Snopes and the Dalai Lama

     Are you all constantly getting those emails that warn, especially women, about insanely scary situations that you must vigilantly be on the look out for?  The latest I received warned about being on a deserted road (of course) and seeing a baby carseat on the side with a blanket draped over it.  So, it warns, women have stopped to see if there, indeed, is a stranded baby in the carseat, only to be overtaken by a gang and beaten to a pulp.  Who needs Criminal Minds or Law and Order anymore?  Just take a trip to your inbox and let the various scenarios induce a fear-like coma in your vulnerable brain.
     I, for one, am especially susceptible to this and every other fear tactic known to man.  I was the junior high student who listened with utter horror as the D.A.R.E. program listed the possible outcomes of a play date with Mary Jane.  I was absolutely convinced she would fry my fragile brain in her malicious skillet.  Now, in this instance, fear might have been a good thing.  I've been drug-free since the epidural wore off at birth.  No regrets here, my friend.
     But fear can be an oh-so-heavy burden when, rather than using it as a psychological tool to stay away from hallucinogenic plants, we use it to cripple our grasp on the realities of this world and the relationships we have with our fellow fearer.  Aren't we afraid enough as a society?  Do we really need people to hatch up fake stories to turn our consistent shakes into uncontrollable convulsions?  Is the nightly news just too darn cheery for some people that they start devising other forms of mental torture for those who feel a tad too safe?  Seriously, where do these things come from?
    This is where the saving gift of Snopes comes in handy.  Snopes.com is my fear-conquering, virtual friend.  Snopes is where you can look up various reports and emails of horrific stories to see if they really are true.  Gosh, do I love this website.  I looked up the aforementioned story to check out its validity and, to my sheer delight, it wasn't true.  Just another one of the million hoaxes to get us to fear gangs.  Because, you know, we need a lot  of help in that area.  If I let you into a glimpse of my fear of drugs, you can imagine my fear of those who purportedly sell them.
     I tell you all of this because a couple of weeks ago I picked up Katherine from pre-school.  Just like almost every other time I've picked her up, there was an elderly Asian man standing outside the door waiting to pick up his grandson.  James, for some reason, loves this man and always smiles at him and tries to engage the elderly man in some form of baby communication.  And, I swear, the old man is just the cutest thing alive.  His smile is almost identical to that of the Dalai Lama's. And if you don't like the smile of the Dalai Lama, well,  there's not much I can do for you.  So, anyway, the man picks up his grandson and Katherine jumps into my one free arm.  Off we go.  But this day was a little different.  This day the Dalai Lama spoke to me in his adorable little broken-English way.
"You live near here?" he asked grinning.
I was a bit taken off-guard and always get a little antsy with a question like that.  Come fear, enter in.
"Uh, yeah, kind of...we live near the lake," I responded, intentionally vague.
"Ah, yes," he replied, "you think you could bring us home?" he asked, pointing to himself and his cute little Asian grandson.
Ok, so there it was.  A request for help.  Now, let me tell you, I previously saw the Dalai Lama and his grandson trying to cross Transcontinental after school one day.  I don't know exactly how far he walks but I told myself it probably wasn't far so that I could pass him up without guilt, my van emissions blowing in his wrinkled face.  Ugh.  So, here it was.  The Dalai Lama, with his big toe peeking out of his worn shoes, asking me for help.  And you know what?  I was afraid. 
     Let me completely humble myself and tell you what entered my mind when he was talking to me.  Before I found out about Snopes several years ago, there was a story circulating around during Christmas time about a lady who had gone shopping at a mall and encountered an elderly lady in the parking lot who looked like she was having trouble getting to her car.  So, the nice lady stops to check on her.  The old lady asks if the nice lady wouldn't mind bringing her to her car.  The nice lady says 'sure.'  The old lady gets into the nice lady's car and-- boom! Come to find out it was a man dressed as an old lady with a hatchet in his purse.  You can fill in the rest.  Now, even as I type this, I kind of start chuckling.  WHO WOULD BELIEVE THAT?????  Me. Oh, the more insane a story gets the more likely I'm going to wrap my fishy mouth around the stinkin' bait.  Even as I'm drug into the boat, I'm still trying to piece together how the story could have taken place and silently vowing never to help an old lady again.  And, apparently, an old man.
    To let myself off the hook a bit, I'll have you know I didn't have a third carseat for the little boy and I didn't have the third seat in the van up.  I had a brief mental image of me loading two asian males into the back of my van like some illegal-immigrant carpool.  Agh, this story is just not getting better.
    Bottom line is, I should have helped.  Yeah, I know its illegal to drive a three-year old around without a carseat.  Well, do I let the law shape all of my decisions?  Do I always drive the speed limit?  I know the law is meant to protect, but I think there are sometimes you should let compassion override.  The Dalai Lama's feet were tired.  The little three-year old's feet were tired.  Is it much safer to cross a busy street with tired feet and little feet than to ride in a car with an excellent driver :) for a couple of blocks?  I'm not telling anyone else what they should do, I'm just telling you what I wish I would have done.
     Because I saw the Dalai Lama's face when I told him I couldn't.  And he looked tired.  And my soul became tired.  Because I let fear make my decision.  Because I couldn't bring myself to override the thought of what I "should" do and replace it with what I "must" do.  Because, when I think long and hard about it, I am very afraid that if I passed the showers one day in a locker room and saw a young boy being brutalized I might give into my fear.  I might not run over and, if need be, risk my life and everything I have to save that boy.  Because I might listen to the law that says I just need to tell my boss and not listen to compassion and do everything in my God-given power to not sleep until I knew that boy was safe.  Because little fears turn into big fears.  Because people need me to not be afraid.  Because the little boy in the shower needed someone to take away his own fears.  And the adult was too afraid.
   

A Girl and Her Daddy

Can I gloat for a second?  I have an amazing husband.  Yes, today's our four year anniversary so I'm a little loopy in love.  But, seriously, can I brag a little bit on an amazing person?  I promise I won't make this whole post on Cory but he touches on so many areas of my life, its hard not to include him in every post.  So here goes.  If you're not married, read this post with eyes wide open.  You want a guy like the guy I got.  I promise.

I'm not going to spill my guts on every other guy I've ever dated, but suffice it to say I'm truly grateful I waited for the one I married.  It wasn't easy.  Can I tell you again? It wasn't easy.  It's not easy, in this world, to hold on to your morals stronger than anything else.  To love a God who demands nothing but the best from you and for you.

It's so darn hard to believe you're worth loving.  And I'm not naive enough to believe I'm the only person who feels that way.  We all feel that way, at one time or another.  So people give up.  They settle.  I settled in many a dating relationships.  God willing, I just didn't let it get any farther than that.  I could go on and on about how screwed up the whole dating scene is out there.  Believe me, if I ever write a book, it will be on that.  I've taught too many youth, especially young girls, who just don't believe they're worth much.  And can I tell you?  It breaks my ever-living heart.  Because now I have a little girl.  She's sleeping soundly right now with her little pink bunny in her bed.  But, I know.  I know what lies ahead.  It's the reason I can't seem to tell her enough how much I love her.  How easy it would be for me to lie down on a railroad track somewhere and get run over by a Greyhound train over and over again rather than see her get hurt.  But I know she won't be immune to the seedy voices out there outside of our house, outside of my arms.  Voices that tell her having a boyfriend in high school is worth any price.  Voices that tell her she better give it up or people will think she's a prude.  Voices that try and milk every last ounce of self-esteem from her little-girl body.  It's the same voices I heard for all those year.
I didn't listen to those voices.  Yeah, I shed a couple of tears over them, but I was always way to stubborn to give in the ideals another person had for me.  And, even when it seemed unbearably heavy, I held onto the belief that there was a God that loved me even if I was alone.  Especially if I was alone.  I've been made fun of more times than I can count for not giving in to the crowd.  Maybe it's the INTJ in me, I just learned not to care.  And that love of God was literally what enabled me to walk away when I knew someone wasn't worth my time.

Then I started dating Cory.  He's not perfect and neither am I.  But you know what?  Do you know what it felt like to date someone who thought that the fact that I hadn't slept with anybody was a inestimable gift?  Do you know what it was like to date someone who encouraged me in my walk with God rather than try and rip my hand out of His?  It felt like....love.  The past four years have had their fair share of ups and downs.  Its never easy creating a family.  But it's been heavenly in so many ways.

I distinctly remember a conversation I had with a guy I dated right before Cory.  Somehow the discussion came up about, if we had gotten married, how we would handle "family planning."  You know what his response was?  "You'll take the pill."  Not exactly a great opener for a "family" discussion, huh?  My response: "I've never taken the pill before and I never will."  He looked at me like I had three heads.  Seriously, he looked like he was at a total loss for words.  I told him I would want to use NFP.  You can probably guess what his response was.  I think there was a bit of a patronizing laugh and then something like, "That doesn't work.  No, we're not using that."  I had read and studied enough to know that I wasn't going to use artificial contraception.  But here was a test.  Twenty-seven years old and you're dating a guy that you really like but he seems adamant about using contraception, something that goes against my faith.  I really struggled with this.  Inevitably, the relationship came to an end not long after that discussion.  Do you know how much I appreciate being married to a man that doesn't want me to take a pill?  That I don't feel like I have to choose between making my husband happy and making God happy?  God, I feel loved.  We've had two children in four years.  We want more.  But, you know what?  I am so blessed to have a husband who cares for me.  Who doesn't want me to pop a pill to manipulate my hormones every month so that he doesn't have to play a part in the 'family planning.'  He's with me, and I'm one lucky girl.

Back to the girl thing.  The greatest gift I've given Katherine is her dad.  Because if I ever did come upon those train tracks somewhere, I'd find him already there.  He loves his children with a fierce love.  He doesn't play golf on the weekend or go fishing, he plays with his kids and fishes them out of their tents.  He doesn't go out drinking with his buddies, he drinks make-believe tea with his daughter at her tea party.  He doesn't look for any excuse to get away, he looks for any excuse to get home.  And that's all we can do.  I can't protect Katherine from those voices.  James, either.  But I gave them a dad who will walk with me as we build these fragile lives into stubborn lovers.  Stubborn lovers who will hold fast to the hand of God as tightly as we hold onto their chubby little fingers right now as we cross the street.  Stubborn lovers who know their value and won't let anyone convince them otherwise.  Stubborn lovers who will make authentic wives and husbands someday.  Stubborn lovers who will cherish their own children, the way their father and I cherish them.    It's all I can ask for.  It's what I was created for.  I waited for Cory Howat the way God waits for each of us.  Shoving away any voice that tries to tear us down and believe the lies.
I'll gladly spend the rest of my days trying to love Cory and love God.  And because I waited, my heart is not conflicted.

My Very Cheap 2 Cents

I'm going to stick my nose where it doesn't belong and give my two cents about this whole economic issue broiling in the ever-increasing utopian society we have here.  I know, it isn't polite to talk about politics, but I have never been known to choose politeness over a darn good opinion.  And just to warn you, in most ways I don't know what the heck I'm talking about when it comes to various economic theories.  I'm as dumb as rock when people start shouting out about the deficit, inflation, and windfall gains (what? no idea what that is, but it sounds like somebody's gettin' a whole lotta money in a windfall gain- ok, just looked that up and I was right on the money $$$- it means you won the lottery, pretty much.) Ok, so forget what I just said-maybe I DO know a lot about this.  Read on for more scarily accurate takes on our fiscal fiasco.

The frustrating part about this whole situation is that I don't agree with anybody.  At least nobody that seems to make it on the CNN ticker or nightly news websites.  The Republican vs. Democratic debates seem to be so stuck on their own talking points that nothing novel is said and people like me start to tune out.  So in my frustration, I tried to come up with a title for what I believe would be the economic basis for the Utopian Society of one Molly M. Howat.  What great, catchy tagline did I arrive at?  Capitalism with a conscience.  The terrible part is that this little phrase is anything but unique.  I typed it in google and got a gagillion articles.  Damn. Not all of the articles expressed the same idea I was entertaining in my head, but they used my cute little title just the same.
Ah well, so what do I mean by capitalism with a conscience?  That I think capitalism would work if people were virtuous enough not to get caught in the materialism trap.  That, ideally, people would be so invested in social change themselves that they don't need a stinking government to tell them where to put their millions.  They could derive immense pleasure from the beating the government to the punch, so to speak.  No, I don't really believe in long-term welfare but I do know that people who are born with a thousand strikes against them need a hand up from time to time.  Or need several hands up.

I remember one time my father encountering a homeless man outside the grocery store after Mass one Sunday.  I remember the man's red, alcohol-ridden face and the dirt and grime that seemed to cover every one of his aching pores.  Dawdling behind my father for a bit, I was a bit scared of the man to tell you the truth.  So unpredictable, these homeless people, I thought in my 10-yr. old head.  I wished my father would just quickly pass him by.  But typically, dad handed out a $20 to the man and wished him the best.  We hurried on our way, joining the rest of the family in our car.  I remember one of us bringing up the question of whether or not Dad should have given money to the man, given that he would probably just buy more liquor with it.  And I remember the gist of my father's response.  Whether or not the man purchased $20 worth of alcohol was on the poor man's soul, but whether or not my father responded to a man in need, was on my father's soul.  Yes, people could shout and disagree and whine that we probably should have walked back in the grocery and bought $20 bucks worth of apples or tofu or whatever, and you can disagree, but I think the point is a profound one.  How you respond to others in need is really the only thing you need to worry about if you want to talk eternal turkey.  How others use your gifts of money, time or talent is their issue.  Sure, if you have a ham sandwich, give a ham sandwich.  But if your family is waiting on you in the car and the choice is whether to give nothing or a $20, give the $20.  Your test is over.  Your Jesus has passed by.

Lastly, of course, I have to mention that great story in Scripture.  That Lazarus and the Rich Man story that I mentioned in the last post.  A priest once said the Rich Man went to hell not because he went outside and beat Lazarus every chance he got, or spit on him as he took his daily stroll to the ancient mailbox.  Nah, the Rich Man went to hell because he didn't even notice Lazarus was there.  Aghhh......I remember crying internal tears at that point.  Because when truth convicts, it often convicts with the power of being hit by a mac truck.  The danger is not in accumulating some random evil number of Valentino purses.  The danger lies in entering that every-tempting, insular bubble of social ignorance whereby we fail to hear the cries of those who live very near.
Don't be fooled.  It's so easy to do.  I do it daily.  My world shows its pitifulness in my complaining, because I haven't allowed myself to cross paths with those who are truly suffering.  I lament about some ridiculous triviality because I haven't walked the hallways of the stench-filled nursing homes in a tad too long.  I get irritated with a lack of "me time" because I've forgotten the faces of the mentally-ill I touched in a downtown shelter.  I whine about the fake leather starting to peel off of one of my high heel shoes because the sores on the feet of the Honduran orphans I held have become too distant a memory.  Let me not kid myself.  Just like the millionaires, my heart needs to be in the right place if this society will ever change.  If I can't see Lazarus, then how will I show others where he lives?