I wrote the following in March 2008. I'm not sure why I waited until now to post this story. Truthfully, I had forgotten I ever wrote it. I did not, and will likely never, forget what prompted me to write it in the first place.
I've said to friends and family alike that I owe many aspects of my happiness to my involvement in high school with the Westminster Choir at First Presbyterian Church. Indeed, any possibility of a life of singing was unlikely before I joined the choir in my sophomore year. I reminisce about the days before I started singing in public. When I sang in the shower, my family would often (politely) tell me to shut up. It was my experience in the choir that allowed me to experiment with singing and to grow as a person. It has largely shaped who I am today, where I am and who I know.
Because of all of this, I consider it a privilege to participate in the youth choir as an advisor these few years later. I now realize what a fantastic opportunity it is for young people to work so hard on something with a purpose greater than just themselves. That is the wonderfully refreshing part of the annual choir tour: it never feels like it's about meeting individual needs. It remains a pursuit of greater purpose, and I'm proud to still be a part of that.
Choir tours are generally positive experiences, highlighted by the spreading of "warm fuzzies" (encouraging, kind notes given to one another) and "God moments" (any spiritually sustaining experience, whether strictly religious or not). This past choir tour was no different. I personally experienced and witnessed a number of wonderful, encouraging things. Unfortunately, not everything on choir tour is warm and fuzzy. I also saw, along with my road companion, Noel, a tragic and upsetting element of life somewhere along our road trip back home. He and I came across a woman.
Although I can remember the details of that night, including the woman's name, the tone in her voice as she said it, even, and the exact town we were in, I think it best not to disclose all of that information.
It was Saturday, and Noel and I were driving a rental truck full of show props, costumes and technical equipment back to New Jersey. We stopped for the night somewhere along the way. There we found a motel, paid for a room and drove the truck down the street to the finest establishment in town: Denny's.
Our meal satisfied us after a long day of driving. The Denny's was actually packed, and it took a little while to get and pay our bill. Once we had done that, though, we headed for the door to go to the truck. As we left, I clearly noticed a woman turn to follow us. I held the door for her and twisted back to see that she put her hand on it before I let go. She quickly looked down and mumbled something that could have been a "thank you." I turned back around and started walking in the direction of the truck. She then said, louder but still with hesitancy, "Excuse me, fellas. Do you think you could help me out?" I knew even before she asked that she was going to - there was just something about the way she followed us out of the restaurant. Noel and I both assumed she was asking for money, and he replied, before I could think of what to say, "I'm sorry, miss, but we don't have anything." She apologized profusely and walked away. I felt bad, but I truly didn't have cash anyway. We walked toward the truck and I thought to myself that she hadn't even asked for money in the first place. I wondered what she needed.
We drove the block and a half back to the motel. It was an unexceptional place, about ten inches off the interstate. We parked the truck and walked to the back to retrieve our luggage. As Noel was unlocking and unpacking the truck, I noticed her again. She had followed us to the motel parking lot. I didn't see her hop out of a car, though. She seemed to appear out of nowhere. At first, I was a little creeped out. I didn't really know what she expected from us. She spoke first, apologizing again. She then reiterated her plea, "I really need some help." I went so far as to reach into my pockets in a show that I did not have any cash. I felt a few coins in my right pocket. It seemed insulting, but I pulled them out and placed them into her hand. Noel wasn't looking. I could tell he was uncomfortable, too. As I did this, I got close enough to her face to make out her expression in the harsh light of the motel parking lot. I saw her right eye and my heart immediately broke. I couldn't make out the different parts of her eye - it was all blood red. She was bruised, distraught. Noel and I offered some food.
"Oh, I'm not stupid enough to leave without provisions," she said assuredly. Her composure showed through her distress. She told us where she was from, hundreds of miles from the motel parking lot. She didn't seem like she was accustomed to begging for money.
"I'll probably go back, ya know? I just left to get some air," she muttered, looking at the gravelly ground.
I felt helpless to help her. Noel apologized again, saying he had nothing to give. "All we can do is pray for you," he said.
She looked up; her tone of voice changed. "Oh, no," she said. "That's wonderful. I could really use the prayer." She spoke as if she could have cried. She told us her name.
"Well, good luck," said Noel.
By this time Noel had gotten the bags out of the truck and closed it up. We walked toward our motel room. She turned to walk the other way, toward a car of people. That was the last we saw or heard of her. I wonder where she is now. I don't know the extent of her situation. I really don't know anything about her. I just sit here and think about how I don't pray. I don't have anyone to pray to. I have thought about her. I've wished her well. Is that the same thing? Is that "just as good?" You can ask, "Kevin, why are you posting this story?" The answer: I don't pray, but maybe I'm posting this story in hopes that you do.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
"Un nouveau monde pour Barack Obama"
Barack Obama is elected President of the United States to near unanimous world applause. So many questions come to my mind. How is it possible, for one?
I am young, and maybe that is why I believe there has never been a time when such a joyous global response erupted from a US election result. Is it just that I cannot remember? Has this happened before? Maybe it is because there has never been a time like right now. Barack Obama's was the first campaign for the 21st century, the first to embrace new technologies and to truly acknowledge a diverse American constituency. President-elect Obama also owns an international background, born to a white Kansan mother and a black Kenyan father, subsequently raised in Indonesia and Hawaii. He attended one of the finest universities in the world and graduated at the head of his class. A community organizer, a state senator, United States Senator, and now the President of our country. His personal story is international and yet utterly, completely, unequivocally, un-fucking-believably American.
I watched a slide show just a short while ago of photos from around the world, all taken on November 5, 2008. I saw heads of state congratulating Obama, and many, like Italy's President Giorgio Napolitano, congratulating the American people. They praised our country's unfailing democracy. I saw newspaper headlines from around the world. Unless one believes the entire world has been infected by the plague of the "liberal elite media," the front pages seemed incredibly inspiring. Many papers literally ushered in a new world order, like one French newspaper that declared "a new world for Barack Obama." I saw people celebrating in the streets, those with much and those with almost nothing. People of literally every race celebrated in Asia, Africa, South America, Australia and Europe. They cast imaginary ballots in honor and recognition of the remarkable American democracy. They drank in bars, danced on car tops, lit candles in hopes for peace, and carried the American flag high with pride.
That last part caused me to stop. I sat and stared and began to cry. Americans of my generation are unaccustomed to international understanding of the United States, much less admiration and praise. I know it existed at one time. I have heard about it from older generations, tried to conceptualize it for myself. I know that unity and solidarity existed after the great tragedies of 9/11. I remember it as an upsettingly fleeting moment, and perhaps history does as well. I also remember feeling chills of fear and sadness as American flags were burned following the invasion of Iraq. That was not a proud day for America, nor for me. I will never forget this day, though. Let it not be forgotten: On November 5, people on every continent, from every walk of life, carried our American flag with a genuine smile and a genuine hope.
A sobering thought: the world has seen better days. Perhaps international solidarity has been borne out of international crisis. Our next president faces unimaginable challenges, domestically and internationally. And one could argue that the stakes (and the expectations) have never been higher. Yet amid the uncertainty there are international feelings of renewal and hope for our world. For so many reasons - those I've named and the many I have not - this is a day to celebrate. It is a new world, un nouveau monde. I am proud to be a part of it and proud to be an American.
I am young, and maybe that is why I believe there has never been a time when such a joyous global response erupted from a US election result. Is it just that I cannot remember? Has this happened before? Maybe it is because there has never been a time like right now. Barack Obama's was the first campaign for the 21st century, the first to embrace new technologies and to truly acknowledge a diverse American constituency. President-elect Obama also owns an international background, born to a white Kansan mother and a black Kenyan father, subsequently raised in Indonesia and Hawaii. He attended one of the finest universities in the world and graduated at the head of his class. A community organizer, a state senator, United States Senator, and now the President of our country. His personal story is international and yet utterly, completely, unequivocally, un-fucking-believably American.
I watched a slide show just a short while ago of photos from around the world, all taken on November 5, 2008. I saw heads of state congratulating Obama, and many, like Italy's President Giorgio Napolitano, congratulating the American people. They praised our country's unfailing democracy. I saw newspaper headlines from around the world. Unless one believes the entire world has been infected by the plague of the "liberal elite media," the front pages seemed incredibly inspiring. Many papers literally ushered in a new world order, like one French newspaper that declared "a new world for Barack Obama." I saw people celebrating in the streets, those with much and those with almost nothing. People of literally every race celebrated in Asia, Africa, South America, Australia and Europe. They cast imaginary ballots in honor and recognition of the remarkable American democracy. They drank in bars, danced on car tops, lit candles in hopes for peace, and carried the American flag high with pride.
That last part caused me to stop. I sat and stared and began to cry. Americans of my generation are unaccustomed to international understanding of the United States, much less admiration and praise. I know it existed at one time. I have heard about it from older generations, tried to conceptualize it for myself. I know that unity and solidarity existed after the great tragedies of 9/11. I remember it as an upsettingly fleeting moment, and perhaps history does as well. I also remember feeling chills of fear and sadness as American flags were burned following the invasion of Iraq. That was not a proud day for America, nor for me. I will never forget this day, though. Let it not be forgotten: On November 5, people on every continent, from every walk of life, carried our American flag with a genuine smile and a genuine hope.
A sobering thought: the world has seen better days. Perhaps international solidarity has been borne out of international crisis. Our next president faces unimaginable challenges, domestically and internationally. And one could argue that the stakes (and the expectations) have never been higher. Yet amid the uncertainty there are international feelings of renewal and hope for our world. For so many reasons - those I've named and the many I have not - this is a day to celebrate. It is a new world, un nouveau monde. I am proud to be a part of it and proud to be an American.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
The Beach
It is midday. The waves crash into the shore. The wind blows my short hair in its ceaseless tirade. If I close my eyes, I am on an oceanic beach. It is only the majesty of the landscape I can see in my mind and the conscious presence of grizzly bears that reminds me I am still in the Rocky Mountains.
Ceaseless tirade. I stand up and walk to a stand of cottonwood trees, away from the waterline, to escape the battering. Maybe ten feet from where I sat earlier, this spot provides sanctuary for plenty of small plants. A lone thimbleberry blinks at me from the understory. I have not yet tried a thimbleberry. The temptation is too much to resist. It tastes almost like cinnamon, I think.
I pick up a small rock, a reddish dot of argillite. It is just a fraction, a billionth of the ancient seabed that was deposited here eons ago. Below its hundreds of millions of years is a tiny brownish ant, an animal that will know no more than a few weeks of life. It scurries away as its shelter lifts away from above. Everything seems to come together here. The mouse mingles with the moose. The butterfly flutters over fields of fescue. Yes, even the Harley Davidsons are heard roaring from across the lake, ripping their riders toward the sun and over the continental divide.
This is the vortex of the universe – the universe as I know it. It is the Congress of the Planet. Everything comes together and everything is represented. The Earth’s long history has sent a delegate to this land. It is represented by the rocks, the mountains around me. They are billions of years old. They are the wisdom here, because they have survived for so long while others have faded. The Earth’s ever-presence makes her daily appearance as well. The wind blows and the waterfalls fall, always. Flora and fauna are aptly represented. Nearly 1,200 vascular plants lay their roots here in a growing season as short as 30 days. Mammals, lizards, amphibians, birds, fish and insects all come together in Glacier, some journeying from thousands of miles away just to be here for the great meetings of the Congress.
Though the other delegates are not always hospitable to him, the human history of the past few centuries sends its delegate as well. In truth, the human history has an unfair advantage. It has sent many delegates to this meeting: two million annual visitors, and also their cars, their roads and their buildings. It has sent helicopters and boats, Gore-Tex™ and #6 plastic. It has brought polluting air and a warming climate from around the planet. Although his presence is not always welcomed, the delegate of human history seems to command control of the meeting. In this great hall, he has held the gavel for only about 100 years. Before that, the local human representative was a much more respectful member. He was a part of the system and not a self-appointed ruler over it. The balance of power has changed though, and every day seems like a constant struggle.
Just the other day, the ever-presence of the Earth made her appeal with a storm. The Earth’s long history felt keen to assist her, having lifted the jagged peaks nearly two miles above sea level so long ago. Their combined efforts brought snow to the higher elevations of the park. Human history was handed a blow, his magnificent mountain road now closed because of hazardous conditions. He pleaded in front of the assembly, imploring that his powerful plows and government workers could open the road. Despite his pleas, the road remained closed for the remainder of the day - the snow continued to fall in the mountains. It was a check on the power of the human delegate, a reminder that he is not supreme ruler of this land, despite his efforts.
One can learn a lot from sitting in on the silent meetings of the Congress. The ebb and flow comes not just from the oceanic waves or the ceaseless tirade of wind but also from the push and pull of power. As I said, everything seems to come together here. Everything meets and exerts its power in this one place. At times these forces work together, creating the sweetest melodies ever heard. Other times, they work against one another, making the most violent noise imaginable.
I sit here in this stand of trees near the beach. I pick up a small piece of driftwood, maybe the size of someone’s thumb. It is soft and pliable with a cork-like texture. I crush it between my fingers. The driftwood is a child of all the members of that epic Congress. It was born in the rocky soils of the eons, in a tree of the flora. It was blown down by the wind and washed through the lake by Earth’s ever-presence, all the while breaking down and softening. Finally, it landed here on this beach, where I, a member of the human delegation, reduced it even further, to mere fibers of carbon. As I sit here in midday, near this rocky beach, I can almost hear the faintness of a kind, simple melody.
Ceaseless tirade. I stand up and walk to a stand of cottonwood trees, away from the waterline, to escape the battering. Maybe ten feet from where I sat earlier, this spot provides sanctuary for plenty of small plants. A lone thimbleberry blinks at me from the understory. I have not yet tried a thimbleberry. The temptation is too much to resist. It tastes almost like cinnamon, I think.
I pick up a small rock, a reddish dot of argillite. It is just a fraction, a billionth of the ancient seabed that was deposited here eons ago. Below its hundreds of millions of years is a tiny brownish ant, an animal that will know no more than a few weeks of life. It scurries away as its shelter lifts away from above. Everything seems to come together here. The mouse mingles with the moose. The butterfly flutters over fields of fescue. Yes, even the Harley Davidsons are heard roaring from across the lake, ripping their riders toward the sun and over the continental divide.
This is the vortex of the universe – the universe as I know it. It is the Congress of the Planet. Everything comes together and everything is represented. The Earth’s long history has sent a delegate to this land. It is represented by the rocks, the mountains around me. They are billions of years old. They are the wisdom here, because they have survived for so long while others have faded. The Earth’s ever-presence makes her daily appearance as well. The wind blows and the waterfalls fall, always. Flora and fauna are aptly represented. Nearly 1,200 vascular plants lay their roots here in a growing season as short as 30 days. Mammals, lizards, amphibians, birds, fish and insects all come together in Glacier, some journeying from thousands of miles away just to be here for the great meetings of the Congress.
Though the other delegates are not always hospitable to him, the human history of the past few centuries sends its delegate as well. In truth, the human history has an unfair advantage. It has sent many delegates to this meeting: two million annual visitors, and also their cars, their roads and their buildings. It has sent helicopters and boats, Gore-Tex™ and #6 plastic. It has brought polluting air and a warming climate from around the planet. Although his presence is not always welcomed, the delegate of human history seems to command control of the meeting. In this great hall, he has held the gavel for only about 100 years. Before that, the local human representative was a much more respectful member. He was a part of the system and not a self-appointed ruler over it. The balance of power has changed though, and every day seems like a constant struggle.
Just the other day, the ever-presence of the Earth made her appeal with a storm. The Earth’s long history felt keen to assist her, having lifted the jagged peaks nearly two miles above sea level so long ago. Their combined efforts brought snow to the higher elevations of the park. Human history was handed a blow, his magnificent mountain road now closed because of hazardous conditions. He pleaded in front of the assembly, imploring that his powerful plows and government workers could open the road. Despite his pleas, the road remained closed for the remainder of the day - the snow continued to fall in the mountains. It was a check on the power of the human delegate, a reminder that he is not supreme ruler of this land, despite his efforts.
One can learn a lot from sitting in on the silent meetings of the Congress. The ebb and flow comes not just from the oceanic waves or the ceaseless tirade of wind but also from the push and pull of power. As I said, everything seems to come together here. Everything meets and exerts its power in this one place. At times these forces work together, creating the sweetest melodies ever heard. Other times, they work against one another, making the most violent noise imaginable.
I sit here in this stand of trees near the beach. I pick up a small piece of driftwood, maybe the size of someone’s thumb. It is soft and pliable with a cork-like texture. I crush it between my fingers. The driftwood is a child of all the members of that epic Congress. It was born in the rocky soils of the eons, in a tree of the flora. It was blown down by the wind and washed through the lake by Earth’s ever-presence, all the while breaking down and softening. Finally, it landed here on this beach, where I, a member of the human delegation, reduced it even further, to mere fibers of carbon. As I sit here in midday, near this rocky beach, I can almost hear the faintness of a kind, simple melody.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
