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.

Lessons Learned (or Recalled) While Traveling by Carolyn

I recently had the opportunity to study abroad a week in Costa Rica. Here are some reflections on that trip:

1. The beauty and variety of nature is infinite. I live in a beautiful place, with rolling hills and blue skies and scenic vistas, but Costa Rica has an entirely different kind of natural beauty. Nature has a perfectly-designed playground there: warm temperatures, fertile soil, golden sunshine, and lots and lots of rainfall. Everywhere you look there are brilliantly-colored blooms, vines and shrubs and grass of every possible shade of green, and towering leafy trees. The flora and fauna is largely different from what I am familiar with, but beautiful and lush and intriguing.

2. Doing hard things is rewarding. Our first outing was a hike through the rainforest up to a waterfall. The trail, about two miles long, wound up the side of a mountain. It was rocky and muddy and treacherous. I am not in good shape physically - my idea of a workout is walking to the mailbox and back - so this was a very daunting prospect for me. It turned out to be even more difficult than I had anticipated. I was gasping for breath just a few minutes into the hike. Many times I was tempted to quit and return to the lodge, but I persisted. My legs shook, my breath rasped, and my hands were stiff from clutching the walking stick. My boots (necessary because of venomous snakes) were heavily coated with red muck. I slipped and slid and saved myself by clinging to branches overhanging the trail. We eventually reached the end of the trail. The glory of the waterfalls burst upon us, cascading into a frothy pool of clear, cool water. The air was full of shimmering droplets carried by the breeze. I felt invincible as sloshed through the pools of cold water and climbed up the rocks to stand triumphant under the falling water. It was a moment I will treasure; partly because of the natural beauty, partly because I was part of a group of lovely people, but mostly because of what I had to overcome to be there.

3. Traveling together can turn strangers into friends. The group of people I traveled with were virtually unknown to me before we went on this trip. I had "met" a few of them online, but the vast majority were strangers. Some were similar to me - white, female, Texan. Others were not. It didn't much matter. We bonded over being visitors to an unknown land: fighting off bugs, avoiding vipers, test-tasting leaves and bark and weird-looking fruits, being sweaty and hot and tired, trying unfamiliar foods, and learning new things. We are now friends.

4. A simple life does not preclude happiness. We tend to judge happiness by the amount of stuff we accrue, how big our house is, how new and fancy our vehicle is. We arrogantly impose our materialistic standards on other societies, believing that others must strive for wealth and possessions as we do. While I was in Costa Rica, the vast majority of the houses I saw were probably less than 800 square feet. Some looked sturdy and well-built, but many others were ramshackle and decidedly leaning to one side. Laundry hung out on lines across the (miniscule) yards. Doors stood open to whatever slight breezes blew through; no air-conditioning. The schools were tiny and ill-equipped. Children played outside - not on playscapes, but in the small areas around the houses or the schools or on a nearby soccer field. The schools were tiny and poorly equipped. In spite of what we might consider deprivation, almost every person I saw was smiling.

5. We get by with a little help from our friends. Some of us needed a boost to climb up particularly steep sections of trails, some of us needed a hand with academics, some of us needed to borrow someone else's phone, some of us needed to use someone else's bug spray, some of us needed to borrow thick socks to wear under mud boots, some of us just needed an encouraging word. We all needed something from our new friends; we all gave willingly.

6. Travel broadens our knowledge and understanding. On every excursion we took, whether on the chocolate and coffee tour, or the hike up the volcano, or the float down the river, or the visit to the experimental organic/biodiversity farm, or our trip to the local schools or the animal rescue center, or the aforementioned torturous trek up to the waterfall, we learned a vast amount of new information. We learned about the defenses plants use against their enemies, how termites can keep you alive, why sloths have spiders nesting in their fur, the reason farmers move their cattle often, what a secondary forest is, what cacao tastes like before it becomes chocolate, how frogs were used as weapons, and so much more. Everything we learned added to our knowledge of the world and therefore, our understanding of the marvelous world we occupy and the other cultures who call it home.

7. There's no place like home. As wonderful as traveling can be, there is a sense of relief at returning home to the comforts we have created for ourselves. Perhaps nothing makes us more grateful and appreciative of our own blessings as coming back to them after being away.

Changes and Constants by Carolyn

My family reunion was yesterday. My mother's family has, as long as I can remember, held a reunion each summer. Some aspects remain constant through the years, some aspects change, much like everything else in our lives. My mother was one of seven children; I am one of 23 first-cousins. We cousins are now in our forties, fifties, or sixties. Most of us are parents and some of us are grandparents, so two more generations have been added to the fray.

One of the best things that happened yesterday was the gift one of my cousins gave me of a thumb drive full of photos from the past several reunions. Such a treasure! As I looked through the photos, I was struck by the changes that have happened over the last few years, as well as the things that have endured.

Through the years, we have always had our reunions at low-cost venues. We are not the kind of family that books whole floors at swanky hotels or travels to exotic locations or swarms onto a cruise ship en masse. We tend to hold our reunions in the backyards of family members or around picnic tables at public parks. This has not changed. The duration of the reunions has changed, though: in my youth, we spent an entire weekend at our reunions, often at Bastrop State Park. We rented cabins and communed together for a couple of days. The kids swam and walked through the woods and biked on the trails. The grownups played dominoes and cards and horseshoes. We all chatted and laughed and forged family bonds. These days, our reunions only last one afternoon. Our lives seem to have gotten busier and busier, and there are often many family members who cannot attend our gatherings.

We have always eaten well at our family reunions. We are not the sort of people to have our food catered - it is always good ol' home cooking, nothing fancy, but always abundant and delicious. There have always been, and probably always will be, several different casseroles and favorites such as potato salad, baked beans, fried chicken, and ham. And the desserts . . . banana pudding, lemon meringue pie, chocolate cake. It all tastes like home. And we always say grace before the meal. Even if our family members never pray in their private lives, or only enter a church to attend a wedding or a funeral, we all join in giving thanks for our food and our fellowship. We honor the heritage of our ancestors' strong Christian faith. (This year, however, I missed the prayer because my three-year-old grandson, Jude, got tired of waiting for everyone to gather around. He pulled me out of the circle by the hand and led me to his full plate waiting on the table. I feel somewhat less guilty because we did sing the "Thank You, Jesus" song he has learned in Mothers' Day Out together.)

As time has gone on, we have lost many of our family members. My grandparents, my mother, two of her sisters, and three of my cousins have passed away, as well as my husband, my brother-in-law, and three uncles by marriage. We mourn together over those we have lost. We tell stories about the good memories we have of them, and laugh together over silly things. We cry, but we also smile because there are almost always new babies making their debut at one of the reunions. (Our newest family member this year was my granddaughter, Malin. It puffed me up a little bit to hear my relatives exclaim over how beautiful she is!) There is always an abundance of children. Some run around, wending their way through small clusters of their elders, looking for something to eat or something to amuse themselves. The teens lounge about looking bored. They have not yet learned to value the importance of family gatherings, especially with people they only see once a year. They don't realize that the stories we tell are their own history, their own inheritance.

I remember going to the family reunions every year with my mother when I was a child, a teenager, and a young woman. I remember taking my children to the reunions when they were babies, young boys, and teenagers. Now I am going to the family reunions with my grown sons, my daughter-in-law, and my own grandchildren. I am grateful that my boys will make the effort to go with me. They have come to understand how important that family connection is to me.

There is always lots of conversation at our gatherings. The older generation tells about what they remember of their parents and grandparents and growing up together. My generation reminisces about adventures as cousins together or catch up on whatever has changed in our lives since last year. We talk about the tragedies and the triumphs that befall our family members.

I am worried that, as the older generation passes on and my generation of cousins continues to age and lead their separate lives, and family members move farther away from central Texas, there will be no strong bond among the younger generations. The family connection will be stretched thinner and thinner. Our reunions will likely die down to a just a handful of people, and then down to something that only happened in the distant past. It is a melancholy thought; but for now, I cherish the bond that unites me to these beloved people. We are a family.

Happy Anniversary!

Tomorrow I will be celebrating 36 years of marriage.  Although we always remember this special day, we have never made a big deal about it.  Usually we just go out to eat. It is not that we don’t appreciate our marriage or don’t recognize all the blessings and rewards our life together has brought us.  We do.  But without explicitly agreeing to it, we have come to give each other the gift of constancy - those qualities that attracted us to each other, that continue to fortify our “fortress for well-being”.  This year, I do want to testify publicly to my husband’s enduring gifts to me:

An open heart - The first time I spent any time with Ben was during a volunteer project, visiting Spanish speaking homes in a humble neighborhood in Houston.  At one house, we were invited in and offered food.  I had just arrived in the US and had very little experience with cultures and communities other than mine. Everything was new and unfamiliar to me.  Ben had a very different upbringing and had lived with diversity all his life.  He accepted the food and ate with gratitude and gusto.  I said to myself: I want to be like that, I want to feel at home with everyone.  I fell in love with his humility and his genuine love for these people we had just met.  When I tell this story, he brushes it off and says he was just hungry.

A well-trained mind - Although I was only nineteen years old when I got married, I knew enough to look for qualities that were enduring and would not fade away with the passage of time.  In our circle of friends, Ben stood out as a very knowledgeable person.  He read a lot, spoke several languages and knew something  about almost everything. He still does. He is very handy when we travel - no need for a tour guide.  I am also grateful that he has instilled that same love of learning in our children.

A different way of doing everything - I always say that it’s a good thing for our children that Ben and I are different in so many ways.  If we were both like me, our children would never leave the house, climb a tree, swim in an ocean or go down a zip line.  There would be a lot of pressure on academic performance.  If we were both like Ben, they would eat popcorn for dinner and be late to school every day.  Fortunately, we are different and we have each brought a different strength to parenting our four children. So they take risks, they love learning, they eat healthy food and they are usually on time.

The greatest lesson I have learned from my husband is that if everything works out the way we planned it, we would never feel God’s hand in our lives.  We started with lots of short and long term plans. We spent the first eight years of our marriage planning.  I used to quote from Of Mice and Men:
“Go on, George! Tell about what we're gonna have in the garden and about the
rabbits in the cages and about the rain in the winter and the stove, and how thick
the cream is on the milk like you can hardly cut it. Tell about that George."

Go on, Ben! Tell about how we’re gonna live in South America, and have children and have a house where all kinds of people gather.  Tell about that Ben.
And most of that did come true, but then the world got in the way and we had to change course. And that’s how we knew God was looking after us.  We moved back to the States and started over.  So now I say: Go on Ben! Tell about when we retire and move back to South America and have a house where all kinds of people gather. Tell about that Ben.

As I wonder what the next thirty six years will bring us, I try to remember the important things, the enduring gifts that have bound us together so far.