An American Hero

This Man Walked from NYC to Oregon in 6 Months.........Matt Green

I've followed his trip, which ended yesterday, all the way. It has been fun to watch the pictures roll in from accross our country. And to enjoy his insight and humor. The man never posted a harsh word, an ugly comment. I am SO jealous of what he did, and happy he accomplished what he set out to do.

You can see his BLOG here.

One of Matt's Pictures from the Road

It's a Double Rainbow. . . What does it MEAN?

The things I've done

qualify me for death, I mean like immediately. But, like it or not, I aint died yet. And I have a hope that is in someone other than me. It was a free gift. Sometimes it feels like they'll be coming for me any minute. Wow. I'm free.

Loneliness

Loneliness is deep and hollow, with dark corners on all sides.

Getting Older

It happens. To us all. But does it have to happen to me? My 30th class reunion was yesterday, and I couldn't attend. No money to go. I mean none. And the pics are plastered on the internet. Made me cry a little bit, to see the old friends and think that I missed spending some time with them. It would have been so nice to catch up with them. I am connected to most of them at least by email. I'll have to work extra hard to make up for my loss. Here they are:

I'll be 48 in another month. Not ancient, but older than I ever imagined I would be and still feel like I was 14. That's how it is too. No matter that some of my appendages are not working right...you should see my left foot, a study in ugly. No matter that I am diabetic and am fighting some other diseases that kill people. No matter that I'm overweight. I still feel like I'm 14. But, I'm not.

Also faced by my a lone-ness and all the things I have done over the years to compensate for it. Always having a bff and kind of clingy. Always afraid of losing that one person. And dying alone. At 47, I have to do something to avoid being a sad, bitter old man when I die. It is what it is, and, as Popeye always said, "I am what I am". I must do more to live from within me, and trust more in the Creator who will never leave me so I can sidestep that bitter old man syndrome. Hope it's not too late.

God is great, God is good. Let us thank Him for this food.

Growing up, we had one prayer we said before meals, sometimes.

"God is great, God is good, let us thank Him for this food.
Amen"


Last night our band of folks met at the First Presbyterian Church for dinner. We were hosted there by the folks from the First Methodist Church. Yeah...go figure. Can't the Christians just stay in their own boxes? *grin* The picture is of the meal...some of the best sweet corn you can imagine, beans, squash, tomato and cucumber salad. Oh, yeah, and some chicken and a slice of bread. And cantaloupe or watermelon or brownies for dessert. And lemonade. The pre-meal prayer was something like this:

"God Thank you. Thank you for these people for the work they are doing. Thank you for providing this food. Thank you for the hands that prepared it. You are awesome. Amen!

Not so different.

This is my fifth time down here working with the farm workers and PA students. Lots of folks have come more often. Some are here for the first time. An always memorable meal is the one the Methodists provide. They are sneaky. After a couple of days of working with folks who are sacrificing so much to keep food on our tables (and a little less food on their own tables), they invite us in to a beautiful meal of freshly picked vegetables from local farms. We get to have the pure joy of enjoying the goodness that comes forth from the earth. But we can't help but remember how it got to the table. It's a bittersweet meal to eat. And oh so good and delicious.

Like so many other folks here working this week, I don't want to forget that feeling of pained enjoyment. Help me always to remember when I'm thanking God for the food I'm eating that I thank Him for the lives of the workers who are getting it to my table. More importantly that I take every chance I can to work to make sure their lives can be lived in dignity and safety. And that their table be as filled with as much deliciousness as mine. Amen.

Is this Hell?

Remember the awesome movie, A Field of Dreams? And the question? Is this heaven? This week, I'm in deep southwest Georgia, near the border with Florida. I'm here to serve as an interpreter for PA students from Emory University as they complete a rotation in which they offer a free health clinic to the migrant farm workers here in the area. As we drive up to field after field in the brutal heat, only to encounter workers who are compromised physically in so many ways, and really held captive to the lives they are living, I have thought of this question again and again. Is this hell?

We all get stuck in ruts and live without really paying attention to what's going on around us. One day we wake up and realize we are not at the place we were headed and we readjust our sails to get back to the place we want to be. These workers have very purposefully chosen where to go...they have escaped the difficulties and sometimes the horrors of their lives south of our southern border and have come here...for a better life. As I look at the work they do....it is backbreaking work done in the hottest sun you can imagine...and the effect it has on their bodies and minds, I wonder....for them....is this hell? Though quick to acknowledge the difficulty of the work, rarely do I hear them complain that they are not where they want to be. And to a man or woman, they have a plan. "In 8 to 10 years I want to return to Guatemala." "I don't have a visa so I have to stay here until I'm ready to go back home." Never at a loss for direction, they know where they are and where they are going. Amazing to me.

My roommate, a thoughtful Salvadoran/Urugayan/Italian American from San Francisco, is fascinated by their stories, and I share his interest. Such epic tales of escape, danger, and always, it seems, overcoming. They overcome. Whatever is in their path, they overcome it. So what that I'm working in the hot sun everyday and you're telling me I have TB...there are treatments, right? I'll overcome. I was involved in a vehicle accident five years ago, but I can keep doing this work until I don't have to anymore. I will overcome. My son is in college and my daughter is one of the most famous people in Florida. They tell me that they will take care of me and their dad one day. We'll be able to leave the tomato fields. We will overcome. Vaginal infection, fungus, heart murmur, back pain, terrible headaches, TB, pregnancy, diabetes...all difficulties. But we will overcome. Working 8-9 hours a day in the sun with no breaks and making hardly any money...stuck here on the farm unable to go and shop or even wash clothes...teeth that got pulled that needed to come out long ago and now my mouth is sore....all things that can and will be overcome. Come back and see me in ten or fifteen years. You will see.

No. This is not hell. It's a hard, hot, difficult place to be. But it's not hell. Despite barriers galore, and difficulties that multiply like rabbits, this is only a place to be overcome. And I will overcome. This is a place of superheroes. It is not hell.

What Would You Do if You Met Him?

I mean HIM. The One. Who Died. To save you. And loves you. Like nobody else. Forever.
Jesus.

Yesterday I walked through that scenario. I hugged him and thanked him. He put his hand on my shoulder and we stood together for a while looking out at the water. There was a LOT I wanted to ask him, but I didn't speak, other than to ask him how I was doing. Anything else I wanted to know, somehow I knew I could wait to find out. So, we just hung out. Everything around us, all the animals, even the plants and the water, were in obvious celebratory submission to him. It was as if the trees and flowers would have gotten up and walked if he told them to. They were just focused on him.

All this came about because of an exercise we were doing in my men's group. It was deliberate. But it was awesome. And calming. And relaxing. A friend said it was good to finally know that HE "sees" me. How awesome!

Does He see you? Do you talk to Him? Do you trust Him? Would you recognize Him if you saw Him? Why don't you go talk to Him? Now.

This is the lovely little church where we had the service for Leslie yesterday. The whole community of Charlotte was there. Randall and George spoke from their hearts. We laughed and cried, and remembered a great man. Then we ate and rested. Several times this week, I've heard this verse quoted. It was the right word for this time.

Ecclesiastes 7:2 (The Message)
2 You learn more at a funeral than at a feast— After all, that's where we'll end up. We might discover something from it.

I learned a lot about my cousin yesterday. Everything I knew about him was confirmed...and I learned he was even a better man that I knew. Thanks Randall and George for telling me new things. Thanks, Leslie, for being a steady rock all these years. On the ride down to the funeral, I had a special experience with the song "Freebird". A very nice day.

Goodbye Leslie

Leslie Flowers died yesterday. He was my cousin..the kind of guy you want on your side. He was injured in a shooting accident when he was 18 and lived the last 40 years as a paraplegic. He ran a tv repair shop, had his own hose, married, divorced, and lived a full life. But mostly, I think, he endured. He ran a race with endurance. He had some really rough times. I can't say I ever heard him (though I know he had these moments) say that he didn't want to be around. He'd tell you how he felt, but never gave a "Woe is me" face to anybody. He just endured. And lived. He knew how to engage you. I will miss seeing him at family gatherings. If I get my hands on a picture, I'll post it here.

Easter Attire

http://www.ajc.com/news/woman-fatally-shoots-cousin-440224.html?cxntlid=thbz_hm

I don't know what to day.

John

On Easter Sunday I had the chance to spend a bit of time talking with John. John is a guy who comes to breakfast at my church (www.freebreakfastchurch.com). He usually doesn't come to church, but that's ok. He's a friendly guy, always meeting new people, and always connected to some other folks from the street. It's always good to see John. And he always asks me my name. That's ok too. Enough people walking around who'd just act like they knew your name.

I was wiating for some folks to show up and help me out with a task. John was hanging out with me by his choice. We talked about cities (Miami, Atlanta, Dallas, NYC, Chicago, and San Francisco). All places we had both visited. John was most complimentary of New York. He's 50, only 3 years older than me. John has five kids, all grown, and they are spread out between Miami and Connecticut, along the east coast. He was in the Army for 22 years.

As he helped, John would walk away from his post and greet people he knew, or offer advice or help to someone new. I found myself frustrated at times, but soon caught myself. I was flattered that he wanted to help, wanted to spend time with me. And I was glad to hear a little about his life.

But I want to know more. Why is he not more financially stable? What happened to create disharmony in his life? Is he unhappy about the way things are? Is there any way I could help him out? Why haven't I taken the time to learn his last name? I noticed as he approached some people, there was fear in their eyes as they realized he was going to interact with him. Did he see that fear? How does he handle that if he does? It didn't affect his attempt at friendliness. It would have me.

So that's it. I have a new friend, and his name is John. I don't expect he'll know mine the next time I see him. But that's ok. We'll sit and eat together. And maybe I can get some answers to my questions. What's important to me is that the answers to those questions lead to some way of helping John.

It Meant Something...One Year Later

More snow pictures, from last year. Lots of snow in Atlanta this winter, relatively speaking. But we're past that now.

It meant something. Got the job. I started April 15th, 2009, so almost a full year now. It is the job I was created for. I am bi-lingual intake coordinator for the counseling services of Catholic Charities in Atlanta. Though I've never been Catholic, I sure do fit in with the group, I think. It has been a good year; gotten lots accomplished with the database of clients and we're moving towards making a huge jump to a SQL Server database. Dreams do come true.