A Good Day

Have you ever had “one of those days?” You know the kind I mean. It’s the kind of day that Judith Viorst wrote about in her children’s book, “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day.” Gum in hair, plain white sneakers, railroad train pajamas and lima beans all play into a pretty rotten day for poor Alexander, whose hoped-for solution involves moving to Australia.

Viorst wrote the book in 1972, and it has taken more than forty years for it to hit the silver screen with a movie of the same title. I’ve only seen the trailer so far, but it will be in theaters on October 10, and may be worth a visit, if only because we can all identify with Alexander.

Like Alexander, the bad days come our way from time to time and tend to get out attention, but we may be less likely to stop and say, “It’s been a good day.”

Sometimes the good day comes in the form of good news. Friends are expecting a baby. Our child is chosen to be student of the month. Aunt Elsa comes home from the hospital.

A good day can be marked by the tastes of a new season, such as the winter squash so plentiful at the farmer’s market or the first sip of autumn cider. It also feels like a good day when our favorite high school football team hangs on to win a close game, as the Arrows did last week against Wooster.

The goodness of life can surprise us as well. I won a prize this week through a Facebook contest, and I am the proud recipient of twenty shots of the corn cannon at Honey Haven Farms. Just the thought of spending an afternoon at Honey Haven brightened my day, as did the designation of “winner.” It’s the little things . . .

Sometimes the goodness of life is evident in the accomplishment of what we’ve set out to do, such as running our first marathon or walking a 5K. I finished work on my latest book this week, an embellished tale about Eliza Duncan, the woman who named Massillon, Ohio. I felt like I’d given birth without the weight gain and stretch marks! It was a good day.

Conversation with a dear friend, another part of a good day, reminded me that goodness exists even in the midst of what appears to be a Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad day. Eleanor Porter demonstrated that possibility with her character Pollyanna, a girl facing difficult circumstances. Pollyanna decided to play the “glad game,” looking for something to be glad about in every situation. A little syrupy, perhaps, but definitely an improvement over a life of despair.

In a more profound way, Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl discovered a similar path. “Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” Speaking from his own experience in the concentration camps, he said: “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”

One other perspective on the nature of our days comes from Ignatian spiritual instruction, modeled upon the work of St. Ignatius through the Daily Examen. Father Dennis Hamm of Creighton University describes the Daily Examen as “rummaging for God, going through a drawer full of stuff, feeling around, looking for something that you are sure must be there.” A time of daily, personal examination looks for the presence of God over the course of our day, and reflects upon how we interacted with other people. This kind of regular introspection allows us to review our day with gratitude, to choose one feature of our day and pray from it, and to look toward the day ahead with intention.

It’s easy to label a day as good or not-so-good, with a Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad day thrown in from time to time. But what life continues to teach me is that we can find goodness within each day if we’re open to seeing it. Might the blessing of good days be yours.

Do Something

From Saturday's Ashland Times-Gazette

They’re familiar words: “Do something!” A father and son were walking across London Bridge when they saw a number of homeless men huddled in the shadow of that massive span. The order was uttered by William Booth, evangelical preacher turned Salvation Army general, to his son, Bramwell, and their ensuing actions transformed an itinerant preaching ministry into one of the largest faith-based social service providers in the world.

Do something.org is one of the largest “orgs” for young people and social change, and boasts of 2.8 million members who tackle campaigns that impact every cause, from poverty to violence to the environment to literally everything else. “Any cause, anytime, anywhere” is their motto. They’ve got some intriguing examples on their website, including sharing tactics on overcoming bullying and taking down sexism on a football team with one word and ten push-ups. I really like their mission and message, and the great opportunities for teens and young adults to get involved, but I was a bit offended by their membership criteria: “Our members are ages thirteen to twenty-five. Older than that equals old people.” Just wait ‘til they turn thirty.  

“Do Something” is also the theme for an October 27^th rally hosted by Catholic Charities in Mansfield. Author Robert Lupton, (Toxic Charity) will take a critical look at traditional charity models, believing that “if you do something for someone that they can do for themselves, you disempower them.” Should be a fascinating presentation and discussion.

“Do Something.” This oft-repeated phrase will be heard frequently throughout Ashland County over the next few months, and Ev DeVaul and his friends at the United Way of Ashland County are hoping you’ll get so tired of hearing those two words that you’ll step up and do something by supporting their annual fund-raising campaign. The campaign pacesetters “did something” for sure, as they pledged more than half a million dollars, officially kicking off the campaign with a commitment of 47% of the ambitious goal. 

So what, exactly, can we do? The most obvious answer in the United Way campaign is to give money. The reality in the world we live in is that while volunteer hours and creative planning can be quite helpful, money is needed to purchase food for a food pantry, hire qualified staff for the counseling office, and pump fuel into the gas tank of a cancer patient’s automobile.

The United Way will gladly take a no-strings-attached cash donation, but their energetic volunteers also give us opportunities to enjoy our giving. We can do our Christmas shopping at the annual Holiday Happenings on December 4, have breakfast with Santa at Jakes on December 6, or try out the tango or foxtrot at the Harvest Moon Dance with the Kroc Center Big Band on October 11 by the light of the silvery moon.

What else can we do? Diane Winston, who holds the Knight chair in Media and Religion at USC’s Annenberg School, offered another slant on the question as she wrote in the Los Angeles Times: “It’s well and good for individual Americans to volunteer at food banks, staff relief programs and drop coins in kettles at Christmastime. But as [William] Booth understood, these actions need to be accompanied by systemic change, or what he called social salvation. In today’s world that means ensuring that social services provide high-quality public education, affordable housing and healthcare, reliable public transportation and assistance for veterans, families in need and the chronically unemployed.” A tall order, but it’s essential if we are truly going to “do something” to effect long-term change.

Systemic change may be beyond our reach as individuals, and our financial resources may not allow us to make a large gift, but “doing something” is possible for all of us, from school children to the “over twenty-five” old people. Even one dollar per pay period adds up, while our gifts of time and talent can strengthen the United Way campaign, provide volunteer hours at a community agency or church, or support a friend or neighbor in need. It’s not rocket science, Ashland. As the United Way campaign poster encourages us: “Give blessings, give help, give hope.” Don’t just sit there – Do Something!

Loving September

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year.” As you read these seven words, I’m guessing you hummed the Edward Pola and George Wyle tune, first sung by Andy Williams in 1963. While many consider the season of kids jingle-belling to be the most wonderful of all, I’m not ready for Christmas to be upon us yet. Instead, I’m casting my vote for an Ohio September as the most wonderful time of the year.

Why? It’s September, and if my children were younger, I’d admit that shipping them off to school each day brought a semblance of calm and order to my life after long summers punctuated by the words of the familiar refrain: “There’s nothing to do.” While the carefree days of summer have their place, the return of a daily rhythm is a gift to parents.

It’s September, and the Cleveland Indians are playing some good baseball, having won five of their last seven games. While the odds aren’t great for them to play in October, there is still that statistical possibility, and we continue to hope that a couple of other teams will fall apart.

We made our first and last visit of the year to Progressive Field this week, spending six hours at the ballpark as the Tribe came up with two wins on a chilly afternoon. My commitment to avoid wearing socks until October was strongly tested, but my toes survived the challenge. I’ll be sad when the radio voices of Tom Hamilton and Jim Rosenhaus are silenced again until April.

It’s September, a month marking the return of football. I must have been born with a football-watching genetic marker, for I’ve been a fan from an early age. Many years as band parents ingrained our Friday night activity patterns, so when the Arrows are home, we head to Community Stadium. Here’s a suggestion for the powers-that-be: reduce the size of the reserved seat section, as the cheers of the crowd would be more effective without the large patches of empty seats in the middle of the bleachers. Just saying . . . Go Arrows!

We’re hooked on the Ashland University football games as well, and had a great time at the recent home opener under the lights. I always jump at the first few cannon blasts of the year, but we’re glad when the artillery has plenty of work. Here’s hoping the AU Eagles have a successful season, as I’m afraid our Buckeyes may have rough going this year.

What can I say about the “not-for-profit” NFL? I’m long over the awe I experienced when meeting the Buffalo Bills’ Cookie Gilchrist in person at the age of nine, having talked my way into a father-son banquet at church. Between the Bills and the Browns, my winning percentage has been pitiful in recent years, and I’m tempted each September to ignore the call of the gridiron and spend my Sunday afternoons in other endeavors – naps come to mind. Yet somehow, I get roped in one more time, as this may be the year they’ll go all the way, or at least win more than they lose. While I know Mary Shelley wasn’t thinking about football, the author of Frankenstein recognized the truth of September: “The beginning is always today.”

If the world of sports in September is depressing, residents of Ashland County have one consolation: it’s September, and the fair is in full swing tomorrow. I can’t wait to take the lovely Madelyn Simone for our annual visit, viewing the perfectly groomed animals, riding the rides across the midway, and consuming fair food to my heart’s content. No calorie counting during fair week.

For thirty-five years, my Septembers were filled with planning for the ramped-up activity associated with a Salvation Army Christmas. With that particular responsibility removed from my plate, I’ve discovered that September is quite a good month of its own. I haven’t read Jerry Spinelli’s book, “Love, Stargirl,” but as the days of September drop like leaves from the trees around us, his words ring true: “Live today. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Just today. Inhabit your moments. Don’t rent them out to tomorrow.” Here’s wishing you a great September!

Shifting Generations

My family made the “over the river and through the woods” journey this past weekend to grandmother’s house, this time for the grilled hot dogs of Labor Day rather than the turkey feast of late November. While it was a chance to get away for a few days, the weekend also dared me to consider the passing of time, symbolic of the changing of the generational guard.

The signs seemed obvious to me. My youngest son brought The Girlfriend to the unofficial family reunion, while my oldest son, daughter-in-law, and the lovely Madelyn Simone were welcomed into the newly purchased house of my niece, who has recently returned to her hometown to become a first-time homeowner. Watching the cousins horse around in the pool, my mind flashed back to the days when my boys were flailing away on top of the chicken fights instead of taking the bottom assignment.

It feels odd to me, this generational shift, but not unwelcome. I like the image writer Annie Dillard extends to us: “Ours is a planet sown in beings. Our generations overlap like shingles.” I’m caught in the overlap, still the daughter to my mother, but also the parent to my sons and a blessed grandmother as well. Yes, the family dynamics are shifting,

A shifting of the generations also requires us to embrace loss. When we brought out the cake and homemade ice cream, a Streeter family tradition for summertime gatherings, the standard question was raised: OK, who has the next birthday? With a bit of hesitation, someone said, Pops. Yes, my dad was born on September 1, 1923, and our Labor Day gathering always included a chorus of Happy Birthday for my father.

He’s been gone nine years now, yet for a moment I expected to see him in his familiar chair at the dinner table, tipping up a bottle of home-brewed root beer. He loved his kids and grandkids dearly, and he would be so impressed with the progress ten-year-old Lucas is making with his clarinet, and would certainly be smitten with the charm of Madelyn, his first, and so far the only great-grandchild. I’m even guessing that Dad would have given in and played Monopoly the first time eight-year-old Noah asked. That’s who my dad was.

Though it’s been a number of years since Dad’s death, my visit to the proverbial homestead left me yearning for what Mitch Albom described in “For One More Day:” “Have you ever lost someone you love and wanted one more conversation, one more chance to make up for the time when you thought they would be here forever? If so, then you know you can go your whole life collecting days, and none will outweigh the one you wish you had back.”

And yet in the midst of these pointed reminders of loss and the shifting sands of the generations, the joyful connections remain. The playful soccer game on the front lawn, the laughter in the pool, the ever-creative story-telling, all speak to the expansiveness of family. It’s times like these that cause us to say, “It’s good to be together.”

We expect to face the existential questions of life in the pale light of the stained glass windows, in the philosophy classroom, or on a solitary retreat. Yet just as often, loss, love and light come our way in the everyday, when we pause to recognize the tap on our shoulder or the wink of an eye.

I’m at risk of waxing poetic just now, so I’ll let the words of James Baldwin finish my thoughts today: “For nothing is fixed, forever and forever and forever, it is not fixed; the earth is always shifting, the light is always changing, the sea does not cease to grind down rock. Generations do not cease to be born, and we are responsible to them because we are the only witnesses they have. The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.” Amen.

Betrayed - Now What?

From my archives - first published in Mutuality in 2005, but definitely still relevant.

            Harriet had served the ministry’s leaders faithfully for a quarter of a century.  They were a godly couple, stepping out in faith in powerful ways.  A model of a faithful marriage, they were seen as blessed by God.  Working for them had not always been easy, but she was deeply committed to the ministry.  She had left once, but God had made it clear to her that she was to return, and had promised her that he understood, and that he would allow her to birth a project of her own that would be of value to the Kingdom.  Not flashy or world-known, Harriet’s network of care to women in ministry gave both financial and spiritual support to isolated women around the world.  Reverend Smith had given his blessing to her work, as long as it didn’t interfere with her job as his wife’s administrative assistant, and Harriet found great joy in those contacts made in the hours she spent weaving her web of connection among these amazing women.

            Somehow, the local religion editor heard about Harriet’s ministry, and she did a sensitive feature for the Sunday paper about the ways in which Harriet’s work had impacted women.  Harriet read the article with a hesitant pride, realizing how God had used her, through his promise, to bless others.  She was so grateful that her small idea had reached so many, enriching her life as well.

            When Reverend and Mrs. Smith asked to see her on Monday morning, she entered the office basking in the reporter’s glowing words.  Indeed, her ministry-child was flourishing, even if it paled in comparison to what God was doing in the world-wide ministry of the Smiths.  She was blind-sided by the attack.  “How could you draw attention to yourself in such a way?  You are a traitor to our ministry.  You’ve compromised what we’ve worked so hard for by your underhanded actions.  You must leave.  We’ll ship your personal items to your apartment this afternoon.  Go – now.”  Mrs. Smith did the talking, while Reverend Smith sat stone-faced at her side.  Harriet turned to him to save her.  “You knew I was involved in this – in fact, you were the one who gave me the courage and inspiration to begin in the first place.”  Sheepishly, he turned to Harriet and said, “I’m sorry – it must be as my wife has spoken.  We will give you two weeks salary, but you must go now.”

            Betrayal.  The slang tells the tale: Harriet had been stabbed in the back, sold down the river over another’s envy.  Does it happen?  Harriet’s story is more common than we’d like to admit.  (See Hagar’s story in Genesis 21 for an ancient version of Harriet’s tale). It takes many forms:  A trusted assistant begins a new church in the next town, and takes half the congregation with her.  The denomination announces the pastor’s next assignment, and everybody knows that it’s payback for standing up to the bishop. A pastor’s wife sacrifices for many years for her husband’s ministry, and then is abandoned for a woman who understands his needs better (and who is ten years younger).

            The pain from such a betrayal throbs late into the night.  This slap in the face has left its ugly hand print indelibly seared on the cheek of the one who has been betrayed.  And it seemingly was done in the name of God.  It is a grief deeper than the ocean.  At first, you can’t believe that it has happened, and you know that God will surely have to step in and right the wrong that has been done in his name.  Yet nothing happens.  The betrayer gets away with the Judas kiss.  You vacillate between an anger that seethes from your bones over the injustice that has been done, and an ache so raw that it can’t stand to be touched.  This hurts like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

            It helps to read the Psalms and realize that David had experienced similar emotions. 

Vindicate me, O God, and defend my cause against an ungodly people;

from those who are deceitful and unjust deliver me!

For you are the God in whom I take refuge; why have you cast me off?

Why must I walk about mournfully because of the oppression of the enemy? (Psalm 43:1-2, NRSV)

You keep reading: “O send out your light and your truth; let them lead me, let them bring me to your holy hill and to your dwelling” (43:3).  Yes, God, this is what I want – your light and truth –bring me to a holy response to what has been done to me.    

            And then you turn to the pages of the gospels in your morning reading, and the words of Jesus leap off the page: 

“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’

Yes, that’s the way it should be – she deserves to suffer just as I have.

“But I say to you, Do not resist an evil-doer.

But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other cheek . . .

You have heard that it was said,

‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’

But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,

so that you may be children of your Father in heaven . . .”

(Matthew 5:38-39, 43-45).

Then Peter came and said to him [Jesus], “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive?

As many as seven times?”

Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.

(Mt. 18:21-22)

I can’t.  I cannot do this.  I cannot forgive this betrayal.  And that is true.  You can’t forgive this.  Not yet.  Not fully.  Not on your own.  But if we are to be serious about the instruction of the scripture, we must move in the direction of forgiveness.  For forgiveness is much more a process than one specific action.  We stand at the place of the offense and we have a choice.  We can move in the direction of mercy, or we can move in the direction of bitterness.  Each step we take away from the place of offense leads us in one direction or the other.  We can choose the way of Christ, or not.

But his love is greater than all our hate, and he will not rest until Judas has turned to him, until Satan has turned to him until the dark has turned to him; until we can all, all of us, without exception, freely return his look of love with love in our own eyes and hearts.  And then, healed, whole, complete but not finished, we will know the joy of being co-creators with the one to whom we call.  (Madeleine L’Engle, The Irrational Season, 215)

But how?  Much has been written about forgiveness in recent years.  Everett Worthington Jr.’s pyramid of forgiveness (Spirituality and Health, Winter 1999) teaches that we can climb the pyramid of forgiveness by recalling the hurt, empathizing, offering the altruistic gift of forgiveness, committing to forgive, and holding onto forgiveness.  Paul Coleman’s offers five phases of forgiveness: identifying the hurt, confronting the hurt, having the dialogue to understand, forgiving and letting go.  As Coleman tells us,  “Forgiveness comes first as a decision to act lovingly, even though you are justified to withhold your love” (Exploring Forgiveness, Enright and Frost, ed., 79). It is necessary to make the decision to move toward forgiveness, often on an hour-by-hour basis, and these models can prove helpful for specific ways to do that.  

But there remains a sense in these deep, deep areas of betrayal that forgiveness is beyond our power.  Jesus experienced this from the cross.  He didn’t say, “I forgive you for betraying me and for killing me.”  No, even Christ had to draw upon the forgiveness of the Father; “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34).  In our absolute hopelessness of ever being able to forgive, we can learn from Hagar’s response, for she too finds herself with no hope (Genesis 21:15-19). It is doubtful that she is thinking about forgiving Abraham and Sarah as she sits waiting for her son to die.  She is desperate simply to survive.  In her desperation, she comes to the realization that she can do absolutely nothing to change the situation. She has no food, no water, and her son will die (as will she).  Yet in the midst of her extreme helplessness, waiting for the death of her child (a direct result of the betrayal she has suffered), God shows up. 

He hears.  The narrative doesn’t indicate that Hagar called the Lord; in fact, the angel of God tells her, “God has heard the voice of the boy where he is.”  It is as though God has heard the pain that resulted from the betrayal, and he responds to it.  God then opened Hagar’s eyes.  It is amazing how much an act of betrayal can blind us to what we know about God and his kingdom.  When we are in the midst of it, we just cannot see.  And so God must come and open our eyes to the path he has for us through the desert of betrayal.  And when he does open Hagar’s eyes, she realizes that he has provided the water that she needs. 

Was the well there all along?  Quite possibly.  In the pain of our betrayal, God’s provision may be difficult to see, but it is there.  His presence, his word and his people are ours when we can begin to look around to see and receive them.   And ultimately his justice will prevail, as the familiar hymn reminds us:

This is my Father’s world,

O let me ne’er forget

That though the wrong seems oft so strong,

God is the ruler yet.

(Maltbie Davenport Babcock)

Yet it is still up to Hagar to move.  She must get up, lift up the boy, and drink.  And so it is for the Harriets of the church world.  Grieve this loss.  Name it for what it is. Do what you must do to keep this from happening to another. But don’t stop there.  Get up, lift up what you have birthed, and drink.  At first, it will be a cup of sustenance, but in time, will also be the cup of forgiveness through the precious blood of Jesus.  If you are faithful in the drinking of the cup, a time will come when you will have forgiven.  Coleman’s words describe the experience: “When you forgive, you do not forget the season of cold completely, but neither do you shiver in its memory” (Coleman, in Enright and Frost, 79).   

You are my servant.

I have chosen you and not cast you off;

Do not fear, for I am with you

Do not be afraid, for I am your God

I will strengthen you, I will help you,

I will uphold you with my victorious right hand.

Isaiah 41:9-10