“Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree.” So concludes the poem “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer. We used to have it read in school on Arbor Day each January. Arbor Day was a day set aside in the winter to plant trees and talk about the importance of them to the world around us. Today, Arbor Day is rarely mentioned and the planting of trees is not emphasized anywhere in the United States.

I belong to a group called the Arbor Day Foundation and I give a small amount of money to them now and then. They plant trees and in exchange for my donations I can have a tree planted to honor someone. I can send a card provided by the Arbor Day Foundation to someone and they can read their name on it and see that a tree was planted in their honor. I like that idea and I like giving when I can to a group that tries to improve the natural world.

I walk in my neighborhood on most days and enjoy seeing the tall majestic pine and oak and cedar trees in this area. It was at one time a forest before homes were built here and many of the trees are very old. An arborist looked over our trees after we had been here a while and told me the names of them all. He said our tall pine and two cedars out front are most likely over 100 years old. He gave me ideas as to how to help them stay healthy. I love those trees and want them to be around a long time.

Some of our neighbors, sadly, do not regard trees with as much esteem as we seem to. One neighbor cut down two tall pine trees shortly after they moved in for seemingly no reason. The trees appeared healthy as far as I could tell by just walking by them. One day they stood tall reaching to the sky and then the next day they were gone.

Another neighbor down the street shocked many of us this fall by cutting down six trees at one time. Again, there seemed to be no reason for tall healthy trees to be removed. This particular yard had an abundance of leaves to be raked this year, so many so that the owners had to rake for several days to remove them all. I wondered if they had cut the trees just they would not have to rake as much in the years to come. I hope that is not the case. I am hesitant to interfere with them by asking questions but I cannot understand how six trees needed cutting at one time.

Scientists tell us that trees give oxygen in exchange for the carbon dioxide they need. They are the lungs of the earth. The giant rainforests in South America and elsewhere are such a valuable asset for life that they cannot be measured yet people continue to burn them for economic gain. Even our trees in our yard are needful to provide cover and homes for birds and squirrels and other woodland creatures. We need to value the trees we have as much as the homes we live in. After all, they provide shade from the summer heat and beauty for us all to observe.

Some consider trees to be expendable and to be cut as desired but I would think that we would all think twice before removing a tree. Yes, they are needed for lumber to build homes and for firewood for fireplaces but as trees are removed they should be replaced with seedlings to provide trees for the future. We all are responsible for the earth. We are caretakers, stewards to care for it because it provides all we need to enjoy our lives. When we harm the earth, we harm ourselves in return. When we care for the needs of the earth and its inhabitants, we care for our own needs as well.

I guess I rarely pay attention to how much daylight we have during our days until we experience the extremes of light and darkness. In late June, the sunlight lasts until almost 10 pm each day and it seems as if the sun and the heat of summer will go on forever. Then, we get to this time of year, and the days are shorter and, as it is today, gloomier with clouds covering the sky and blocking out the sun and it seems like before you know it the darkness of night is here again.

Those of us who live in the southern tier of states in the US have much more daylight than our northern neighbors for whom the sun rises about 8 a.m. and sets around 4 p.m. Boston and Seattle share in this short time experience but for those in Alaska and Maine the days are even shorter.

Those who live in areas that have almost no light at all in the winter, such as people living near the Arctic Circle, often find creative ways to have more light in their lives. I have heard that people who live in Scandinavia visit “light rooms” where they can be exposed to artificial light to help compensate for the lack of natural light. At our house, we have many candles burning around the house in addition to lights that are on to generate a warm glow. Candles emit a light that is mesmerizing to watch as the long winter nights continue.

Light is necessary for life. I complain about needing to mow the lawn so much during the summer months when it seems like the grass grows tall weekly if it is not cut but once the days shorten the grass stops growing also. Trees and grass and other living things need the warmth of the sun to aid in their life enhancing processes. As the days begin to lengthen again we can see the re-emergence of the grass and flowers reaching toward the sky.

Light is the theme of this season and next. Light illuminates the darkness and exposes the evil in the world. The star of Bethlehem pointed the way to where the hope of all the world could be found. The light was the focus that led those travelers from the East to their destination. Light in our lives is needed regularly. We cannot live without light, physically or spiritually. Let the light that has lightened the world be our guiding star to lead us into the future.

Do you feel the excitement in the air? The world is about to turn today. It will be official, once and for all, that we will have a new President, at last. We have been dominated and oppressed by an administration determined to enrich the wealthy and dominate the poor, one that worked to ruin the earth and give its assets to the highest bidder, but that is about to change. Evil can dominate only so long and then the forces of good must overrule them.

This is the Third Week of Advent, if you are one to notice such things or participate in organized religion in some way. The third week of Advent is represented by the word JOY. The word comes from the Song of Mary where she raises her voice to sing when she learns that she will be the mother of the Messiah. “My soul magnifies the Lord…”, she begins. A new modern version of her song set to a lively tune changes the words to, “My soul cries out with a joyful shout…”. That version repeats the phrase, “for the world is about to turn” throughout the song. That phrase sums it up well. The world is about to change. New and better things are on the horizon. The forces of evil have been conquered and now new things can emerge that have been hidden for so long.

For the past four years it has seemed like we have had a curtain of gloom covering our country and perhaps the entire earth. Darkness has wanted to envelope us and smother out all the progress that had been made during the past generations resulting in the oppression of minorities, the pollution of the earth and its assets, and the erosion of personal rights. The dignity of the individual was set aside in favor of the ruling of giant corporations set on making as much money as they could without care or concern for the worker who has made them rich. One man and his cronies who assisted him and empowered him attempted to become a reign of terror that they project would last into the future.

The hope of all the ages, however, is not held within the grasp of a human but in the power of the one who enables the weak to become strong. When the world seems darkest, light shines through those who speak up for the oppressed and who work for the liberty of those held captive. It has always been that way in the history of humankind. When Mary sung her song so long ago, she could not conceive that soon she and her husband Joseph would be on the run with their new baby to escape to Egypt because the wicked King Herod wanted to kill her child. Herod was known as a ruthless leader, who even assassinated his own family members and he murdered thousands of innocent children in his search for the child he wanted to destroy. Mary’s song envisioned his end even before the threat happened.

That is what hope is. Hope sees where we cannot see. It envisions a new world that can exist as humans act to bring about change in the face of overwhelming odds. Even when the world seems the darkest, hope allows us to see the sunrise that is soon to appear.

In 1945, the world seemed dark. Another ruthless leader was attempting to conquer the world and establish a superior race to rule in might and power. He sent his soldiers and tanks into all the neighboring countries in Europe trying to stamp out those whom he saw as inferior or as a threat to him. He was responsible for the deaths of millions of people. Just as the world seemed to be as dark as it could be though brave persons acted to end his reign of terror. The Allied forces stormed the beach at Normandy and begin the march to Berlin that would eventually lead to the overthrow of the Third Reich and the suicide of Hitler. The world was free once again and the lives and cities that he destroyed could be rebuilt.

Hope is on the horizon once again. We may not have been literally conquered or held captive in prison by a ruthless leader but his intentions were to stamp out all the rights of individuals who dared to challenge him and to oppress anyone that he felt was not worthy or equal to him and his cohorts. He still spews vile oaths of hatred to try to rally his troops of evil together but we must continue to have hope that “the wrong will fail and the right prevail” as we continue to work for what is right in the world.

Martin Luther King, Jr. used to quote from the prophet Amos and the verse he quoted is on the memorial to him in Washington, D.C. “But let justice roll down like mighty waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream.” (5:24) That is what continues to motivate us to work for what is right in the world. Until justice is done to change the right to wrong, no one can rest. There is still much work to be done in the world around us to not be involved in causes that need our attention. Some of us can march, others can write or call or email, still others can work behind the scenes to make changes for all the world. Even when what we do is small in our eyes, it is a great thing that we do when we work to bring about good for all.

The world is about to turn. Today. Tomorrow. Always. Justice is on our side.

I had a teacher when I was in the sixth grade who once said, “There is a thin line between sanity and insanity.” He was the teacher who used to give us lessons on life. He once took a dollar out of his billfold and asked us if we knew what that was. Of course, we may have been kids but we knew all about money since we did not have any. He called the dollar “filthy lucre” and threw it on the floor and a couple kids went after it. He retrieved it from the one who had it and preceded to give us a lecture about the trouble the love of money would bring us. So, maybe his lessons on life were of value. I still do remember them today so I guess they may have worked.

So, his lesson on life about how sanity can suddenly become insanity has stuck with me through the years. News stories daily illustrate what he meant in this short statement. Someone can be living what seems to others an ordinary life and suddenly they are on the front page of the paper and the evening news. It happens in small towns as well as big cities. There is no escape from the reality that madness can suddenly overtake someone.

An acquaintance of mine made the news many years ago. He lived a normal life with his wife and two sons when one day his wife made what he said was a mean spirited remark and suddenly he found himself ripping the table leg off a table and beating his wife to death with it. What began as a normal day ended with him trying to hide the evidence, make up a plausible story about a stranger who murdered his wife, and then call the police. The story did not work and eventually he confessed to the crime and now makes his home in the state prison system. His two children call someone else dad. He wishes he could take it all back and change what happened and he would make a different decision. That cannot be done though. What happened is final.

We may be living an ordinary day and in our ordinary routine and suddenly madness is interjected into our lives. I was out for my late afternoon walk yesterday, just walking along looking at the squirrels playing in the trees and the birds going from branch to branch, when suddenly a white automobile pulled up beside me and a young African-American woman began to speak to me. “Don’t I know you?”, she began. “No, I don’t think so,” I replied. “Yeah, you used to come into the Magnolia Grill. I was the only black waitress there. I waited on you many times.”

Now, I don’t know where the Magnolia Grill is and I had never seen this woman in my life, as far as I can recall, but she insisted. I did not argue, just tried to be polite and listened to her talk. “Yeah, you are a judge, aren’t you?,” she continued. “I know a lot of judges and lawyers. I need some help and I wondered if you could help me.” I figured the next sentence was going to be how broke she was and how she needed some money. I never take a wallet with me when I walk so I could truthfully tell her that I did not have any money. She did not ask for cash though, she asked for me to do a favor for her.

“I need to get my babies back. They said I was on drugs but I’m not. I don’t have any drugs in my system but Tylenol and Oxycodone and they were prescribed for me. My ex-husband is trying to keep me from having my babies but I need to get them back. Could you go to the place where he works and tell him I am clean?” She named the workplace and the kind of car he drives but she never told me his name. It didn’t matter because I was not going to go and find her ex-husband and tell him anything. I just wanted to get out of this situation and I kept smiling and listening. She did all the talking.

Then, she told me she needed to get her driver’s license back too. I was puzzled because she was driving and told her that. She looked at me as if I didn’t have a clue and said, “Well, I have to drive to get where I am going.” So, once she was convinced I would go find her ex and tell him what she said, she drove off, her gas cap hanging outside the flap that usually keeps it hidden. She told me how good it was to see me again and to enjoy my walk. I saw her turn onto the main highway ahead and I resumed my walk.

I figured she was high on drugs or she was mentally imbalanced but she did not seem threatening. She wanted someone to listen to her air out her grievances about what was wrong in her life. I did just that. I listened and to be honest, I don’t think I could have said much to her. She talked fast and furiously. She talked as if she was on a mission and needed help to right the wrong in her life. I was just an older white haired retired guy out for my daily exercise but she thought I was someone with some authority or influence who could help resolve her problem that was real to her even if it may or may not have been.

I often think about what I would do if someone stopped me while I was walking and demanded that I get in their car at gunpoint. I fantasize that I would not obey but would quickly run toward the nearest house and seek help. I am still in pretty good physical shape and could zigzag here and there to escape their bullets and I am an extrovert so I am not afraid to make a lot of noise and venture into a yard or house to get away from a threat. I am hoping that I will have the sense to do some action to get me out of danger if some unforeseen thing should happen.

We never realize that we are surrounded by people who are living on the thin line. Some may not even realize that they are on the edge. We interact with them daily. We try our best to be polite and friendly and perhaps we will not be the reason why they cross the line.

It’s a process. That is what I have been learning as I watch the workmen who are busy with the remodeling of our sunroom on the back of our house. Our home was built in the mid-70s. The first owners lived here about 30 years and after the first decade of their occupancy they decided to add the sunroom. It was not a traditional add on but a kit with walls with large windows and a low ceiling. It was a nice place to be on a sunny day in the winter or a rainy day in the summer. It was showing its age, however. The flat roof had to be tarred now and then and before we could have it done water had settled into the eaves and even a new paint job would not fix it. So, the decision was made to remodel it and make it much better.

The contractor came out and looked it over and gave us the news that rather than remodel we would need to “demo” what was there and start over. What was there would not hold the weight of a new roof and it was necessary to just begin again. So, we planned how we wanted the new room to look and got a bid and decided to begin the process.

First, four strong men came out and in a matter of a few hours they had demolished (because that is what demo means) the standing structure and left only the foundation. Upon inspection of the foundation, it was necessary to destroy it and lay a new one that was much deeper and could withstand the weight of the new walls that would be erected. So, another four men came out and in a matter of hours they had used a jackhammer to tear apart the foundation and leave it in big chunks. Another crew came the next day and loaded up all the chunks and hauled them away and made a frame in which concrete would be poured for the new foundation. Soon, the concrete truck showed up and the new foundation came to life as concrete hardened in the frame. It was smoothed over with the work of men on their knees hand rubbing it into the form they desired it to be.

Two days later, another crew of four showed up to erect the walls and connect them to the foundation and it began to look as if something new would emerge from the rubble that had been there only a week or two before. The boards that would hold up the roof were laid and plywood was nailed to them. Then, last Saturday a two man crew laid the rafters to the places where the new ceiling would be attached and we could begin to form a mental image of what may be there once they are finished. Today, the roofing crew is here to put the shingles on the plywood as a new roof is connected to the roof of the rest of the house to make it one unit.

The process involves steps that must be completed, one must be done before another can be done. The contractor we hired is there overseeing the project, just looking and sawing and hammering using no blueprint that is visible to the onlooker. I asked him if he had one and he said he knows in his head what must be done even though he had the plan to the project at his home. He has a vision of what it will be like once it is finished. It is one that he can envision even if I cannot.

The finished product is what is more important to me. I want them to finish and for it to be a place where we can enjoy and relax and allow the sun’s rays to warm us in the winter and where we can watch the birds and squirrels playing in the backyard. I want things to be back to normal without the sounds of saws and hammers and without the sight of a pile of discarded materials as a result of the sawing and hammering. I want to see the result of the process but I know the process is necessary to endure if the end result is to be realized.

It is much the same in life. We can envision a goal that we want to achieve. We can see ourselves achieving the goal but we know that we must endure the process if we want to reach the goal we had set before us. It may be a college degree we want to obtain to help us qualify for a new job. It may be losing weight so that we can be healthier and look better. It may be saving money to take that dream vacation or do a remodeling or our house. The goal is set before us but we have to endure the process that will help us reach the goal. Taking the classes, eating in a healthy way and exercising, saving our money as we make good choices of how to spend it are daily steps that enable us to eventually reach the goal. We make the decision to put the goal in our vision and then begin chipping away at the steps necessary to make the vision become our new reality.

Sometimes facing unpleasant tasks that we would just as soon avoid also involves knowing that it takes a process to get us through the difficulty. My mother passed away in January, 2019 leaving me as executor of her estate. When I agreed to serve in this way, I did not know all that would be involved in this duty. Deciding what to do with a household of her personal belongings was just the first step. Then, getting the house ready to sell followed. Along the way, having her will probated had to be done. Then, hiring a real estate agent and selling her house followed. It was a much longer and involved task than I had imagined when I told her I would be the executor. I was her only heir, though, and someone had to do it. Now that the task is over, I can see what is involved in such a responsibility if I need to fulfill that role for someone else or assign that task to others on my behalf.

There is usually a process to be followed in our lives as we encounter challenges or set goals. Knowing that it involves a set of steps to accomplish in order to realize the outcome gives us more peace and structure in our lives. Otherwise, we may operate on autopilot and do whatever we can do to “put out fires” as we encounter decisions that must be made and crises that may occur. Living in the moment does not mean that we do not plan ahead. It means that we live into the plan we have made as we fulfill the task at hand that is needed for each new day.

Santa Claus, Old Saint Nick, Father Christmas, Saint Nicholas…it does not matter the name you give to the jolly old elf, some of us were never allowed to get to know him at all. Yes, some of us came from homes where our parents decided that lying to kids about this giver of Yuletide gifts was not something that would happen in their homes. Whilst other children laughed in glee and asked each other what they wanted Santa to bring them, I faced the hard reality early in life that this character who shimmies down chimneys across the world each year on Christmas Eve is pure fiction. My mother made sure that her children never had to wonder what Santa would bring them because he brought them the same thing each year—nothing.

We did receive gifts but the source of who brought them was clear. Our hard working parents who slaved day after day to put food on the table was the source of good gifts we were to receive, not some red suited man who broke into everyone’s house and magically filled the place with presents that you mentioned to the Santa at the mall who relayed your order to him. So, each year we put in our requests to our mom and dad and hoped that we might get something we wanted. Some years it was like a union negotiation session. I would tell what I really wanted and mom and dad would say “We’ll see” which meant it was most likely to happen. Other times I would say what I wanted and be met with “I don’t think so” with reasons why not accompanying it. Still other times, those of us fortunate enough to have birthdays that fall close to Christmas would be told that things such as a bicycle (or otherwise called “a big gift” by mom) would count as both birthday and Christmas gift if we got one. In those years, there was no mystery connected to Christmas. We went to the store and got the bicycle and on Christmas Eve when everyone else opened gifts, I was told, “Remember, you got a bicycle so that counts for both.”

My mother not only did not want us to believe in Santa Claus, the same went for the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. None of those nonexistent beings were allowed to enter our homes. We were told from earliest days that they did not exist and we were told that believing in them was wrong because they tried to take glory away from Jesus. After all, Jesus’ birthday was “the reason for the season” and Santa Claus was invented by the devil to steal glory away from Jesus’ birth. The same went for the Easter Bunny, who makes his appearance at the same time that Jesus rose from the dead. Both apparitions were evil and they would not be honored in our house.

So, while other kids went to bed with “visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads” we opened our gifts on Christmas Eve, picked up the wrapping paper to throw away, and went to our rooms to enjoy whatever our gifts may have been, being sure to thank mom and dad repeatedly for them. We were lucky if mom allowed us to have the Christmas Tree standing through Christmas Day. Many years, she would tell us after all the gifts had been opened, “Okay, that is over with for another year. Let’s get that tree back in the box and clean up around here and make things look presentable again.” Sometimes we begged to have the tree to admire throughout the end of Christmas Day and she would relent after dad told us that it would not hurt to have it around for one more day.

One year I got in big trouble at school because I told all the other kids that my parents said that Santa was a lie. Yes, I was that kid who spoke the truth to those who did not want to hear it. I was reprimanded by the teacher and the principal and when I told my mom that I had told all the kids what she had said, she reprimanded me too. It was as if it all was a big secret and you were not supposed to tell others the secret even though it was true. It seemed funny to me that if she and the preacher said these things to help us believe the truth then shouldn’t everyone know the truth. So, from then on I had to keep it to myself and allow everyone else to believe a lie if they wanted to.

As years went on and my wife and I and our kids would visit my parents at holiday times we would have to try to fit in Santa or the Easter Bunny as we could without my parents knowing what we were doing. We would leave a note for Santa telling him where to find us as we left to drive to their house. Somehow his gifts got delivered and the kids got them in addition to gifts given by relatives to them. The same went for the Easter Bunny. My wife would decorate eggs with the kids the night before Easter and the Bunny would use them to hide them the next morning. It was all just good fun. Except to my mother who would find a time to whisper to me, so that my wife would not hear it, “Why are you lying to those kids?” She believed in telling the truth at all times, except when she did not want our dad to know something and she would tell us to keep it to ourselves. She could be the mistress of deceit at times, when it suited her purposes. I guess she always prayed to get Jesus’ permission to be as deceitful as she really was.

Most people in society go along with the good natured fairy tale making involving Santa Claus and the other cast of characters that we tell kids exist. I do not see any harm in allowing children to believe in someone who is invisible. Christians promote such a belief as they demand allegiance and faith in Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit, three in one but all one in nature and existence. The very attributes of God are ones we also ascribe to Santa Claus. He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good, etc. Santa is a representation of the best of human nature. He may know all about you but he cares about you anyway. Even if you have been so bad that you don’t deserve anything for Christmas, Santa usually comes through with something so you don’t feel totally worthless. It sounds a bit like grace to me. The idea that none of us are actually very good but we are loved as we are.

My mother was judgmental, legalistic, and she felt she was morally superior to everyone else. The love she had for her children was very conditional. She played favorites and awarded those she favored with good gifts and punished those who did not meet up to her high standards. The religious tradition of which she was an adherent taught that God was just like that, not loving people unless they could be perfect or holy in some way. They followed in the tradition of the great Puritan preacher Jonathan Edwards whose sermon “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” made people fall to the floor weeping and trembling in terror as he described a deity that would love to drop people into the flames of hell as he dangled them over it. Those who had achieved some kind of righteousness by conforming to their puritanical standards were felt worthy of grace. Otherwise, they could not hope to escape burning torment and it was God’s delight to send them there. Is it any wonder that my mother could not accept belief in any being who distributed gifts to children without requiring some form of penitence or atonement? If her God was not of that ilk, why should anyone believe in a being who was so un-Godlike.

So, Santa and the Easter Bunny and even the Tooth Fairy were givers of good gifts and all one had to do in order to receive gifts was to believe in them and to reasonably good in the days preceding holidays, unless one lost a tooth and that was reason enough to receive a reward. Churches today tend to teach about a God who loves you just as you are and is the giver of good gifts. We believe that God does not require perfection and gives us what is good for us despite our being frail and unworthy. So, perhaps Santa Claus is a better representation of what we believe that God is like than any other human image we can conjure up. He is of a Germanic origin so he is necessarily white just as Jesus is portrayed as being white in the white culture. A black or brown Santa is just as valid as a Jesus with darker skin if it relates better to members of other cultures. He can be all things to all people, just as we are taught that God can understand our infirmities because Jesus came to earth in human form to be able to know the human condition.

I always thought that kids whose parents allowed them to have a belief in Santa Claus had something special that I was never allowed to experience. They had mystery and anticipation and expectancy awaiting the coming of this special man each Christmas Eve. That was a much greater gift than believing that the world come end at any moment which we WERE taught could happen when we least expected it. I would have preferred the belief in Santa over that any day. It required a lot less time on the counselor’s couch.

My mother and I had a stormy relationship throughout my growing up experience. She had a hair trigger temper and could become very angry over any little thing that she considered to be a transgression of the rules she set. She was very religious, pious in manner of dress and speech, and she demanded not just politeness, but holiness, from her children. She had many religious rites that she instituted that we were compelled to follow. Bible reading and prayer, as well as regular church attendance, was expected, of course. She had her “Box of Promises”, small cards in a cardboard box with scriptures written on them, and each morning as we prepared to leave to go to school we had to draw a promise out of the box and read it aloud and then she had to hold our hand and pray for us so that we would not encounter any danger in the day when we were absent from her. If we were running late to catch the school bus, that did not matter. You were going to choose a promise to read and she was going to pray, and if you missed your bus, then you just should have been up earlier and prepared better.

My mother could not stand for anyone to cuss. She did not allow the big cuss words, of course, so damn and hell were absolutely forbidden. She also did not allow what she called “by-words” which were words that sounded close to other words and substituted for them, such as gosh and golly and dern and gee-whiz. Other kids may have been allowed to say such filth but she would not allow us to do it. One time I made the mistake of saying gosh in her presence and she gave me a lecture about not using such language. I said that I only said gosh and not even gosh dern and then it began, the bigger lecture accompanied by scripture and a prayer to follow.

I did not learn to refrain from arguing with her until much later in life and I guess I must have been a rebellious child and teenager. I always had a strong sense of justice and wanted to be treated fairly and she wanted to be the boss and tell me how things were going to be. More then once, a simple disagreement became a major blowup and the day was ruined for both of us. Instead of simply telling me that she did not allow the use of certain language in our home and end it with that, she had to be sure that I felt punished for saying the offensive word. There were times of actual punishment, such as washing out my mouth with a bar of soap when I was much younger and then it evolved into hitting me with a belt or whatever else could be handy to use. It was very easy to push her emotional buttons and I seemed to be a master at doing it because it happened so often. My older brother and younger sister did not seem to have the skill I did in making mom turn red in the face and begin to rant and rave. At least I was good at something I did.

I outgrew the need to argue with her as I concluded my high school career and prepared for college. She remained the same explosive individual but I found ways to be absent from our family, either truly absent gone with friends for whatever reason or choosing to be alone in my bedroom which became my ark of safety. I married early in life, at only 21, and left home for good except for occasional visits that involved the entire family. My mother never quite got over her need to lecture and insist on emphasizing behaviors and actions that she felt were suitable. Luckily, I was able to decide when the visit ended after being married and then having children. If mom became irate, then suddenly it was getting late and we needed to get home.

The last time she and I had a blowup happened as I turned 40 years old and had gone to visit my parents by myself. I went during the workweek for a couple days visit and my wife and kids remained behind for work and school. I had had a fairly pleasant visit when out of the blue my mother began to lecture me and tell me her religious views which I had outgrown and no longer believed. Not wanting to be rude, I simply said, “Let’s change the subject if we can. I would rather not talk about this.” She would not be dissuaded, however. She insisted to continue and said, “No, you are going to sit down and listen to me.” I don’t really recall what happened next exactly, but I remember having the feeling as if someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water on me. I rose to my feet and said, “No mam, I am 40 years old now and I don’t have to sit down and listen to you.” With that I began packing up my belongings and left to return home.

That began a solid year when my mother and I did not talk to each other. She refused to talk to me and I would not talk to her either. We did not go to visit them and they did not come to see us. Finally, one of us had to be an adult and end the feud, so I did what I thought was an extravagant act. I bought a box of what she thought was expensive chocolate and sent it to her for Mothers Day along with a note of apology. She soon called and said she sorry also and things were better. I was still very guarded around her but I noticed that she respected my boundaries more and if I declined to discuss something she brought up then she did not continue.

My mother lived to be 93 years old and for the last six years of her life I was her only living relative. My sister and brother and father all died and she at last had to rely upon me to fulfill what she needed in her life. I lived nearly 200 miles away from her but she and I talked on the phone daily and I helped her with any needs she had. She made it known to me that my brother had always been her favorite child and when he died suddenly she mourned for many months. She allowed me to be in a closer place in her life only because she had no other choice except for friends or strangers. She had outlived everyone else in her life except one sister who lived far away.

If only she had been able to not be as insistent that things had to be done her way and others had to believe as she did, she probably would have had a much happier life. She was stubborn and often angry and very judgmental of others. She did not see a problem with having those particular personality traits and being a devoted and very active adherent of Christianity. Perhaps those character flaws were genetic and she actually could not help being the way she was. Maybe she suffered from depression and manic-obsessive disorder and her need to pray was the way she dealt with those maladies. She did not believe in psychotherapy but she did believe in Jesus and believed that she could pray away anything that bothered her.

I grew up as a Protestant and as such a belief in Purgatory was not part of our understanding. The longer I live, however, I am becoming more accepting of the idea that if there is indeed a place called heaven and another called hell, then shouldn’t there be a place where people who were pretty good folks but they also had a side of them that no one mentioned would go for some kind of purification in order to make them good enough to go to heaven? Many human beings are people such as my mother, good in many ways but also needing a tune up to become better, and if it did not work in this life, then maybe a complete overhaul may be needed in the hereafter.

My wife did some alterations to a pair of pants that I own and to thank her for her service I took her out to lunch at a local Mexican restaurant that we enjoy going to now and then. We arrived and put on our masks, as required to do, and were seated at a table where I had a good view of others as they arrived and entered the restaurant. My wife’s back was to the door so she could not see them but I had a clear view of people as they entered. I was amazed at how many people came in without wearing a mask. I estimated that half of those entering were maskless. There were families with children, couples, pairs of men or women, older couples, one man pushing a woman in a wheelchair. All without masks in defiance of the order to wear one.

This is not the first time I have witnessed this in East Texas. We have been to other places where the same scene has been repeated. Even though the staff are all masked and other customers are going and coming in wearing masks, these folks think the rule does not apply to them. They may disagree with it and think they do not have to obey simply because they disagree. It raises the question, however, are we all free to disobey laws with which we disagree?

I remember years ago when seat belt usage was not mandatory. In fact, I remember not wearing seat belts myself because I just did not think it was necessary and it seemed to be a bother. Our son would stand up on the front seat of the car between us as we traveled so he could see things down the road to point at and make comment and my wife simply held her arm around him while we drove. We thought nothing of not wearing a seatbelt or having him in a car seat. Then, a law was passed to require seatbelts on all passengers and children to ride in car seats. We obeyed the law because a fine was levied against anyone who failed to obey the law. It became a habit and we began obeying the law and today the car does not move until everyone has a seatbelt fastened.

So, if seatbelts are provided to protect us as we drive and to prevent death or injury that could happen if an accident occurred, why do most people obey seat belt laws but many do not obey the mask law? Perhaps it has something to do with the lack of penalties for not wearing a mask. Persons can come and go without them and no one tells them to wear them unless a business is prepared to enforce the law itself. One store and one restaurant in our town requires the masks and will not allow persons to enter the business without one. In fact, it even made the news when the store would not allow a party of three persons to shop without masks. Instead of complying with the order, they called the news media and made a big deal out of it. The store stuck by its guns, however, and instead of a boycott happening, as the expelled shoppers suggested, more people are shopping there, thankful for the consideration for safety by this store.

Businesses do not enforce the mask rule because they are afraid they will lose money if they do. It should not be left up to them to do the enforcing. The local authorities should do that and all should be required to follow the rules. If every business and restaurant enforced it, then all would have to obey or they could not shop or eat out. Unfortunately, our local sheriff proclaimed that he would not enforce the rule and without any assistance from authority figures, all are left to decide for themselves if they think it is a good idea or not.

Is society a place where everyone gets to decide which law they will or will not obey? Can we simply not obey a law just because we think it is not a good idea for us? What about those who believe in nudism? Should they be allowed to walk naked through the streets because they do not agree with wearing clothes? What about those who do not think Daylight Savings Time is a good idea? Can they simply not adjust their clocks and constantly be early or late for everything in society? The list goes on an on. When one lives in a society, we work for the common good of all. When one does not agree with a rule or law, one may suggest a change to the authority that enacted the law but simply not obeying it is not an option. We must all work together for the common good or we will all perish, and especially when a plague is in our land.

The Medieval era has its own plague that was called the Bubonic Plague. It was also called the Black Death. People by the millions were dying in Europe because of it and no cure was known. One village in Europe closed their city walls to outsiders. No one could go in or out. This was to prevent the plague from entering the village. It worked well until one man who had the plague and who had traveled to a distant place before contracting it returned because he was so homesick and wanted to see his family. He somehow sneaked in and was able to find his house and family and they took him in, feeling so sorry for him. The plague entered the village because of him and soon many were ill and many died.

Rules are often made to protect us all. When people choose to disobey the rules, for whatever reason, they endanger all around them. Wearing a mask is not just a good idea. It is an order from our governor. He ordered it to help stop the spread of the disease. Those who choose to disobey the order are endangering themselves but also endangering all they come in contact with.

There is a biblical story in the Hebrew Scriptures about a man named Naaman. He was an important man and a leader of one of the armies that often opposed the people of Israel. He also had leprosy which was greatly feared and thought to be incurable. This important man had a slave who had been kidnapped from Israel and she suggested that Naaman go to the holy man Elisha in Israel and perhaps he could cure him of his disease. Naaman set off to find Elisha and to find his healing and when Elisha saw him, he told him to dip seven times in the Jordan River and he would be healed. Naaman went home angry because he thought Elisha would have come out and spoke some magic words and performed some ritual to heal him but instead he asked him to wash in the Jordan River which he considered unclean in comparison to all of the rivers in his homeland. When he got back home, still marked by leprosy, complaining about what he was told to do, his servant who had made the suggestion for him to go to Elisha said, “Master, if he had asked you to some hard thing, would you not have done it? Instead, he only asked you to wash in the waters.”

Naaman listened to the wise words of the servant and returned to the Jordan River and began to wash in it. Once, twice, seven times, and each time, he wondered what would happen until finally his skin became as clean as a baby’s skin. He returned to Elisha to thank him and to give him gifts and the prophet would not accept them. He only wanted Naaman to give thanks to God for what he had received, the healing he had sought so badly.

We could ask all of our neighbors around us who refuse to wear masks, “If you were asked to do some hard thing in order to stay safe from the disease, would you not do it? Instead all you are asked to do is wear a piece of cloth over your mouth and nose when you are around others. Is that too hard to do?” Perhaps they believe the disease is not serious or they have been led to think that they will not get it regardless of what they do or do not do. If they could only see those who have had it and have suffered so greatly, perhaps they would believe and understand and obey. If not for their own sakes, then why not for the sake of those whom they love?

I was born in Illinois to southern parents. My father worked as a construction worker and at the time of my birth my family was living a nomad existence in a small trailer pulled by his truck. They would move from place to place as he worked at jobs in the building trades industry. He went where the jobs were so my brother, who was 4 years older than I, and I were carried along with them, living in trailer parks or sometimes on small plots of land where they arranged for us to stay for a short time.

We moved around a lot in the Midwest. I was born in Cairo, Illinois, right on the border between the former Northern and Southern states of Civil War days. We lived in Kentucky at the time of my birth but soon moved to Springfield, Illinois, and thereafter to places in Indiana and Louisiana and then finally to Texas. When it was time for me to begin school, my parents decided that the traveling life was not for them and they needed to have a place for their boys to go to school and for them to live permanently. So, the Beaumont, Texas area became the place where we would live. My father said it was close to the oil refineries where he would work and land was cheap in those days so he bought a 5 acre tract of land in a rural area and built a small house there.

My mother did not work outside the home but she was busy with her church so much that she needed to be free from the burden of a child to care for so she found a private first grade school that would admit me at 5 years old because public school would not accept me until I turned 6 and she needed the freedom to be busy with her lady friends at bible study, prayer meeting, and good deed doing without a kid tagging along with her. So, I began my formal education at 5 in first grade and soon after was accepted into public school second grade at the age of 6. I was always a year behind my peers and a bit immature for being with those older kids.

One time there was a reason for the kids in our class to tell where we were born. I had been told that I was born in Cairo, Illinois and had no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed of that fact so I proudly proclaimed the city of my birth, only to be greeted with jeers and scorn and the imposition of the name “Yankee” upon me by my classmates. I was the only “Yankee” in my class and wanted to fit in so I tried to persuade them that Cairo was not a city in a northern state but they would not accept my explanation. For months to follow, they called me “Yankee” as a term of derision. I guess that was my first time to understand that people in the Southern United States still looked upon the country as divided by the Mason-Dixon Line.

Why do we accept the idea that we are divided by imaginary lines that put us into categories that define us? Why is the idea that there is North and South and those designations value us one way or another? I remember a scene from “Gone With the Wind” where Rhett Butler is driving a horse drawn wagon with Scarlett O’Hara riding in it as they fled from Atlanta as it burned behind them. Scarlett wanted to return to Tara where she thought they would be safe and Rhett agreed to drive them. All along the way, they passed Confederate soldiers, wounded and weary, walking along trying to also make their way home after deserting their military groups. Rhett told Scarlett to look at them and understand that they represented the last vestiges of a failed attempt. Those poor sad souls had fought for what they believed in but the burning of Atlanta represented the failure of their ideals and dreams to win over the reality of what would be left in the ashes after they were gone.

Lately, people in power have attempted to divide us into camps labeled “Red States” and “Blue States”. The man who has been pretending to be our leader for the last four years even got to the point where he refused to lend aid to people living in “Blue states” because he felt they did not support him politically. The election to choose a new president was held and even though there were a lot of states colored red on the map as the results were given, population wise the blue states outnumbered the red ones, revealing that a new leader was being chosen. Those people who had bought into the cult of the leader who was being defeated cannot seem to give up on the idea that he will return to power in January. They continue to fly their flags and leave their signs of support in their yards even though all the signs point toward a change in authority to come soon.

It reminds me of the people of Chicago who have supported their teams called “da Bears” so many years. Their sports team had not won a championship for decades but they still went to the games and clung to the hope that things would turn around. They seem to have found their identity in being diehard fans of “da Bears”. Win or lose, they belonged to something much bigger than they were as individuals and it makes me wonder if those people who now cannot give up hope in their lost leader also find identity in belonging to a cause that is a losing one because in themselves they do not have a lot to claim ownership with.

Many people who could be considered disenfranchised from society in one way or another became part of the cult that found their identity in this man who cares nothing for them in return. He only cares about himself and all the money he can make in whatever way he can make it, honestly or not, and once he is out of office he will not think twice about his diehard fans unless he can figure out a way to cheat them out of more of their money to enrich himself. Their identity, however, was transformed into being one of his followers because he helped them emerge as being part of caustic revolting social movements that most decent people will not admit belonging to. When he spoke evil or mean-spirited words, then they too could speak as he did because he had authority and they believed he gave them permission to speak as he does because of his authority.

My wife and I have traveled to Germany many times in the past decade or so and we have enjoyed seeing many beautiful and cultural sights. One thing we have never seen is a statue in tribute to a man who also developed a cult following there during World War II days and the decade preceding it. When Hitler took his own life as the war ended, the German government wisely forbid any statue or monument or recognition to be given to this dead monster. His memory was to be obliterated except in official documents or history books. No one was to speak praises of him and signs of his movement cannot be displayed ever. The pain and horror he caused are to be lessons that such cannot be repeated.

Following a lost cause is only an effort of those who cannot cling to hope or have higher goals and ideals in their own lives. People who have greater ambitions in life find ways to lay aside the past with all its pain and to look to a brighter future that they can help create. We are on the cusp of a new leadership that will help us to rebuild and restore those thing that were lost or destroyed because of misguided leadership. We are awaiting the time when all things will be made new, when hope will be restored, when we will once again be proud to be part of the world community and they will be proud of who we are once again, because we will be who we once were before the calamity began.

Do you ever feel like you are swimming against the current, as if you are in the water in a swiftly flowing river, perhaps, and others are meeting you head-on as they go with the current and you are attempting to fight against it? Sometimes I feel like I do not belong to the culture in which I live. So many things about culture that I do not understand. People do things that to me seem destructive to our environment such as releasing balloons into the air that will eventually fall to the earth and endanger birds and other creatures. Or people who litter the earth, throwing their trash out everywhere to pollute the earth and cause its inhabitants harm. Or people who do not care for others but act selfishly, as if they and their rights are all that matter.

Perhaps you can see that the connecting link in all these examples is the word “people”. Human beings are responsible for the ills of our culture and its effect upon our planet. Human beings are supposed to be caretakers of the earth, good stewards that care for this planet because it is our home and there is no other place for us to live. I am an American by birth so I suppose I have a right to evaluate the way Americans live in comparison to the way that citizens of other nations live. My wife and I have traveled a great many times in other countries and their way of life is not always exactly as our way of life is.

We have been to Canada many times and over the years our favorite province to visit has become Nova Scotia. If you have never visited Nova Scotia, then you have missed getting to know many friendly people and experiencing cultures that fascinate and allure your senses. Many people from the British Isles call Nova Scotia home. Its name means “New Scotland” and many Scottish persons immigrated there in the 1800s. Others from the British Isles also made this their new home, but one group of people came from France and were known as the Acadians as they formed a new life on the shores of Nova Scotia and reclaimed land that was below sea level and learned to farm it, carving out a way of life that fed and cared for their children. Unfortunately, in 1755 the British expelled them and their land was given to British settlers while they were transported to the colonies that became the United States and some of them found their way to Louisiana to become Cajuns, a corruption of the word “Acadians”.

We have stayed at a cottage in a small fishing village named Parker’s Cove three times. The cottage is owned by an American who lives in New Hampshire and it is her family’s home that was given to her so she rents it to tourists. The last time we were there we spent a month there as I had my last sabbatical related to my profession. The cottage overlooks the Bay of Fundy and each morning we would rise and have coffee on the porch as we looked out over the water and watched the seabirds and other wildlife trying to find their morning meal. As a person renting this cottage, one has to abide by the recycling rules of the province that requires sorting the trash one accumulates to deposit it in three different containers and to take the containers to the nearby road for collection at the appointed time. Paper products of various kinds go into one container, plastic and glass and other materials go into another, and food waste goes into a third container. All are collected and taken to a place for recycling. Nova Scotia residents recycle most of the waste that is collected. Little of it goes to landfills.

As Americans staying short time in a cottage in Nova Scotia, we entered into this way of life. We became Nova Scotians for the time we were there and tried to follow the rules to the best of our abilities. There were times I became confused as to which container a certain item would go and luckily there was a chart on a wall to educate us as to how to follow this rule of law. We were not rebellious and huffy, insisting that we were on vacation and did not have to follow the rules, as some have been known to do. We agreed that part of our duty as visitors to this pristine and healthy land was to enter into their way of life as if it were our own way of life. We even collected the cans and bottles that a tax is levied upon when one purchases a soft drink or a bottle of water or other liquid and returned those to the recycling center as as to get our refund of the tax we had paid. Those centers are scattered around the province and when we were touring the countryside we would see one and stop in to turn in our empties and to get the small amount of money that was ours for doing so.

I had conversations with Nova Scotians and often would ask them how they feel about the way they live, and specifically how they feel about the recycling process. I never heard one word of complaint but all said it was necessary in order to provide for the planet. I also asked them how they felt about not being able to own certain guns as Americans do and all said they had no need for such guns so why should they need to own one. I also asked them about how they felt about not using pennies since their government stopped using them a few years back and merchants round totals up or down to the nickel instead of having pennies. No one cared one way or another. I figure if we tried to do away with the use of pennies in the US, we would have riots in the streets over our right to have pennies.

For many years, I have felt I should have been born in Canada. I seem to have a lot more in common with Canadians than I do with people of my own county. I do care about the planet and try to do recycling wherever possible. I do care about wildlife and animals and want to do what is best for them even if it means changing my lifestyle in order to do it. I do not own a gun or have a need for one and think like a peace activist instead. I try to get along with my neighbors and not fuss over trivial things, even when my own peace is disturbed by useless noise or carelessness of others. I am more like my Canadian friends as I value a way of life that promotes peace and goodwill and personal responsibility.

Why can’t Americans be more like that? Why can’t we as a culture mutually care for one another and our planet and not selfishly insist on having our “rights” that we seem to think are guaranteed under the Constitution of the United States? Each time we have an environmental atrocity revealed to us, a part of my allegiance to this country dies. Each time there is a mass shooting, needlessly killing innocent people, my love of this country is challenged. Each time persons in authority at different levels of our government use their position to harm others or to act selfishly for themselves, I wonder why I live where I live.

After our month long stay in Nova Scotia in that cottage by the sea, I returned with the goal to contact my state representative to ask if he would help sponsor a bill to have deposits on cans and bottles in order to reduce pollution in our state. I wrote to this man who represented the area where I lived and after a while received a reply which told me that there was little interest in this idea and that it was too complicated a matter to pursue. I was stunned by his reply and it made me remember that when I was a boy, I and other friends would often pick up glass pop bottles to return to the store for a nickel each. We could return a glass milk jug and get a quarter for it. For some reason, the system worked then and was not too difficult to manage. Why have we become a throw away society and our elected representatives could not care less about helping to change this idea? Perhaps because we all go with the flow and never swim upstream. We have become satisfied to drift with the current and never question authority figures whose salary we pay and who work for us. As long as we just drift along, things will never change. We have to make noise and challenge authority in order to bring about change in our culture. Those people who are elected by a vote of society work for us and we have a right to tell them what we think again and again if needed. And we should do that very thing.