The meaning of life, from an unexpected source

I had the opportunity to catch a glimpse of Oprah Winfrey's program last Monday. Her guest was an author, Geneen Roth, who has written a book about women’s relationships with food and their relationships with God. The premise of the book is that if you get things right with yourself and with God, then you can probably structure a healthier relationship with food; you will have less of a tendency to fill up the emptiness with food.

Oprah had read the book, clearly believes in the content, and along with Ms. Roth, was enthusiastically offering her commentary and taking questions from the audience.


Several members of the studio audience asked questions about family mealtimes, dieting, busy schedules, etc. One particular question was a bit unstructured. The viewer seemed discouraged that she was never quite able to get ahead professionally. The question may have also had an underlying inquiry about food, but I don’t recall that now.


I was busy putting dishes in the dishwasher and as Oprah started to answer this question, I stopped to listen. Then I walked closer to the television. It was a watershed moment: Oprah was giving this viewer the essential answer to life. Right there. In person. And everyone, including me, got the added benefit of receiving this important piece of information too.


It may sound like I am dismissing Oprah’s communication as a bit of trivia, but I am not. Quite the contrary. The secret that Oprah shared is a fundamentally important lesson and while a lot of people know it, it is still elusive. This knowledge becomes easy to misplace in the multi-tasking, multi-threaded, deadline oriented lives that we lead.


Oprah told her viewer, point blank, that the starting point for her (and all of us) was to humbly give thanks to God for the many many blessings in her life. Live in that place of gratitude. And be thankful for the things that are yet to come, including the experiences that will teach us lessons. You are not to cast about comparing your life with what you perceive as bounty in others’ lives. You do not know the burdens they carry because you do not walk in their shoes. Look at your own life, connect with God in your heart and walk forward in joy.


Now, I’m not trying to put words in Oprah’s mouth. There are no quotation marks; she didn’t say this exactly, but it is what I heard. This singular all-important message. The central meaning of life. The key to human happiness.


I doubt that this viewer, who showed up at the Harpo studio earlier that day, had any inkling of the gift that was she was about to receive. A gift that has the ability to change her perception of everything. I didn’t expect to receive it either, randomly tuning in to see Oprah’s program for about the third time in my life. But it is a miracle that I did and I am ever so grateful.


Thank you Oprah.

Passages

There was once a girl, the second of three children, who found herself growing up in a middle-class American family. Mom and Dad both worked to provide the opportunities they wanted to give their children and the parents did their best to nurture their three kids.

The second daughter was plagued with a variety of challenges that affected her judgment and behavior. By the time she was an adolescent girl, telling lies and acting out in a harsh, belligerent manner toward her parents started becoming more and more common. Her self esteem suffered due to chronic body weight issues that undoubtedly aggravated her behavioral difficulties. Her parents, not knowing how to respond in a caring, supportive way that demonstrated to their daughter the consequences for actions deviating from acceptable social norms, struggled not only with her, but with each other. It was a time of family crisis.

After high school, the daughter tried leaving home to attend school, but that path didn't suit her and she returned. Old behaviors resurrected. She tried finding employment, but a career choice seemed elusive and jobs were random. Lying was preferable to truth telling. Blaming was preferable to taking responsibility. Hostility was preferable to peaceful coexistence. Still, her parents tried to support their daughter in finding a pursuit where she might derive happiness.

After she turned 21 and renewed her attempt to make her way independently, her personal difficulties increased. Her debt escalated and attempts to hide the debt from plain view made the situation far worse. Her actions were criminal in nature. If she found herself unable to pay a bill, she invented an excuse, told another lie, slandered another’s reputation in the process.

Finally at the breaking point, her parents excused themselves from her life. Without wavering, they both asked her to leave their home permanently, attend to the problems looming in her life, and not return until she was capable of making amends. They were worried, almost sick. Months passed of no communication. The daughter felt betrayed and angry that her parents had turned their backs on her.

Then one day she drove over to her parent’s house and found them at home along with both her siblings. Tearfully, she took a step, and admitting she was ashamed of her cycle of bad behavior, asked for forgiveness. She wanted a chance to repair what she had damaged by demonstrating that she was trying to change the person that she was.

But there was more. She was also expecting a baby. And it was complicated. There was no upside to be found in the situation, save for the fact that she felt blessed and joyful at the prospect of being a mother.

She is going to make her own choices, guided by advice from her obstetrician, counselor, friends and family. Everyone has a particular point of view. But in the end, the only view that matters is hers.

I do not know what will happen. I hope for the best. I pray that she may find steadfast strength and the comprehension to acknowledge her life in the present tense and make choices based on where she stands in that life, humbly taking responsibility for herself and her yet unborn baby.

Sleep in heavenly peace

He came into my life just like the proverbial baby-left-on-the-doorstep.

It was a beautiful, cool, early spring morning in 1995 and as I pulled out of the driveway, I saw his little face peeking out from under the shrubbery in the alley. He was an adorable little puppy. Fluffy brown.

When I got to my destination I couldn’t stop thinking about him and after a few hours when I had a bit of a break, I drove home. He was still there. Hadn’t moved but someone had put down a bowl of food for him. He hadn’t eaten and by now the ants had gotten into it.

I brought out a bowl of water and a little fresh food. He was frightened, backed further under the shrubs and barked at me defensively. So I sat there and talked to him softly. After a few minutes he inched forward and took a drink of water. I had to leave again, but I thought he would probably be there when I returned.

He was, and I picked him up and took him inside. He was about the size of a cat and that first day I carried him around with me, singing to him.

Later, I named him Jackson, but always called him Jackie.

He grew fast, shedding his puppy fluff. His adult fur was brown with a black saddle. He had a sweet face and when he was happiest, his tail would curl up over his back.

In the summer in 1996, a homeless adult golden retriever came to live with us. Hemingway and Jackie were wonderful companions for many years. Watching them play together was one of my favorite things.

Jackie changed when Hemingway died on Winter Solstice, 2004. His grief lasted for months and he was inconsolable. The progression of his grief resembled the classic stages of human emotion processing through grief. But one day, in the spring of 2005, he seemed better. Not the same old Jackie, but better. It was as if he was now retired from his former position of Alpha male in the household that now included two younger dogs. He was Alpha Emeritus.

In the years that passed after 2005, Jackie rested more, but still enjoyed barking out an occasional warning to a pedestrian passing by with a dog on a leash. His mobility declined and it was apparent that he suffered from arthritis. He began a regimen of medication in 2007.

When Cristy and I moved into our present home last fall, the change seemed good for Jackie. He loved the enormous back yard. It was like a park and I watched him stroll beneath the myrtles and roll in the grass just like he was a pup again. I was so thankful that he was still able to experience this kind of enjoyment that had made him happy as a young dog.

But his decline in health continued and three months ago the arthritic inflammation around his spine left him without sensation in his hind legs. Thankfully, our veterinarian consulted with me over the telephone because she understood how traumatic it would be to bring Jackie into that office. She prescribed a steroid to reduce the inflammation and told me plainly that it was the medicine of last resort for him.

This past Monday was the last day of Jackie’s life. He was dying and spent most of the day beneath the kitchen table resting on the cool tile floor. I spent most of the day next to him. I carried him outdoors to the back yard a couple of times and he took a few sips of water. He also ate some chocolate cake.

The veterinarian made a house call and around 6:30, I said goodbye to my puppy on the doorstep. I believe, with all my heart that Hemingway was there to meet him at the rainbow bridge.

And one day, when I die, I believe that both Jackie and Hemingway will meet me there too.

3rd vein

It’s been another weekend of activity. Oil changes, pool cleaning, ceiling fan installation, window shade hanging. Mixed in with a little bird watching, sipping coffee in the sun and keeping company with the dogs. My oldest dog’s mobility has been declining of late and it has me worried. For the past 9 months or so, he has been taking some medication that has helped to sustain him, but last weekend that medicine was no longer sufficient.

Thankfully the veterinarian remembers him and understood that I was reluctant to subject him to the stress of a visit to that office, particularly in his current situation. Through a telephone consultation, she prescribed a new medicine. It is the medication of last resort for him and she had given me this warning 9 months ago when we embarked upon his prior course of treatment.

It is a steroid targeted to reduce inflammation around his spinal cord and restore his locomotion, dispensed in a declining dosage over a period of two weeks. Moving into the second week, it appears that this current dosage level does not seem to be as effective as the previous level because he is beginning to lose track of his back feet again. But he is still able to walk and remains alert with a good appetite.

The steroid has some side effects. I read about the medicine online. It is so difficult to tell whether the side effects I observe in my dog are merely annoying for him or whether they are making him truly uncomfortable. I’ve started giving him an extra dose of his “doggy tylenol” just in case.

In our society we want to act in a humane and caring manner toward the animals who are our companions in life. We want to prolong their lives as long as they are happy, alert and comfortable but we also want to inject human logic into balance. At what point has the animal’s discomfort dipped below the equilibrium of sustaining care?

I’m not presently equipped to be a participant in that determination. And in all honesty, I’d prefer not to be part of that process. I would prefer that my beloved dog travel the journey of his life to its complete end without my involvement, if at all possible.

This process makes me focus on my program more than ever. I have to let go. I have to let each day unfold through God’s grace. I realize my tears come from the sadness of a loss that has not yet occurred. And each tear keeps me away from the joy of my precious Jackie’s life. Living in the now.

Giving

I’m running a day late this week because I stayed home from work with an ailing dog on Monday. As a result, the threads of my thoughts are splintered, sort of like a tree whose main trunk divides into 3 or 4 veins. Each thread is larger than normal and my thoughts are not quite balanced.

One of the thoughts is related to giving. On a more elemental level, giving evolves from awareness and compassion, so perhaps that is where this particular thought originates too. I read two blog posts in two days about giving and guilt. The guilt of living in prosperity, when compared with a life of limitation, the guilt of being so consumed with the myriad problems of living a prosperous life that the larger problems of humanity are eclipsed from view, and the guilt of having done nothing to help.

Both of the blog authors are female. I have a hypothesis, but no quantifiable information with which to back my hypothesis (so take it for what it’s worth), that guilt is more prevalent among females than males. The next logical step after guilt is shame, and shame is a dangerous, spiraling trap that keeps us focused inward. Consequently, we have done nothing to help, have gained awareness that help is needed, but are now so ashamed that we become paralyzed and do nothing but retreat. In helplessness.

I was not raised in a family where the spirit of giving to others was prioritized as a core value. My father was the product of an impoverished upbringing during the 1930s and 1940s. His parents did not ask for or receive assistance and my father’s stoic observation as a youngster was that it was the responsibility of each family to make it on their own. A view perhaps valid for its time, but outdated in my lifetime.

Life is not a level playing field. In our country, educational opportunities are not equal for all children. The safe home and nourishing meal that I never concerned myself with as a child, are indelible question marks in the lives of many children and often manifest as barriers to education. Social problems stem from a complex set of issues, but poverty and lack of education are intertwined and lie firmly knotted within the root causes.

I have a job in the business of philanthropy. What I have learned from this business is that those who make donations often do so because they feel connected to a cause and they feel their gift will make a difference. The fact that they have not made a donation to a particular cause in the past is not a sufficient reason to feel guilty, it is only an opportunity to learn, to understand why the program exists and who it helps. Armed with an adequate level of information, the prospective donor can make a decision about whether to support that particular cause with a financial contribution.

Once, during a time of relative abundance in my life, I expanded my own philanthropic wings and made two sizable donations (sizable within the context of my personal giving experience) to two different organizations in one day. I am certain that if either organization had personally approached me subsequent to those gifts, offered an opportunity to learn more and presented a case for support, I would have increased my giving even further. But it didn’t happen. I attempted to volunteer my time with one of the two organizations, but their lack of directed leadership was disheartening and I eventually went away altogether.

I have a theory that people who have a healthy relationship with philanthropy also have a healthy relationship with money. They spend their money on things they value and maintain a realistic perception of their own financial status. I also have a theory that those of us who live in prosperity (again, in the context of the world at large) have a responsibility to our neighbors to extend the hand of friendship.

We can all do something to help. Banish the guilt and shame and simply do something. Contribute, volunteer, advocate, develop an attitude of curiosity and tolerance.

One down.

Learning (still) to let go

I’m not sure why this popped into my head, but it did. And unfortunately now the thought has become a free radical, taking up too much space in my consciousness while I should be concentrating on another far more important task. In my experience, the best way to banish a pesky thought is to write it down on paper; get it out of my head and put it elsewhere. OK, so electronic writing is not exactly the same, but it might work.

Cristy and I are going to a wedding on Sunday and the groom is a particular friend of mine. He has a large circle of friends, some of whom I know on a first name basis as acquaintances. I would recognize them if I saw them and would feel comfortable smiling and exchanging a sincerely pleasant greeting.

Once, a number of years ago, the groom-to-be and I went to hear a musical performance at a local venue. We took a seat at our table and chatted, waiting for the band. Two other individuals from his circle of friends entered the place and took a seat at the bar. My friend gave a slight wave and nod to both. Shortly afterwards, one of them walked over to our table and exchanged a quick greeting with my companion. I knew him by name, but had never had a personal conversation with him. I smiled as they spoke, looking at him, prepared to extend a warm hello. But to my surprise and utter humiliation, he abruptly turned and walked away without even acknowledging my presence. Not a nod, not a glance. It was the sort of snub that might be discussed for pages in a Jane Austen novel.

I think the blood was rushing through my ears and I could not quite hear if my companion attempted to make up a possible excuse for his friend’s rudeness. But, of course I did my best to brush the incident aside and focus on enjoying my evening.

I will likely never forget that stinging breach of manners and I suspect that this friend of the groom’s will be at his wedding. But of course, why wouldn’t he invite his friends? And the fact that he might be there makes me mildly uncomfortable. As though the same experience might repeat itself again. As though I will attempt to maintain a safe distance from this individual in order to avoid the opportunity to repeat the ugliness and shame.

In some step-oriented programs that focus on being-here-now, I might be accused of obsessing about a possible future event that may or may not happen. And that accusation would be true. By placing my consciousness in the future and permitting my imagination to cast a worst-case-scenario, I set myself up to choose a single outcome, from the millions of possible things that might happen. Furthermore, I choose to shift my focus away from the primary purpose of attending the wedding, sharing my friend’s joy, truly the only reason I want to go at all. But worst, I shift my focus away from the here and now. The tasks I should be attending to, the peace and happiness I could be percolating in my heart right at this moment.

Hmm. That’s better.

Learning, living

Another way of looking at my 49th birthday is the realization that yesterday I started living my 50th year. I accidentally overslept, went to work, finished a task, sent some thank you notes, did some laundry, completed an income tax return and prepared some food to get me through the week. I left a few tasks incomplete, but there are no dire consequences as a result. I will get to them.

Fifty is a rather significant milestone. It has a lot of depth, symmetry and context. Mathematically, you can express fifty in many different numerical combinations.

Maybe I’m getting more like that too.

I paused to consider what I can do with the days in my life that come next. There is nothing I can do to change the days that have come before. Perhaps that realization is a perfect place to begin.

Old memories bubble to the surface from time to time. Some memories are not exactly pleasant and I wish things might have been different. I wish I might have been wiser, made better choices, felt more confident, had a stronger connection with my faith, my voice, my desires.

Going forward, I’d like to grab these memories as they surface and dissect them, extracting every lesson, every grain of truth and each strand that connects me to God. I have been given the opportunity to live another day, this day. A chance to expand my own depth of humanity and embody symmetry in my life with a healthy balance between reason and creativity. A chance to express my individuality in many combinations of interests and pursuits. A chance to reflect the golden love of God, that precious gift in my heart, as I interact with people all around me.

But only if I am willing to learn from the experiences of my past, those lessons from the divine. Honor the mistakes, understand the difference between me then and me now. Illuminate the path ahead with a brighter candle, lit with faith, love, forgiveness and courage.

Random miracles

I read a story in the newspaper this morning about a (former) patient in the hospital where I work. She was treated for a highly aggressive form of melanoma. Her prognosis was extremely bleak. She had three large tumors that did not respond to chemotherapy and only weeks after surgically removing them, they grew back. Her physician prescribed an even more aggressive treatment protocol. In the midst of this, while in the hospital, she received a visit from an unknown individual who simply asked if he could pray with her. She described her visitor in brilliant, gleaming terms and spoke of a profound feeling of peace and assurance during and after his visit. The identity of the visitor is not known to anyone.

She has been cancer free for two years now. Her recovery is miraculous. It makes me catch my breath in awe.

I work in a place where the investigation of cellular science is of the most vital importance to make discoveries that lead to better approaches for the treatment of cancer. Science.

Where is prayer in the equation?

Actually, it’s all around.

Chaplains make the rounds here constantly. In pre-op. Inpatient rooms. Infusion clinics. Staff members participate in prayer circles. Many, many of the employees in this institution have a strong connection to their faith. We pray for strength, for peace, for relief, for each other.

My struggle with faith boils down to this conundrum: two patients who both pray, one recovers and one dies. Did the one who died not pray quite right? Did God somehow favor the one who recovered more? How could this be part of the grand design?

Or is it random?

Random is the more scientific answer. Being a person who values my connection with God, it surprises me when I choose random. But I do.

Miracle? Absolutely. A random miracle.