Showing posts with label compassion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label compassion. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

When They Hurt

I remember when my son was learning to walk. I was relating to my mother how difficult it is to watch him fall, flinching every time. I hated to see him hurt, even if it was only a momentary jostle. My mother empathized and then added, "If you think you it's hard to take when he deals with that kind of hurt . . . just wait until someone hurts his feelings. That is excruciating."

I know what she meant now.

My son is, of course, extraordinary. He is perfect in every way. To set your eyes upon him is to feed your soul with joy and contentment. At least that's how I see him.




But I also know that my son is a bit different around his peers. He is quite reserved. And, being mostly a nature-nick, he is a bit out of the loop with many of his compulsive-gaming classmates.

That is not to say that he has no friends. He does. He has a small circle of friends. He's more into the scout crowd than the sports crowd which is a considerably bigger and more raucous group.

Imagine our joy when a new boy joined the class last year. A very polite boy, very science minded, very studious. He and my son became fast friends. An answer to my prayers.

Imagine our anguish when this same boy simply decided one day that he no longer wanted to be my son's friend. No reason given. He just dropped him. We even inquired with the boy's parents about there perhaps being more to the story. No. They were no more helpful than the boy. And now, the worst of all -- if you're 10, anyway -- he did not invite him, despite inviting nearly everyone else, to his birthday party.

My son, who is usually quite reserved and stoic when it comes to displays of emotion, is notably sad and hurt.

Being a proper mama-tiger, I, of course, am incensed. How could someone treat my boy this way? I thought it was teenage girls who did this sort of thing? Isn't this supposed to be one of the advantages of being a boy, simple friendships? And after all our coaching and cajoling to our son about being more outgoing, trusting his friends enough to really be himself. This was his first "best friend." I am crushed for him.

Thanks for listening.


Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Validation

I'm finding the world a rough place lately. Maybe you are, too. People seem to be so coarse, so unkind, so hard on each other. Not all, of course.

But, God help me, the hard ones seem to stay with me longer.

I came across this charming little video a while back, and thought you might like it, too. It takes a few moments and a bit of patience and good humor, but I send it out to you to watch if you choose.

I wish the sentiments would ripple out far and wide.





My warmest wishes for a nice day,

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

People place candles and lay flowers in front of the Presidential Palace in Warsaw, Poland, Saturday, April 10, 2010, as news broke out about Polish President's Lech Kaczynski death. Polish presidential plane with Kaczynski and wife on board crashed near the airport in Smolensk, western Russia, early morning Saturday, killing all passengers.
AP Photo/Czarek Sokolowski


Former Polish President Lech Walesa reacts during a Mass dedicated to the victims of the presidential plane crash in Gdansk, Poland, Sunday, April 11, 2010.
AP Photo/Krzysztof Mystkowski



A man's reaction is reflected in a glass covering the photo of the late Polish President Lech Kaczynski and his wife Maria that was displayed at the Poland Consulate in St. Petersburg, Russia, Sunday, April 11, 2010. The sign under the photo informs about a week of official mourning declared in Poland. Polish President Lech Kaczynski, his wife and some of the country's most prominent military and civilian leaders died Saturday along with dozens of others when the presidential plane crashed as it came in for a landing in thick fog near Smolensk in western Russia.
AP Photo/Dmitry Lovetsky




Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Faith Comes In a Child (And a Parakeet?)

Once upon a time, there was a little boy and a stray parakeet.

The little boy was running and playing in his yard after dinner when a stray parakeet swooped through his yard, landing on the fence.

The parakeet chirped and chatted.



The little boy was enchanted.

The boy quickly realized the parakeet was lost, for parakeets are not native birds in his area.  He called his parents outside to help.

They tried and tried to catch the clever parakeet, but with each effort, the parakeet grew less trusting and finally flew away.

The boy was sad.

He tried everything to lure the parakeet back.

He sprinkled seed all around the fence and upon all the tables and chairs throughout the yard.

He fashioned gentle traps out of nets, shoe boxes, popsicle sticks, and string and waited hours for the parakeet to return.

But the parakeet was not to be found that night.

The next morning, the boy arose enthusiastic with more ideas to find and save his new friend.

He watched and waited all day.

He searched every tree and fence in the neighborhood.

No parakeet.

The next day, the boy continued, determined to find and capture the lost parakeet.

No parakeet.

The boy grew distraught.

He lost sleep.

Despite his parents' assurances that the parakeet must have found his way back home, the boy would not give up.

There had been no sight of the parakeet since that first night.

The boy's parents watched the boy, so sad, yet so determined.

After the boy went to bed on the third night, the parents, certain that the parakeet would never return, bought a parakeet just like the one who had visited and put it in the cage the little boy had prepared for his phantom friend.

When the little boy awoke the next morning and found the parakeet in the cage, he assumed it was the little lost parakeet.  His parents did not correct him.  It would be better that way, they reasoned.

The little boy spent much time with his new parakeet, making him toys and trying to train him.



The new parakeet wanted nothing to do with the boy.  The bird bit and fought and refused to play with the boy.

After months of trying to be friends with the bird, the little boy gave up, lost interest, and left him alone.

The parakeet grew bored and lonely.

Realizing that the parakeet still needed a friend, the parents then bought another parakeet.

The lonely parakeet was so happy to meet his new parakeet friend. 

They chirped and played and were as happy as could be.  They shared toys and swings and flew and played all winter long.



One spring afternoon, the telephone rang.  It was a worried neighbor.  She had spotted a parakeet in her yard and needed help catching him.

The mother hurried over wondering whether it could possibly be the visitor from last summer.

It was.

It was the same turquoise parakeet that had visted all those months before.  All those feet of snow before.  All those freezing nights before.  Miraculously, the parakeet had survived the bitter winter.

The bird, being nearly exhausted and starved after the long winter, was easy to catch this time.

The mother brought the parakeet home and watched with delight as the bird ate and drank and ate some more.

Then the bird fell into to deep sleep.

The bird slept and slept, waking only to eat and drink for a few moments at a time.

But what would the little boy think?  He had thought the lost parakeet had been with him all this time.  How would this be explained?  How much would the boy realize?

When the boy came home from school, he noticed the sleeping bird in the small cage.

He smiled and looked on wonderously, thoughts visibly swirling about his head.

He watched and smiled.

And watched some more.

And then he said,

"It looks like God sent us another parakeet. 
He must think we take good care of them."




The faith of a child.



Blessed are they who witness it.  



Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Does It Take . . . George Clooney?




The earthquake in Haiti is one of the deadliest and most tragic natural disasters in human history.  The images and first-hand accounts from the decimated country are heart-rending.  The suffering must be beyond my conscious measure, because, try as I might, I cannot truly imagine the sights, sounds, fear, and pain wrought over the people of Haiti and those there in their service.

We have all been wracked the question:  What can I do?  What in this world of mine can I do or give to help in any even small way?  My husband and I thought and prayed and pondered.  And responded thoughtfully and compassionately.  We're not special.  That's what people do.  No one has to beg us.  It is within us.  Ourselves.       

 

 

 APP/Getty Image


So when I heard about yet another celeb-a-thon, this one to implore us to contribute for relief in Haiti, I reacted with incredulity, a mental eye roll, and a heavy sigh.  More lectures from the famous.  I was disgusted by the arrogance of George Clooney, and all his celeb pals, for believing that it would take face time with them to move us to act.  I think we all -- yes, even the non-famous people -- have hearts and consciences and brains, and have thoughtfully considered if and what to contribute to Haiti at this time.     

I was insulted for myself as well as for society as a whole.  We don't need a multi-millionaire movie star, oh-by-the-way with a movie out, to coax us into caring about our fellow man.  Do we really need a simplistic, "Give . . . all you can," to prompt us?  I boycotted the celeb-a-thon.  I had done what I thought best days ago.  And I was sure my fellow man had as well.


But the celeb-a-thon grossed $58 million dollars.


And now I don't know what to think.

 


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