Chicken Soup for the Soul of America (28 page)

STAHLER.
©UFS. Reprinted by permission.

Something Special

“I would do something special for her. Not take out the trash without being reminded. Something special, something I wouldn't ordinarily do.” With tears streaming down his face, the gentleman had just answered the reporter's question, “What would you do differently if you had known you might not see your wife again?”

Now, I personally think that is a pretty crappy question to ask anyone, much less the husband of a victim of a terrorist attack. The reporter seemed to have no compassion for this man whose wife's plane had been flown into the World Trade Center.

“I'm just glad I kissed her good-bye and told her I loved her this morning,” he managed to choke out.

Of course, we would all act differently if we knew time together with our spouse was running out. My anger at the insensitive reporter simmered along with the disbelief and fear that had become part of my life since watching the results of the attack on America. “Stupid guy,” I muttered to myself, switching off the television. Maybe I needed a break. I have that luxury. I can turn off the pictures of the devastated buildings, despondent relatives and harried rescue workers.

But could I turn off my feelings? My husband Alan and I farm. He was cutting a field of soybeans that afternoon. I decided to go take pictures of the American flag he had mounted on the back of our combine. With terrorists trying to cripple our nation, we wanted to show our support: The American farmer was still hard at work.

Back at the house, starting a load of laundry, I found myself thinking about that interview.
I would do something special,
played over and over in my mind. That gentleman would never have that opportunity now, but I did. I hope Alan and I have another forty years together. But there are no guarantees. Tomorrows are not guaranteed.

Something I wouldn't ordinarily do.
Well, his pickup could sure use a good cleaning. So I got to it. After about thirty minutes of vacuuming and scrubbing the interior, I was ready to wash the outside. I had one little problem: Starting the power washer was a bit tricky. You had to choke the motor just enough, and the idle had to be set just so. The possibility of getting jerked on the recoil was significant.
Something special
. . . . Grabbing the pull rope I tackled it head on. Suddenly it was very important to me to accomplish this surprise for Alan. Several attempts later, with no success and an aching arm, I thought I might not succeed.
Lord,
I prayed silently,
I could sure use your help. I want to get this started so I can finish this for Alan. I really want to do this for him.

The guilt hit immediately. How could I bother our Lord at a time like this? Thousands were praying for their loved ones. Much more important prayers needed his attention right now. “I'm sorry, Lord,” I whispered. How could I be so selfish? I had spent a lot of time in prayer over the past three days, asking for comfort for the victims' families, strength for our nation's leaders and healing for all of us. My request for help now was automatic. I always ask for help when facing a difficult task. But it just didn't seem right to do so today.

Defeat didn't seem an option either, so I pulled the rope one more time. The motor sputtered to life.

Yes, Alan was surprised and grateful when he saw his pickup. And I was surprised and grateful for the important lessons I learned that day. First of all, despite his tactless approach, the reporter brought home a very important point. Through his pain, the man who lost his spouse taught me to cherish mine. I will look for those “special” things to do for Alan.

Secondly, and maybe more importantly, God does care about us, all of us. He hears the prayers of those whose suffering seems unbearable. He cares. And he hears those of us who need a little boost when we have set out to do something special for someone we love.

Pam Bumpus

Why Are You Waiting?

T
he more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate.

Oprah Winfrey

I get many e-mails, and every day I sort through a host of funny pictures, ribald jokes and forwarded chain letters that I read, enjoy and summarily delete. But every once in a while I receive an e-mail of significance—a collection of words important enough to compel me to share it with my cyberspace amalgamation of family and friends. Which is exactly what happened on Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001.

A writer friend of mine sent me a most thought-provoking e-mail, which she entitled, ironically enough, “Some thoughts for a happy day.” The theme of the composition was the need to “seize the moment and live life to the fullest.”

I read it, reread it and realized that the electronic transmission perfectly matched my own personal philosophy. Further, it provided a needed reminder that life is short so we need to play hard and enjoy it. I tapped into my lengthy e-mail address book and began forwarding the worthy correspondence to family and friends. In the process, I retitled it “Life as it should be lived.”

In one of those serendipitous life moments, as I hit send and put my group mailing on its merry way, my phone rang.

It was my husband urging me to turn on the television. Within moments, my mind was reeling as I watched the incredulous turn of events play out in New York City and Washington, D.C. Conflicting emotions of fear, anger, sorrow and compassion pulsed through my body, while the relentless journalism queries of who, what, when, where and why tortured my writer's brain.

The last time I visited the Big Apple, I went to the World Trade Center. I sat at the bar in the rooftop Windows on the World restaurant and felt as if I was truly on top of the world. It was a memorable evening that is forever captured in a group picture I have hanging on my office wall. And now, in a matter of moments, the picture and the people in it are all that remain of that magical evening. Moving my glance from that celebratory photo to the devastating reality unfolding on the television screen, I felt suddenly isolated. I wanted, and needed, to reach out and touch another human being, to assure myself that no matter how shattering this incomprehensible event might be, my family and my friends were still alive and well, and my sense of normalcy was going to survive.

At about that same moment, e-mail messages began filling my inbox—all referring to the same subject—“Life as it should be lived.” I looked at the senders' names and discovered many of the family and friends that I had just written to moments earlier.

As I opened their letters, a flood of grief and fear filled my computer screen, along with phrases that spoke of the value of family and friendship.

At the same time, my phone began ringing. My husband, my daughter, my sister-in-law, my friends, fellow writers—people from New York to California—called, one after another. Everyone was responding to the same need to reach out and ensure the stability of their lives. When, at last, each of our senses and sensibilities had been soothed, we said our loving good-byes, promising to talk more often and get together soon.

I refocused on the day's terrible events as they continued to unfold. I also returned to the e-mail that had so innocently started my morning. I read it again, this time with a new focus and understanding, lingering over the final line that read, “If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call, what would you say and why are you waiting?”

For the countless numbers in those four airplanes, three office buildings and random city streets, that question is now irrelevant. For the rest of us, perhaps of greater import than the question is how will we decide to answer.

Christina M. Abt

Standing in Solidarity

C
ultivation of tolerance for other faiths will impart to us a true understanding of our own. For me, the different religions are beautiful flowers from the same garden, or they are branches of the same majestic tree.

Mahatma Gandhi

Five miles from our home in LaVerne, California, are two Muslim schools that I did not realize were there until the days following the terrorist attacks in September. Then came that day, September 11, 2001, that changed every American's life in some way. It is interesting to notice that the 911 in its dateline is the emergency telephone number throughout our country. It is a reminder of how so many felt helpless and threatened during the tragedy.

It became a time to watch the unbelievable scenes on the television news. Later, a question came to my mind. What could I ever do to help ease the pain in this tough situation? One answer came very unexpectedly.

My husband, Chuck, a pastor in the Church of the Brethren, was invited by a Muslim acquaintance to an interfaith meeting on the Friday following the attacks. There, one idea presented was to give support to the Muslim schools, which had closed upon hearing the news of the terrorist attacks.

A few days later, a phone call came asking us to go stand in front of these schools when they reopened. All we were expected to do was to be a “presence” there, to show our support for the Muslims as human beings and fellow Americans, not as terrorists. It sounded simple enough.

With some uncertainty, I arrived at the gated school the morning it reopened, September 19. Several other Brethren, as well as people from other denominations came. Our waving, smiling and greetings began to be returned to us immediately by the parents and teachers as they drove into the drop-off area. Many expressed their appreciation for us being there. As days passed, we were given donuts, flowers, letters of thanks from the students, a breakfast and a thank-you luncheon where plaques were presented to the LaVerne and Pomona Fellowship Churches of the Brethren. These plaques state that we are united under the same God.

We have become acquainted with these dear Muslims who are more like us than I could have imagined. Never have they tried to convert us or terrify us. They have been very accepting of who we are. In fact, it was an amazing moment when one Muslim stated that some of them wanted to come to our worship service in LaVerne. Her faith encouraged learning about other faiths, she reported. The date of October 14 was set for their visit, and thirty of these new Muslim friends were warmly greeted by our congregation.

The following Monday, we heard that their attendance at our church had been a meaningful time for them. They sent a note of gratitude to the LaVerne congregation.

For us, a relationship with the Muslim community is just beginning. We have been invited to attend their worship service. We have scheduled a planning session to determine how we can work together. Out of tragedy has emerged a Christian-Muslim relationship that is exciting and fulfilling. Little did I dream of what blessings were in store for us from being just a “presence” at the Muslim City of Knowledge School, and little did I know how much our presence would mean to the teachers and students. A thank-you note from a fifth-grader said it all:

Dear People,

You make me feel safe. Without you, I wouldn't feel safe. I like how polite you are. With you I won't feel suspicious. This is a thanks from my best friends and me.

Love,
Hassan

Shirley Boyer

Neighbors Knowing Neighbors

E
ternal vigilance is the price of liberty.

Lendil Phillips

We were waiting. All of us. Since September 11, 2001, we were waiting for another attack. We had been warned by our President, and now we were wondering when it would come and where it would come. Though we were told to go about our lives as we ordinarily would, it seemed impossible to forget that somewhere in the country, a terrorist or a group of terrorists, was about to strike again. And they hated us enough that they would eagerly die so that we might die.

And so we met, a group of us, at a neighbor's house. We went to talk. To express our feelings about what had happened and what might happen. At first we just discussed the events and shared our shock and anger. We asked questions of one another. Why did this happen? Why didn't we know? Why are we hated like this? The fear circled the room as we discussed our helplessness. Most of us had met before, but this was a different kind of meeting. We were asking each other for help. We were neighbors getting to know one another.

And then someone asked, “What can we do?” She didn't mean the country or the state. She meant our community. She meant herself. What could she do to take back the control and fight the helplessness? What could we all do in that room, she asked, that would take away the control from the terrorists and bring it back into our own hands?

It was then the group decided to take action. We would form a neighborhood watch program, only this one would not just include crime in the community, but we would also be concerned with terrorism and the vigilance it demanded in order to be defeated. We might meet in a church or synagogue, where we could keep a survival kit with blankets, water, first-aid supplies, battery-operated radios, anything that might become necessary during an emergency. We could meet with the police, firefighters and emergency crews and let them know we were there to help them. We would work together and join the community in caring about one another. We would fight the fear and the helplessness by getting to know our neighbors. Old neighbors had moved away. New neighbors moved in every day. We would get to know them also. We would introduce ourselves, bring a plant, welcome them to the community.