Lost in Excellence

 

Ambrose grew up in a family of those radically different from himself with nothing more on their mind but television, sports, and the pursuit of social interaction. Fortunately, he inherited his grandfather’s intelligence, passion for excellence, and love of music. He always knew that he was the outsider, the odd one, that one child with whom no one could seem to connect. He put in a great effort to be sociable, to be athletic, and to connect with others, but all along it all felt so foreign and contrary to his nature.

It was when he finally reached high school that the stark reality of his robust contrariness became painfully aware. He had many acquaintances and very few actual friends, for there was almost no one with whom he could connect on any level, whether it be intellectually, academically, or spiritually. He passed through each day of life, knowing that those around him were blissfully unaware of the depth, width, and potential that life offered them.

The more he interacted, the more he realized that almost no one else was interested in becoming something great, missing out on so much potential for growth, and the pursuit of excellence. The distraction of school, its social cliques, and its empty vanity drove him away from the possible path of university, for he knew that four more years of education would be more of the same environment.

After graduation, he poured himself into self-taught education, choosing topics of interest to make himself as widely educated as possible, choosing music, philosophy, religion, and anthropology to make the greatest effort to understand how all fields of knowledge connected, and how people approached life. As each year passed by, he became more and more disappointed in the trajectory of those around him, all of them seemed content with mediocrity.

Unwilling to condescend to the status quo, he made every effort to find answers to the many questions that plagued him, writing down questions and then finding answers. In what seemed to be one out of a thousand, he would find someone who was moderately interested in similar fields as he, which would occasionally stimulate conversations that barely scratched the surface of where his mind was going.

He finally gave up any hope of ever finding someone with a heart and mind like his, to instead pour himself into wife and children, doing all he could to support them both financially and emotionally. Not one to distract himself with toys, he put great effort into making the most of their financial situation, improving every detail of their lives to move them forward with greater goals in mind.

He and his made every effort to improve their situation, moving from one house to another, one community to another, one city to another, one state to another, and eventually landed with good people who encouraged them all toward that which was good and right. With this new community, he could feel a good shift in their reality as they were able to get away from the empty mediocrity of the common communities that had surrounded them for so many decades.

Like one moving from a meal of fast food to home cooking, he could see the difference in quality, but it was several years later that he finally realized that the previous step upward was only a good first move, for there was much more out there and ahead of them which was considerably better, capable of bringing them to an even better place.

Many more years passed, and Ambrose only continued to be disappointed with ninety-nine percent of the population as they were all content with mediocrity, while he was pushing himself to become more, to become better, and to be one who offered something of excellence to those around him. It made him sad to realize that despite his best efforts, most were not interested in what he was offering.

“Keep it simple, talk to those around you like you’re talking to a fourth grader,” was a comment he received from others. Feeling like a deflated balloon, he began to wonder about the passion he had for excellence, the disdain he received from others as they realized that he and they were in radical different realities. “What you say is confusing,” is another comment he would often receive.

“Well, there’s not much I can do about that,” he would say to himself. “If others had moved themselves to a place where there is no intellectual or academic challenge, I shouldn’t be surprised that they cannot keep up and become confused.”

At the same time, he struggled to avoid pride and arrogance, knowing that pride is man’s greatest downfall. He worked very hard to give people the benefit of the doubt, wondering if his words or actions actually accomplished what he hoped to accomplish in his own life or in the lives of others.

“Ugh, there is nothing worse than looking into the face of someone else as I’m explaining myself and only seeing confusion,” he grumbled to himself. “What to do, what to do.” As the years continued to pass, he could feel himself drifting away from any genuine contact with others, knowing that his passion to help and educate was typically ignored and found confusing by most of those with whom he interacted.

“They will hate you because of me,” was the phrase that often came to mind as he failed in his attempts at connecting with most people. “Ugh, describing excellent music, excellent art, challenging academia, and anything of genuine beauty always fails,” he grumbled to himself. “I suppose I need to resolve myself to the fact that I operate on a different plane, in a different reality, and on a different level than ninety-nine percent of the people with whom I interact.”

Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year, he began focusing on learning from those in the past, whose lives were built around rejecting the inanity of the world, the emptiness of vanity, and the lack of focus on things of value. “The goal is not wealth, the goal is not comfort, the goal is not distraction but instead is a difficult path of challenge and the pursuit of holiness, being different from the rest of the world.”

His library continued to grow, his written output continually increased, and his interaction with those around the world grew into the thousands, positively impacting their lives, pressing them toward holiness, toward a passion for that which is good and right, and encouraging them to think about actual reality, on the end goal of holiness, and the tools for achieving the practice of loving one’s neighbor.

“If you don’t love your neighbor,” he told them, “then you cannot love God.” The path that Ambrose chose was a difficult one, a journey that required dependence not upon himself or his own strength but upon listening to, focusing on, and seeking the guidance of the Holy Spirit. He knew that he was not strong enough, that he was too easily distracted, and could not depend upon himself to reach the end goal.

He maintained his many routines, his struggle against his passions, and continually hoped for someone to move into his life that would offer wisdom, guidance, strength, and love. He hoped that his person would move him toward holiness and hopefully he would help them move toward holiness, a beautiful image of reciprocity. The reality of his connection to the past, the high bar set by the holy ones of centuries before made his longed-for new reality one that would most likely never come to pass.

Decades of disappointment, in others and in himself, left him in this position of solitude, with a level of excellence so above and beyond, that he could only continue to struggle, refusing to lower himself to others less than adequate expectations. He created a metaphor in his mind of a parallel of a man knowing the quality of prime rib and being asked to be content with bologna. Like one who had grown up with classical music and being told to be content with country western music.

Stubbornness, resistance, and a refusal to succumb to the low standards kept him in this solitary place, ever moving forward, upward, and toward an eternity that promised true joy and contentment as opposed to the drivel and emptiness offered by ignorance and distraction. “Better solitude and holiness than disappearing into a crowd of insignificance,” he thought.

A Source of Happiness

 

            Ellis sat alone during his lunch break, silently watching the fourteen other people in his office effortlessly interact, chat, and laugh with one another. If he was to be brutally honest with himself, he knew he was not the most sociable person, the most friendly person, or one who put in effort to connect with others. He thought back over his childhood, his high school years, and his years in university, to recognize that his personality had been the same throughout all this time.

              Thankful for the Reuben sandwich that graced his plate, the sweet tea, and the side order of onion rings, a warm, tangy, and delightful meal that had been delivered a mere five minutes before his lunch hour began. He finished his beautiful meal, rose from his seat, disposed of his trash, slipped out to the restroom, and washed his hands, appalled at the greasy residue left upon his fingers.

              He started to return to the lunchroom to then pause, recollect his thoughts, and change his trajectory to the stairwell that led to the outdoor garden that graced the roof of their office building. Standing at least four floors higher than all other buildings in the vicinity, he drifted through the hundreds of flowers, plants, and small bushes that created a wonderful Eden-like setting.

              He approached the edge of the roof, looked out across the city to catch a distant glance of a park a mere six blocks away. “Something needs to change,” he muttered to himself. “Honestly, I am a pleasant person, a thoughtful person, and one who genuinely cares for the wellbeing of others. I guess this will force me out of my comfortable personal bubble.”

              The last few hours of Friday passed, he expressed good wishes upon his co-workers before taking the elevator to the main floor. He escaped to the sidewalk, found the stairwell to the Tube, rode in the midst of hundreds of strangers until he emerged only one block from his flat at the Aldgate stop. As he slipped above ground, he walked past “The Guild Church of St. Katherine Cree”, its gray bricks hinting at its century’s old history, an impressive tower that he could see from his bedroom window.

              Ellis was not one who was ever particularly religious, and the thought of connecting with the Anglican priest at the church surfaced in his mind, with the hope of receiving some sort of direction and help as to how to better interact with people. He ascended the stairs to his flat, looked across the open space at the impressive visage of the church. He then searched for the church website in hopes of finding their hours for the coming Sunday, with a plan in mind to arrive early, interact with the priest and hopefully receive some direction and wisdom.

              As the dinner hour arrived, he walked a few blocks to a local pub to order fish and chips, a Guinness, and chat a bit with the waitress who previously had seemed sweet on him. He finished his dinner, ordered a second Guinness, and maintained a steady course home, working hard not to look overly touched by the volume of dark beer he had just consumed. He smiled and waved at everyone he saw on the street, worked his way up his stairs, took a shower and watched a movie until nearly midnight.

              Before collapsing into bed, he set his alarm for Sunday morning two hours before the Anglican service began. “Let’s make Saturday a day of rest, relaxation, and maybe a walk to the park. Maybe I’ll call Maggie and see if she wants to join me on a visit to the park, and a light lunch afterward.”

              His Saturday passed in a lovely way, enjoying his time with Maggie, a wonderful lunch, and plenty of relaxation time until nighttime fell upon the city. The clanging of the alarm pulled him from sleep on Sunday morning, confused, he sat up, tried to remember why his alarm was sounding, remembered his plans for the Friday before, took a shower, and toddled to the church less than a block away.

              As he entered the nearly empty sanctuary, he motioned for the priest, and the two of them engaged in a pleasant conversation, with Ellis explaining his social conundrum, asking for help as to how to overcome his social ineptitude. “Thank you for reaching out, Ellis,” the priest said. “Social interaction and friendship are very important aspects of one’s life. I want you to think about the kind of people with whom you like to spend your time. Please share your thoughts.”

              “Oh, yeah, that makes a lot of sense,” he said. “I usually find people who are humorous and bring joy into my life as good people with whom to associate.”

              “Well, there you go,” he said. “If that is what you like, it’s probably safe to say that other people would have the same feelings and ideas.”

              “Thank you for your time, Father,” he said. “I’m not a religious person so I will probably not stay for the service. I appreciate your guidance and wisdom.”

              Ellis returned to his flat, took off his shoes, sat down at his dining room table, and began taking notes, documenting what the priest had told him. He found a light breakfast in his refrigerator, relaxed around his flat, and decided to wander around through the local shops with the hopes of finding several people with whom to chat, to laugh with and hopefully positively influence.

              Feeling jovial, filled with breakfast and inspired from the words from the priest, he made his way downtown to find several open shops filled with people. He challenged himself to interact with at least four or five people in each shop, finding that being friendly, talkative, and humorous brought out the best in others. His plan was a smashing success as he made several new friends, new contacts, and exchanged phone numbers with at least a dozen people.

              After enjoying a long afternoon with new friends, he finally returned home to make himself dinner and enjoy a movie. The next week of work was radically different than normal, as he continued to exercise his effort of friendly interaction. Friday came around and he repeated the activity from the previous Friday. He relaxed around his flat, strolled to the local pub, continued to practice his friendly interaction, and reconnected with the waitress.

              Once again setting his alarm for the Sunday morning service at St. Katherine’s Guild Church, he entered the comfortably full sanctuary, took a seat in the middle, and made a special point to watch those around him. After a short time, he found all of the others in attendance were very friendly and was invited to stay for lunch after the service. This became his new routine for Sunday morning. Months passed, then years passed, and Ellis became the one to whom people went when they needed to be encouraged and filled with joy.

              Upon reaching his seventieth year, he began to make friends with a young man who suddenly appeared out of nowhere and connected with the parish. Ellis shared his story with the young man, encouraged him to continue the work of being the source of joy for those around him, for he knew that he did not have too many years left.

              It was with great joy that he watched the young man put in great effort to be more friendly, more interactive, which allowed Ellis to in a practical sense, hand over the role of bringer of joy to his new friend, Thomas. It was on his eightieth birthday that Ellis slowly slumped to his side as he sat upon the wooden pew, still filled with joy, and he felt himself beginning to grow cold.

              All sound, all smells, and all activity suddenly ceased as he drifted off into eternity. Ellis had no family and chose to leave all of his financial wellbeing to the parish, setting aside an abundant amount of money for the young man who thankfully took over his role as bringer of joy. Even though he was not cognitively present, Ellis’ funeral was well attended, with many kind words from the thousands of people he had filled with joy and loved in his many years at the parish.

              Thomas, the young man who took on Ellis’ role as bringer of joy, was the last one to speak, communicating all that Ellis had shared with him, and the incredible joy he had infused into him, teaching him to be the one who people loved to be with, interact with, and be loved by.  As he spoke, he said, “I have one more thing to share with you all. Ellis told me to make the bringing of joy into people’s lives my main goal and not to allow this responsibility to die with me and like him, and to find a successor to take over when I too would grow old. Ellis was truly a blessing for all of us. Thank you all for attending and saying goodbye to our beautiful friend Ellis.”

Finding Connections, Making Connections

 

            It was a long and tedious drive through rolling hills, completely lacking anything for landmarks that would allow for identification, taking much longer than previously expected. Lunch time came and went, dinner time came and went until finally the sun disappeared behind the distant hills, bringing an absolute darkness that swallowed every detail.

              The hours continued to stroll by with the darkness growing deeper and deeper and more menacing, until he finally reached the small sign that welcomed him into his new community. As he rounded the corner, he saw nothing but dark homes, empty streets, and a complete absence of life and activity.

              While summer had not yet arrived, he parked the moving truck with the rolling door a mere ten feet from the ramp leading to the back door. He triggered the light on his phone to eventually find the key hidden beneath the door mat. As he entered the house he realized that it had been sitting cold for many days. A groan escaped his lips, eliciting the realization that he would need to exhume his mattress and a few blankets from the truck in order to generate a decent night of sleep.

              He woke with the late morning sun and spent the next six hours emptying the truck into the few rooms he now called home, navigating the larger furniture with a hand cart, a four-wheeled dolly, and the rare gift of spatial relations. Tired from too few hours of sleep, sore from singularly moving large pieces of furniture and scores of boxes of books, he eventually took a break, found something to eat and collapsed once again on his mattress.

              Feeling somewhat surly, sore, and tired, he knew he had a one-hour drive ahead of him to return the moving truck, to eventually return to a home that needed serious organization and cleaning before a normal life could be lived. He returned on the path he had just traversed, pulled into the alley, into his driveway, and collapsed once again on his mattress. He awoke a few hours later to a stomach that was offering serious complaints of neglect. “Ugh, food, I need to find something to eat,” he grumbled.

              Three days passed and he finally had a home that was in order, was clean, and was organized, allowing him to prepare himself for a small trip around the town to see what was available or open for business. In short order, internet service was installed, hot water was available, and his mail started arriving, but he had yet to meet any neighbors. He had been told by the realtor that this was a lovely small community full of good and friendly people.

              It was when darkness arrived that evening that he ate a quick meal from the few groceries he had brought with him, to then take a quick shower, and collapse into a bed that was now set up in an organized bedroom. He had two more days to get his office set up and ready to be used for a normal day of work. Giving the outside the occasional glance, hoping to see some forms of life, he saw little to no activity from his neighbors, but the occasional piece of farming equipment would pass by as well as a number of cars and four-wheel drive trucks.

              He stood in perfect silence, looking upon the hundreds of books that needed to be put onto shelves, when a knock sounded on the door to reveal a sweet, elderly woman holding a plate of cookies. He opened the door, she introduced herself, asked a few questions, which he politely answered, he thanked her for her act of kindness and watched her walk back to her home next door.

              Another day and evening passed, at which time he spent several hours outside striving to bring some order to the overgrown chaos of a yard and flowerbeds that surrounded the house. Hot, sweaty, and motivated to accomplish as much as possible, he finally called it a day with his outdoor work. He returned to his home, took a cool shower, and moved from room to room, making notes about improvements that needed to be made in each location.

              The following morning, he looked into his now empty refrigerator, which exhumed a memory of the small grocery store he had driven past on his way into town that dark evening so many days prior. “I guess I don’t have a whole lot of options,” he grumbled. Following a friendly conversation with the grocer, he bought only the necessities, returned home after a two-block walk and met his other neighbor on the south side of his home.

              His next several days of forced, social interaction seemed pleasant enough, but he knew full well that people were nice because people are supposed to be nice. Smiling and making small talk, he ground through the behavior he knew what was expected of him, struggling to ask questions, answer questions, and give off the appearance of being genuinely interested.

              Warm weather finally appeared, giving him the opportunity to sit on his front porch, enjoy the warmth, the never-ending breeze and the occasional small talk from people walking past. He was ever in a state of awe as he watched so many people so effortlessly making small talk, an exercise which seemed to come so natural to them all. This was a gift he had never quite mastered, as stories about what he had done the evening before and what plans he had for the next several days, we forced from him.

              As multiple months passed, he continued to see the effort others put into making friendly conversation with him, an exercise he appreciated, as he spent most of his time alone. He worked hard to remember names, ask questions, and try to bring the level of intelligent conversation up a few notches without sounding pretentious. The conversations always turned to sports, to movies, to entertainment, and to the latest events on social media.

              Over time he learned to go with the flow, staying friendly and cheerful, all the while feeling dishonest and bored. It was only when he visited church on Sunday mornings that he could finally engage in intelligent, honest, and beneficial dialog. The contrast between his weekday interactions and the sliver of time spent with fellow church goers was alarmingly stark.

              In an attempt to keep his mind engaged and focused on something of value, he immersed himself in study and in writing, seeking to always improve and challenge his mind and heart with things of goodness, beauty and truth. The months continued to pass, and finally several years crept by, each social interaction bringing with it a new level of frustration and boredom, wishing for someone with whom he could interact that would offer him something of value with which to improve himself.

              It was with great sadness that he knew this sort of intellectual challenge would never happen in this small town. The never-ending hunger for growth and improvement was simply not a reality he would ever experience or enjoy any time soon, apart from his time with those of likeminded faith.

              Like a starving man with very few options, he consumed the mediocre bit of social interaction that was available, giving him just enough to keep him going. He felt like a man who loved primed rib but was limited to a meal of hot dogs, macaroni and cheese and green Jello. Maintaining a friendly face, offering a few kind words, and interacting whenever the opportunity arose, he learned to be content with the sliver of goodness that was available to him.

               As time continued to pass, he could feel the tiny sliver of hope within him continue to shrivel. He supplemented this mediocre diet of simple and friendly people by continuing to challenge himself with academic challenges, an ever-expanding field of knowledge, and opportunities to write and teach something of value. He repeatedly lowered his expectations with each social interaction, knowing that finding someone who could offer him some dialog of value to partially satiate his need for growth was never going to happen.

              His social circle continued to shrink, giving him the few hours on Sunday to interact with others who were on his same level and with shared fields of interest. During his long drive to church, he would think about with whom he would speak, upon which topics, and for how long these valuable conversations would take place, giving him hope for growth and understanding. Eventually everything leveled out, he learned to balance the inane, silly, social interaction during the week, against the excellence with which he immersed himself on Sunday, giving him enough to grow, to learn, and to improve.

              A higher standard had been set before him, a standard he chose to embrace and not be content with the low bar of those around him. He understood the potential for influence from his culture, and he made himself aware of the situation, choosing the higher road.

 

Please Don't Disappear

 

            Cassandra sat in her second story bedroom staring out the window at the unending flow of middle-aged men buying the attention of the young ladies that milled around the street on the sidewalk across from her home. Most of these girls were only a few years older than her and she made a point of interacting with them whenever she had the opportunity. She came from a stable, loving and compassionate family and at the same time knew her acquaintances that traversed the sidewalk only knew emptiness, grief, and abuse from the hands of so many men.

              She knew that they all had Daddy issues and were simply looking for some form of connection to fill that emptiness within them. Whenever she took a few moments to speak with them, she could see the grief, emptiness, and hollowness in their eyes, wishing she could do something to help. Lack of money was not the underlying issue, but despair, self-loathing and lack of stability with family acted as a horrible trinity that left them desperate to do anything to find connection.

              Cassandra was in her last year of high school and turned down the offer to join them on the sidewalk, with the argument that a great deal of money could be earned for interaction with these sad, desperate older men. As she turned down their offers she was struck with the idea of spying on these men, to see what their lives were truly like when they weren’t stalking young women.

              When her school year ended, her parents encouraged her to go to university, but she had no desire to take on debt for a possible job that would offer her no joy or satisfaction. “Social interaction,” she thought. “That is what I really need. I could work retail, or I could get a job with one of the many delivery services.” The week following graduation, she spent most days applying for a delivery job in every sector of the city, trusting that having a regular cycle of interaction with a variety of people at their front doors would be an opportunity to interact and hopefully have a positive impact on some of them.

              By the end of the week, she received two job offers, the second paying slightly higher than the first. As she and her family were far from wealthy and only owned one car, she needed to purchase a bus pass that would provide her with the means to travel from home to work and to home again. She arrived at her job ten minutes early on her first day, to interact with her teammates, and to be prepared to make her first delivery, which required frequent travel across the city in the company car.

              In between deliveries, she would spend her time studying a map of the city, determined to make the best use of her time, and avoid the busiest parts of the city. As she delivered her third package, she recognized the sad, middle-aged man as he opened the door. She smiled at him, spoke kindly to him, and wished him well, feeling somewhat dishonest as she interacted, knowing what kind of person he actually was, she hoped that friendliness and kindness would give some joy to someone who had fallen into a bad way of life.

              One day turned into many days, each week turned into many weeks, and before she knew it winter had arrived which made her delivery time slower and more dangerous. She could feel herself falling into a comfortable rhythm, ringing doorbells or knocking, smiling at the recipient, asking for their signature, and handing over the package. She knew that a smile and kind words always made the other person feel better and connected.

              In what became a regular pattern, often times the middle-aged men would invite her in for a chat, which she eventually came to understand as a natural response to her friendliness. Each time she declined their offer, she used the excuse of needing to continue delivering her packages and she would say goodbye, wishing them well, and that the rest of their day would bring them some joy.

              She completed her last delivery, returned to the warehouse, clocked out of her shift and rode the bus home to see numberless, sad middle-aged men nearly filling the bus. She kept her attention on the driver and watched one man leave, then another, then another, until she sat on the bus with three teenage girls and a handful of elderly women. Her stop arrived, she hurried off the bus, thanked the driver, and entered her safe and warm home to find her mother sitting alone at the kitchen counter.

              Instead of responding with her usual, “oh, the day was fine,” she decided to share her thoughts and concerns about how many sad people with whom she regularly interacted in her deliveries. “I really wish there was something I could do to make people happy,” she told her mother.

              “As long as you are kind to them, smile at them, and communicate that you genuinely care about them,” she said, “that is about all you can do. You would be surprised at how much an offer of genuine kindness improves a person’s life. But please be careful and never go into someone’s home. You never know what kind of people you will meet.”

              “Yes, I know,” Cassandra said. “I’ve been asked many, many times to come in for tea and to talk but I always tell them that I have more deliveries to make. I wish them well as I leave, wishing that I could do more to help. I didn’t have time to eat an actual lunch today, so I’m starving. Will dinner be ready soon?”

              “Dad needed to work a little later today,” her mother said. “So, we’ll all eat dinner together in about an hour. You can have a little snack right now if you want. We have some cookies in the pantry.”

              “Oh, perfect,” Cassandra said. “I’ll grab a couple to hold me over. But a hot, home cooked dinner will take care of my raging hunger. I am so glad that I have two days off and I so look forward to having nothing to do for a while. It’ll be nice to hang around with you and Dad until Monday comes around again. I’ll grab those cookies and collapse on my bed. Call me when Dad gets home. Thanks, Mom, love you.”

              Cassandra woke up to the sound of her mother calling her name, prompting her to stumble down the stairs and join her parents at the dinner table. The three of them had a pleasant evening together of a home cooked meal, and small talk while they ate. Aggressively yawning, Cassandra excused herself when the meal was done to take a shower and go to bed early. The next two days were spent in her pajamas, scrolling through social media and watching several streaming services in between meals.

              She woke up Monday morning to her alarm, to quickly dress, descend into the kitchen for a substantial breakfast and catch the bus for another day of work. It was on her sixth delivery after ringing the doorbell that she heard a crash from inside the home. She turned the door handle and pushed her way inside to find a grossly overweight middle-aged man dangling by the neck from a beam in the living room. She grabbed a chair, untied the rope and dropped the man to the floor.

              She checked for a pulse and could see that he was still breathing. “Oh, Mr. Johnson, hang on, keep breathing, I’m going to call an ambulance. This is terrible, please don’t leave like this. There are people all around that know you and would miss you if you were suddenly gone. I’m glad I arrived when I did. You need to let me help you.”

              Cassandra leaned against the kitchen counter as the paramedics entered Mr. Johnson’s home, checked his vitals, lifted him from the floor onto the gurney, and out the front door into the ambulance. Trembling because of the trauma she had just experienced, she placed a quick phone call to her manager, telling him everything that had just happened.

              Two more days passed, and Cassandra approached the front door of her next delivery for the day, to hear a gunshot. Without thinking about her response, she let herself into the house and once again found another sad, middle-aged man sitting on his couch, holding a pistol which he had just fired into the floor.

              “Oh, thank God,” she said, sitting down next to the man to slowly take the gun from his trembling hands.

              “Hello, little girl,” he said. “I am so glad you rang the doorbell when you did. If you had not shown up when you did, that bullet would be in my head right now rather than the floor. Thank you for coming.”

              “Yes, of course, Mr. Lilliput,” she said. “I need to make some phone calls to get you some help. It’s terrible that you are so sad and alone. It shouldn’t be this way. Stay on the couch and let me get you a glass of water. Take some deep breaths and help will be here very soon to help you put your life and thinking in proper order.”

              Within thirty minutes two people from a local hospital arrived, thanked Cassandra for her help and the phone call. She, the sad old man and the medical team all left the house at the same time. Cassandra then placed another phone call to her manager, once again explaining what had happened.

              “Cassandra, this is crazy,” he said. “You need to return to the warehouse and take the rest of the day off. That is two traumatic events in one week. You need to get some rest, spend some time with your family, and spend some time thinking about the good that you’ve accomplished today and on Monday. You’ve done very well. I’ll still pay you for a full day’s worth of work. I wish we had more people like you working here. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

              Cassandra hurried to the warehouse, took the bus home and told her mother the details of everything that had just happened. “This is exactly the kind of thing I’ve been hoping I become involved in to help others. I wonder why so many people are so sad that they’re willing to end themselves. I feel really good that I was able to help two people just this week.”

              She hugged her mother, grabbed some cookies from the pantry, ascended the stairs and collapsed on her bed, tormented by the looks of despair in so many of her delivery recipients. The depth of despair and subsequent joy in the faces of Mr. Lilliput and Mr. Johnson came to mind, giving her a wave of happiness, knowing that she intervened when no one else did.

He Can See Them All

 

            Jeremiah lay in his backyard enjoying a few moments of silence and peace, staring into the vast, open blue sky above him, punctuated by the occasional fluffy white cloud. Never one to have nothing going on in his mind, his thoughts raced from one field of thought to the next, always looking for solutions and also from one social setting to the next, considering why he never really connected with anyone in any of his social circles.

              “So much distraction, so much emptiness, so much vanity and pursuit of comfort,” he said to himself. His logical and analytical mind working overtime to understand how anyone could be content with such inanity and childishness. His neighbors, his co-workers, the people he would meet on the street or in stores all seemed blissfully unaware of their vacuous lives that actually accomplished nothing of value.

              Now in his late thirties, he lived alone, he never stopped filling his head and heart with as much information as he could find, in every possible field that would allow him to be well rounded and informed, in his struggle to be a comprehensive, educated, and thoughtful person.

              “Wow, it is warm out here,” he grumbled. He stood to his feet, brushed the remnants of grass from his back and bare legs, to re-enter his home for something to drink. “Juice, I really need some juice,” he muttered. Mixing together his favorite cool drink, a combination of one hundred percent fruit juice and a large scoop of chia seeds.

              “Bleh, time for a quick shower,” he said out loud to no one in particular as he was standing alone in the kitchen. Standing in cooler than tepid water, he could feel his body temperature slowly decreasing and when he reached the point where he was actually comfortable, he turned off the water, dried his body, combed his hair and returned to his glass of juice.

              “Phew, my feet are cold,” he complained. He drained his glass of juice, rinsed it out, and wandered into his bedroom to find a pair of socks. “Too warm for clothes,” he said, “boxers and socks are good enough.” Like a small alarm going off in his mind, he sat down at his laptop to jot down several ideas for his plans for this coming week. Completely lost in his thoughts, he finished his documentation, and feeling a bit peckish, rummaged through his fridge to find a snack.

              Tempted to scroll through social media while he ate, he resisted the temptation and instead found a book to continue filling his head and heart with content of value. “Ugh, so many people, so much confusion among them all, there must be something I can do to help, to offer advice or direction. I guess then that means that I have to get out there and interact. Sitting alone in my little house actually offers no valuable interaction for these lost souls.”

              Having been distracted so long about so many different topics, he was surprised to see that it was already five in the afternoon. “Wow, look at that,” he said, “maybe I’ll go out for sushi tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed that meal.” Feeling slightly satiated from his snack, he also felt rather stiff and overly warm. “Alright, time to get dressed, spend a few minutes walking among the general populace and find a good restaurant.”

              He stepped into his bedroom, worked through his usual stretching routine and then dressed in his usual office casual outfit, feeling accomplished and driven toward accomplishing two goals this evening. “Okay, several people, I need to find people to talk to, interact with and hopefully encourage. Who they’ll be, I have no idea. I guess we’ll see who happens across my path.”

              In search of his car keys, he caught a glimpse of his bottle of Black Balsam, stirring within him the urge to consume a single shot of the grassy, earthy, alcohol. “Just one shot,” he said, “too much will mess me up for driving. Okay, here we go, ah there are my keys. Time for the thirty-minute drive into downtown. The silence of that time will be greatly enjoyed.”

              He turned down his heat, turned off the lights, closed the blinds, and locked both front and back doors before beginning his journey for social interaction and dinner. The drive north was relatively inconsequential as he weaved through his small town, passed through a long stretch of wilderness before entering the edges of the next largest city north. He deliberately parked several blocks away from the restaurant to then weave through the relatively busy sidewalks and visit a few stores.

              He made an intentional attempt to make eye contact with as many people as possible, and in most cases always saw the same empty, mindless, clueless dead look in most of them. He stopped himself and began to pay better attention, he realized that some of these people literally carried a black aura around them, which stirred up concern in his heart, knowing that the darkness certainly meant something.

              He made eye contact with a young woman who carried this darkness around her to introduce himself, inquire of her wellbeing, and patiently listened to her describe her sorry state and feelings of depression. Her name was Amber and Jeremiah introduced himself, to then ask her if she would like to sit with him for a coffee so he could have a friendly conversation with her.

              He and she sat down at the coffee shop next door, and he listened to her describe the horrific abuse she endured from her husband of three years, both verbal and physical. Hearing stories like this stirred up anger with him, causing his heart and mind to swirl, knowing that words of consolation and kindness were necessary.

              “Just know that there are many people who love you and would miss you terribly if you were gone,” he said. “Everyone has something they can offer to those around them, to their families and to their friends. I would really like to help you in any way that I can. Here is my number. The world is a better place with you in it.”

              He could see tears welling up in her eyes as she squeezed his hand and thanked him. “Thank you so much, Jeremiah,” she said. “I don’t really know what else to say. I have nowhere to go as my husband is a horrible, controlling monster who would do anything terrible or violent to continue controlling me. I promise I will call you if my situation becomes any worse. Thank you again, I really need to be going.”

              Jeremiah watched Amber walk away with her black aura growing larger and darker. Fifteen minutes after she disappeared from sight, his phone dinged to see Amber’s number appear on his screen. He immediately answered, greeted her warmly, and again offered any help she needed.

              “Jeremiah, thank goodness you answered,” she said. “My husband is terribly angry with me for being gone so long. Can I meet you at the little drug store on the corner of Maple and 4^th streets? I really need to get away from him before he hurts me again. I don’t think I can take any more of this.”

              “Yes, of course,” Jeremiah answered. “I can be there in ten minutes. We’ll figure something out to keep you safe. I know some people who help with situations like this. See you soon.” He glanced at his watch, began walking in the direction she had indicated in her call and continued to see more and more people with black auras, wishing he could be more help to more people. As he walked he placed a call to an older woman in his neighborhood to explain Amber’s terrible situation, hoping that she would offer a room in her home into which Amber could escape.

              Thankfully, she offered a room, and Jeremiah thanked her for understanding, asking if they could stop by in about an hour. He slipped into the drug store, caught sight of Amber in the far corner of the store and casually walked in her direction to make brief eye contact. “Good news, Amber,” he said, “I have an elderly woman in my neighborhood who has offered you a room in her home. I can take you there now if you’d like.”

“Hello Jeremiah,” she said, “my husband followed me here, so if we can both slip out of the store without interacting with him it would be better for all of us. I greatly appreciate your help. So yes, I would love to get away and stay with someone like that. We cannot leave together so you leave first, and I’ll follow you in a few seconds and follow you to your car. Thank you so much for doing this.”

Jeremiah slipped out of the store, waited a few yards down the block and watched Amber leave the store as well. When they made eye contact, he began walking and she followed a few paces behind him, occasionally glancing behind her, she was relieved to see that her husband was not following her. Jeremiah unlocked his vehicle, sat in the driver’s seat, and felt a wave of joy pass over him as Amber climbed in beside him.

“I am so glad to see that your husband isn’t following you,” he said. “It will be about a thirty-minute drive to her home. Do you need to stop by your house and pick up anything? It would be good idea for you to have your clothes, your personal belongings and anything else.” The drive to her house was quick and close. He parked in the alley behind her home, remained at the back door, and helped her load her things into his trunk.

They made the remaining drive back to Jeremiah’s small town, to stop in front of Mrs. Abercrombie’s home and be greeted at the door by the kind, old woman. Jeremiah and Amber carried her things inside; he thanked Mrs. Abercrombie for her kindness and willingness to help. He returned to his car, waited a few minutes to see the two of them sit down in the living room to have what looked like a passionate and loving conversation.

“Okay, back to the city,” he said. “I am starving for dinner but honestly that is what life is all about. There are bad people out there and doing this is one small thing is something I can contribute to make someone else’s life better.”

He drove back to Amber’s house to see her husband pull up in front, park his car, and storm into the house. “Man, I wish I could be a fly on the wall inside that house right now,” he said. “Thank God, that she escaped from someone so horrible. There is no way he will find her. So here is the first step to a new start for Amber. I’ll need to check in on her every few days to see if there is anything else I can do to help. Socially, financially, or otherwise. Let’s hope for the best.”

Driving away from a clearly angry ex-husband, Jeremiah returned downtown, parked his car, made eye contact with a young man on the sidewalk who was carrying the same black aura as Amber, to invite him inside for a sushi dinner. He and Walter enjoyed a meal together, talked, and Jeremiah learned that Walter was suffering from the same type of depression as Amber. They exchanged numbers, agreed to stay in contact and he hoped that Walter would take his offer of help to avoid doing something foolish.

“The world needs you Walter,” he said. “There are people who love you and would miss you if you were gone. Call me anytime if you need help in any way.” The two men shook hands and went their separate ways. He watched Walter walk away still carrying his dark cloud, now smaller and less intense. “Phew, that was good and right,” Jeremiah said to himself as he returned to his car. “Come on Walter, call me when you need me.”

From Chaos to Compassion

 

            The Williams household was a maelstrom of feminine drama, a single mom with three teenage daughters, all of whom were focused on, obsessed with, and devoted to social media. Every day was a mirror image of the day before and the day after, arguments for who had access to the bathroom first, yelling, name calling, breakfast and then departure for school. Mother Melissa collapsed on the couch when the girls all crossed the front door threshold to climb onto the school bus.

              “Oh, wow, the silence, the calm, and the peace of an empty house,” she muttered to herself. “Forty-five minutes, I’ve got forty-five minutes, that should be enough time to get a shower in before I start work for the day.” She pulled herself to her feet, shuffled into the bathroom for a lukewarm shower, a fresh set of clothes and hours of work on her laptop until the girls would burst through the door around three o’clock.

              Relishing the silence until lunchtime, she stepped away from her work, made herself a sandwich and a hard lemonade to help take the edge off. The alcohol slowly calmed her down, introduced a small slur in her speech, and eventually wore off before she clocked back in for work and a meeting with the rest of the team. Knowing what was coming next, the clock chimed three strikes and were immediately followed by three noisy teenage girls, chattering, complaining, and looking for a snack.

              Melissa worked for two more hours, while the girls lost themselves on their phones, lounging around in different rooms of the house. The hard lemonade from lunch had fully worn off, giving her a sense of disappointment, which immediately brought to mind the bottle of tequila she had hidden on the top shelf in the pantry. She peeked through each nearby room to see that all three girls had ascended to the second floor, giving her the chance to retrieve her secret stash and sit down on the couch.

              “Wow, why am I so warm?” she wondered. “Oof, I guess it is ninety-five degrees out, so that explains it.” Feeling awkward and uncomfortable, she stood up, sat the bottle on the coffee table, removed her pants and her t-shirt, retrieved the bottle, sat back down and began sipping the contents every few seconds, trying to keep track of how many shots she was consuming.

              The bottle was soon empty, and Melissa slowly collapsed into a heap to be immediately joined by the orange cat that frequented their home. She heard the sound of approaching feet to see her oldest daughter standing over her. “Emma, go make some dinner,” she said. “I am so tired after today, I just don’t have the energy to do anything.”

              “Yeah, sure Mom,” Emma answered to slowly walk into the kitchen, followed by the next oldest daughter.

              “Hey, Anna,” she said. “Mom’s been on the bottle again, so we need to make dinner. It’ll go faster if we work together. Let’s look through the fridge and freezer and see what we can find. I’m thinking chicken and rice would be good tonight.”

              Both girls turned to look back into the living room as the youngest girl sat on the edge of the coffee table looking down at their mother who had fallen asleep, with a puddle of drool on the pillow beneath her head. “Anna, this is not good,” Emma said. “It seems like Mom does this every night, at least for the past several weeks. Have you noticed how sad she seems all the time. I really don’t know what to do to help her. She is going down a dangerous path that will probably lead to her losing her job.”

              “That would be really bad,” Anna answered. “We need to keep an eye on her, what she buys at the grocery store, and probably start hiding her hidden stashes. She obviously has no self-control when it comes to liquor. If she can’t find it, she can’t drink it. We need to be aggressive in protecting her.”

              “That’s a great idea,” Emma said. “If she loses her job, we lose our house, we won’t be able to buy groceries, and we won’t be able to buy gas for the car. I don’t know what’s been happening with her lately, it’s like she deliberately chooses to make bad decisions when the good and right decisions are so obvious. Let’s try to get her to talk about what she’s thinking.”

              “Alright, dinner is ready,” Anna said. “Go get Clara so we can all eat together. I’d be surprised if Mom was able to walk in here and actually eat anything.” The three girls sat alone at the kitchen table, while Melissa snored and drooled for the next hour.

              “Clara, Anna and I made dinner, so you can clean up the kitchen,” Emma said. “I’ll put together a dinner plate for whenever Mom wakes up.” The hours ticked by, the girls were all tired, turned off the lights, and escaped to their bedrooms, worried sick about their Mother and if she would eventually wake up and eat something.

              Anna popped awake at midnight to the sound of her mother rummaging through the kitchen and grumbling to herself. She slipped out of her bedroom, snuck into Emma’s room, woke her and shared an idea she had been ruminating on for several weeks. “Emma, wake up,” she said. “I was thinking that we really do waste a lot of time on our phones and social media. We should try to focus our attention on Mom and on other people around the community that need help. Doing good for others seems like the right thing to do. Let’s start tomorrow after school.”

              “Uh, yeah, okay, that sounds good,” Emma said. “I guess we can bring Clara home after school, get Mom into a good head space, and then find other people we can help. There are a lot of old people on this street who probably need help with keeping their homes clean, cooking meals, and having someone to talk to. You hear a lot of stories about old people being lonely. Who knows, maybe we’ll make some new friends, and learn something new."

              The next morning transpired like all other mornings. The girls made it through another day of school, brought their youngest sister home, rummaged through the pantry to find a bottle of Scotch which they hid in the upstairs bathroom. “Clara,” Emma said. “You stay here with Mom and talk to her a lot. Anna and I are going down the street to help Mrs. Johnston with cleaning her house. If Mom asks what we’re doing, tell her that we left to help out an old person without household chores.”

              In what became a routine three days a week, Emma and Anna began to develop a reputation around town for being those two nice Williams girls who are always willing to help anyone who needs it. They spent more hours cleaning kitchens, cleaning bathrooms, running laundry, and cooking meals for the elderly than they ever could have imagined. They made a point of being home by six o’clock to confirm that their Mother was not passed out on the couch.

              Most evenings they walked into a home that was quiet and peaceful to a home cooked meal and a Mother who was coherent and concerned about their activities. The next day after school, Emma and Anna took a day off to clean and organize their own home, while their mother finished her last two hours of work.

              “Oh, girls,” Melissa said. “I’ve been hearing stories around town about you two helping many of the old people around town. That is really good, I’m proud of you. It is certainly better than losing yourselves in social media on your phones. I’ve heard these stories from at least six or seven different people. You are creating a really good reputation for yourselves; people are saying good things. Good job, keep it up.”

              Four weeks, then five weeks, and then six weeks passed doing their volunteer activity, which eventually turned into the elderly occasionally offering them moderate payments for their work, which allowed them to buy themselves special treats at the local grocery store. After dinner on a Friday evening, the three girls walked to the local coffee shop, bought four iced mochas and returned home to surprise their mother.

              “Hey, Mom, we bought you a surprise,” Emma said. “Some of the older people have been paying us a little bit each time we do some work. We thought you might like a coffee tonight.”

              The four of them sat down together on the couch to watch a movie, enjoying their dessert like drinks, eating popcorn, and laughing at the latest Pixar release. The movie ended, Anna and Clara cleaned up while Emma helped her mother upstairs into her bedroom, making sure that she had no access to alcohol or any other substances.

              She looked into her mother’s dark, empty, and sad eyes, wondering if there was anything she could do to pull her mother away from this horrible edge of depression she seemed to be drifting toward. She tucked her mother into bed, turned off her light, shut the door, and descended the stairs to help finish cleaning and organizing the house, wanting to present their mother with an orderly home when she rose the next morning.

              As they finished cleaning the house, Emma pulled Anna and Clara to the foot of the stairs. “I’ve begun to realize that we argue a lot, we yell a lot, and I’m certain that this is really making Mom’s life pretty miserable. Let’s work hard at not being like that and instead try to do more to make her happy and less overwhelmed by everything that needs to happen around here. We know how to clean, we know how to do laundry, and we know how to do yardwork. We’ve been doing all this for other people, so let’s start doing this for Mom as well. She works hard, she has a lot of responsibilities, and we need to do more to help her.”

              The next Monday ended with the girls returning home from school to find their mother working on her laptop. “Oh, girls,” she said, “we’ll be having many visitors tonight for a barbeque. A group of elderly ladies stopped by a couple of hours ago and wanted to do a community get together, as a way to say thank you for all that you’ve done for so many on our street.”

              “Oh, wow,” Emma said. “I did not expect anything like that to happen.”

              “So, stay off your phones,” Melissa said. “In fact, put your phones in your rooms so you’re not tempted to be distracted by them. Spend your time being social with our visitors and see if we can learn more about our neighbors, our community, and what other good things we could be doing for them.”

Dinner for All

 

            The little boy lay alone on a single blanket on the laminate floor, hidden behind another blanket that had been pinned to the ceiling, creating a type of private room all of his own. The light that bled through the bedroom window was enough to allow him to read the small pile of comic books his mother had found in a dumpster a few blocks from their apartment. The apartment was absolutely silent, a painful reminder of how common it was for him to spend his evenings cold, hungry, and longing for company.

              He knew he had been alone for many hours, prompting him to slip out from behind his blanket to see that the clock in the living room had finally reached the ten o’clock hour. The sound of a key in the front door lock triggered a fight or flight response in him, pushing him to hurry back to his tiny, cold, and empty space. He curled up on the thin, single blanket that served as his sleep space, to hear his mother and a random stranger stagger into the apartment and enter the other bedroom.

              The banging on the wall, the sound of his mother’s labored breathing, and the bestial growls of the random stranger assaulted his hearing, bringing up images of his mother from so many nights just like this one. Little Jesse drilled his fingers into his ears to drown out the horrible sounds, the slaps and the punches that always left his mother begging for mercy.

              Evenings like this one were common, one bleeding into the next, until Jesse could no longer keep track of how many men followed his mother into their apartment, abused her, paid her cash, and then left after about an hour. Every evening was the same, she would arrive around ten o’clock with one stranger, to then leave shortly after he departed, to then return an hour later with another stranger, and repeat the cycle over and over.

              The following morning Jesse woke to an empty apartment, cold, hungry, and confused about the absence of his mother. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered to himself. “She is always here in the morning to make me breakfast, to hug me, and to make sure that I have everything that I need.” Following his usual routine, he took a quick shower, dressed appropriately for the cold weather, and searched through the kitchen in hopes of finding something to eat.

              The only fruit from his searching endeavors was a mostly empty box of breakfast cereal and a single bottle of ketchup in the refrigerator. He warmed up a cup of water in the microwave to pour over the meagre portion of cereal, which would barely begin to satiate his raging hunger. He finished his meal, searched through his mother’s bedroom to find a wad of cash, which would allow him to make a trip to the grocery store only three blocks away.

              He slipped on his shoes and jacket to brave the cold walk, stepping over homeless people, garbage, and countless syringes. He reached the opening of an alleyway and saw a pair of bare legs sticking out from underneath a pile of cardboard. He recognized a tattoo on the left leg which perfectly matched that of his mothers. “Oh, no, this is not good,” he said under his breath. He hurried into the alley, pulled the cardboard away and looked into the face of his mother, motionless and slightly blue.

              A wave of nausea passed over him as he wondered what would become of him now that he was truly alone. He hurried from the scene, found a police officer and led him back to his mother. “Oh, little man, I am so sorry,” the officer said. “Here, come with me back to my police car. You need somewhere safe to be, while I call child protective services.” Jesse sat in the back seat of the car and pressed his forehead onto his knees, terrified at what was going to happen next.

              Within a few minutes, a middle-aged woman arrived and took him to a beautiful, warm, and safe home. She introduced him to a woman a few years older than his mother, who was clean, kind, and gentle. The three of them sat down at the kitchen counter for a snack, of which Jesse was utterly thankful, as he was still hungry from his small portion of breakfast cereal.

              He watched the two women fill out some paperwork and then the middle-aged woman left, which was followed by the kind woman in her beautiful home showing Jesse his own room with an actual bed and a private bathroom. Before the woman had a chance to leave, he hugged her with intensity and flopped down on the soft and warm bed.

              “I was about to start making lunch,” she said. “Come downstairs in about twenty minutes and we can enjoy a meal together. You can call me Carole.”

              “Thank you, Carole,” Jesse said. “You have beautiful, warm, and comfortable home. This is nothing like the home my mother provided for me. Do you live here alone?”

              “No, my husband James is at work right now,” she said. “He’ll be back around five o’clock and the three of us can enjoy dinner together. I know that the three of us will get to know one another well. I am excited to hear about you, what things you like, and what we can do to make you feel safe and comfortable.”

              Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, and during all of this time, Jesse grew in a loving, kind, gentle, and generous young man, well-educated with a heart toward helping people. He graduated from high school and began a series of classes at a local culinary school. His cold, lonely, and empty childhood before coming to live with Carole and James, moved him to find great joy in creating wonderful meals for other people.

              He graduated at the top of his class and began developing the idea of starting his own restaurant in the oldest, poorest, and most troubled part of the city. James and Carole offered to buy everything he would need to establish the restaurant and hire workers to assist him.

              “James and Carole, I was thinking that I would just serve breakfast and lunch,” he said. “But in the evenings, I would provide free meals to the homeless people and the prostitutes that fill our city. So many people look down upon these poor souls and treat them as if they were less than human. If I can do good, help them, and feed them, their lives will be that much better.”

              Jesse spent the next two weeks visiting multiple different locations for his restaurant until finally deciding on one that perfectly satisfied his ideas. He hired a group of college students to empty the building, clean it, and bring it up to code for the health department. Once everything was ready, he ordered the kitchen equipment, the tables and chairs, and created an account with a food delivery service. Within two weeks of everything arriving, he began advertising and saw a wonderful flood of people visiting his restaurant.

              After establishing a good name and reputation, he began to interact with the homeless people and the prostitutes, inviting them to his restaurant anytime they were hungry during the dinner hours. Breakfast and lunch hours were always remarkably busy, which led to an abundance of income, allowing him to provide free meals for those who were truly in need. Each time he watched a young woman enter the restaurant, he was reminded of his mother and the suffering she went through so many evenings.

              He greeted each person as they entered his restaurant, speaking softly and kindly, offering them any meal they desired. He could see every bruise, every tattoo, and the heart-rending hollowness in their eyes. The occasional person would stick out as unusual and he could see potential in some, hoping they would turn away from their poor life choices, occasionally offering them a chance to work in his restaurant, as a greeter, a dishwasher and sometimes as a waiter.

              He could see the emptiness and coldness melt within them when they spoke. “If only someone could have offered my mother something like this,” he thought. “But if they had, I wouldn’t be in this situation to help these people in this way.” Finally, one young woman accepted his offer to work in the kitchen and her work ethic was exceptional, her attitude and thankfulness were surprising. The joy that filled him as he watched her slowly transition into a healthy person with hopes and dreams now within her reach, moved him to offer her more opportunities to grow, to learn, and learn how to love and care for others.

              Many years passed and Jesse watched his restaurant continue to blossom, allowing him to open other restaurants around other difficult places in the city. In each of them, he continued to hire more homeless people and prostitutes, giving them the opportunity to improve themselves, grow, and learn. As he continued to grow older, he became friends with many of these people who had never truly known love or kindness. Jesse never married but he established his string of restaurants under a board of directors who would continue the work after he grew too old to eventually pass away.

The Unknown Need

 

            Stephen, the only child in the Adamos family, sat with his parents as they celebrated his tenth birthday. He looked around the relatively empty room, a small birthday cake in the center of the table and a frozen pizza slowly cooking in the oven in the kitchen behind him. He could feel the rage and disappointment emanating from his father, while his mother sat helpless across the table, her eye swollen shut, the fruit of his father’s uncontrollable hatred and rage.

              He put on a plastic smile to communicate the message that he was thankful for the meagre celebration before him, but his heart slowly shriveled as he replayed his mother’s cries and pleadings for mercy while his father beat her. Stephen was far too small to intervene or protect his mother, knowing that every morning when he emerged from his bedroom he would find his mother carrying new wounds on her tiny frame.

              The oven timer dinged, communicating the fact that dinner was ready, and Stephen watched his mother carefully rise from her seat, wincing with every movement to deliver their meagre dinner between the three of them. He thanked his mother as she placed the plate in front of him, while his father merely grunted and finished his beer.

              The three of them slowly ate the celebration meal and Stephen watched his father drink four more beers with his pizza. Now that the pizza was gone, the cake was divided into three portions, the largest for his father and the remaining portion was divided in half between him and his mother. The small boy hated his life, knowing that more beatings would be taking place that evening after he had gone to bed, the sounds of his mother crying and begging for mercy as he tried to fall asleep.

              He woke the next morning to a stream of profanity from his father and the sound of the front door slamming shut. Terrified at what he would find when he emerged from his bedroom, he waited a few moments with the hope that his father was truly gone from their home. He slipped out of his bed, changed from his pajamas into his clothes for school that day, to find his mother lying unconscious on the kitchen floor. Following what he had seen in the movies, he checked for a pulse to happily find that she was still alive and breathing.

              Knowing that his father would likely return, he locked the front door and the back door, sliding a chair under each handle, and quickly looked through each room in search of his mother’s cellphone, to eventually find it in her purse. He dialed 911 and gave a detailed description of what he found when he emerged from his bedroom. Within thirty minutes he welcomed the police into their home, who were shortly thereafter followed by the EMT’s who carefully lifted his broken mother from the floor onto the gurney.

              He sat in silence with two police officers until child protective services arrived to bring him somewhere safe. As they drove away, he told them everything he knew about his father, where he worked, his extended family whom he rarely saw, and his need to go to school that day. Sick with worry about his mother and the certain violent reaction from his father when he returned home to an empty house.

              Stephen was taken for a quick medical check-up and was delivered to school with instructions to the principal that CPS would be bringing Stephen to a safe home at the end of the school day. Distracted and terrified with concern over his mother, he felt like a zombie as he moved through the hallways, going from class to class, deliberately avoiding interaction with other students and teachers.

              The final bell rang for the day and Stephen hurried to the principal’s office to wait for the kind people from CPS to arrive and take him to see his mother before being transferred into a safe home with people he did not know. They arrived at the hospital, walked inside, and he took hold of his mother’s hand to then slide into bed next to her, knowing that she needed to be loved and protected.

              “You don’t need to worry, Stephen,” she said. “The police have taken your father away. He won’t hurt either one of us again. I need a few days to heal so you’ll need to stay with the nice family who have agreed to take care of you and give you all you need to recover. When I am strong enough, you and I can return home and be safe without the abuse we’ve endured for so long. Please be a good boy. I love you.”

              Stephen slid down from his mother’s side, kissed her hand, and joined the two CPS agents in the hallway. They returned to the car, drove for twenty minutes and entered the most beautiful and peaceful home he had ever experienced. He was introduced to a younger couple with an infant, who hugged him, offered him a snack and showed him to his own bedroom which was soft, beautiful and filled with toys and clothing, specifically chosen for him.

              He thanked them both, hugged them, and joined them for a dinner of fried chicken, steamed vegetables, and milk. He was in awe as he enjoyed the peaceful, gentle conversation that followed for the next thirty minutes. There was no violence, angry words, or threats of abuse. The three of them worked together, cleaning the kitchen, and leaving the house in an organized, beautiful state as they left the house to visit the elderly at a retirement home.

              Stephen was introduced to several other children his age, as they all began to engage in friendly conversation with many old people who had no one else, no family, no friends, and a deep need for kindness and love. The little boy marveled that such a world existed, where people were kind to one another, spoke gently to one another and truly enjoyed one another’s company, playing games, asking questions, and were genuinely interested in him.

              After two hours of pleasantries, they all left the retirement home and stopped for ice cream before returning home. Stephen could feel his heart growing warm and thrilled to learn that life was not at all about merely surviving but thriving. He and these new, kind people sat together in the restaurant enjoying their sweet dessert to then return to a quiet, beautiful, peaceful home, one without anger or violence.

              The three of them sat together listening to classical music, when the phone rang. “Oh, it’s CPS,” the woman said. She answered the call, stepped into the other room and returned within a few minutes. “Stephen,” she said. “They are saying that you’ll be staying with us tonight, tomorrow, and tomorrow night. Your mother is recovering quickly and will pick you up the next day. We will make sure that you go to school each day and come back here to wait for her to pick you up.”

              “Thank you, ma’am,” he answered. “Thank you so much for taking care of me and for being so kind. Your home is so quiet, peaceful and beautiful. I did not know that a home could be like this. I am quite tired. Can I go to bed now?”

              “Yes, of course,” she said. “I can help you get ready for a shower before bed if you’d like. I know that you’ll sleep well, and you’ll be safe with no need to worry about anything going wrong.”

              Stephen and his foster mother ascended the stairs, she took out a pair of pajamas from the dresser, started the shower for him, showed him where everything was in the bathroom and left him to take care of his needs. The little boy marveled at the beautiful bedroom, the beautiful private bathroom, the warm shower and the cozy pajamas that fit him perfectly.

              Two days passed, and he returned home from school to find his mother waiting for him in the kitchen of the foster home, looking rested and at peace. He carefully hugged her, knowing that she would still be somewhat sore from all that had happened.

              “Oh, Stephen, it is so good to see you,” she said. “We can be together now and there is no need to be concerned about your father. He will not be returning to our home. The police have established a safe new reality for us where he cannot be anywhere near us.” She rose from her chair, knelt down, and embraced him with a genuine motherly love, knowing that her little boy missed her as much as she missed him.

              “Thank you so much for taking care of Stephen,” she said to the foster parents.  They then left the beautiful, peaceful house, drove back to their own home and sat together in a home free of violence, anger, and profanity.

“Oh, Stephen,” she said. “The foster family has offered to help support us while your father is no longer part of our lives. They spoke very highly of you and thought that you were a very kind, thankful, and wonderful little boy. Of course, I already knew that. Our time together will be so good now. This is how life should be, a quiet, peaceful home that has nothing violent or ugly within it. We can spend good time together and love one another. I am so excited to hear about your time with the foster family. Tell me all of the details.”

“Now that father is no longer here,” he said. “I know that our home can be quiet and peaceful like their home. They spoke kindly and gently to one another with beautiful music playing in the background and no anger. I hope I have the chance to see them again and thank them for all of the good they have done for us.”

“Yes, we can make that happen,” she said. “I have their phone number, and I know we can spend some time together with them. They are good people, and I know they truly enjoyed their time with you. It is good to pay back kindness when someone else has been kind to us.”