The Oldest Mosque in America
My niece, Little Diamond, writes about The Oldest Mosque in America here. Fourth and fifth generations of Moslems in Iowa!
Christmas Eve Day
This is my favorite day of the year. I love Christmas Eve Day. We had a dinner last night, here, with good friends. We all worked together to get all the foods prepared, and as we sat at the table, I could see conversations going on, full of lively interest in all the candlelit faces – it was a beautiful moment. It was such a good mixture of people, the food was good (well, maybe I oversalted the rouladen a little) and plentiful, and in spite of the sorrows of the year, we are greatly blessed.
We have done all our shopping and wrapping, we will run some errands today – fun ones – and have lunch somewhere, it will be a fun, relaxed day. Tonight we will go to church, to welcome the birth of a tiny, vulnerable baby who made such a difference to so many lives here on earth.
So much pain! So much sorry! And one small ray of hope, that in our hearts we can truly love one another, and somehow this sad, troubled world can find the peace for which we all yearn.
Today is a day of pure anticipation, of hope, and belief that goodness matters, and that goodness is possible, and that we have redemption.
Our holidays of Christmas and Eid al Adha are joined this year. I wish all my brothers and sisters peace, joy, and the blessings of love and family for the coming year.
The image is from The Image of Christmas – The Nativity Represented in Art by Dr. Catherine Lawless December 2005. I chose it because Joseph and Mary and the baby look more like Semitics, instead of pale white Europeans. It is by the Sienese painter, Sano di Pietro, painted around 1445 and now in the Pinacoteca Vaticana.
Alhamdallah for the Thorns
1001 Kuwait Nights and I have been exploring parallel lines of thought – thanking God/Allah for problems as well as blessings . . . even the idea that problems, too, are blessings, or a conduit to blessings . . .
A friend sent this today. I hadn’t seen it before, but it continues the exploration of the theme. . .
Thorns
Sandra felt as low as the heels of her shoes as she pushed against a November gust and the florist shop door.
Her life had been easy, like a spring breeze. Then in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, a minor automobile accident stole that from her.
During this Thanksgiving week she would have delivered a son. She grieved over her loss. As if that weren’t enough, her husband’s company threatened a transfer. Then her sister, whose holiday visit she coveted, called saying she could not come for the holiday.
Then Sandra’s friend infuriated her by suggesting her grief was a God-given path to maturity that would allow her to empathize with others who suffer. She has no idea what I’m feeling, thought Sandra with a shudder.
Thanksgiving? Thankful for what? She wondered. For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear-ended her? For an airbag that saved her life but took that of her child?
“Good afternoon, can I help you?” The shop clerk’s approach startled her.
“I….I need an arrangement,” stammered Sandra.
“For Thanksgiving? Do you want beautiful but ordinary, or would you like to challenge the day with a customer favorite I call the Thanksgiving “Special?” asked the shop clerk. “I’m convinced that flowers tell stories,” she continued. “Are you looking for something that conveys ‘gratitude’ this thanksgiving?”
“Not exactly!” Sandra blurted out. “In the last five months, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong.”
Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the shop clerk said, “I have the perfect arrangement for you.”
Just then the shop door’s small bell rang, and the shop clerk said, “Hi, Barbara…let me get your order.” She politely excused herself and walked toward a small workroom, then quickly reappeared, carrying an arrangement of greenery, bows, and long-stemmed thorny roses. Except the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped: there were no flowers.
“Want this in a box?” asked the clerk.
Sandra watched for the customer’s response. Was this a joke? Who would want rose stems with no flowers! She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed.
“Yes, please,” Barbara, replied with an appreciative smile. “You’d think after three years of getting the special, I wouldn’t be so moved by its significance, but I can feel it right here, all over again,” she said as she gently tapped her chest. And she left with her order.
“Uh,” stammered Sandra, “that lady just left with, uh….she just left with no flowers!
“Right, said the clerk, “I cut off the flowers. That’s the Special. I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet.”
“Oh, come on, you can’t tell me someone is willing to pay for that!” exclaimed Sandra.
“Barbara came into the shop three years ago feeling much like you feel today,” explained the clerk. “She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had lost her father to cancer, the family business was failing, her son was into drugs, and she was facing major surgery.”
“That same year I had lost my husband,” continued the clerk, “and for the first time in my life, had just spent the holidays alone. I had no children, no husband, no family nearby, and too great a debt to allow any travel.”
“So what did you do?” asked Sandra.
“I learned to be thankful for thorns,” answered the clerk quietly. “I’ve always thanked God for the good things in my life and never questioned the good things that happened to me, but when bad stuff hit, did I ever ask questions! It took time for me to learn that dark times are important. I have always enjoyed the ‘flowers’ of life, but it took thorns to show me the beauty of God’s comfort. You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we’re afflicted, and from His consolation we learn to comfort others.”
Sandra sucked in her breath as she thought about the very thing her friend had tried to tell her. “I guess the truth is I don’t want comfort. I’ve lost a baby and I’m angry with God.”
Just then someone else walked in the shop. “Hey, Phil!” shouted the clerk to the balding, rotund man.
“My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving Special….12 thorny, long-stemmed stems!” laughed Phil as the clerk handed him a tissue-wrapped arrangement from the refrigerator.
“Those are for your wife?” asked Sandra incredulously. “Do you mind me asking why she wants something that looks like that?”
“No…I’m glad you asked,” Phil replied. “Four years ago my wife and I nearly divorced. After forty years, we were in a real mess, but with the Lord’s grace and guidance, we slogged through problem after problem. He rescued our marriage. Jenny here (the clerk) told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her of what she learned from “thorny” times, and that was good enough for me. I took home some of those stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific “problem” and give thanks for what that problem taught us.”
As Phil paid the clerk, he said to Sandra, “I highly recommend the Special!”
“I don’t know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life.” Sandra said. “It’s all too…fresh.”
“Well,” the clerk replied carefully, “my experience has shown me that thorns make roses more precious. We treasure God’s providential care more during trouble than at any other time. Remember, it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love. Don’t resent the thorns.”
Tears rolled down Sandra’s cheeks. For the first time since the accident, she loosened her grip on resentment. “I’ll take those twelve long-stemmed thorns, please,” she managed to choke out.
“I hoped you would,” said the clerk gently. “I’ll have them ready in a minute.”
“Thank you. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing. Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart. The first year’s arrangement is always on me.” The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra. “I’ll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you would like to read it first.”
It read: “My God, I have never thanked You for my thorns. I have thanked You a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorns. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear; teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that I have climbed closer to You along the path of pain. Show me that, through my tears, the colors of Your rainbow look much more brilliant.”
Praise Him for your roses; thank him for your thorns!
Still Learning – Alhamdallah
Another Side of Thanksgiving . . .
My friend asked about my father, and when I told her he was slipping away, losing a little more every day, she said “Alhamdallah!”
I was caught up short. Her face was smiling. I had just told her my father is dying and she says “Thanks be to God?”
I know this woman like my own sister. Her daughters are my own daughters. I am welcome in every corner of her house, I pray for every one of her children, and being in her home is like being in my own home, we are all so comfortable together.
“No,” I said, “You’ve misunderstood what I said!” and she hugged me and said “I understood, but no matter what happens, we say ‘alhamdallah’. If you father is dying, we say ‘alhamdallah’. If Hurricane Katrina strikes, we say ‘alhamdallah’. All things come from Allah, and He knows all things. It is his will, so we say ‘alhamdallah’.”
We are both religious women. My faith says the same thing, to give thanks in all things. In my daily life, I sometimes forget. Truly, in my culture, you would never say “thanks be to God” if someone had just told you something very sad.
Being exposed to the Islamic world has complemented my own faith. No, I don’t need to be a Muslim; I think the differences between us are much smaller than the similarities. But truly, I thank God for all that I learn about my own faith by living is Moslem countries.
I love the call to prayer; nothing wrong with being reminded during the day – and night – to love and honor God. I love living among people who give thanks to God so many times a day, even for Hurricane Katrina, even for my failing father. I love watching the fathers and sons headed to the mosque on Fridays. There’s even a very gentle station with Moslem films in English that I watch from time to time because it is so peaceful, and tolerant and sweetly loving.
My friend took time from her very busy life and made a special trip to the bookstore to buy me a book called Don’t Be Sad. It’s a wonderful book by ‘Aaidh ibn Abdullah al-Qarni with chapters like “How to deal with bitter criticism,” “Do Not Carry the Weight of the Globe on Your Shoulders,” Do Not be Shaken by Hardships'” “Jealousy is Not Something New” and one of my favorites – “Do Not Be Sad – Do Good to Others.” This book is helpful to me in so many ways, including giving me good sura that are very similar to writings in our own book. This helps me clarify to others in my culture how alike we are, and how similar our faith is. My friend loves me, and I know she wants only the best for me. I give thanks to have her as a friend.
Every now and then, I come across something that shakes me – like when my friend said “alhamdallah” about my Father . . . but in the end, I learn something and my understanding broadens. Alhamdallah!
Secret Santa Unveils
I found this story on AOL news this morning. I am printing the whole story, with full credit to AOL, because I am afraid if I just put in a “click here” thingy, you won’t go to the trouble. This complements a recent blog entry by Jewaira on opportunities for charitable giving locally . . . this man made a career of secretly giving back.
Grave Illness Unmasks Generous ‘Secret Santa’
Man Who Gives Money to the Needy Reveals Himself to Pass Mission on to Others
KANSAS CITY, Mo. (Nov. 17) – The answer to one of the happiest mysteries in the Kansas City area is being revealed this year. A man who has given away millions of dollars and become known as Secret Santa for handing out Christmas cash to the needy is allowing his name to be publicized after 26 years.
In April, doctors told Stewart that he had cancer of the esophagus. It has spread to his liver and he is undergoing treatment.
But the reason for the revelation is an unhappy one. Secret Santa has cancer. He wants to start speaking to community groups about his belief in random acts of kindness, but he can’t do that without telling people who he is.
The man who has spread cheer for 26 years is Larry Stewart, 58, of Lee’s Summit, who made his millions in cable television and long-distance telephone service.
Stewart told The Kansas City Star that he was the man who would walk up to complete strangers, hand them $100 bills, wish them “Merry Christmas” and walk away, leaving astonished and grateful people in his wake. He handed out money throughout the year, but he said it was the Christmas giving that gave him the most joy.
Now, he wants to inspire others to do the same. He said he thinks that people should know that he was born poor, was briefly homeless, dropped out of college, has been fired from jobs, and once even considered robbery.
But he said every time he hit a low point in his life, someone gave him money, food and hope, and that’s why he has devoted his life to returning the favors.
Stewart grew up in Bruce, Miss., reared by his elderly grandparents, who survived on $33 a month and welfare staples. They heated water on the stove for baths and used an outhouse.
After he left home and college, he found himself out of work in 1971. After sleeping in his car for eight nights and not eating for two days, Stewart went to the Dixie Diner in Houston, Miss., and ordered breakfast. When the bill came, he acted as if he’d lost his wallet.
The diner owner came to him.
“You must have dropped this,” the owner said, slipping a $20 bill into the young man’s hand.
He paid, pushed his car to the gas station, and left town. But he vowed to remember the stranger’s kindness, and to help others, when he could.
He arrived in Kansas City because he had a cousin here. He got married and started his own company, with money from his father-in-law.
But the company failed in 1977 and he couldn’t pay the bills. It was the lowest point in his life.
“I was a failure in business. I was a failure as a husband. I was a failure as a father,” he remembers thinking.
He got into his car with a handgun and thought about robbing a store. But he stopped and went home – and got a call from his brother-in-law, offering him money to tide him over.
After being fired from two jobs on two successive Christmases, Stewart stopped at a drive-in. Although he had little money himself, Stewart gave a cold and miserable carhop the change from a $20, much to her delight.
That’s when Stewart’s mission to secretly give away money at the holidays began.
Eventually, Stewart became a success and started Network Communications in 2002. The firm used independent sales agents to enroll customers for Sprint long-distance service.
In 1996, an arbitration panel ordered Sprint to pay Network and its sales agents $60.9 million in commissions it owed. Stewart got $5.2 million.
The poor boy from Mississippi now had a family, lived in a nice house and drove nice cars.
So, he started giving away more money, to dozens of causes. The Negro Leagues Baseball Museum. The Salvation Army. The National Paralysis Foundation. The ALS Foundation. He supports the Metropolitan Crime Commission’s Surviving Spouse and Family Endowment program.
And, all along, he gave away money to needy strangers.
But Christmas was special. He’d distribute thousands of dollars during visits to coin laundries, thrift stores, barbershops and diners.
People shouted with joy, cried, praised the Lord, and thanked Stewart repeatedly.
But Secret Santa moved on quickly to avoid attention.
He did sometimes invite newspaper and TV reporters along, if they promised not to reveal his identity. It was reporters who dubbed him “Secret Santa.”
In 1989, after some people chased his car when they saw the cash he carried, he decided he needed protection. He called Jackson County Sheriff’s Capt. Tom Phillips.
“I thought, ‘OK, this guy’s nuts,”‘ recalls Phillips, now the Jackson County sheriff. “But at the end of the day, I was in tears – literally – just seeing what he did to people.”
Eventually, Secret Santa took his sleigh ride to other places.
In 2001, after the terrorist attacks, he went to New York. The New York cop who accompanied him said he’d never forget the experience.
In 2002, Secret Santa was in Washington, D.C., victimized by the serial snipers. In 2003, it was San Diego neighborhoods devastated by wildfires. And in 2004, he was in Florida, helping thousands left homeless by three hurricanes.
Last Christmas, Secret Santa went back to Mississippi after Hurricane Katrina battered the Gulf Coast.
He stopped in Houston, Miss., where the diner owner had helped him so many years ago. On a previous visit he had surprised the owner, Ted Horn, with $10,000. This time, they stamped $100 bills with the name “Ted Horn,” and gave Horn money to distribute. And Horn took money from his own bank account to give away, too.
Stewart has enlisted “elves” for years – George Brett, the late Buck O’Neil, Dick Butkus. He’s already inspired copycats.
Four other Secret Santas plan to distribute a total of $70,000 of their own cash this year.
And Secret Santa plans to give away $100,000 this year. Since he started, he estimates he’s given out more than $1.3 million in Christmas cash.
But this will likely be the last Christmas for Stewart’s tradition. In April, doctors told Stewart that he had cancer of the esophagus. It had spread to his liver. He needed treatment, fast.
With help from Brett, he got into a clinical trial at the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Texas. Doctors tell him the tumors have shrunk, but they can’t say whether the cancer is in remission.
“I pray for that man every single day,” former Kansas City Chiefs star Deron Cherry – one of Stewart’s elves – says. “There’s a lot of people praying for him.”
The Hem of His Garment
With one of my good friends, our conversations almost always veer to spiritual issues. If I am ever about to do something that a little voice tells me I might not want to do, I call her. I say “this is the situation, this is how I am thinking about handling it, but I want to check with you . . .”
She will always tell me the truth. She will say “hmmmn . . . why don’t you sit on that idea a couple days first?” or “sounds like the right thing to do, even if you think you might be doing it for the wrong motives” or . . . I may not want to hear it, but it will be the best truth she can give me.
She never repeats my confidences to others, and I trust that right or wrong, she will give me the best advice anyone would give. Friendships like that are priceless.
So this weekend, we were discussing how we can ALL be saved, i.e. how we will make it to heaven/paradise/jenna. Our book says we’re the only ones who are going to be there, and that unless you believe exactly the way we believe, sorry, you’re out. Most holy books say the same thing – this is the true path, and if you follow it, you’re in. If not, you’re out. It seems like a great cosmic gamble, with your soul and life everlasting at stake.
My friend told me about another friend of hers, a Native American woman, a wise woman, a very spiritual woman. One of her friends died from a virulent, fast-spreading cancer, and the Native American woman dreamed of her. In her dream, her friend appeared, radiant and shining and bright. The woman asked her friend “what is it like on the other side?” and her friend said “It’s SO BIG! We had NO idea! We were barely touching the hem of His garment!”
It’s just a dream. Just a vision. . . and yet, it sticks with me, I find myself taking great comfort in this story. I want us all to be there.
Mary Doria Russell Duo
Some of the very best books on cross-cultural miscommunications are written in science fiction, and by some of the greatest names, the oldies but goodies. Now I know by naming a couple, I am going to offend some of those out there by leaving out your favorites – please feel free to jump in (comments section) and make additonal recommendations.
One of the great classics is Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land. It is a hilarious book, with occasional moments of pathos, but an easy read, and an unforgettable book.
Ursula K. LeGuin’s The Left Hand of Darkness is another primer in the kinds of misunderstandings that can come with the best of intentions. She also deals with the changes that living in an alien culture makes in the visitor, as well as the visited.
More recently written is a duo by Mary Doria Russell. Her hero, Father Emilio Sandoz, is a Jesuit priest. Sent as an intergalactic evangelist, he runs into some serious problems. These are very strong book, adult books with adult topics and sexual content, not for those who want an easy read and feel good at the end. It is about spiritual testing, as well as survival. There are parts of these two books where you will laugh out loud, and parts where you will be so depressed you don’t want to continue reading. At the same time, they are deeply spiritual.
The saddest, funniest, most horrible part of all is that the worst things happen as a result of the very best intentions. Russel’s characters try to get into one another’s way of thinking – and fail miserably. The results are horrorific.
And yet . . . in the end, there is redemption. These are books that get you thinking, and keep you thinking for a long time. They stretch your mind, opening topics you never dreamed existed.
You can read either of these two books, The Sparrow and The Children of God as a stand-alone read, or you can read them together. I personally found The Children of God the better book, but because I find Russell so addictive, so insightful, I recommend them both. They are available from Amazon at around $10/each in paperback.
Cousin Time
We met up at the nearby Barnes and Noble; he got stuck at the office and called to say he would be late. Leaving me to wander in a Barnes and Noble is like leaving an alcoholic alone in a room with an open bottle of Jim Bean . . . I had a bagfull of books by the time he got there.
As we were discussing the problems of dealing with aging parents, I told him about the bank manager I met with earlier who had looked me in the eye and said “it’s an epidemic. People are living longer, but while not demented enough to be declared incompetant, they are making bad decisions.” My Dad, while wheelchair bound, has a phone and a computer, and could, if he chooses, do a lot of damage to himself and my mom.
My cousin and I have always been on track, from the time we were very young. He and I scored one point apart on our SATs, we researched the same family issues, we have kids the same age – and he was the first one I called when we had a concern about a family matter.
He leaned across the table and grinned. “The problem with dealing with paranoid people is that it forces the loved ones to do exactly what the paranoid is accusing them of doing!” We both laughed. He is exactly right – we have to go behind and see what checks are being written, we have to listen at doors to hear who he is talking to and what he is saying, and the very worst – we have to talk about him behind his back.
If you looked at my father, if you talked with him for a short time, you would think him very smart, and even charming. And he is all that.
If you are with him a little longer, however, he will start talking about dreams he has been having – vivid, very wierd dreams, very scary dreams. Because he doesn’t hear very well, he might accuse you of saying something you didn’t say, and get very angry with you. He is not quite tracking. He gets angry. If he weren’t so weak, he might be violent.
My cousin and I have other family members who have lived long enough to enter into dementia. It haunts us to think we might end up the same way.
The Amish and Forgiveness
In yesterday’s paper there is a prominent article on the Amish – first inviting the wife and children of Charles Roberts, the killer of their daughters, to attend the funerals of their children, the children he killed, and then – and this is the part that stuns me – attending his funeral.
A funeral is to mourn the victim. In a recent blog We Need to Talk About Kevin I talked about how incredibly hard it would have to be to forgive the killer of my child. When I wrote that, I was thinking of the years that it would take to achieve forgiveness in my heart, a very quiet and personal thing.
The Amish took forgiveness to a height I can barely begin to comprehend. First, to see past their own grief and reach out to the family of the killer – the family so damaged, so stigmatized – and so innocent. But in addition, to attend the funeral to honor the killer of their children? Holy Smokes. That sets a standard of forgiveness that amazes me. I just can’t wrap my mind around it.
God bless them. I wish them only well, I hope that this standard of forgiveness they demonstrated gives them true and genuine peace in their hearts. I know their example has given me something to ponder for a long long time.
Terrifying Scripture
In our readings for today, Psalm 109, one of the most terrifying psalms in the Bible. Some people call it the “cursing psalm.” It always gives me shivers up my spine.
Psalm 109
To the leader. Of David. A Psalm.
1Do not be silent, O God of my praise.
2For wicked and deceitful mouths are opened against me,
speaking against me with lying tongues.
3They beset me with words of hate,
and attack me without cause.
4In return for my love they accuse me,
even while I make prayer for them.*
5So they reward me evil for good,
and hatred for my love.
6They say,* ‘Appoint a wicked man against him;
let an accuser stand on his right.
7When he is tried, let him be found guilty;
let his prayer be counted as sin.
8May his days be few;
may another seize his position.
9May his children be orphans,
and his wife a widow.
10May his children wander about and beg;
may they be driven out of* the ruins they inhabit.
11May the creditor seize all that he has;
may strangers plunder the fruits of his toil.
12May there be no one to do him a kindness,
nor anyone to pity his orphaned children.
13May his posterity be cut off;
may his name be blotted out in the second generation.
14May the iniquity of his father* be remembered before the Lord,
and do not let the sin of his mother be blotted out.
15Let them be before the Lord continually,
and may his* memory be cut off from the earth.
16For he did not remember to show kindness,
but pursued the poor and needy
and the broken-hearted to their death.
17He loved to curse; let curses come on him.
He did not like blessing; may it be far from him.
18He clothed himself with cursing as his coat,
may it soak into his body like water,
like oil into his bones.
19May it be like a garment that he wraps around himself,
like a belt that he wears every day.’
20May that be the reward of my accusers from the Lord,
of those who speak evil against my life.
21But you, O Lord my Lord,
act on my behalf for your name’s sake;
because your steadfast love is good, deliver me.
22For I am poor and needy,
and my heart is pierced within me.
23I am gone like a shadow at evening;
I am shaken off like a locust.
24My knees are weak through fasting;
my body has become gaunt.
25I am an object of scorn to my accusers;
when they see me, they shake their heads.
26Help me, O Lord my God!
Save me according to your steadfast love.
27Let them know that this is your hand;
you, O Lord, have done it.
28Let them curse, but you will bless.
Let my assailants be put to shame;* may your servant be glad.
29May my accusers be clothed with dishonour;
may they be wrapped in their own shame as in a mantle.
30With my mouth I will give great thanks to the Lord;
I will praise him in the midst of the throng.
31For he stands at the right hand of the needy,
to save them from those who would condemn them to death.
Recent Comments
ExpatAlien on What Country am I Living … intlxpatr on Yellowstone: Old Faithful to C… Michelle on Yellowstone: Old Faithful to C… Cathy on No Grown-Ups in Charge intlxpatr on Waiting for Snow Wikipedia Donate Button
Amazina
Early Voting in Florida
Here There and Everywhere 