THE HEIGHTS OF OTHERS

            Today, as I drove down the street, I stopped at a red light, waiting to turn left. I was just three blocks from the freeway. I looked about and noticed a man waiting to cross the street. He was pushing the signal button as rapidly as he could with his shoulder.

            You see, this individual had some sort of dwarfism. You know, the kinds where his arms and legs appear to be scrunched into shorter limbs, thereby giving a thicker look to the appendages. His shoulder was actually just equal to the height of the button. My guess, I thought the button was about three and a half feet from the ground. The thing that amazed me was his behavior. He appeared to be extremely happy, as he wore earbuds connected to his iPhone, carrying it in one hand while a book or package occupied the other.

            I wondered who he was speaking with; a friend, an acquaintance, or perhaps a romance was playing out right before my eyes? I found myself inquisitive as to the conversation; what was it about? Was it reservations, idle gossip, or personal matters? If it was the latter, I do not believe it mattered that we, the observers, knew about it.

            As the light changed and I drove off, I reflected on the impact of height on one’s life. I know individuals who are well over six feet tall and yet unsure of themselves, lacking confidence. I know two beautiful girls who will never reach five feet tall, both of whom exude confidence and are successful at every turn. These two have experienced prejudice, snide remarks, and bias due to their height. I believe these moments and the choices they made in how to handle them have made them stronger. These are two individuals I am very close to; well, they are my granddaughters.

Anna has been small in every physical respect since birth. She was tested, poked, and blood drawn to check for any “abnormalities.” In the end, she is simply a small individual. A very talented young lady who, from the beginning, has perfect pitch and can memorize a song after hearing it once, maybe twice. As she learned to speak, her words were never singular in usage or even coupled with other sounds. No grunts or groans. Her first communications were in full sentences. Now as she has bad eyes and wears glasses most of the time, the two together, the glasses and the full sentences, surprised many a friendly stranger who would address her. With a touch of baby talk, they would say something like, “You are so cute, aren’t you?”

            To which she would reply, “Why thank you, how are you?” Many adults became speechless at the response.

            Now Anastasia, she and her two sisters have always reminded me of pixies or elves. From the first moment I saw them, they have had cherub faces with kind, loving eyes. Stasia is full of fire, spit, and vinegar, some would say.  This is not an unkind characteristic, perhaps learned as self-defense, as she is the youngest. Nonetheless, Stasia fights for everyone.

            In High School, she participated on the drill team and was even elected the Secretary in her senior year. They took the state championship again. Now she volunteers at a private High School, helping other girls learn to compete and, I’m sure, find confidence in themselves.

            There is something about her that is amazing; she invites you to be her friend and understands there is more to this life than being tall. Stasia has grown; her full height about 4’ 10”, yet her spirit and ability to love are 10 feet tall. 

            So, to all who judge, tease, or in any way make fun of individuals who maybe are not quite as tall as you are, remember, the young man, happily full of life, Anna’s perfect pitch, and Anastasia’s perfect love

Bedrock

 The more life I live, the more to life I discover. The more to life I discover, the more discovery there is in life.
          A couple of years ago, we moved to a new home. The view from the back deck is like a picture. A few home lie below us on a hill and then farmland stretches to the lake. Beyond the lake a few cities have built up, and one can see the roads, which bind them together. From that point the mountains sharply climb to the heavens, most of the year white capped, with dashes of green vegetation dotting the steep rocks.
     At first I noticed a few doors, who without assistance, would close, most if not all the way, by themselves. An inspiring feat for a haunted house, but not for our simple home. After further inspection I noticed most of the doors where not level. The poor craftsmanship always disappoints me. I spoke with several neighbors and found their doors too contained the same qualities. One, we’ll call him Thomas, mentioned his were getting worse.
     Now, not thinking anything more unusual then the rest of us, Thomas then mentioned his basement floor was cracking. Not a good sign. Now from our vantage point one can see how many of the homes below us where built along an old flood plain. In fact if you look further to the North, you can see where the once moving water cut through the terrain. This is were the homes now lie.
Last week, around 7:00 A. M. a crew began digging with large power equipment around the foundation of on of the homes. My first thought was a new patio or larger driveway. We soon learned the homes foundation had shifted over five total inches, thus qualifying for the contractors required guarantee.
The foundation repair crew dug straight down forty feet, though sand, dirty, backfill, until they finally hit bedrock. Then pillars where created, between the home’s foundation and the bedrock. This technique is to place the needed stability on the bedrock and not on the shifting ground directly below the home.
     I have heard of buildings having this technique applied during the original construction, to ensure the building will be on solid ground. Never had I heard of such expense used for a home.
     As I contemplated this situation, it caused me to ponder on what, not my home, but my life’s foundation was. At times I understand I have been as shifting as the sands, and loose as the fill dirt used, rather unstable and thus creating cracks in my soul. I realized the best foundation to support my life, to add strength to my existence, to help me weather bad storms and tremulous times, is the Savior.
     It has taken me a while to learn to stand my ground, have unyielding faith, to know without any shred of doubt, it will be all right. All I need to do is face the winds of change with a smile, firm in my conviction, and trusting in my foundation.

Brian

We approached the door with caution; we knew what was inside, and facing it was not what one desires at the ripe old age of 10. Mama had taught us all to love and cherish each other. Papa taught us to be men and, stand up to bullies, never cry in public. But I couldn’t help it.

The tears came and had left trails down my cheeks, my nose ran, and I wiped it on the sleeve of my clean white shirt. Grandma had ironed it this morning, but one could not tell by the wrinkles which came from hiding under my bed. They had searched for over an hour before they found me.

Even some of the older people were silent and troubled by the day’s events. Brian, my older brother, had been a handful, they said. He stole apples from the market, teased the girls in school, and made me do his dishes. Even though his life was full of mischief, everyone loved him and his zest for life; always smiling, always happy.

No one knew this would happen; it was just a joke, a simple moment of fun. He jumped onto the tracks and was gone. I knew he was on the other side laughing as I screamed. He was on the other side and everywhere else; he didn’t know the other train track would be busy too.

But now I would have his room and need to babysit the others, and help Papa, and … I don’t want to go in and see him.

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Should We Care

After a year of hard work on a project I realized the final goals of those involved where different. So after great personal deliberation, I decided to step out of the way. I could see the situation was one that could not be controlled and therefore could not have a positive outcome. As I made my intentions known I was accused of being all sorts of an unsavory character. The rhetorical question was asked, “I guess you don’t care what people think about you.” Which raised the question in my mind do I care?

          We grow up trying to please our parents, our teachers, our religious leaders. So, surely one can deduce we must care what other people think about us. Therefore it begs the question, “What about differing opinions about the same actions?” The school wants you to graduate, yet your employer says education is a waste of time. You feel a yearning for a particular religion; nonetheless friends and neighbors speak dispiritedly about those views. One’s heart aches for the love of another nonetheless, love is not returned.

It is the conflicts within our souls, which shape the clay we are made of. It is our choices of conduct, of learning, of loving, self-control, expression, restrain, unrestrained, and yes the choice of accepting things as there are, that causes the influences of those around us to manifest themselves. It is our actions and the results of them, which govern our future, or lack thereof.

          One may ask the question, “Should we care what others think, and to what extent should what they think influence our actions?” By so caring about what others think about us, are we giving our lives over to them, removing our choices and waiting for instructions from individuals who have not traveled our journey. What would we be, if we always asked others to show us what to do and how to act?

As this event has unfolded, I have tried to remain calm and remove the emotional drama and disdainful words now spewing forth in emails and texts messages. I have chosen to not participate and the anger has increased. Interestingly these have been private messages so only a few see them. I suppose that is so others will not think badly about the individual writing the messages, for they do truly care what others think of them.

As my personal resolve is; to be gracious, no matter what the situation, to understand there are influence of which I do not know within and without individuals I may have the good fortune to meet, to see beyond the moment, and praying I am making the right decisions. Ultimately it is written in our book of life, and as I look back on it, I hope for the best for everyone. Nonetheless, in the abrupt moments I try to live by the words of Polonius to his son Laertes, “This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.” Take care of yourself first, he counsels, and that way you'll be in a position to take care of others.

So, it is my choice to suffer the slings and arrows of others and hold my tongue that I may one day, be in a position to help lift the hearts and souls of others.

A Lesson Learned

Last week I went to court; no, not for me, but I provided a ride for a certain relative who found himself without a car, job, lots of fines, and some unresolved issues. Sitting there, I noticed the individuals who sat around me, some kids and their guardians, lots of attorneys, several court employees, clerks, bailiffs, etc. All but two seemed to be there for drug-related offenses.

We had arrived early to please the court and avoid another failure to show an arrest warrant, then sat for several hours as one defendant after another stood before the court listening to the charges against them, and some entered pleas. Some defendants sat in the jury box, in jail jumpsuits, hands and feet shackled.

After several hours a large contingent of police officers from a local town began to enter the court and stand along the windows and outside walls. This was interesting to me and the other observers, not only for the growing numbers but also for what purpose could all these officers, of all shapes, sizes, and ranks, be here? The question was soon answered.

In 1999 a defendant, we will call him Mr. S, committed a series of crimes. On the night in question, the defendant had been consuming alcohol to such an extent he unknowingly pulled into a stranger’s driveway, and with his foot on the brake, the truck, still in gear, fell asleep. While an officer investigated a call of a suspicious vehicle, Mr. S awoke, and a fight ensued. The officer called for backup, and as a second officer approached the vehicle, Mr. S ran over him, crushing all the ribs on one side of his body, puncturing a lung, and causing life-changing back injuries.

In the courtroom, Mr. S apologized for his bad choices and the results to hundreds of people. Consequently, both officers told their side of the story, including how Mr. S had been on the run for the last 13 years, continuing to commit several more alcohol-related crimes. The Judge listened intently, recognizing the large contingent of officers there to show their support to the two who had been injured by this man.

The most interesting moments were, as the second officer told of his experience, how police officers never consider the fact they may be the victim of a crime. He related life issues the incident had caused; he spoke of holding no malice, and he spoke of the need for mercy and justice. Mercy for Mr. S, and all he had gone through and suffered, justice for society and the laws of the land. As he spoke, one could hear a pin drop. I was moved to tears by the loving spirit which filled the room. I began to search my soul to see if I, too, could be so forgiving of any others that had offended me in much smaller matters.

As the Judge reviewed the situation and weighed the compelling testimonies, he finally pronounced the sentence. Mr. S received ten years in jail, a fine of twenty-three thousand dollars, and the forgiveness of those he had offended. Mr. S was taken out of the courtroom and off to prison. The officers hugged their fallen comrades and quietly left the room.

This was not what any of us expected to see in court that day. However, I am thankful I did; for it has changed me for the better and shown me a higher life to lead, and I was able to witness the Spirit of a loving, forgiving Father.