of the newspaper that had been strewn across the table.  “Oh, that’s fine,” she answered.  “Please, sit down.”

The young woman said a pleasant “Thank you” and took a seat as the elderly woman turned her attention back to her newspaper.  They were silent for a moment and then the older woman began to gather the pieces of the newspaper again.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the young woman responded.  “Am I in your way?”

“Oh, no, no,” the older woman answered.  “I was afraid I was in your way.”

“No, you weren’t,” the girl responded before she giggled.  Suddenly, the two strangers stared at each other and then started to talk like old friends.  I turned my attention back to my book but I could hear a few scattered comments about Coachella Fest and visiting Palm Springs.  I felt tears burn my eyes as I thought of the two women and wondered why both of them had been alone in a restaurant filled with groups of friends and family members.  Strange that they had found each other and seemed to make a peaceful connection.

After a few minutes, the elderly woman stood up from the table and said good-bye to her momentary companion.  The young girl smiled and said a shy good-bye as her “friend” walked across the restaurant and out the front door.

Both women had been so kind to each other, I felt particular touched that I had witnessed this interaction.  Suddenly, the young woman stood up and walked passed my table on her way to the soda fountain.  After refilling her cup, she started to walk back to her table…

And that’s when I made my mistake.

As the young woman passed by my table, I called out to her.  “Excuse me,” I said, “I know it’s none of my business, but I thought you were very sweet to that woman at your table.  You were very kind.”

The young woman started at me for a moment as if she didn’t quite understand my words.  Her face didn’t register any expression.  Then she just mumbled “thank you” and returned to her table.  Man, I’m an idiot!  Why did I say anything to her?  It was not my place to say anything, and, in fact, I think I may have embarrassed the young woman.   She didn’t expect any praise for her behavior.  In fact, she didn’t need my comments at all.  I should have kept them to myself.  Without comment, without praise, without pretension, without congratulations…that young woman is just who she is…and who she is beautiful…but she doesn’t need me to tell her.

A few minutes later, my friend arrived.  She walked over to me and we hugged each other warmly.  As she sat down, I felt blessed to share my table with someone.  I said a silent prayer of thank you to God for blessing me with so many people who came into my life that day for either just a brief moment or long enough to enjoy a hot cup of coffee with me.

Valentine’s Day

Due to family obligations and work situations, a good friend and I had not had the opportunity to connect for a few months.  Last Wednesday, I sent her a text message.  I asked if she would be free to have lunch together soon and catch up on our lives.  My friend, Olga, answered me by texting that she was free on Saturday.  I excitedly let her know that Saturday would work for me as well.

The next day, Thursday, however, I suddenly realized that Saturday was Valentine’s Day.  I had completely forgotten about the holiday and wondered if my friend would have plans with her family.  I sent her another text message to remind her about the holiday.  Would Saturday still work for her?  Olga quickly answered back.  Yes, Saturday was still good.  She had no other plans.  Is Saturday good for me?  Yes…unfortunately….I had no other plans for Valentine’s Day either.

So I woke up early and went to the gym.  After my workout, I showered and quickly got dressed for the lunch appointment.  On the way to my friend’s house, I impulsively decided to stop by Wal-mart to grab a few small Valentine’s for her children.  I picked up small heart-shaped boxes of chocolates and sticker books for both of Olga’s little daughters, Jolie and Valkyrie.  Before I got to the register, though, I thought about the fact that Olga usually had several of her nieces and nephews staying at her home.  Since this was a holiday, I would feel awful giving to Olga’s two daughters and leaving the other little kids out.  I quickly tried to add up in my head how many nieces and nephews Olga had.  I quickly grabbed several more candy boxes, sticker books, and boxes of Transformer trading cards.  I paid for the items and then ran out to my car.  I drove over to my friend’s house.

I parked in front of Olga’s house, grabbed the Wal-mart bag, and climbed out of the car.  I walked up to the front door.  Before I could knock, though, the door opened and Olga’s sister, Lucy, stepped outside.  We shared a quick hug before I walked inside the house.  Lucy’s little daughter, Jay, was waiting inside the door.  The child suddenly threw her arms around my legs and gave me a deep hug.  I was surprised that she remembered me.  It had been several months since she had seen me.  I pulled out a candy box and a sticker book and handed it to her.  “Happy Valentine’s Day!” I told her.  Jay shrieked with excitement, grabbed the items, and ran down the hallway to the back bedroom waving the book and candy box over her head.

“Say thank you,” Lucy was screaming out to the little girl.

At the end of the hallway, Jay stopped and turned around to look at me.  “Thank you,” she squealed before turning and running through the far right door.

“Go on,” Lucy told me.  “Everyone is in the back bedroom.”

I walked down the hallway and entered the same doorway Jay had disappeared through a few seconds before.  Jay stood by a small table showing three other small children the treasures she had just received.  The children looked away from their coloring books and stared at the heart-shaped box of candy that Jay held out to them.  I didn’t want the other children to think I forgot about them, so I quickly pulled out of the bag the other boxes of candy, books, and trading cards.  I was surprised how thrilled the little kids were with these simple treasures.  They excitedly hugged the heart shaped boxes to their chests and giggled delightedly!  And they wouldn’t stop climbing on me!  They held my hands and wrapped their small arms around me for hugs and kisses.

After a few minutes, Olga was ready to leave.  I handed the Wal-mart bag to Lucy and let her know that the rest of the candy and sticker books were for the other small nieces and nephews who were not present at the time.  Olga and I left the house then and went out to a local Chinese restaurant.  We spent the next three hours sitting together, talking, crying laughing, sharing.  The whole experience was a reconnection of our friendship.  A beautiful 10-year friendship that is as fresh and clean today as it was when we had first meet in 2004.  My friend and I have been through a lot together.  Relationships, marriages, breakups, pregnancies, children, moves, job changes, emergency room visits, spiritual awakenings, deaths.  Though a few months can go by before we see each other again, I have never doubted her friendship and kindness.  After 3 hours, we left the restaurant and headed back to her house.

I walked with Olga up to the front door of her home.  The door opened and Jay pulled into the living room.  I stood in the kitchen and played with the kids.  I laughed with Olga’s children, Jolie and Val.  I held hands and teased with her nephew, Junior.  I watched Lucy’s small baby, Javin, stumble across the living room while he laughed uproariously.  I watched Jay perform endless tumbling routines around the house.

Finally, I told Olga and Lucy I needed to head back home.  Jay responded by wrapping her arms around my legs as I tried to walk to the door.  “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered as she held tightly to my legs.  She turned her head back to look at her mother.  “I don’t want her to go.  Her has to stay.  I want her to stay.”

“No,” Lucy told her.  “Jamie has to leave now.”

“I go home with her,” Jay stated.

I laughed then.  “Oh, I don’t think you want to come home with me,” I told her as I bent down to give her a hug.  “You don’t want to come home with me.  I’ll make you do the dishes and clean the bathroom.  You’ll have to do the laundry.”

“I’ll do it!  I’ll do it!”  Jay screamed as she jumped up and down excitedly.

“Oh, she will do it,” her mother laughs.  “She tries to do half the housework around here.”  Oh, so I guess that threat wasn’t going to work with Jay.  It usually keeps me away from home.

I laughed then and watched as the children continued to run and dance through the house, all of them holding the small, heart-shaped candy boxes.  After a while, I told Olga I needed to head home.  Before I was able to make it to the door, I was buried underneath a flurry of little bodies all hugging and kissing and screaming for me.  I hugged each of the children good-bye before I was finally being able to step outside of the house.  I walk over to my car, climbed in, and headed for home.  As I drove along Ramon Road, I thought of the stories, secrets, and emotions my friend and I had shared at lunch.  I thought about dancing and playing with all of the beautiful children.  I was amazed that simple heart-shaped boxes of chocolate could create so much excitement.  I suddenly realized then that I had just had one of the best Valentine’s Days of my life.

You’ve Got Hate Mail

I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me.

A few weeks ago, I opened up my Twitter account and looked at the trending topics. One of the top three was the Miss America pageant that had just taken place the night before. I didn’t watch all of the pageant. Honestly, the production bored me so I flipped between channels for a while before finally deciding to watch the pageant’s talent portion and final crowning. The whole process seemed outdated and just plain sad.

But now, here I was on Twitter reading through some of the tweets that had already been posted. I “favorited” the comments that complained that the pageant did not represent minorities. I completely agreed. Maybe that’s why the pageant had seemed so tedious and obsolete to me. I decided to leave a post of my own.

I quickly wrote, “What year is this? Is America still really doing this? Pageant needs some serious updating! Lack of diversity is disturbing.”

I posted the tweet and didn’t think anything more about it. Though I was sincere in my words, it was just the Miss America pageant, after all. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what would happen next.

About a half hour after my tweet, I received a direct message. “Are you Jewish?”

What?! I was completely confused by this message. “No. Why do you ask?” I answered.

I was shocked by the answer I received. “@JamieZunick Can’t understand why you hate White people and are White.”

What?! I took a closer look now at the profile picture. Oh, no! It was an emblem for a white supremacy group! I didn’t want to get any more involved in this. I ignored the message and refused to answer. Over that afternoon, three more messages, each getting progressively more aggressive, showed up on my Twitter account.

“@JamieZunick The Preamble to the US Constitution says: “for ourselves and OUR Posterity”. This means USA is for Whites People!”

“@JamieZunick Diversity is a code word for White geNOcide”

“@JamieZunick Anti-White piece of shit! The USA is for Whites The Preamble to the US Constitution says: “for ourselves and OUR Posterity”.

I ignored all of the messages. How could an innocent comment about a pageant inspire so much hate? I now understood the purpose of the “Are You Jewish” message. This person must have seen my picture on my account, and assumed, since I am white, my comment about diversity must be due to religion.

Though the messages made me angry, I again choose to ignore the situation. Again, I was probably just naïve. I didn’t predict what would happen next. Over the next few days, more direct messages appeared on my Twitter account.

“@JamieZunick must stick up for minorities no matter what the circumstances”

“@JamieZunick typical liberal white woman. Can’t think for herself.”

“@JamieZunick shut the fuck up”

“@JamieZunick man you’se a cracka! You ain’t BLAK !”

“Coloreds and Marxist Filth in Rabid Rage Over White Miss America… hey @JamieZunick hating UR White race is DISTURBING”

I began to realize what happened then. The original “conversation” had been retweeted among other extremist groups. The whole thing seemed ridiculously bizarre. I would open up my Twitter account to find the little “twitter bird” happily proclaiming, “You’ve been retweeted!” “You just got favorited!” “You have a direct message!” I would then open my page to find incredibly hateful messages.

It was a little upsetting but I knew that extreme people were always looking for extreme responses. Be calm, I told myself. Don’t add more fuel to this situation. I made no response. I didn’t even move to block or report the messages. I was not going to show any weakness…but maybe, I wasn’t showing any strength either.

The next day, in my classes at the college I shared the situation with my students. I thought this would be a great learning experience for all of us. As I described the situation, some of my students began to laugh. “Why are you laughing?” I asked them. “Why is this so funny?”

“People are weird” was the overall comment. “Just one simple comment you made created this whole mess?” they questioned.

One student responded with, “I can’t believe that you didn’t respond to them. I would have answered every one of those comments. I would have loved to argue and fight with them. But that’s just me. Believe me, I wouldn’t have walked away from this fight.”

One student told the class, “A few months ago, I had someone send me a series of hateful messages calling me all kinds of filthy names. It was really mean.”

I asked her who had sent the messages and why.

“You know that show Catfish?” the student replied. Well, they had one woman on there who was really cruel and hateful. She was ripping people off. I sent her a message asking her how she could be so mean to everyone. And she responded by calling me all kinds of horrible names.”

“Were you upset by her response?” I asked her.

“Oh, no,” my student answered as she smiled, “I was just excited to get a message from someone who had been on TV!”

The whole room was silent for a moment before dissolving into laughter. Ah, the power of the media!

Though the situation finally began to dissipate over the next few days, I still felt dirty, disgusted, and confused. Did I do the right thing by not responding? How could I argue against people so filled with hate? But by not engaging, did I make a mockery of my own beliefs? Did I deny the power of my own convictions? But if I did respond, what would it have proven? What would have been accomplished? I would have just gotten caught up in an endless web of hate. Would I be able to keep my own sense of fairness and compassion? Or would I have been just as detestable and cruel as those who harassed me?

That’s when a thought occurred to me. I don’t need to fight anyone to testify to my beliefs. If I want to prove my convictions, I must live my convictions. I need to continually treat all people with respect and kindness. Violence doesn’t stop with more violence. The only thing that stops violence is love. Instead of fighting, I hoped that this experience would help me love more, have more patience, and see each person as an individual worthy of respect and kindness.

So, to all of my “haters”, the ones who have told me to shut the fuck up and identified me as a Anti-white piece of shit….thank you. Thank you for showing me that I will always choose kindness and consideration. Thank you for showing me that my life is filled with goodness, respect, and compassion. God bless you.