Sometimes we laugh
because we are happy,
our laughter rings with joy.
Sometimes we laugh
because we are nervous,
our laughter cuts the edge.
Sometimes we laugh
because we are frightened,
our laughter masks our fears.
Sometimes we laugh
because we are grieving
our laughter hides our tears.
Sometimes we laugh.
Filed under Poem
It has been said before, but it bears repeating. Speaking to Presbyterian Women in the Presbytery of New York City, Dana Trexler of Safe Horizon pondered:
In situations of abuse, people often ask:
“Why doesn’t she leave?”
Shouldn’t people ask:
“Why doesn’t he stop hitting her?”
Filed under Human Rights
“They are for my wife.”
My lack of languages other haunts me when I travel. Other people know multiple languages. I carry only English – and that not well – plus some Sesame Street Spanish. A smattering of high school French, limited in vocabulary, atrocious in pronunciation, travels with me.
“They are for my wife.”
Despite my language limits I do remember enough French to know that is what he said.
We were on the number 5 bus headed from Grand-Sacconex to the Church of Scotland in Geneva.
He, well he must have been going to see his wife.
Tufts of white-gray hair poked out from beneath his gray hat. He wore a gray-checked suit. The bright flowers wrapped in tissue and cellophane and clutched tightly in his age-spotted left hand offered a striking contrast to the pervasive grayness.
He slid across the bench to sit by the window and with a gesture of his free hand offered the vacated seat beside him. “Merci,” I said as I declined. He shrugged and turned to look out the window, lost in thought.
A woman entered at the next stop and took the seat. She spoke, complimenting the beauty of the flowers, or so I presume because of his answer.
He did not make eye contact as he responded with a simple phrase that I could understand. “They are for my wife.”
His seat-mate tried to make conversation with him. He replied in monosyllables, his gaze remained fixed outside the bus although it was clear he looked not to see but to retreat, remember, reflect.
At one point she asked me a question. Having no idea what she had asked, I turned to those dim recesses where reside what remains of four years of French reside to find the appropriate response. “Je ne sais pas.” Feelings of incompetence and arrogance washing over me, I looked away.
When she left the bus, a couple stops later, he did not repeat his offer of the seat, but continued to stare out the window.
Then I saw it. In the corner of his right eye. A tear. One solitary tear.
At that moment, the bus pulled to a stop across from a medical facility and he began to move, struggling to cross the bench and keep his grip on the flowers. I moved to offer to hold them, but saw the tear again and thought better. I took his elbow.
He stood up, straightened his shoulders, and exited the bus.
And I was left to wonder about the memories, the pain, the grief, the love contained in that one tear.
See you along the Trail.
Geneva
Bus 5
8 May 2011
Mother’s Day
Filed under Travel
Worship today was at the Church of Scotland (Presbyterian) in Geneva. The congregation meets in the Auditoire de Calvin which is next door to Calvin’s church. The service there is in French. The service at the Church of Scotland is in English.
Interestingly enough, many peoples and places, nations and races were present in the congregation. The presence of the Executive Committee of the World Communion of Reformed Churches enhanced the diversity – but it was already present.
See you along the Trail.
Filed under Worship
Into darkness the plane sails,
proud ship of the air,
passing o’er ocean depths
where rest once proud sea-going vessels,
both great and small
now skeletons rusting, rotting.
In the darkness of the cabin
they sit in silence,
the comfortable silence of
computer chosen seatmates.
She shifts
as exhaustion grips her;
sleep seeking to claim her,
fitfully shifts again.
Her head finds his shoulder,
pauses,
then leans in harder without knowing.
His turn to shift,
but not too far –
darkness, gratefully,
masks deep discomfort.
Swiss International Air Lines
Flight 23
JFK-GVA
6-7 May 2011
Filed under Travel
All orange.
That was the color of the cards.
Clapping followed.
The Executive Committee of the World Communion of Reformed Churches is meeting in Geneva. They started on May 5.
In their discussion, they use a consensus model that involves showing cards to indicate support for or dissent from a matter under consideration.
Orange is good. It represents support. Go for the orange!
The Presbyterian Ministry at the United Nations also represents the (WCRC) at the UN. Ryan and I wrote a report of our work and I was asked here to present it. After some travel misadventures in New York, I arrived this morning (Geneva time). This afternoon (Geneva time) I fought off jet lag and made the report.
I spoke.
Questions were asked.
In a bold move, I asked a question of my report.
Well, OK, it wasn’t a question of my report. More a question raised by my report.
Then moderator asked if people supported the report.
And a sea of orange cards appeared.
Well maybe more of a small puddle since there are only 40 or so members.
But all the cards were orange!
And then they clapped.
Over the next few days, we will explore together how to deepen and expand this partnership. Tomorrow starts with worship at the Church of Scotland in Geneva. We are staying in the John Knox International Center so that seems fitting.
See you along the trail!
As the train hurtled downtown,
passing 110th,
rushing toward 103rd,
images danced in the windows.
For a moment,
only a moment,
brown eyes reflected toward mine
For a moment,
only a moment,
brown eyes captured mine.
For a moment,
only a moment,
brown eyes flashed a smile to mine.
For a moment,
a moment lingering still,
my eyes smiled in return.
Does it ever really heal?
Or do we merely
muddle through
carry on
make due;
while it lies beneath the surface,
sometimes shallow,
sometimes deep,
always present,
ever there,
patiently waiting the next loss,
the unexpected reminder,
the anticipated anniversary
that rips our heart and tears our soul
and reconnects with endured pains, reopens past wounds,
so that incomprehensibly, inevitably
each loss
becomes every loss
haunting us
until we can again
muddle through
carry on
make due
and await
the repeating cycle.
Filed under Poem
Several films viewed today including Skins a favorite – a painful, powerful, poignant film. Graham Green, a favorite actor, is in the cast. It’s a tale of brotherhood, brokenness, healing, reconciliation, revenge, renewal and more.
Each time I view the film, it takes me back to the time I watched it at Ghost Ranch with Sid Birt and others. At one point, reflecting on a character’s behavior, Sid looked at me and observed, “He’s something of a strange police officer.” I nodded.
And at the climax of the film, I looked at Sid and said, “But he’s quite a brother.”
Check it out.
See you along the Trail.
Filed under Movie
