April 3: Being a Humanist, Addiction, Judgement and Finger-Pointing

So, I forgot my copy of Slaughterhouse at home.  It has not been a good day.  Anyhow, I decided to focus on one of my favorite Vonnegut quotes, about being a Humanist.  I think there's a lot of merit to what he says.

Most of today, I've been trying to process a cruel act that I witnessed yesterday.  Again, I'm not going to get into details.  I've gone over and over it myself, trying to understand.  I can't.  It didn't accomplish anything.  It simply created stress, hard feelings, and anger.  In my mind, there is simply no justification for what happened.

Now, I know this is probably driving all my readers crazy.  I wish that I could spell out the details, but I can't.  It wouldn't be kind or decent of me, and that's what I always try to be.  I don't always accomplish this goal, but I try.

I will say that addiction is a terrible thing that very few people (outside of addicts) understand.  It's selfish and crafty and shameful.  Nothing can change an addict's mind when s/he is in the throes of addiction.  The choice to break the addiction can't come from any outside source.  It has to come from the addict.

That probably confused this post even more.  So, I am just going to end this little reflection by encouraging everybody who reads this to simply be kind.  Behave decently.  Treat people the way you want to be treated.  It's all about compassion and empathy, not judgement and finger-pointing.

Tonight, Saint Marty is thankful not for the perfect people in his life, but for the decent people.  They make better friends and family.

October 16: Decent People, Grieving and Struggling, Psalm 100, Adventures of Stickman

Ives' sister, Katherine, came to stay in the apartment and cooked their meals; Harry had flown in from San Diego with his third young pretty wife, and he dealt with the situation by giving Ives a check for a thousand dollars to help defray costs, and said things like "Why you brought the kid up around here, in these times, is beyond me," again and again, a sentiment that Annie's family shared, in their opinion it seemed incomprehensible that decent people would even want to subject themselves to the noise and filth of the city, let alone expose themselves to the potential for violence.

In the aftermath of Robert's murder, Ives' family members try to help in their, sometimes, misguided ways.  His sister cooks and cleans, takes care of everyday necessities.  His brother provides money and plenty of guilt.  His in-laws bring helpings of intolerance and judgement into the equation.  In the wake of tragedy, there are no perfect responses.  In fact, tragedy seems to magnify weaknesses and flaws in survivors.

In the wake of my sister's death, everyone in my immediate family is struggling.  One of my sisters has been wracked with guilt, and it manifests as incredible anger.  Another of my sisters confessed to my wife that she feels "choked by death."  She spends her days thinking about my parents, who are in their eighties, and my sister with Down Syndrome.  She sees the specter of death lurking in the shadows of every room.  Me?  I alternate between sadness, anger, dismay, more anger.  Depends on the time of day.  I find it difficult being around my family at times.  I get impatient very quickly.

The most difficult part of grieving for my sister is the anger.  I'm pissed at her.  She was always a person whom I could count on when I ran into difficulties.  A voice of reason with a generous heart.  Once, when my sister found out I was struggling financially, a few hundred dollars suddenly appeared in my checking account.  She listened to my complaints about work and school, and I listened to her worries about her job.  Now, I'm pissed that all that is gone from my life.

My family has gone a little crazy.  I, myself, feel a little off-center.  And we aren't getting better.  We''re getting crazier.  There's a whole lot of resentment and not a whole lot of honesty going around.  On good days, I can do my time around my family and then retreat without a fight.  On bad days, I brood and bite my tongue.  I have only once let my true feelings surface, and it wasn't pretty.

I am including a happy psalm this evening.  A song of praise.  I figured it couldn't hurt.

Saint Marty hopes to keep his mouth shut and his feelings repressed this weekend.  You know, a normal Saturday and Sunday.

Psalm 100

A Psalm of Praise

Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all ye lands.

2.  Serve the LORD with gladness:  come before his presence with singing.

3.  Know ye that the LORD he is God:  it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.

4.  Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise:  be thankful unto him, and bless his name.

5.  For the LORD is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations.

Adventures of STICKMAN

March 4: Plenty of Extra Work, Coworkers, Folded Hands

Lurvy picked up a pitchfork and walked away to get some clean straw.  Having such an important pig was going to mean plenty of extra work, he could see that.

Mr. Zuckerman's hired hand, Lurvy, isn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but he's a hard worker.  Granted, the humans in Charlotte's Web don't come off as very intelligent.  The Zuckermans and Arables all buy into the spider's little ruse.  Fern is the smartest of the two-legged characters in the book, and she's only eight-years-old.  Yet, there's a certain dignity in all the simple farm folk of White's tale.  They're, as the old saying goes, the salt of the earth.  Honest, no-nonsense people who labor from sun-up to sundown.

At the medical office where I work, I'm surrounded by hard workers.  It's a group of people who've been together for close to 14 or 15 years.  We know each other, care about each other.  We're a dysfunctional family.  We get on each other's nerves, bicker, hold grudges.  In the end, though, there's a great deal of love in the place, whether we admit it or not.

Currently, the huge healthcare system that owns our facility is making monumental changes.  Cutting hours.  Forcing people to look for new jobs.  Eliminating bonuses.  Deleting entire departments.  Everyone with whom I work is looking for extra income.  As you know, I, myself, have to post to a another position somewhere else in the hospital.  I have not been around a more discouraged collection of individuals in my life.

Even though Lurvy has extra work piled on top of his normal farm chores, he never really complains.  He accepts it with grace.  Enthusiasm even.  I am not Lurvy.  Neither are my coworkers.  We all used to be Lurvy.

That's what my prayer intention for this week is:  my coworkers.  I'm asking you to pray for them.  They're all decent people, and they need some hope.  They're my extended family, and they've seen me through some pretty difficult times.  Now, we're all in a lifeboat, and it's taking on water.

So, fold your hands for my coworkers this week.  Say something kind to God for them.

Saint Marty has to get some clean straw for Wilbur now.  He's some pig.

Bless my friends.  Amen.