Pope Francis’ dedication to the poor, voiceless, and forgotten touched my heart. He was inspirational. Now, Pope Leo XIV is our first American Pope. Pope Leo hails from Chicago. I was born there and lived there until I was 5 years old.

Pope Francis was a force for good, and I believe Pope Leo XIV will continue that good and necessary work. Our world cries out for a voice for the poor and disenfranchised of Earth. Christ’s message was to the invisible of the land. Those who did not have the money or power to be noticed. Those who appeared different from the accepted or ‘In Crowd’, which these days includes many politicians who say what their constituents require of them. A fat wallet was never Jesus’ requirement to enter the kingdom of Heaven.

‘And the common people heard him gladly.’ Servant Leadership inspires. Humility compels action. Giving with no plan or hope of seeking recompense or acknowledgment is golden.

There is the facsimile and there is the real thing. Some pretend to have Christ’s mind, and some follow his humble way. The difference is night and day. Some shut the door to the needy, cold, and shunned. Some open the door wide to all who seek help and a balm of Gilead.

Pain in words never leaves you. Being called hurtful names and rejected leaves wounds. The balm is loving others who have been treated similarly.

Answers we seek. Pain is everywhere. It is too big for any of us. It is just right for one person at a time.

‘Neva J, you are a saint,’ Abigail said to her friend. ‘No one would speak to me in town until you came,’ Abigail noted. ‘They call me One Eye as a joke and for a laugh as I lost my eye in an accident years ago,’ Abigail said. ‘You see me as I believe God sees me,’ Abigail cried joyfully. ‘My husband and I performed in Vaudeville and were happy and carefree until our automobile accident when he was killed and I lost my eye,’ Abigail recounted. ‘We were on the stage in Chicago and did two shows a day, seven days a week,’ Abigail said. ‘After the accident, my friends left me as I became depressed for a long time, Abigail whispered.

‘You are my family,’ Neva J said. ‘I have adopted you as my sister,’ Neva J continued. ‘Where I go, you go and we will stay until we need to come home,’ Neva J smiled and winked. ‘If I go to a fine restaurant, you will sit next to me and we will order like there is no tomorrow,’ Neva J danced on one foot and then another. ‘When someone calls you an ugly name, they are calling me an ugly name,’ Neva J said somberly.

My friend said Give what you would give to me to another who is more needy. My friend is a Servant Leader…

Reversals are a way of life for most. Best laid plans suddenly go awry. Paula Abdul sang about One Step Forward and Two Steps Back.

When buffeted by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, we want to reflect on what we did wrong rather than move forward. If we look around, we are on the high diving board and preparing to make our Olympic Dive. As former Olympian Greg Louganis would tell us, the dive at hand is the focus, not the one previously where we hit our head on the diving board.

What appears to be a dark night of the soul is the beginning of a bright new day. We are in the long game. It is a marathon, not a sprint.

We are engaged in a Herculean struggle. All of us make mistakes. Make the best of errors and triumph over adversity.

Never let the bastards get you down…

‘I wonder if I will ever amount to much,’ Chet said. ‘I have these thick glasses and am overweight,’ Chet added. ‘Some of the kids make fun of me, Chet reflected. ‘They tell me why try, you have been dealt a bad hand of cards, you are a loser,’ Chet recounted. ‘I know I can succeed and apply myself to accounting and am good at it,’ Chet smiled. ‘The numbers are like family to me, we understand each other,’ Chet smiled. ‘No one can take my education from me,’ Chet beemed.

‘I must take our taxes to Chet,’ Billy B said. ‘Although he is the head of a billion-dollar accounting firm, he still does my taxes,’ Billy B reflected. ‘Chet did not let the naysayers get him down, he did not quit, he succeeded,’ Billy B proclaimed.

Maestro gives Kramer a balm for a burn he received from hot coffee on an episode of Seinfeld. The balm heals the coffee burn to Kramer’s dismay. Jackie Childs Kramer’s lawyer berates Kramer for using a balm when they had a lawsuit against the restaurant that sold Kramer the hot coffee. Such is the nature of a balm.

We need a balm. Our days are full of burns and bites and often infestations of mites. A balm is soothing. The old hymn tells us, ‘There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole; There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul.’ The song says, ‘If you cannot sing like angels, If you can’t preach like Paul, You can tell the love of Jesus, And say he died for all.’

Many of us need a balm of Gilead; we are hurting from oppression and the heavy yoke of bondage. We seek justice from the government only to find malignant neglect. The church says Give me your money, and suddenly you will be rich. It is like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Yet the scalding burns of hot rhetoric and cold comfort do not heal the wounds.

Leaders who change directions midday are difficult to follow. Mania is a monster of a friend. The combination of narcissism and idolatry leaves the body weak. Proclamations from the proud do not bring peace. The scales of justice are weighted.

We watch from the cheap seats. The game’s rules keep changing. We want to be included, but when to jump in…will there be a chair or will we fall on the floor when the music stops?

We live in a I can do it by myself culture. ‘I am the master of my fate,’ says the poem Invictus. ‘Out of the night that covers me, Black as a pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have neither winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance, My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how straight the gate, How charged with punishment the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.’ William Ernest Henley

‘Jesus said, ‘Come.’ And Peter left the boat and walked on the water to Jesus. But he began to sink when Peter saw the wind and the waves. He shouted, ‘Lord save me!’ Immediately, Jesus reached out his hand and caught Peter.’ Matt 14: 29 – 31

Such is our human experience. Flinty determination is vital, and humble acceptance of a helping hand is essential. Walking the road of life requires both.

Fear stands up in the town square and shouts its pronouncements for right and wrong, and who is accepted and who is not. Control must be achieved, or the center will not hold. New laws are needed to replace the old laws. Fear is a watcher of people. Look for the fault and write it down. Record the sin and grab the stone. Whisper in dark corners. We must correct the inequities we find in others who are not following our law. Our law is popular; it is cheered in the marketplace by those of like thinking. We must root out the undesirable before they come for us. They will catch on, and we will suffer.

Courage sits silent in the back of the audience. No need to display the sense of place or purpose. Courage knows who she/he is. Quiet assurance of peace. No display of prowess, but rest in God’s plan and guidance. Accept the hand of help.

Fear says you better be afraid of me, I have power, I will hurt you. Courage sits quietly and looks deeply into Fear’s eyes. Fear looks away and seeks reinforcement. Courage whistles a hymn and reflects on his guardian angel. Fear says perhaps you have not heard of my exploits and the many I have vanquished. ‘Bow your knee before me and I will give you all the kingdoms,’ Fear said.

Courage flips the light switch and Fear disappears…

Sunday is a good day. The beginning of the week. New hopes, new plans. New motivations. Saying no to doubt, yes to a bright future. Another of my rainy days that I love. Temperatures in the 50s, and again a feeling of fall in the air. The rippling brook in the woods was active. Peace accompanied me and my guardian angel. The GA laughed when I told him of my love of rain.

So we enter a new week in command of our emotions and sense of place. We know the unique place we have received in the story of life. We want to fulfill our role in the great drama. The story has parts for old and young alike. Contrary to a common misconception, our active role continues until the moment we transition to find out the secret. We old may have our most important character in our golden years, and it does not include a rocking chair.

I saw my good friend, the mayor, today at Cracker Barrel as I waited for MJ and my lunch to take away. Carolin and I worked together on many projects for the University through the Civil
Service Council and before that, were members of the Employee Assistance Program. Our friendship extends well over 30 years. Carolin has worked diligently to help members of the Carbondale community for many years, and as a member first of the City Council and now the mayor of our city for the past few years. A humble and unassuming person with a brilliant mind and a tireless goal to help others.

We sally forth. The week will hold surprises. Many are welcome, some not so much. Yet we take all comers with a flinty determination. The years hone us as the scripture says, ‘As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.’

What role are you waiting to fill? The Master Chessman is moving the pieces; the checkmate is yet to come.

Cool again today. Rain is falling. It still reminds me of fall. Mother’s Day is approaching. Are you ready? Mom is your best friend.

Each day asks our best. We do not have the luxury of basking in our past successes or perceived failures. Tomorrow is calling. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Tomorrow is a future with an open door to possibilities, change, and good fortune. We want to dwell in the what if world. A poor place to erect your pup tent. We must prepare for the Can-Do world of tomorrow. We live in a snapshot in time. Each photo of us reveals only the truth of the picture. We may look afraid and in reality be on a carnival rollercoaster, having the thrill of our lives. Another snap captures us in tears just before we obtain a marvelous life-affirming gift. We must place the photos in our photo album like the old television show, This Is Your Life, to understand them in context.

The old gospel song promises that we will understand it better by and by when the morning comes. True words!

Life events motivate profound change. Walking back to Jerusalem, we often take a fork in the road. The fork leads to exploring rooms in the mansion of life that we did not know existed. When we open the creaky door and enter the dusty room, we remove the dust covers from the mahogany furniture. My goodness, it is a cigar room with priceless works of art. The room beside it is a solarium with luminous stained glass windows. The third room is a chapel filled with inspiration for life’s renewal. The feeling is full of faith and assurance that tomorrow was designed for us before the beginning of the world.

There is a library in the mansion of life. The books bring a sense of place. There is peace and wisdom in the dusty room. Wisdom is there. You know it when you read it, you know it when you feel it. Hidden amidst the books, you see the big picture. So much has been artificial. Much has been the inflation of ego. The library says, ‘Rest,’ and that you do.

Unsettled energy in the daily grind. We must achieve our goals; it’s a timed exam. The stopwatch is ticking and we may be behind the others… Looking around furtively, we watch our peers taking the exam. Are they ahead of us? What do they know that we do not? Soon, the proctor will call time, and all will be lost.

‘Welcome, children,’ the Preacher said. ‘Soon we will open the doors of life’s mansion for you to begin your treasure hunt,’ the Preacher said. ‘Do not fear, you all are on time and the rooms of opportunity never are finished…,’ the Preacher said with a wide smile. ‘We woods lovers are in tune with endless possibilities of life and our place in it,’ the Preacher assured.

The rain is falling in sheets. April showers are still here. With the cool temperatures, spring could pass for fall. Today I am thinking of fall. My favorite time of year. A time of reflection and hope. Peace in the valley.

I brought home a few little bags of groceries for $200. Wait until the tariffs kick in. Empty store shelves, as in the pandemic, are forecast. Our reliance on cheap foreign goods is herculean. Most of us have limited money and rely on saving a dollar whenever possible. Caviler statements that Christmas gifts will not include as many dolls and we must all be willing to suffer economic pain, are trite. Can anyone say buyer’s remorse?

I often told my staff at Southern Illinois University that we did not want to make each other’s lives more difficult. Life was hard without working to make it harder. Unnecessary regulations and reversals simply to prove you have the power to do so are egregious, heinous wrongs. I worked with a supervisor who went out of his way to make life hard for those he did not like or who made him feel inadequate. Leadership 101 was to him a golden opportunity to hurt as many people as possible, as he had been injured. Little minds hatch dangerous plans.

‘The fog is so thick you could cut it with a knife,’ He said. ‘Do you remember this road we have taken before and in better, clearer days?’ He asked. ‘We often came this route for Christmas and sang Jingle Bells with all of our gifts for Neva J and Earl in the trunk of our 57 Chevrolet,’ He said joyfully. ‘We played Garrison Kelior on the radio and spoke of our plans for the coming year,’ He laughed. I do not remember the big pot holes on the road nor the feeling of gloom that permeates the air tonight,’ He observed.

‘It seems that Halloween was a harbinger for our future,’ She said. ‘All the politicians put on Halloween masks that were given to them by a mysterious man in black,’ She recounted. ‘It turns out that some liked their holiday masks so well that they refused to take them off even though it is almost Christmas,’ She observed. ‘It has become fashionable for the rich and powerful to never go outside of their homes without their masks,’ She said. ‘The rumor is that many of the political parties in power are unable to remove their assigned mask,’ She said.

‘Karma,’ He said…

The clouds are rolling in. More rain is on the way. Jonathon knows that the old man is a closet weatherman. A good hobby for the golden years. Retirement has brought me attuned to nature. I watch every permutation. Time to think and ponder. Time to consider my magnificent obsession.

I have studied leaders for 60 years, since I helped Neva J navigate the rough waters of life. Presidents fascinate me, and ministers dedicated to Christ’s message to the poor have a place in my heart. I was a manager/administrator for many years.

Writing is in my blood. If I do not write daily, I feel unfulfilled. I write for writing’s sake. I am always surprised when someone likes what I have written. Writing has been in my mind since I was young. Perhaps I was a writer at Oxford in a former life. Few activities give me more pleasure.

Photography is a passion and perhaps an obsession. Our world looks so special in a snapshot. Time stands still in a photo. It is a form of time travel. The hidden is unveiled in a picture.

Others have magnificent obsessions. Many are obsessed with power. Some are obsessed with money. Power and money make a lethal combination. Our country’s persistent problems are based on these obsessions. My former supervisor told me once that he had complete and total control of every person in our department. I responded that I did not have complete and total control of my dogs.

Obsessions are out of focus. Leaders speak of the end of the world when their world and sense of place are in doubt. Narcissist project their inner voices as the voices of those they lead. Manic chaos reigns in the minds of many who have the lives of millions in their hands. The people suffer from the dreams of madmen.

Applaud the worker! Revere the woman and man who carry a lunch bucket. Understand the dignity and grace of most people in our country. They seek no acclaim or fame. A quiet life of caring for their family and friends is their goal. A decent wage and their magnificent obsession with fairness for all…

Evening is the soft time between daylight and dark. A downy soft pillow. Cares float away with the work of the day. A new tomorrow is on its way. Our days are filled with plans. What will we do in a week, a month, or a year? We play our part on Life’s Stage. When we forget our lines, we ad-lib. Some of us ad-lib more than others.

What do we do when the going gets tough? Verbal stones hurt. We swear that they do not, but they do. Some of the wounds we feel for a lifetime. We go along and get along. No one wants to rock the boat. It has been said, ‘Sit down, you are rocking the boat.’ So we hide away and give ourselves some rest. We cruise while others work 18 hours a day to keep us in the lap of luxury. We are creatures of the lap. The lap is warm and secure.

We watch as classes of people are stamped and verified as undesirable. The law does not apply to them. Human decency is for others. Here illegally, they cry, bounce them and their kids with cancer out of our precious country…as we hide from the painful sight. We know all the nasty information when the sword of Damocles hangs over our perceived enemies. When our favorite leaders are guilty of wrong, we have not heard about it, and do not believe it is fake news.

Convenient ignorance is comforting. Life in a bubble is fun. Children cry with fear and dread. It is hard to hear over the therapeutic music of the ocean waves.

Christmas is coming, but the goose is not getting fat. This year, the goose is on a diet. Trinkets from overseas were so reasonable that it made you want to purchase trinkets. Now the bill is triple the cost of the goods. Good government, or as Uncle Gene often told me, ‘Get the point…Get the point.’ Tariffs in this study cost the consumer 3 times more than before the tariff. So it is with Christmas. Contrary to popular belief, not all Santa’s Toys come from the North Pole. About 90% come from China. Or as the President said, kids may now have one or two dolls rather than 30.

Hide, we do as the storm grows in intensity. We are on the beach sitting with the latest novel. In the distance, we see the waves coming onto shore. The beach is so peaceful and inviting. The gentle lapping of the waves. What is that locomotive we hear? Certainly, there are no trains on the beach, we say. Pour another Fireball; the cinnamon goodness is a smooth comfort in these troubled times. The roar is louder now, and people closer to the ocean seem to be running toward the condos. ‘Look at that, it is a wall of water,’ He said. ‘I bet the surfers are having fun,’ He said. ‘It will be quite a jolt when the wave crashes and you are on top of it with your surfboard,’ He says.

‘How could this happen?’ She asked. ‘We purchased the vacation insurance,’ She said. ‘Apparently, some disasters can not be hidden from,’ She commented.

‘Stay in the attic and be very quiet, the Nazis are coming and you must not make a sound,’ Miep told Anne.

Storms came through and brought cool air. We put more mulch around Baby Tree. Mylo took a little nerve medicine to smooth out the rough sections on the road to get his blood drawn. He has been sleeping since.

Days are filled with random acts. Mundane yet extraordinary. Acts saying I am here, see me, I am part of the plan. Delight in the doing. Joy in the journey. A voice in the wilderness. Part of the master mosaic.

We want peace until we become restless. Then we seek adventure with a kick. The kick becomes addictive. How do humans, given every opportunity to live together in harmony, want each other’s ant hill? Untold millions have died to capture a little terra firma for their side. Warfare is a little boy who became restless. King of the Hill. Mob movies intrigue us. We root for the Godfather, the antihero, or the supreme boss…until we must live under the dictator’s iron fist.

As God watches humanity, he must wonder if the Kid will make it. Do his children need a little Prozac before they have blood drawn?

Can one person have two faces? Do we look out of our window of the world with peace, love, vengeance, and fear? We seek justice until it is our kith and kin…then we seek mercy. Inexcusable, we say when we are wronged. Turn the other cheek, we cry when we are at fault. Understand our frailties, we ask as we deport others for looking different from us.

‘America for Real Americans,’ the throng cried! ‘You will never be us unless you were born to be us,’ Throng continued to chant. ‘God gave us this land and we took it by his sovereign will,’ Throng sputtered. ‘God says Buy American,’ Throng said as they beat upon their chest. ‘American is his language, all others are the dialects of dogs,’ Throng said as they croaked out their last furtive manic gasps.

The land was quiet and serene. Buffalo roamed freely. The Native American children laughed and played. Their mothers watched them with love and admiration. Their Dads hunted for food for dinner. In the cool of the evening, they would tell stories around the campfire.

‘Remember when there were so many from other countries here,’ He asked. ‘They had strange ways, although at first they were nice before they became restless,’ He continued. ‘It seemed they could not be happy with more land or wealth,’ He ruminated. ‘In those long ago days, they swore they were God’s Kids and that this land was their land,’ He smiled. ‘Fire came from the sky and burned up most of that generation,’ He said with tears. ‘Peace has returned to the good Earth after the restless struggle,’ He said…