The Fine Line

Practicing compassion, caring for others and sharing their problems, lays the foundation for a meaningful life, not only at the level of the individual, family or community, but also for humanity as a whole. ~ His Holiness, the Dalai Lama


People say that there are only three seasons here in Maine: Summer, Autumn and Winter. Summer is glorious and we revel in it. The long hours of sunlight, filling our days with the beach or boating. Lovely picnics and laughter well into the warm evenings. Autumn is nothing short of magical. The trees turn colors we only see in gemstones; rich ruby, glimmering topaz and vibrant amber. Winter, while seemingly endless, takes on a rhythm and sense of coziness. The snow blankets every surface and shines like diamonds each morning. Spring, however, remains elusive. Gray skies, torrential rains and fields growing nothing but mud seem to be the norm. The past few days, however, have been exceptional. I have taken to walking my dog, Murphy, and have taken full advantage of the sunshine to get back into shape following my surgeries. Walking has been therapeutic for both my own health, and for Murphy's...as he tends to look more like a Hippopotamus, than a Retriever mix. 


Our long walks have taken us into town, exploring streets we don't normally travel. It's been a bit of an adventure for the two of us.We love setting out in the morning, with no particular destination in mind. We may not be ready for a 10K walkathon, but we are definitely improving our stamina. 


However, a recent walk left me shaken, not from over-exercising, but from my own fears. As Murphy and I lumbered along in our usual mediocre pace, I saw a young man on the road ahead of us. He had a tattered coat, an over-sized backpack that was bursting at the seams and a very long, shaggy beard.  His entire demeanor gave off a threatening vibe. I looked around and didn't see another soul on the road, either in a car or on foot. In short, I was scared to death. I was a woman alone with a dork of a dog on an isolated country lane. 


My conversations with my friend, Jennifer, immediately sprung to mind. Jen is a gifted social worker and teacher on womens' issues of  personal safety. I have learned more from her than from anyone else on this subject. Jen taught me to scream "FIRE!", rather than "Help!" in an emergency....people being who they are are far more likely to respond to the former plea than they are to the latter. I learned that, if someone tries to pull me into a car to hold onto something solid, like a telephone pole or, when biking, to my bicycle. Jen explained a number of ways to incapacitate a would-be abductor. All of these scenarios flashed through my mind in an instant. I felt my heart pounding in my throat as the scary fellow approached. I seriously considered turning my dog around and running as fast as I could in the opposite direction.


In the next instant, I was filled with shame. Here was someone clearly down on his luck, and walking to his next destination. My recent theology class discussion about compassion rang in my ears, and I was horrified to have judged harshly when I espouse kindness above all else. Are my lessons in practicing hospitality, generosity, graciousness and consideration just empty ideals, with no place in my real life? Can I say one thing in an abstract setting and another when faced someone in need? My face burned red with embarrassment.


So, where is the fine line between ensuring our personal safety and practicing altruism? How can we remain grounded in a dangerous world, and be mindful of our own vulnerabilities, while still showing tenderness to those in need? With my thoughts on ways to keep myself (and Murphy) safe, I continued walking towards the intimidating man. I made eye contact, I smiled and said a cheerful, "Good Morning!" to him. He stopped and looked right at me. His gentle blue eyes showed nothing of the 'keep away' signs I'd seen before I spoke to him. Though bedraggled, his entire persona seemed to shift before my eyes, transforming him into a handsome, albeit world weary, traveler. He reached down and patted Murphy's immense head before looking up at me and saying, "And, good morning to you, Ma'am" with such kindness in his face. We exchanged another smile, and then went each in our own direction.


I was reminded of the verse from the book of Hebrews in the New Testament, "Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing, some people have entertained angels without knowing it."  I didn't entertain the young man, nor did I invite him home. I knew that that would be foolish of me. But, I am happy that I showed kindness, rather than rudeness, and a peaceful heart, rather than a fearful one.


Who knows? Perhaps I just 'entertained an angel'. Or, at least, brightened someone else's day. In either scenario, I feel both blessed and grateful for the encounter.

Veterans' Day

It is easy to take liberty for granted, when you have never had it taken from you. M. Grundler

Two weeks ago, I had written some notes regarding my Veterans Day blog. I had planned to discuss our family's experiences during deployments, the way the military community pulls together and how proud I am to be the wife of a veteran. In light of the Fort Hood shootings, however, I find that my heart and mind are walking down a far different path. Although we knew none of the shooting victims personally, nor were we ever stationed at Fort Hood, the Army is a small town with a global impact. There are always people we've known, men and women my husband has served with and far less than 6 degrees of separation from any Army family.

Like the rest of the world, we were shocked and horrified by the news of this past week. The most insidious aspect, in my own heart, was that the shooter was an Army doctor...a psychiatrist. Not only does this situation create a dreadful sense of mistrust throughout the medical system, but it has to be terrifying to live and work on post, and no longer feel safe. That this rampage would occur in a 'secure' location only makes the ramifications more complex and disconcerting.

Ironically, I have never felt safer than when I'd arrive on post. Before the first Gulf War, there was the simple checking of military (and dependent) identification. After the war began, our cars were searched, to include large mirrors on wheels to be rolled underneath, checking for bombs. Although this did present an inconvenience for those us who chose to live off post, it also gave us a sense of security. I was able to go to the American school in which I worked, feeling not only confident for my own sake, but also for that of my students. My classroom, during this time,

experienced a great deal of upheaval. Fathers left our post in Germany to go to the Gulf. Mothers often left children in the care of neighbors to return stateside to be with their own families. My 2nd grade class felt a lot of uncertainty during this time. I found that I needed to wear many hats...none of which were in my job description. This one year, we spent more time creative writing, and less time memorizing. We studied the geography of all the places the soldiers were going, knowing that was more relevant than the social studies chapter on "people in my neighborhood". We cried. We found ways to laugh. We read wonderful books, and composed ones of our own. We created care packages and calculated distances to various locations. We learned about many modes of travel that the military uses. We painted. We made paper mache globes. We learned the names of constellations and understood that the students Mommies and Daddies could see the same stars. We sang. We cooked. We were there for each other. But, at no time did we, ourselves in our own little classroom, feel at risk or in harm's way. Our classroom was our sanctuary. It was where we felt safe, away from the fighting.

President Obama has called the killings "incomprehensible". He went on to say, ""Their life's work is our security and the freedom that we too often take for granted. Every evening that the sun sets on a tranquil town; every dawn that a flag is unfurled; every moment that an American enjoys life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness -- that is their legacy". What President Obama must also realize now is that even our Army posts, here on American soil, have lost the small town safety they once had. In the military, your current post becomes your home. Your neighbors are in the same life situation that you are...which is a far cry from civilian life. Everyone has been the new person, and everyone lends a hand to help out. Army life can be brutally hard, including separations from those we love. But, it can also give you a sense of family, thousands of miles from your home town. The soldiers who lost their lives did so, not by someone who sneaked into this country illegally, but one of their own.It's a case of a neighbor killing his neighbors in small town USA. The tragedy is further reaching than just those of us in the military. As one of my dear friends from our Army days told me "It's not enough that my husband is in Afghanistan right now...in danger and ready to give his life for his country. Now, I have to look over my shoulder at our coworkers." What started out as a peaceful day in Texas, shattered not only a military community but the sense of freedom that our soldiers risk their lives to prevent.

This Veterans Day, I hope you will take a moment, in between parades and shopping the sales, to thank a veteran. Regardless of your political beliefs, the fact is that there are exceptional men and women who put their lives on the line to protect our nation and to facilitate the military life. They might be Army Rangers or Navy Seals. They might be doctors and nurses who provide safe health care for servicemen and their families. They might be college professors, scientists or supply specialists. They might be husbands or wives, fathers or mothers. It does not take one political party, or another, to have faith in humanity, to have appreciation for the courageous actions of others or to hope for peace and better days ahead.

If you disagree with me, that's fine. But, thank a soldier for protecting your rights to your own opinion.