Simple Gifts

Alexander has learned the first verse of the song Simple Gifts in his First Day School at Quaker Meeting. He loves to sing it, and I love to listen. Tonight at bedtime he sang while I hummed the tune. After we were done he smiled and said, "That was nice."

It was nice. But I was touched in another way as well. As we sang, I was reminded of the pain of the Amish community this week as they mourn the horrible deaths of their daughters in the latest school shooting. Quakers are sometimes confused with the Amish. Although our theology is quite different, we do share a few things in common, such as the call to simplicity and nonviolence. I looked in the face of my little son and remembered that many of the Amish boys had been forced to leave their sisters in the one room school with the killer. I wondered how this incident will affect their faith as they grow. Then we prayed for children everywhere.

I heard on NPR today that as the members of the small Amish village prepared to support the families of the victims with meals and helping hands, they were also asking about the family of the man who victimized them. They were preparing to stand by and support that family as well. The NPR guest said they had "already moved on to forgiveness". I'm not so sure about that. Such an analysis makes the Amish reaction seem somehow super-human, or at least super spiritual. The Amish are human beings like the rest of us. I'm sure they struggle with doubt, anger, grudges, and grief, just as we all do. Forgiveness may come later, at different times for different individuals. Rather than forgiveness, I suspect the Amish show of love for the family of their enemy comes out of a consistant *practice* of humility and of seeing others as God sees them. When a person or a community practices these things, they can choose to respond with love even in the face of persecution or tragedy. They can more easily see through facades of negative emotions and behavior to the broken humanity that lies beneath. It's a "Simple Gift" to see and respond to such truths. A simple gift borne of coming "down where we ought to be".

Simple, but not easy.

Biology Lesson

Me, driving past a field of cattle: "Hey Brianna, did you know that cows have 4 stomachs?"

Brianna: "Yeah." (pause) "Whales have 3 stomachs."

Me: "They do??"

Brianna: "Yup. Probably, it helps them digest their food."


Wow. You learn something new every day.

Kinda weird to have the tables turned on you by a 6 year old, though!

The Other Anniversary

While we remember the tragedy that befell our country and the world 5 years ago today, I invite everyone to remember a more hopeful and heroic anniversary as well. 100 years ago today, on September 11, 1906, Mohandas Gandhi launched the modern non-violent movement. This movement has inspired hope and effected meaningful and lasting change throughout the word, including here in the United States.

Of course it's called the "modern" non-violence movement for a reason. There have always been visionaries who have called for a counter-intuitive response to provocation. Jesus comes to mind, for one. Today, I'm spending time remembering the shocking and sad events of 2001, but I'm also envisioning an evolution toward peace in the world and in myself. Perhaps one day I can muster the strength of character to fully embrace what Jesus, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., (and thousands of other brave souls less well remembered) knew to be the only way to lasting, sustainable and Spirit-filled peace.

Glimpses

Sometimes we are blessed with glimpses of our children's most authentic selves. Today I got to see such glimpses in Alexander -- twice.

The first time was when he gingerly took a baby doll from Brianna's arms and held it just as gently and lovingly as he may one day hold a child of his own. He carefully pulled the blanket close around it's shoulders and softly stroked it's cheek. Like all children, he often treats dolls roughly, as the mere inanimate toys they are. It's touching to see how tender he is when the doll becomes a real baby in his imagination. It felt like a peek into his future.

The next moment came late this afternoon when Brianna and Firmin were away on a bike ride. Alexander took advantage of a rare opportunity to play outside by himself. I busied myself in the house, but peeked out at him often. He was doing such classic "boy" things -- throwing his new football up and catching it, poking at bugs on the fence, looking under rocks for critters. I watched him be his true self -- perservering, curious, adventurous. What I saw out the window said little about his past or his future, but was a beautiful snapshot of the 4 year old boy he is right now.

All those nights (those many, many, many nights) of sleep deprivation were worth it.

Taking Notice

Remember Slugbug? The game where you punched your sibling or friend in the arm every time you saw a VW Beetle? I couldn't help myself -- I taught it to my kids. Soon thereafter, their cousins introduced them to a new variation: Pinch, Poke, PT Cruiser, which is pretty self-explanatory and quite a bit more annoying than slugbug, if you ask me. Before the children were into these games, I saw VW Beetles and PT Cruisers only occasionally when I was out and about. If asked, I might have estimated seeing them 2 or 3 times per week. Now I see them *everywhere*! Every time we go out I see at least one of each, and usually far more than that. I would guess now that I see an average of 5 of each model every day. Has there been a surge in sales of cute little cars? Of course not. The only difference is that I am taking notice.

Sometimes our blindness to things we aren't paying attention to can be complete. A couple of years ago, in the fall of the year, one of the children got a book about trees. In it was a picture of a smoke tree. I had never seen a smoke tree (or so I thought) and assumed that they must grow in some other climate. The following spring, when our next-door neighbor's smoke tree bloomed, I recognized it from the book. Suddenly I saw smoke trees every day. On a street that I traveled about once a week, I noticed that almost every house had a smoke tree in the yard! It's hard to believe these beautiful trees went completely unnoticed by me for 34 years, but it's true.

It makes me wonder what else is all around me that I don't take notice of? And what do I notice too often, so that my perspective is distorted? For example, is our culture really as "uncivil" as it appears to many people? Are there perhaps just as many "nice folks" as there have always been? Are most Americans really "sheeple"? (sigh -- I must admit that I'm pretty convinced the answer to that last one is "yes", but perhaps that makes it a good test case, lol!)

What would happen if we picked one assumption we have and spent the next week or month trying to change what we take notice of? I think I'm going to try it.

P.S. If you want a definition of sheeple, there's a good one on this site. The rest of the site does not necessarily reflect my own beliefs, however.

Peace

Peace is such a small word -- easy to say, easy to oversimplify, easy to underestimate. My thoughts about peace have been challenged and stretched in the 3 years I've been worshiping with Friends. The peace testimony has been the only one of the Quaker testimonies I've had reservations about. I'm coming to realize that I've confused peace and non-violence with passivity and naivete. As I come to recognize the spiritual underpinnings of peace, I see the strength and power of true Peace. Frankly it scares me a little! Genuine peace-making requires boldness and resolve, humility, love, courage and mental toughness. If we let the peace makers have some space to do their thing, (or better yet, if more of us join them) perhaps there will yet be an Earth worth inheriting.

The Tikkun Community is circulating an ad calling for a new approach to peace in the Middle East -- one that is based on the principle of the sacredness of all human beings, rather than who is in the "right" and who is in the "wrong". I encourage anyone who has been sickened by the reports of the death and suffering of innocents in Lebanon and Israel to take a look at it. You may be moved to add your signature to this effort which appears to me to be truly Spirit-led. In addition, though it is not a document crafted by Quakers, it could be. The approach of mutual accountability and responsibility, and the call to address the root *causes* of war are very much a part of the Quaker peace tradition.

Peace to you all -- in your hearts, in your homes, in the world.

Let this be a lesson to you

If you choose to grow zucchini, check it often.
Every single day would be good.
Maybe twice a day.

Good Times

Sibling rivalry gets a lot of press because it drives us parents nuts. Not only that, it makes us profoundly sad sometimes. A child that you adore causes physical or emotional pain to another child that you adore. No matter how a parent chooses to deal with it, it's a toughie, and since all parents of two or more children face this issue, we like to commiserate. What gets much less air time is the cooperation, love and support that siblings often show toward each other. It's a shame that we don't talk about this more often because these positive interactions are among the most gratifying moments in parenting. I suspect they are among the most important moments to the children as well. I'll share a recent example from our family.

Yesterday, Alexander wanted to build a skyscraper with Legos. He enlisted my help, and agreed (rather reluctantly, I must admit) to let Brianna help as well. Brianna sat down with us and announced: "Alexander has the best ideas for Legos. We should do his idea." This is a major compliment coming from Brianna, who has a healthy self image and generally likes to be in charge.

Alexander picked up on it right away. "I have great ideas for legos! I always have the best ideas."

Brianna wasn't done. "Alexander could build buildings when he grows up. I mean he could design them."

"You think he would make a good architect?" I asked.

"Yeah, he would be a great architect."

"I'm going to be an *architect* when I grow up!" Alexander declared. As we built the skyscraper, he continued to talk about being an architect. He's been talking about it ever since, as a matter of fact. (He's even got it all worked out how he can be an architect, a firefighter and a rock star at the same time -- he'll do one job each day on a rotating basis.)

When the skyscraper was done, Brianna declared it so wonderful that Alexander "should get a medal for it." She got one of her father's running medals and presented it to him. Then they posed for this shot:
It's a bit blurry, but you can see the love and pride in their faces.

The "bad" times are so easy to focus on, but most of those negative moments mean next to nothing to siblings and are quickly forgotten. My prayer for today is that I can forget them just as quickly and savor the positive moments longer.

The Easy Life

My Great Grandma arrived in the mail yesterday. I was momentarily confused by the large padded envelope. It was hand addressed to me, with an unfamiliar return address. "Handle With Care" was stamped on it, along with the hand-written phrase "Grandma inside!" and a smiley face. I opened it and discovered that it was indeed a memory of my Great Grandmother who died a few weeks ago at the age of 102.

Great Grandma was nearly 70 when I was born, so although I knew her for many years, she has always been elderly to me. When I got the news of her death last month, I regreted that I knew next to nothing about her life as a younger woman. I hoped the funeral would include some hints of who she had been in her prime.

I was in luck! Turns out, one of my dad's cousins put together a book about my great grandmother in the late 1990's, interviewing Great Grandma and soliciting remembrances from her sisters, her children, grandchildren and others. At the funeral, my father read some of the remembrances of Great Grandma's five children. What I learned startled me. The lonely, cranky old lady that I knew had been a patient, tolerant mother (by the standards of her era anyway), an outdoors woman, a hunter. She had taken in laundry to earn money, and done it all by hand on a wash board. She had preserved nearly all of her own food, and made all of her children's clothing, including their underwear. She loved to camp and could get chickadees to land on her hand. The book clearly contained much more than the several pages my father read at the funeral, so afterward I tracked down my dad's cousin and gave her $5 to print me a color copy of the book and send it to me.

As I read the book cover to cover last night, I was struck most by two things. The first was how much I resonated with her life. I think I'm a bit (a lot?) like her in many ways. I have some of the same passions, and I suspect some of the same foibles. Some time ago, I took her unhappiness in her advanced age as a personal warning. I recognized in myself some of the same tendencies toward self-pity and inertia that I believe contributed to her dissatisfaction late in life. I am thankful that I now have positive connections with Great Grandma as well. I now know that she liked the outdoors, gardening, being a mother, and learning new things, just as I do. I know that one of the qualities that first attracted her to her husband was his kindness, just as my own husband's kindness was one of the first things that attracted me to him.

The second thing that struck me came at the end of the interview with her granddaughter who put together the book. Naturally, I had been comparing the stories of her motherhood years to my own, and thinking primarily of how much easier it is to be a woman today. I was viewing her life as one would view a museum artifact: respectfully and a little in awe, but not quite able to touch the reality of the past. Her final statement caught me up short and made me wonder if I had been indulging in some generational (even cultural) bias. I've been pondering it on and off all day, still not 100% sure what to make of it. For such a short statement, it contains a lot to reflect upon. I share it here in that spirit.

"I grew up the hard way, but really it was easier." -- Opal E. (1903 - 2006)

Rest in Peace, Grandma. I'll join you on the other side some day, and then we can talk. :o)

Brianna and the Bee

Yesterday, the kids and I were perusing the offerings on the newly installed cable TV, which we only get for a month or two every 4 years so that Firmin can catch every possible minute of World Cup soccer he can manage. Anyway, we ran across the 2006 National Spelling Bee on ESPN. Brianna was hooked right away and we watched over an hour of the middle rounds. When we learned that the finals were to be shown in prime time last night, I agreed to let her stay up and watch. We had a wonderful Mommy-Daughter time complete with a bowl of popcorn and a supposedly unabridged dictionary, lol! Her idea -- not mine! -- was to look up the words as the contestants were spelling them, but it proved to be too difficult, especially given the fact that hardly any of the words were in our "unabridged" dictionary!

You know what I liked best about the spelling bee? The fact that the contestants were mostly middle school kids. (I believe kids in grades 4-8 are eligible.) What other event showcases humans in their most awkward, geeky stage of life? We see lots of dimply-faced elementary cuties on TV -- especially precocious ones, as the spelling bee contestants undoubtedly were just a few years ago. We also get to see lots of fresh faced teens, looking confident and cocky. But we don't see the 11 - 13 set all that often. There's just no denying it -- these kids are smack up against the horrors and humiliations of puberty. Their bodies are oddly proportioned, their faces are often spotty, their senses of humor are embarrassingly immature. They hover between childhood and adolescence, and the balance is a tough one to maintain.

But the Bee revealed the best of this stage of life. They were old enough to sit quietly awaiting their turn, yet young enough to be touchingly authentic. Old enough to hold in the tears at the moment of elimination, but too young to pretend they didn't care. One boy exited the stage with a stoic expression, then collapsed in his mother's lap and buried his face in her shoulder. (That sure melted this mom's heart!) These kids had a certain gawky charm that was so real you could feel it right through the TV. I felt very silly at the number of times I actually choked up watching them.

I doubt kids in the midst of middle school misery would have noticed the sweetness that was so evident to me. I know that at that age, I would have been more embarrassed my fellow specimens of puberty than anything. ("Do *I* look like that???") But perhaps they noticed the final few contestants, all of whom were 8th graders aged 13 or 14. (The 13 year olds must be close to 14 by this time in the school year.) No geeky, odd looking kids in that bunch. By 14, the awkwardness is fading fast, and the bloom of adolescence is apparent. The final 3 contestants were all confident, beautiful girls. (Go girls!!) As sweet as those 11 and 12 year olds were, I know it can be a harrowing time of life. It's good to be reminded that it does come to an end!

See and read about the winner of the Bee here.

Ack! Don't even ask me how many misspellings the spell checker just caught in this post, lol!
"embarassing: E-M-B-A-R-A-S-S-I-N-G, embarassing"
DING!
Needless to say, spelling was never my forte.

Read This Book

I just finished reading The Ominvore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. I highly recommend it to anyone who cares about food, oil, animals, health, or just enjoys a good work of non-fiction. I was already aware of some of the information the author presents about pasture raised vs. corn-fed meat, and I had already changed my meat-buying habits accordingly. However, reading this book has prompted me to make even more effort to localize my food supply wherever possible. I’m going to have to get dh to read it (I think I’ll get it on CD for him) so that he doesn’t think I’ve gone off the deep end. ;o)

Seriously though, did you know how huge the percentage of our American diet is derived from corn? Even things you wouldn’t think of – meat, eggs and dairy products (because the cows and chickens all eat corn), spaghetti sauce, bread, beverages, and on and on. I was amazed at the list of additives which are really corn in disguise. Citric acid? Gee, you would think that would come from citrus fruits, but no. It’s corn. A researcher who has analyzed the number of carbon isotopes in humans that are unique to corn say that “We North Americans look like corn chips with legs.” The problem with this is not the carbon isotopes in our bodies, but what they reveal: our increasing reliance on a monoculture of corn. Not surprisingly, this is unhealthy for our bodies, our environment, our livestock, and even our economy.

Don’t even get me started on the fossil fuel issue. [sigh]

Now I’ve gone and ranted and made you think this book is one of those that makes you feel bad about something you can’t do anything about. Not so! (Or not entirely so, anyway.) The sections about organic farming, local food networks, and pasture farm systems were engrossing and even inspiring in places. Pollan is an engaging writer, with a self-deprecating sense of humor that is just right for the topic at hand. You also get to meet some wonderful characters in this book -- the two farmers featured prominently nearly pop from the pages in full rural color.

There is a lot in the book about meat, but I don’t think vegetarians should shy away. As I said, the implications of The Omnivore’s Dilemma go beyond the plate and touch upon farm policy, economics and local food systems. In the last section, he gives fair consideration to the animal rights movement, struggling with his own ethical qualms about killing animals for food. Ultimately, he defends the omnivorous habits of most humans, but he asserts that we should eat animals only after looking honestly at the reality of what it takes to get them to our table.

As Brianna says in every book report she writes: “Everybody should read this book!”

Speaking of Digging...

I've been absent from the computer more than usual the past week or two, as it's heavy-duty gardening time here in Michigan. We had what should be our last overnight frosts a few nights ago, and Memorial Day is fast approaching. This year I have over 800 square feet to prepare and plant. (Don't think I'm not a little intimidated, lol!) I have some spring crops already up (peas, spinach, lettuce, garlic, and the perennial herbs), but most of the garden was waiting for the warmer weather. Earlier this week, Brianna and I planted leeks, oregano, chamomile, chard, kale and broccoli in one section. Over the last two days, I've been gathering the rest of the seeds and seedlings I need for transplant. I hope to get them in this weekend.

I have a new bed that was grass until last week. I had a guy from The Garden Project till it up, but that only broke up the sod. I've been busy double digging the new bed, which is very hard work, but so satisfying! It's wonderful to see a high, fluffy bed of soil where there used to be tough, hard dirt. And no shower is as satisfying as the one that rinses off the sweat and dirt of productive labor! Ahhh!

Once again, I'm impressed with the flexibility that homeschooling offers us. I love that our lives can reflect the rhythm of the seasons (to whatever small extent) rather than an simply an external calendar. I've tried to sneak in a lesson or two during the week, just to keep us in the habit, but most of the "sit-down" stuff is on the back burner until we get the garden in. Both kids have been helping, of course, and learning the kinds of things that just can't be taught in a classroom. They are also still in the process of re-acquainting themselves with the ability to be outside for several hours a day. :o) We'll get back to the books eventually. I don't plan on putting them away for summer for good. Our schedule will undoubtedly be even more leisurely than it was during the winter simply because there is more to do outside, and more special events to grab our attention and time. The garden will require some attention most days as well, even after the major work of May and early June is done. It feels just right to be organizing our time this way -- around our community, our food, our seasons, our bodies.

Digging Deep

We have the Kids Book of Questions by Gregory Stock, a book full of thought provoking questions for children to answer. Some questions are clearly written with pre-teens in mind, but many are appropriate for young children. I love asking them to the kids, and hearing their thoughts about all kinds of things. Since Brianna can read now, she likes to ask me some of the questions as well, which is great. Last night she pulled the book out and we did some questions. It was mostly between Brianna and me, but Alexander was hanging about and contributed a few answers. Here are some highlights:

Would you eat a worm sandwich if doing so meant that next week you could appear on your favorite TV show?

Alexander: "No way!"
Brianna: "Umm, Yes! I'd want to eat the worm sandwich *on* the TV show!"
Me: "What show would that be?"
Brianna: "Zoom -- they always eat the recipies they make."

What is the worst word you know? Where did you learn it?

Brianna: "Stupid. Nooo... Super-Duper Dummy Head! [look of satisfaction on her face] I made that up!"

What is the hardest thing about growing up?

Brianna: "Some things are hard to understand."
Alexander: "That you have to dig deep holes."


You moms out there gotta get this book -- it offers moments of insight, sharing, hilarity, and even perplexity (deep holes??) all in one sitting.

Thank You

On May 1st, my kids and I marched to support immigrant rights. They are the children and grandchildren of (legal) immigrants on their father's side. I understand that the issue is complicated, and that there are real problems created by illegal immigration. But I've been concerned with the increasing virulence of the "send 'em back" crowd. They speak as if illegal immigrants are *only* a vile burden, and their tone implies that we'd be better off without the legal immigrants as well -- at least the ones from countries south of our own latitudes.

Hatred and fear isn't going to solve anything. Laws can be enforced with respect, dignity and an an eye toward the practical. Richard Rodriguez is a man who understands the importance of treating all people like, well, people. His essay is called "Gracias!"

Time Flies!

Yikes! It's been nearly 2 weeks since I posted an entry here! I've had an inspiration or two, and a moment or two to write, but not both at the same time. I've also been trying to prioritize sleep a little more lately.

(sigh)

Anyone got an extra hour or two they'd like to swap for (for what? I don't have anything worth swapping for that I'd be willing to give up!) Never mind.

See -- now I'm wasting time with this silly post! I'm a lost cause.

;oP

Pondering Prayer

I pray every night with the kids at bedtime. We also sing a prayer at meals. But prayer is among the most abstract of religious practices. Quakers don't make it any easier by doing most of their praying silently and not even calling it prayer. We "wait upon God" or "hold someone in the Light" or "settle into silence" or "seek unity in the Spirit". I love these varied terms and images, but I'm sure it can be confusing for children. Ah well, educating my kids about God is ultimately my responsibility, and I enjoy it most of the time. I feel I'm doing a good job with Bible literacy and incorporating our values (many of which are based in our faith) into our lives.

I have to admit, however, that prayer has been more difficult. I find myself repeating the trite phrases of my own childhood prayers at the bedside with the children. They were fine when I spoke them out of innocent faith as a child, but now they seem weary and rote. When I try to be more creative, I often find myself saying something silly that I don't really mean. The kids don't usually want to say their own prayers, probably because they don't understand what prayer really is. Alas, our bedtime prayer ritual has become what Quakerism has traditionally resisted: an (almost) empty form.

I finally got a clue a couple of weeks ago. A baby was born 8 weeks early in an emergency situation to a couple in our Meeting and a request went out for prayer. I told Brianna about it at bedtime and suggested that we hold the baby and her parents in the Light. I instructed her to imagine the baby healthy and strong and surrounded by a warm light and love coming from God. She was eager to do this and kept at it for much longer than I thought she would. At Meeting the next Sunday, she was interested in news of the baby and came over to look at pictures that someone had brought. I believe she finally found a *reason* to pray, and a way to do it that made sense to her. Unfortunately, I was lax about following through on this opening. I went back to the same old tired prayers the next night. Why? Laziness I guess.

Truth be told, my own prayer life could use some attention. I tried to make time in my morning schedule for it, but it never really worked out. The moment the kids realized I was actively seeking to be alone, they needed me for something every 2 or 3 minutes. Somehow growling at them repeatedly to leave me alone didn't seem all that conducive to a nice conversation with God, kwim? Nevertheless, I need to try again, maybe at a different time. I also need to try again to treat prayer with the respect it deserves for the kids -- to ditch the empty form and focus on finding ways to help my children connect with that portion of the Light of Christ which has been given to them.

Must be a Guy Thing...

Alexander and Poppy "watching" a video together.

Is it just me, or is falling asleep in front of the TV highly correlated with having a Y chromosome?

Walk and Roll

Brianna received some zinnia seeds in a neat little shaker box from my mother as part of her Easter gift. They are clearly not packaged in the northern climes, as the box instructs the gardener to "plant in early spring when all danger of frost is past." Ha! Around here, you aren't truly safe from a killing frost until Memorial Day weekend. (Though most of us live dangerously and plant before that, rushing out to cover precious seedlings with whatever bags, buckets or draping material we can find in case of a late spring plunge into the 20's.)

Frost threats not withstanding, Brianna was eager to get her seeds in the ground. We prepared the soil and sprinkled the seeds according to directions. The wind blew at least 100 of them into the garlic patch. I've mentally penciled in extra weeding time.

The highlight of the planting process for Brianna, and for me too as it turned out, was tamping down the seeds. No doubt recalling my frequent admonishments not to walk where seeds have been planted, she read aloud:

"Tamp down seed by rolling or walking over seeded area." Thoughtful pause...
"But we aren't wearing good clothes for rolling, so I think we should just walk."

:o)

Photo Fun with Brianna

Brianna took about 220 pictures with our portable webcam over the course of a few days this week. Here are couple of highlights:

New law enforcement idea: issue cheap cameras to everyone to catch assailants in the act.

Yeah, that's one of my good throw pillows -- the ones they aren't supposed to play with.



"Hey Mommy! I took a picture of myself!"

Gifts From a Stranger

Today a young man came to our door. He was pale and dressed in a tattered coat. He shuffled a bit as he asked to use our bathroom. I hesitated. I became acutely aware of my children watching me. I was thinking simultaneously of their safety and their spirits, as well as this poor man's bladder. The inner conflict was nearly paralzing. How many times have we talked about the plight of the poor with the kids? How many times have we felt warm and fuzzy as we read the children's Bible and discussed what Jesus meant when said, "love your neighbor"? On the other hand, what about those afternoon talk shows about home invasion and the sly ways predators get themselves inside one's house? On a practical level, how can you say no to someone who really *does* seem to need to pee?

My husband was home and in clear view from the door, and I didn't get a bad vibe off the man, so I let him in and showed him to the bathroom. As he was about to leave, he asked for some money for food or the bus. He thanked us for letting him use the bathroom and sheepishly said that he hadn't wanted to go in public.

After he left, I kept thinking about him. I wondered what his history was. He claimed to be on his way to his mother's house. I hoped she was the kind of mother who would feed him and be a comfort to him. I thought about how our middle-class material security isn't nearly as secure as we like to believe. I could be walking in his shoes given the right (or wrong) set of circumstances. Too late, I remembered the nearly new coat that my husband has never liked much and so doesn't wear. It's a toasty down filled parka. Winter coat weather is nearly past, and I don't know if he would have a place to keep it over the summer, but I wish I had thought to offer it. The coat he was wearing was spilling stuffing from several places.

We gave him only what he asked of us: $2 and something to eat, along with the ability to pee with a shred of dignity. (How can it be in this wealthy country that not everyone has access to that??) We might have given him a new coat as well, had I been on the ball. We also might have been friendlier. Unfortunately I didn't recover from my apprehension quickly enough to respond adequately to this man as a human being.

What he gave us was much more valuable than what we gave him. I got an experience that countered the scare tactics of the local news and the heart-hardening overload of poverty statistics, a reward for trusting in an untrusting world, and an opportunity to minister to "my neighbor" in front of my children (though I wish I had done a much better job at it). Quakers believe that there is "that of God" in everyone. I'm thankful that this man brought his piece of God to our house today. I'm only sorry I didn't give him/Him the welcome he deserved.