Oops! by Carolyn

It had been a long day of no adult conversation; no one to talk to except a 4-month-old child. Again.

Most of my days were that way, so when my husband called to tell me that he would be late coming home that evening, I decided I had to get out of the house. I settled the baby into his car seat and headed to the mall. Not really because I needed anything, just for something to do out in the real world where there were other people. Sometimes the four walls of a house can get a little constrictive.

I shopped for a while, window shopping mostly, and then decided to head back home. By that time it was dark, bringing some welcome relief from the sizzling heat that August in Texas brings.

The huge mall parking lot was mostly empty by then. As many women do, I felt a little uneasy about my vulnerability as I pushed the stroller down the lane, but I reached my car without mishap. I unloaded the baby from the stroller into the car seat and buckled him in. I closed the door to the back seat and pulled on the handle of the driver's side door. It didn't budge. I ran around the car and tugged on all of the other door handles, hoping that one of them would be unlocked. No such luck. As I peered through the window, I could see my keys on the front seat, taunting me.

Now I had a dilemma. Should I leave the baby in the car and go find help, or should I stay with the baby and wait for help to find me? Understand that these were the days before the widespread use of cell phones - I had no way to call anyone. I dithered a while, looking anxiously around me at the vast, almost empty, dark stretch of asphalt - partly to see if I could locate help, partly to keep an eye out for possible danger.

After a few minutes, the baby realized he was alone in a dark, hot car. He opened his sweet little angel mouth and screamed and screamed and screamed. That, of course, shattered my tenuous hold on calmness and made me cry, too.

Finally, help arrived. A man walking out to his car saw (or maybe heard) my distress and asked if I needed help. After he heard my story, he offered to go get the security guard from the mall to assist me. A few minutes later, the security guard tootled up in his little cart. He pulled out a slim Jim and began working it slowly through the gap around the car window to reach the door lock from the inside.

Throughout this delicate operation, the baby continued to scream. He had worked himself into a fine frenzy. His pudgy little face was bright red, his cheeks were tear-soaked. I crooned useless reassurances to him through the car window. He continued to be mightily angry.

The security guard worked and fumbled and tried again and again, but could not get the slim Jim to work. Finally giving up, he offered to call the police to see if they could help.

So, added to my fears about how hot the baby was - literally and figuratively - I began to fear what would happen when the police arrived. My fears were two-fold: Would I be arrested for child endangerment? Or would a news crew show up and shoot video of what a bad mother looks like to be the top feature on the 10:00 news? Maybe both?

Well, I am happy to report that neither of those fears came to pass. The police arrived, had a good chuckle or two at my predicament, and had my car unlocked within a few seconds.

I wasn't chuckling. I was hugging my baby, crying tears of joy and remorse, and thanking God.

Fill Me Up by Andrea

It seems

You took up most of the space in my heart

At times and

Throughout my life

And it seems you still do

You're filling me up

Just not like you used to

Now with longing

At times

My chest feels as though someone

is squeezing it into a too-small space

When I least expect it

In the parking lot before an early morning meeting

Eyes filling and flooding

a flow I cannot stop

Standing over a sink of suds and dinner dishes

Driving along the road

There it is the void opening again

Filling me up with emptiness

Grasping at memories of what used to be
you, actually you

I hear your voice inside my head and

am not soothed as all the times before

I smile and remember but

there is no end to the hollow sound bouncing around my ear 
as I hold the phone with no

“Hey! That’s my baby!”
filling in the space across the distance

Heaven is only a few heartbeats away

Right?

Closer than the Carolinas

So why can’t I call?

My mind is still full of questions

About you, about life, about me

I need to know all the things you knew
There are so many things I need to tell you
So much more I know you wanted to say

I need you, lady,

to pour into the empty spaces
to fill them to overflowing

With you

With all of you

I thought you knew

You were how I knew who I was

And if you are not here filling me up

How will I know

Who I will be

 -Andrea

Decisions, Decisions

I am not comfortable with making choices.  It isn’t often that I deviate from my norm.  I like to stick to what I know. There is comfort in the familiar, and I am all about the comfort.  I love my comfy “ I like big cups and I cannot lie” t-shirt. I have a favorite pair of comfy sleepy pants to wear during winter, and some comfy shorts I wear during summer.  When I go to a restaurant, I already know what I am going to have. Chick-fil-A with all of its options, I know I will get a number 3 with a lemonade to drink. No need to upsize unless it’s been a day that requires some supersize fries.

It’s not the decision itself that scares me, but more choosing wrong.  Making a wrong choice will lead to a bad outcome and then where does that leave you?  Life ruined forever. Ok… ok.. A little dramatic. While there are certain situations that can highly alter your life, most don’t warrant the stress and worry we tend to cause ourselves.  I have been making some decisions recently that have kept me up at night wondering whether or not I took the right path. Did I choose the road less traveled like Robert Frost suggests? Or is Jerry Seinfeld right and is the road less traveled less traveled for a reason?   

Regardless of what quote you subscribe to, or what path you take, it’s all about how you handle a situation when the decision is made.  The decision does not define your outcome. Only you can do that. You change jobs and it might not be exactly what you thought it was, but you can still have a positive outcome.  We can make the best of any situation, and see the beauty in the paths we do choose. The journey doesn’t end after one choice after all. We keep going, keep moving, keep choosing.

~Esmeralda

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To Be Brave

By:  Susan

She would have been 53 years old this year.  If she had lived.  But Mona Mahmudnizhad was hanged in 1983 when she was only 17.  Her crime was practicing her Faith in a country that did not allow it.  Mona had a choice.  She could have recanted but she refused.  She was taken to the execution ground along with ten other women accused of the same crime.  She asked to go last, so she could pray for the steadfastness of the others.

I think of Mona as one of the bravest people I know.  I have been brave too.  I get on airplanes even though I am convinced I am going to die every time there is a turbulence. I talk to strangers on the train. I teach fourth graders every day. I send my children out into this world.

Being brave makes us the best version of ourselves.  We do or say something that may bring us harm or cause us pain because something more is at stake. What more could be at stake than avoiding pain and harm, than self-preservation?  Isn’t that what we have been told about our species? That we are basically selfish and egotistical and in it to survive at whatever cost? Maybe what we really try to preserve when we act bravely is our true selves: Our dignity, our humanity.

Once, years ago, in that pre-cell phones, pre-Google maps time, before I could speak Spanish, Ben and I were travelling in South America.  We arrived in Puno, Peru,  a small town where our friend Tom lived.  We had not had direct communication with Tom but hoped he had gotten the many letters we had sent about our visit.  The bus depot was really just the front of a store. I volunteered to wait with our suitcases while Ben tried to find Tom from the vague address on one of his envelopes.  I sat on our suitcases, feebly protecting them, and waited.  I only felt brave in retrospect, when in telling the story of finding Tom, I realized I had been in a place where I did not speak the language, had no way of reaching my husband or anyone else and basically was at the mercy of strangers around me. I had looked around and seen people going about their business and realized I was with other human beings.  My small act of bravery consisted of not seeing myself among strangers.

Bravery is a form of self-preservation, preserving our nobler self.  Bravery is examining our lives, looking our fears, our biases, our likes and dislikes in the face and doing something different.  Bravery is asking questions and questioning the answers we have always been given. Bravery is not giving in to traditions and customs that define who we are as women, as men, as young people deciding how to start our lives, as older people trying to live fully to the end.  To be brave is to trust, trust that others are just as afraid, just as fragile, just as much in need of connection.  To be brave is to admit to our mistakes. To be brave is to trust that there is more to this life than preserving our bodies and our egos. 




When I tell Mona’s story and that of many other Bahá’ís persecuted for their Faith in Iran, my friends ask me why don’t they just leave?  I am always surprised by such a reaction.  I figured as defenders of democracy, life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness we would be outraged and want to do something to stop these acts of repression. My favorite line from the National Anthem, the one I get choked up on, is where it says this is the home of the brave. Are we brave enough to stand up and speak out for justice for everyone? To not see others as strangers? To be brave is to love, because it’s easy to hate.