My NAY-bor

Mark this one "easier said than done."

I swear he's a walking oxymoron (with emphasis on the "moron").  He's generous and uncouth and caring and stubborn, at once as wise as Solomon and dumb as a stump.  He'll show up unannounced with his arms overflowing with gifts and then launch into a scornful Trump-like rant about immigration.  He'll snark about a friend behind her back but then be the only one to visit her when she's in the hospital.  He'll make fun of anything intelligent you have to say but never let your birthday go by without bringing you a bagful of gifts.

I know, it's not (always) easy to love your neighbor.  But here's the thing: the love we need to share is not a love based on good behavior and a generous spirit.  It's not a love to be withdrawn when the snarky comments fly.  It's just love--unconditional.

Except for one...the only condition...that we must.  There is no choice.

But something tells me that in the end it won't matter anyway...the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly...just the love.

"Faith, hope, love abide, these three.  But the greatest of these is love."

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(c) 2015 Fiechter
 

Stunned

When he said it, I was stunned.  And then I practically had to bite my tongue to keep from crying.

I'm privileged to work in a program that provides support and assistance to people who have been living on the streets longer than many of them can remember.  Some have serious physical or mental health problems.  The system labels them "chronically homeless."  We just call them people.  They are people who have been marginalized by a culture that glorifies the strong and villifies those who have had the deck stacked against them from the get go.  But don't get me started.

Not long ago, we decided that we would recognize the birthdays of each of our program participants. 

"What a nice idea," I thought.

Today one of our participants celebrated his 62nd birthday.  When we gave him his card he was delighted.  And that's when he said it.

"It''s been 31 years since anyone has given me a birthday card."

I can hardly wrap my brain around that...let alone my heart.  Thirty one years?  He hasn't gotten a birthday card in 31 years?   For half of his life he hasn't received so much as a simple birthday card--a note to tell him that someone cares that he is alive, that someone is celebrating his life on this planet?  Not one?

I'm so sick and tired of living in a world where people are tossed aside like trash.  I'm so sick and tired of living in a world where human beings are left to fend for themselves for decades without so much as a card to let them know someone gives a damn about them.  I'm so sick and tired of watching as people of privilege treat their pets better than they treat their neighbors.  And I don't care how weird or angry or cranky or stinky they are.  What really stinks is how badly we treat the people we should be loving.

Just a card, a note, a hand, a vote.  You can change the world.

One thing I know for sure, I'll never look at a birthday card the same way again.  Will you?

That's the Spirit!

Yesterday I listened as yet another person shared how essential his faith in a "higher power" had been in his journey from chronic homelessness toward a more fulfilling, healthy, stable and happy life....and I started to wonder.  

Spirituality has been defined in many ways, and certainly is expressed and embraced in a variety of fashions.  Some follow a very traditional route, via established religious codes.  Others forge a path that samples from different traditions (a friend describes himself as a "Jew-Bu" reflecting on his Jewish roots and Buddhist sensibilities).  Others create their own path, acknowledging their spirituality while avoiding or even rejecting traditional ideas about God.  Some reject notions of spirituality altogether.  Yet, even so…

What seems to be true across this spectrum of belief is an innate human desire to understand ourselves and the world around us--to create meaning out of our own experience.  We want to make sense out of our stories, and we want our stories to make sense.   But when our stories don't make sense, or they are too painful or difficult for us to embrace--when we we feel disconnected or ungrounded or struggle with mental illnesses that are a barrier to our finding positive meaning, that's when the opportunities arise for other elements to take the place of the meaning we all desire--things like drugs or alcohol or other numbing or distracting behaviors.  Ironically, the things we turn to in order to find meaning become the very things that keep us from finding it.

This opens up an opportunity for us, as people in the privileged places of helping others: how can we encourage people to explore their spiritual natures--to find meaning in their stories and continue on their journeys toward richer, healthier and more meaningful lives?  How can we help open up avenues of healing and hope for those we serve?

I'm not suggesting we promote any particular religion, perspective or path.  What I'm saying is that the paths are already there--and one way we can help people grow and break free of destructive patterns is to encourage their exploration; invite people to walk down a new path of meaning.