"Adversity, in whatever form, can teach us valuable lessons and make us stronger if we have the courage to face it." Elizabeth Smart, survivor of kidnapping, abuse, and terror
I am giving myself occasional permission to write like I think – in a hodgepodge as I search for good medicine to hold in my pocket. Today’s a trial run.
The hodgepodge for my pocket starts with A Cashmere Kid: Memories of Rolland “Rollie” Schmitten by Rollie Schmitten. Rollie, now almost 80, writes little short flashbacks and tells them in the way he might share it with a long-time next-door neighbor. His stories capture humor and history and wisdom. They include a story about getting caught and scolded by his horrified mother as he pees out his upstairs bedroom window for example.
You’d never know that Rollie served three terms in the Washington State Legislature, was appointed National Director of Fisheries for NOAA, and served three presidents. He has written a couple of local history books as well. But his greatest claim to fame as far as I’m concerned is that he’s been married to his wife, Barbara, for 58 years.
However, here's the story that really caught my attention enough that I want to hold on to it. It’s a story of a regret.
Rollie writes that in the 1950’s each year transitory laborers would arrive in Cashmere to help with fruit harvest. A lot of them came from Arkansas and Oklahoma and “were commonly known as Arkie’s or Oakie’s.” They brought their children.
At one point there’s a pickup game of basketball going on behind the elementary school where Rollie says they had nailed a hoop up on an old maple. A new boy and girl showed up. Their parents were working the harvest.
The boy asked if he could play. Now it turns out this boy was wearing pink tennis shoes, Rollie thought they had probably been white shoes washed with something red, it was a time when shoes were either white or black.
The quick answer from one of the players, was “NO!” “We don’t let Arkie’s play here, especially if they are wearing pink shoes.”
Rollie goes on to write that the boy’s sister tried to intervene on her brother’s behalf telling the kids they were new in town and just wanted to make some new friends and play. They were ignored.
Rollie writes, “I have always regretted not speaking up in his defense.”
Why do I want to hold on to this story of regret? Don’t we want to just forget them?
Not according to people like Dr. Daniel Pink who researched and wrote The Power of Regret. Regrets can guide us toward more meaningful lives. But before we go there, Pink writes that regrets typically come in several flavors: Moral regrets. Rollie’s story may fall into that category. Another type of regret, and overwhelmingly the largest category, is connection regrets. This type of regret is about times when we wished we had reached out to someone. (The other two categories are boldness regrets…wishing you had jumped on an opportunity that took you out of your comfort zone and foundational regrets – wishing you had saved more or worked harder).
The beauty of regrets is that they guide us forward if we don’t overdo chastising ourselves, if we, instead, think about the lesson we learned. In fact, Pink recommends that each year we should reflect on our regrets (our failures) before we set our goals.
Rollie’s story reminds me of another friend. She was one of the most morally courageous people I know. How did she become who she was? Because she regretted a time when, out of fear, she didn’t stick up for some new black children on her bus who were being bullied.
I know Rollie. He’s a wonderful example of a person. I’m betting this ability to remember stories of his life and reflect on them are part of what’s made him the man he is. (One place to buy Rollie’s book is in Cashmere at Weeds).
My next hodgepodge story for my pocket involves love and life and perspective and wisdom and humor. It comes from Anne Lamott’s new book, Somehow: Thoughts on Love.
Anne is sifting through artifacts and memories of her life in the process of a move. She writes that “Life can be absurd, sure, but also full of such touching courage – not that of a resistance fighter but of a simple human being who bravely tried hard things and bore the withering losses of life and family, who dared to let people know them and love them.”
Then Anne moves on to a certain way of seeing her life, I’ll call it “seeing from the balcony.” It's a way of getting a little mental distance so that one can be more reflective about life. She looks down at her newish husband Neal. She explains the basic relationship format she’s discerning.
“Every so often, Annie does not get her way, or Neal says something superior and provocative. Annie shuts down and becomes as quiet as the grave, while waiting for Neal to realize the gravity of his mistake and come crawling to her for forgiveness. (One can hope).”
She continues her view from the balcony:
“…Annie thinks about how all men are pigs, until Neal leaps up to defend his position. Annie leaves the room, goes to the bedroom, and sulks. Neal barges in…”
“…Eventually Neal grows teary with love and contrition, which finally melts Annie’s cold stone heart. It [this conflict and love renewal format] typically cycles through in an hour or so every few months.”
Anne’s ability to stand above the action is a method of helping us all get perspective and move forward. We can see our patterns. Perhaps bring some wisdom to the whole thing. That’s what her real-life stories do for me. I can learn from her. I hold on to her holy-ish humor especially.
Anne, after sifting through other artifacts, stories, and reflections in her scary attic (both literally and metaphorically) reaches the conclusion that “courage is fear that has said its prayers.” That’s a thought I can hold in my hodgepodge pocket with all that’s going on in the world.
And that brings me to the last hodgepodge piece to keep in my pocket. A Prayer. Brian Doyle (A Book of Uncommon Prayer). Sometimes I think it’s kinda crazy how we people think about life events and God’s hand in them or not. God saved Trump, but not Corey Comperatore. How do we humans figure it all out or just deal with it? I go to Doyle who himself died of cancer.
“Prayer for My Man Daniel Age Three Who Will Die from Cancer in About Two Weeks”
And knows it, too, but doesn’t complain. And he’s in ferocious pain. But he just takes it. His father is a huge guy who cries every time he starts to say something about the courage and grace and guts of his son. His mother just holds him and runs her hands over his hands. There’s nothing to be done anymore…My man Daniel wanted to be a fire-fighter. The firefighters in town wear helmets with his photograph on them. The firefighters made Daniel and honorary member of their firehouse. There’s a locker in the house with his coat and helmet. When they talk about him they say “Daniel our brother” and they say his duty shift is about to end….
After Daniel dies in about two weeks the firefighters in his town will still wear their helmets for another year or two or three, I bet. So that when those guys go to save someone’s life Daniel will be there with them somehow. I don’t know how Daniel can be there and not be there. But You do. I don’t know anything this morning except how to weep for my man Daniel and his poor mom and dad and those poor brave tall sturdy tree-trunk firefighters who will sob like babies in their firehouse pretty soon. But You know my man Daniel and his brothers at the firehouse. Deluge them with the cataclysm of Your love? And so: amen.
Our bad things, our memories of bad things, can offer us a hodgepodge of healing and strength, when seen from certain perspectives, when held in certain reflective, humorous, compassionate, courageous, prayerful, humble, holy-ish ways.
How might we hold our “bad things” – our stories, our memories, our hurts in ways that heal us, help us move forward, and guide us as we journey together toward meaningful, resilient, compassionate, good lives?
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