Chicken Soup for the Soul of America (25 page)

Today, after I have spent time in prayer, I allow myself to watch the news, but only long enough to see if anything major has occurred. Then I turn it off and pray some more before going back to my duties. This self-imposed regimen has brought me peace in this time of terror. My focus is no longer on the tragedy, but on the God of the universe, the Lord of my life.

Do I have time in my busy schedule to pray that many times in the day? I had time to watch the news compulsively for many, many days.

There has never been a more important time to pray than right now.

Kathy Ide

THE FAMILY         By Bil Keane

“Daddy says you've been 'stremely
busy since September 11th, but . . .”

Reprinted with permission from Bil Keane.

Putting Things into Perspective

Nothing like a terrorist act against several thousand innocent people to put your life into perspective. I was worried about a lot of things a week ago, but for the life of me, I can't seem to remember what those things were. Something about money and not having enough of it, I suspect. One of our credit cards is a little high. I was probably worried about that. But then I saw the millions of pieces of paper blown out of the World Trade Center offices, representing the financial lives of thousands of people. The Manhattan streets looked like the devil threw a tickertape parade. Except, instead of confetti, the sky was filled with stock orders, inventory lists, personal checkbooks, savings accounts and, who knows, maybe even a laundry list. And as important as those little pieces of paper had been just days before, they were the farthest things from the minds of the victims' families, friends and the rescuers.

So I must be wrong. I couldn't have been worried about one little credit card statement. One piece of paper. That would be absurd.

Maybe I was worried about the heat. It has been awfully hot in Hawaii the last few weeks. But watching those firemen clad in stifling, heavy, protective coats, climbing up and down tons of cement and steel rubble, frying in the heat at Ground Zero, I knew I must be wrong. I couldn't possibly have been worried about our heat. Maybe I was worried that we had not had a good heavy rain in a long time. We need rain badly. But then I thought about the people trapped below the rubble in New York and the worries there that it would start raining. The rain would interfere with the rescue operation, possibly making a dangerous situation even worse. Suddenly, lack of rain seemed like a good thing.

I might have been worried about my health. I used to be a pretty good hypochondriac. As I've gotten older, I'm not really able to focus as well, at least not the kind of focus it takes to convince yourself that you've got a tumor growing somewhere on your body or are going through the early stages of mad cow disease. That's a young hypochondriac's game. But how could I have been worrying about my health at all when, unlike the thousands of victims of the World Trade Center destruction, I was still alive.

Being alive is good. Being alive is something to be thankful for. You shouldn't waste being alive worrying that you might be putting on a few pounds, or feeling guilty about having an extra slice of pizza.

I might have been worried about some argument I had with my wife. But is that possible? When two people live together for more than twenty years, someone's going to get on someone else's nerves, especially if that first someone is me. But a long, loving relationship is something to celebrate, and only an idiot would worry about a few bumps along the way.

A week ago, life was one big worry. Funny, today it's a blessing.

Charles Memminger

What I've Learned

U
nfortunate events, though potentially a source for anger and despair, have equal potential to be a source of spiritual growth. Whether or not this is the outcome depends on our response.

The Dalai Lama

After the tragedies of September 11 the world changed. We awoke to a different world on September 12—no doubt about it. Despite our losses, our heartache and our fears, some positive outcomes have resulted from these events, outcomes that the terrorists who wished to destroy us could never have anticipated or comprehended. There is renewed patriotism in America. Our flag is flying proudly from churches, businesses, homes, cars and schools. Neighbors are taking an extra moment to wave to each other. Hurried citizens are slowing down, spending a little more time with family and friends, and being a little more kind.

In times of sorrow, we realize what is truly important. Here's what I learned about the important things in life, during the sorrowful days that followed September 11:

• Life is too short to stay in an unhappy marriage, a job you loathe or a town you hate. If something doesn't make you happy now, you need to move forward and find something that does make you happy. You may never get another chance. Live your life today! Be happy today.

• Value your family and friends as much as possible. Sometimes we get so busy in life that we think we “don't have the time” to spend with family and friends that we should. But there is nothing more important than our relationships with our loved ones. Turn off the television and the computer, put down your book, and talk to those you love. They may not be here tomorrow.

• There are heroes all around us. A hero is someone who is willing to crash an airplane into a field, knowing that he is going to die, just to save the life of others—strangers he doesn't even know. A hero is someone who runs into a burning building to help scared strangers to safety and pays for it with his own life.

• People really do care about each other, and they really care about what is happening in the world. People can put aside their differences and work together for the good of mankind.

• True leaders and true heroes emerge in times of crisis.

• In times of adversity, you learn who your true friends are. A friend of mine, who I have known since childhood, wrote me to say she wanted to tell me how much she has valued our friendship over the past twenty years. She wanted to say it now, just in case she never got another chance. That's a true friend!

• Everyone around the world must overlook their differences and work together if we are ever to enjoy a truly peaceful world.

• Renewing our relationship with God cannot be put off until tomorrow. Tomorrow may be too late!

Finally, I've learned that all we need to do is reach out and help our neighbors, even when they don't ask for help. Imagine what a better world this would be if everyone performed one random act of kindness every day.

Victoria Walker

Can't We Call Game?

At first I was hopeful. Colin Powell seemed to be creating a police action against terrorists, perhaps a new way of thinking about defense. No longer bombs and ground troops but detective work and international collaboration aimed exactly at the sources of terror. I have been so disheartened since we have actually started to deploy troops to Afghanistan. I have been so disheartened since anthrax has been the daily headline. I have been so disheartened since security has been the focus of all travel, the security of body searches and X-ray machines and M-16s at boarding gates.

Now at Logan Airport there are even machines being installed smart enough to scan faces and locate possible matches. And with a curtailing of civil liberties, who knows, I may end up being held for questioning instead of flying to my friend's wedding on a non-stop to Los Angeles.

I remember my first week teaching public kindergarten in Brookline, Massachusetts. A slight boy with a freckled face and a quiet manner was afraid because a bully followed him to school. Well, this jolted me; I was no longer working in the sheltered environment of private schooling. I was no longer teaching in a place where parents dropped off their kids at the classroom door and picked them up at the end of the day and did almost everything else they could think of to make school life smooth in between. But I was mistaken.

Jason's parents were also at the ready to do whatever was needed. The question, of course, was to decide just what that was. His mother talked with me, she talked with the principal, she talked with the guidance counselor, she talked with the perceived bully's teacher, who in turn talked with the perceived bully. I talked with Jason, my students and with students in other classes. Meanwhile his father took the pragmatic approach of hopping along behind Jason as he made his way to and from school, hiding against telephone poles, hovering in doorways, stooping behind shrubbery, watching over Jason as an omnipotent presence ready to spring and wrestle with harm whenever it arose. Of course, we all knew we couldn't manage all of this activity forever.

The second week of school Jason came in transformed, arm in arm with his bully. I observed, Something's changed, what happened? “Oh,” said Jason, “I just said, ‘Want to be friends?' And he said, ‘Yes.' So we are. And that was that.”

Since that day, Jason has been one of my handful of heroes. What he did was so direct, so appropriate, so right. Why had we adults made things so complicated? Why had we been so fearful? Of course, I recognize that some of what we did may have laid the groundwork for the resolution, but I always feel the world is in good hands when I listen to NPR and hear the byline, “This is Jason Beaubien reporting from . . .” But NPR isn't the whole world and Jason has a limited sphere of influence.

I am worried that learning to distrust will be, in the long run, more harmful to all of us than simply living by trust. I am worried that learning to be afraid is more harmful than simply trusting. I am committed to educating people about risks, even statistics, to prepare them for making choices only they can make. But I am not in the business of bullying them into being afraid, being terrorized, no longer trusting they can finding the goodness in other people. I am taking on the political stance of not giving in to being afraid. I am choosing to ignore the reign of terror imposed on us in the name of patriotism, in the name of justice. I choose to live from love, to work on garnering goodwill.

Last weekend, my seven-year-old granddaughter, Keely, invited me for the first time to watch her play soccer. I was enchanted, all these six- and seven-year-old girls in their matching black-and-white shorts and cleats practicing their moves. There were six girls on the team; four would play while two warmed up—the Galaxies versus the Milky Ways. The coaches encouraged passing, stressed it was all about working as a team. It was not about
anyone
but rather about
everyone.
Each girl played every position and for equal time slots throughout the game. Late in the game, three girls on the Milky Way team fell down hard in quick succession. The referee said, “They are getting tired.” And so he called “game.” The Milky Ways huddled and chanted, “One, two, three, four, we don't care about the score. Five, six, seven, eight, who do we appreciate—the Galaxies!” And then the Galaxies cheered the Milky Ways. Two lines formed and each girl slapped the palm of each opposing team member, saying “Good game” to each. When I congratulated Keely on kicking in two goals for her winning team, she said simply, “I got good passes; it was a good game.”

I've been wondering what would happen if, in our war on terrorism, we asked, “Want to be friends?” If that did not get an affirmative response, how about asking some kindly referee to step in with, “People are starting to get hurt; I'm calling game.” Or maybe a neighborhood parent could simply take away the war toys for good.

Molly Lynn Watt

Reflections from a New Father

R
ather than fearing death, we're embracing life—life is now seen as more precious, more meaningful than it seemed before that tragic fall day.

Laura Bush

My second daughter was born on September 11, 2001, at 4:41
P.M.
I wrote the following article for our church bulletin.

I have looked forward to writing this article for about nine months, and I hoped that it would be filled with joyous words devoted totally to my gratitude to the Father for bestowing the same title upon me . . . again. Indeed, I am thankful that Anna Belle Skidmore was born on September 11, 2001 (seven pounds, thirteen ounces and twenty inches long, with red hair and blue eyes like her sister), but my heart is heavy that as our family added a member, so many other people lost those who they had brought into this world. Although the world Anna Belle was welcomed into is a different world than the one that awaited her a day earlier, let's reflect on the words of the doctor as she held my daughter for her first unaided breath while a nearby television relayed the unfolding tragedy. Turning to everyone in the room, the doctor said, “May this child be a reminder of who is really in control of our world.”