The Caring Catalyst

Who Cares - What Matters

JUST A MOMENT: WHAT MAKES YOUR FLAG UNFURL

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It really is more than just a question, and absolutely more than just a passing phrase or thought.          .          .

What makes your flag unfurl, unfold, and flap in the wind?  Some would say ferociously, that we have never been more apart, more divided as THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA than we are right now.  But history proves that’s not true; even in the beginning when we were fighting for our independence, SHOCKER: NOT everybody was on the same page, but the best thing about not being on the same page is that seldom, I mean, so seldom do we recognize that, though we may not be on the same page, we undeniably are in the same book.

So forget about reading what was and putting down what is, let’s continue to work even in our own ways, divided as we may be, to what can be and may be so.  .  .EVEN ON THIS JULY 4th EVE

L  E  T  ‘  S  

LET’S 
LET OUR PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE
BE A PLEDGE OF MAKING US ALL A LITTLE BIT BETTER
E S P E C I A L L Y
IF WE 
AGREE
TO 
DISAGREE

GETTING CARING CATALYST’D

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CAN YOU REMEMBER
THE LAST TIME SOMEONE WAS
A CARING CATALYST
TO YOU.            .            .            ?

I’ve been reading Parker Palmer since my Seminary days back in the late 70’s but never this piece:

[Before the internet, “War and Peace” was regarded as a long book at 1,200 pages. Today, many regard a 900-word story like this one as “too long to read,” especially for a blog, but I’m posting it anyway because it’s a story I’ll never forget, it’s about trusting and caring for one another, and we need a lot more of that.]

Ever have a bad dream where you’ve gone to a meeting in a strange city, and when it’s time to drive home you can’t find your car? That happened to me last week—not in a dream but in real life! To cut to the chase, I got “lost” not because I’m getting addled but because I got bad info and bad guidance about this city’s welter of parking garages. So the story begins with me looking for my car in the wrong garage…

I walked around in this massive five-story parking ramp for 15 minutes before I realized I needed help. I tried to hail the next two cars that came by, both SUVs, both driven by white men age 40 or so. They saw me, but they blew on by without slowing down. Then I saw a slight Hispanic woman in her late 20s about to get into her car.

“Excuse me,” I said from a distance, “I hate to bother you, but I need help. I can’t find my car.” Immediately she turned around and said, “I understand. This place is so confusing, and all the downtown garages look alike.” Walking toward me, she said, “Let me see your parking ticket.” She studied it for a while, then said, “I can’t figure this out. But I know some folks who work here. I’ll go upstairs and find someone who can help you. Just wait here.”

After about 15 minutes, this Angel returned with a black woman who works for the parking authority, a take-charge woman of about 35 who quickly sized up the problem: “You’re in the wrong garage,” she said. “I just got off work, and I’m going to take you where you need to be. It’s not easy to find.” I expressed my deep gratitude to Angels #1 and #2, and as the first one drove away, the second Angel said “Follow me.” We headed out, and soon found ourselves walking into the start of a sudden and ferocious storm, with rain and winds gusting up to 60 mph.

We walked for a while in a hilly part of downtown, bracing ourselves against the wind and increasingly fierce rain. After about 10 minutes of this, Angel #2 saw that this 85 year-old white guy was having some trouble catching his breath. She grabbed my arm to help steady me and said, “Let’s get to that restaurant at the top of this hill. You can shelter there while I find your car and bring it back here. All I need are your keys and your parking ticket.”

The restaurant manager, a white man age 50 or so, was out front watching the storm come in—he said I was welcome to wait inside. I thanked him, then turned to Angel #2, saying “Here are my car keys and my parking ticket. Thank you so, so much.” She went on her way and I went into the restaurant as the storm wind and the rain intensified, grateful for the rest.

I had waited maybe 20 minutes when the manager came over to me. “No sign of your car yet?” “Still waiting,” I said. He looked at me through narrowed eyes and said, “Did you give her your car keys?” “Yes,” I said, “and my parking ticket, too.” He shook his head slightly, said nothing, but the look on his face as he walked away said “Sucker.”

My wait continued while the rain came down. A very long twenty minutes later, I saw my car pull up in front of the restaurant. I ran out into the rain shouting “Thank you! Thank you!” to Angel #2, my arms wide open. She got out of the car with a big grin on her face, saying, “Have a great evening!” Then we both started laughing almost uncontrollably.

We were getting drenched, but I was not done. I told her again how deeply grateful I was and praised her generosity. Then I emptied my wallet ($80) and said, “I know you didn’t do this for money. But you’ve been so very generous, please let me thank you this way, too.” She tried to refuse the money, still laughing, saying “No, no, this was not about money!” But I persisted, and finally she took the bills I was trying to put in her hand.

Then she said words I will never forget: “Do you know what’s most meaningful to me about all this?” I looked at her expectantly… “What means the most,” she replied, “is that you trusted me.”

I don’t know if she could tell that the raindrops on my face had been joined by tears…

We parted with more laughter and a little fist-bump, then went our separate ways. Later that night, I got home not only with my car but with a story I’ll treasure for the rest of my life.

The next time some fascist fool tells me that people of color are “poisoning the blood of America,” I know what I’ll say: “You’re wrong about that. What’s poisoning this country is people like you. Feel free to live your cramped, fearful life if you’d like, but we’re not going to let you diminish life for the rest of us.”

Pass the word! And when you can, practice random acts of caring and random acts of trust. We’ll all be the richer for it.
When was the last time SomeOne was a true Caring Catalyst to you or…
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WERE A TRUE CARING CATALYST FOR ANOTHER.                  .                  .

Psssssssssssssssssssst.          .          .if you’ve waited another second or for just the right time,  for the right person, you’ve waited much too long!

JUST A MOMENT: THE TRASH CAN SYNDROME

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Usually, in less than just a moment, we already identify it in us, don’t we? This is trash. This is a treasure; which leads us to that classic cliché:  “One person’s trash is another person’s treasure. And also, well.     .     .one person’s treasure may be another person’s trash, so maybe this is the question that we have to ask ourselves we so often do without verbalizing it in just a moment:  What if you trashed the treasure in other people as they to treat you like trash?  We all have the capacity to be talking dumpsters but that shouldn’t give us the free license to actually be that way.

We also have the capability to be these elaborate shelves.  It could really be what’s on our shelf maybe does belong in a trashcan

and there’s so much of what we have trashed that maybe doesn’t belong back on the shelf but shared with others as a treasure;

the treasure of a treasure that it is
IN JUST A MOMENT

EVERYTHING THAT WAS BROKEN

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Mary Jane Oliver was an American poet who won the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize. Her work is inspired by nature, rather than the human world, stemming from her lifelong passion for solitary walks in the wild. It is characterized by a sincere wonderment at the impact of natural imagery, conveyed in unadorned language. In 2007, she was declared to be the country’s best-selling poet.

Everything that was broken has
forgotten its brokenness. I live
now in a sky-house, through every
window the sun. Also your presence.
Our touching, our stories. Earthy
and holy both. How can this be, but
it is. Every day has something in it
whose name is Forever.

This poem by Mary Oliver expresses a sense of profound healing and renewal. The speaker reflects on a state where all the past brokenness has been left behind, and now they reside in a sky-house, symbolizing a higher, expansive perspective. Through every window of this sky-house, they witness the sun’s presence and feel the presence of someone dear (presumably a loved one). The poem highlights the significance of connection and touch, as well as the power of personal stories. The speaker finds both earthly and sacred qualities in these connections. Despite the wonderment and disbelief, the poem emphasizes that this state of renewal and eternity is indeed present in everyday life, in the form of moments that carry a sense of foreverness.

I have read this poem like a sacred psalm hundreds of times but I experienced it so powerfully differently when I heard it READ TO ME like this; there’s an ache in the reader’s voice that makes you feel your own brokenness but not in a rough, jagged way so much as feeling the stitches on a smooth baseball that was given to you by your favorite player as a gift more than just some souvenir to be put up on Ebay someday after your passing when no one really wants what was once special to you.
A little over a year ago, I was at conference at The Gathering Place where I was scheduled to speak last on the program that day.  I was there, sitting in the back of the room listening to a speaker talk about our own grief and grieving and how it often leaves us feeling BROKEN; this poem of Mary Oliver’s came to mind as did these words right before I spoke.  I used them as a conclusion to the presentation I gave: HOLDING SPACE–WALKING EACH OTHER HOME:

PROTECTED PRESENCE

I’m Broken
and I’ve lost a lot of my pieces
I don’t exactly remember when I
Humpty-Dumptied if off the wall
No recollection of all the Kings men
and all of the horses they rode in on
But I know. . .ohhh how I know
How I’ve not been put back together again
and when you dare to
provide protective presence
and choose to hold me
It’s not so much of an Embrace
as a specific piece that never existed
You’ve brought to me
A wholeness I’ve not known
but now never want to forget
or ever want to be without
BROKEN PIECES
PLAY A SYMPHONY ALL OF THEIR OWN
LISTEN
(or better still, bring your broken piece and play along)

SOUL SEEPINGS

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Our Soul’s and everything that’s sacredly in them always need to be free and untethered not so much that they can fly about willy-nilly but to continue to create what seems to be timelessly re-created in them;

SOUL SEEPINGS

Of course
there’s testing to be done
samples to be taken
cross matches to be completed
intentions to be discussed
therapies to be administered
advanced medical knowledge to be applied
scientific discoveries to be utilized
None of it
All of it
necessary or unnecessary
to these Soul Seepings
that come from places
not yet dreamed
never to be understood
but known 
like a familiar place that needs no lighting
for steps that know the way in the dark
all so intimately known
and at best shared
Whatever seeps from the Soul outshines any rays of light refusing to be hidden.          .          .
but if you don’t look
but if you don’t see
it doesn’t much matter.          .          .

JUST A MOMENT: SMASHED CAKES STILL TASTE SWEET

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In just a moment, you can experience more than any words or any dictionary that holds words and all other definitions will ever be able to explain. So what? So what that even a smashed cake holds sweetness and that whatever for better for worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health can ever mean,  that you ever hope that it can mean, far exceeds whatever death can part.

Psssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst:
It’s not a secret:
EVEN A SMASHED-BETTER-THROW-IT-AWAY-KIND-OF-CAKE
tastes sweet, if you dare taste it
Here’s hoping you
D A R E
in Just A Moment
to take in a sweetness
that begs you not to ignore

UnSmothered Love

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The line has stuck with me for well over

T W E N T Y     Y E A R S.     .     .

and I suspect for the rest of my life as a father;

Did you hear it?

Is it one of your favorite lines, too,

in the SHADOW  OF  FATHER’S  DAY.          .          .

“YOUR   FLAWS   AS   A   SON   ARE   MY   FAILURES   AS   A   FATHER.”

S E R I O U S L Y:

Have you ever thought,

“IF I WAS A BETTER PARENT,
maybe my children would be better,
not suffered as much”

Yes, I have suffered many little deaths
along the way as any dad would/does.     .       .      
Children always have a way of ripping your heart out
without a scalpel and tramping  
on your aorta;
watching it as flutters,
sputters blood
and seamlessly stops beating
by either what they say/do
or don’t say or do.      .     .
But my father’s heart has never stopped loving,
never stop caring,
never stop giving,
never stopped worrying,
and I believe it’s what makes me who I am
and who I want to continue to be.           .          .
It’s hard work;
it’s an endless job
from which I will never retire
and of which I will never seek to do so.         .          .

Now for that
MISSING PIECE. . .
completing 
t h a t
puzzle of
UnSMOTHERED
L O V E
and in the meantime, 
still very much in the shadow of Father’s Day
I’m beyond grateful for 
Oliva, Gina, Angie, Zoe and Connor 
MAKING this Father
a much better 
DAD

ARE YOU AN ELEVATOR?

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I recently read a short little blurb from Lou Hecker that I’ll now share with you:

I’ve been thinking about “elevators” — the people who help us get to the next level in our professions and our lives.  This was prompted by a nice piece in the New York Times about Al Horford — a professional basketball player with the Boston Celtics and a former player here in Gainesville for the Florida Gators.  At age 38 (when MOST players are long retired) . Horford is still very much a contributor for his team — one on which some players are close to half his age.  He credits Tom Brady, the former NFL quarterback who told him how he lasted so long as a pro…Duke Werner, a strength and conditioning coach at the University of Florida, who taught him about injury prevention…LeBron James (one year older than Horford) who gave him some ideas about longevity in sports…and even the professional cook who has prepared meals for him for the last ten years!

So are YOU an ELEVATOR. OR, are you just some random pusher of buttons that’ll never knowingly take people DOWN or UP without ever really knowing which way for sure?

Come on, as Caring Catalysts in our own ways, we possess the power to always take Another up another level they never knew existed, but one of the hugest questions of all, person by person, situation by situation is:
WILL WE?


We all need a LIFT, Right
WE CAN ALL BE A LIFT,
Right.             .             .            ?

 

JUST A MOMENT: YOUR DEW(DUE)

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If we were mandated to look at all things, literally to just pause, to take a moment and look at all the things that we miss in just a moment, we not only would be a appalled,  we would be embarrassed by what we don’t see or worse by what we don’t recognize because we are just too busy; we don’t have time or take the time and besides it’s just dew on a small little leaf so what?  Indeed, so why take just a moment for the moment to change you, that you may be changed by it, in just a moment. Not an hour. Not a day. Not a 30 day intensive program; No. just a mere minute moment.       .       .

THE SO WHAT OF DEW
It’s too delicate to even be a drop of rain
It clings to a small stem of tall grass
as if all of life eternal depended
on it never letting go
It withstood the trauma 
of being brushed up against
and worse, The deep wound of 
Being unnoticed 
Still, this small dribble of dew 
invites in a moment of your time
a slice of opportunity to know like it,
You too, may be unnoticed,
but have the power of just a moment
to give Another
A piece of Waiting to just Wonder
A sliver of Stillness
Serenity smidgens
to know that the so what of dew
is really a so what of you. 

G O N E

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THE STORY BEHIND THE SONG “GONE.”

Story written by Jim Chappell November 16, 2009

My girlfriend decided we wanted to get a kitten and raise it. The next day we went over to the local SPCA to look through the orphaned animals and see if maybe we could rescue one. They let us go into the large kennel area where all of the cats were kept, and immediately this small, all white kitten bounded happily over to say hi to us. “What a jolly little soul,” we thought.. This particular cat was so much more full of energy than the others who just listlessly stared out at us. So we decided this little guy was the one and filled out the papers so we could take him home. Lenny, as we decided to call him, turned out to be quite the little bundle of energy! He absolutely loved to play constantly by hopping around on the furniture, playing some odd type of Hide-and-Seek, and whatever else he could get into mischief-wise to keep entertained. Overall he was a great source of joy though and we were glad he had come to live with us. As time went on I noticed that Lenny didn’t seem to be getting much bigger, if at all. Though he was so cute, I couldn’t help but think he should be getting taller at least. So I took him into the vet for a check up just to see how he was doing in general. Come to find out, Lenny had a very rare blood disease that the vet explained was hard to treat successfully. He gave us some pills that were very important to stay regular with and told us we’d just have to see if Lenny responds. During the next month, however, he began getting tired and sleeping a lot more than normal. Soon after that he started to get weak and began walking really slowly and not ever running around like our old Lenny used to do. The vet saw him again and said this was the only treatment for this type of leukemia and that it simply isn’t working out very well. He then decided to tell us “I hate to say this, but you’ll probably lose him at some point in the next month or so. I wish we had other options here, but this is a very serious threat and there’s been a lot of research on it.” “Is he in much pain?” I asked. “Unfortunately, yes it’s very painful for him right now,” he said with genuine sadness. And so our little Lenny kept sleeping more and getting weaker over the next several days back at home. He was even having a lot of trouble walking, period, before long. One evening he stumbled three times trying to get to his food bowl just a few feet away, and I realized this was too much for all of us to bear! I announced that we need to take him and have him put to sleep now. My girlfriend couldn’t bear the idea and cried and fought me on it, until I reassured her there was no good reason to put him or us through this any longer and that we were just putting off the inevitable. It’s heartbreaking and sad and everything else, I told her, but I’m calling the vet. Of course we were both in tears when I dialed the phone. He said he would meet us at the clinic in an hour. He also asked if I could help out some since he would be alone this time of night. I agreed and we drove off with my girlfriend holding him as he slept in the little blanket we wrapped him in. I held Lenny in my arms so the doctor could administer the shot. Right at the moment he was going to take care of it Lenny snapped awake out of his stupor and looked directly and deeply into my eyes. It went right through me; there was a powerful love there, a soul-to-soul communication. I felt him thanking me for rescuing him from the kennel, for the new life we gave him, and for ending his misery now. All of that came from him in that one extended moment. It gave me chills as my love for him also poured out one last time. Then it was over. My girlfriend sobbed as we left with the same little blanket that we came with and Lenny in it. I thanked the doctor and he assured me we did the right thing. We took Lenny home and I dug a grave for him out in the yard where we placed him in his blanket and covered him. I remember looking up at the stars and being so grateful he had come into our lives even if only for a short time. I wrote the song Gone a few days later.

I had the HO-HUM thought when I first read this story, that I had heard rumored way back when I first heard Jim’s song back in the early 1990’s but it’s funny how it takes on new meanings, even after all of these years later when you lose a cat you love, too.

We got Billy and Phylly just short of a couple of years ago. (Named after my mom and dad).

We nicknamed him BBB or BIG BAD BILLY because he was a wild man but he wildly loved, too.  He often wore himself around the back of your neck like a stole and would fall asleep up on your shoulders as you would walk around.  He would go for everyone’s shoulders to say, “LOVE ME” but to show, “I LOVE YOU!”  He was the neighborhood cat and he would visit everyone on our street and gave them Peace and Joy when he’d make them pause to pet him and talk to him.  When he was out doing that a last Saturday he apparently was being kind to a dog who didn’t return the kindness and suffered lots of injuries that two surgeries and Kitty ICU couldn’t aid in his recovery.  So with Erin and I by his side and talking to him, loving on him and letting him know how much he made us happy, we gave him the gift of Peace but absolutely havent’ let him go.         .         .
I WAS HIS HUMAN!  He chose me.  He followed me everywhere like a faithful dog; PEACE for both of us was when, after a busy day of being BBB, he’d park himself up on my lap purring himself to sleep and bringing down my blood pressue faster than any pill or interventions.

He literally would bring paws to pause
Wrapped himself around my ankles
as I hurriedly try to put on my socks
Or lay on each step as I tried to make my way downstairs to get dressed.
To say stop, pause.        .        . don’t be in a hurry, not so much that I would pay attention to him so much I would just slow down; by paying him his attention he paid more than money could purchase.          .          .I’m so glad I never passed up the chance to give and get that love.
He would bring calm to my worry
He would bring rest to my disturbed
He would bring love to my most unlovable parts
Not so much about giving him treats so much as I would give him the opportunity to treat me.              .              .
And he never failed
Yes, there is a special spot in heaven for him
Just like our dogs, Bourbon and Molly and other cats, Mabel, Baby Barbara Speese, The Orange Girl, Nippy-One and Nippy-Two, and Bradley before him
That special spot is called:
M     I     N     E

I believe one day if I have moments to fully reflect as my life is completing, it will be make leaving Here and getting THERE a little bit more gentle and less fearful and like those loved ones who have gone before me, they too, will be there unconditionally waiting to greet me as if I was coming home like so many times before when they couldn’t wait to welcome me.          .          .It makes the hurt of all that I feel with GONE not gone at all

Until that THEN, rest easy my BBB (BEST BUDDY BILLY) and THANK YOU for choosing me; for loving me without conditions or boundaries.  You made me Better!
I love you, Pal
Yep.     .    .I’ll read it even again and be grateful; always grateful for the opportunity to LOVE.      .      .GRIEVE.     .      .LOVE AGAIN.        .          .
Professional Speaker, Author, Assurance Man