Resolution to Celebrate Life

Posted on January 6, 2013 by thisihumblyspeak

I am one who does not make New Year resolutions, yet this year I prepared for the New Year with thoughts of consciously celebrating everything about my life and life in general. Celebrate?  How can I think of celebrating when there are those among us, our neighbors, our friends, our relatives, our “hayrenagitz”, our fellow citizens who at this moment cannot celebrate and do not feel celebratory due to tragic circumstances in their lives. With all that’s going on in the world, I should be thinking that that’s the last thing to do especially now when many have heavy hearts.

Prayer is the first thought that comes to mind. I know about God, the Lord, my refuge and my strength. He is called Lord, Jehovah, Holy Spirit, Yahweh, Allah, Our Father, Hallowed be Thy Name. He could be God on a throne in a cloud or God in a burning bush. We sneeze, He blesses.  He is called Shepherd and sometimes he is a Lamb. He walked with Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. He lives in Heaven but He is also here on Earth with us. He is spirit. He is One and He is also three in One. He is Love. He lives in us and around us. He spoke to Moses. He also spoke to Abraham and Noah. He designed the Ark. He appears through angels.  Sometimes He is that small voice that talks from within and sometimes it seems He never speaks.  But I’ve noticed that when fear and despair inch their way into the very folds of my thought process, I start to pray.  It isn’t a thing I plan. It just happens and the words come out…and I stand brave. But when somebody hurts, especially children wounded or lost; and others who haunt the headlines with bereavement and suffering eyes, I feel an anger I cannot explain.  Yet, more than anger, it is a compassion wrenched with sorrow dug too deep for me to understand…and that’s when I think this must be God. And then there are moments when I see the beauty of pelicans in flight, or even just sunlight streaming through the clouds, and I think I’m on my own and no-one is there for me to share it with, I feel a tingle, an enormous joy, an elation beyond comprehension …and that’s when I think this must be God…in the here and now.

God, I’m glad you’re here, with me, with us, in the here and now, as You were in the beginning, so shall You be in the end.

So this year, I am starting 2013 with a resolution to celebrate life. Life is made up of succeeding good things that simply offset the bad. If I can celebrate each day with gratitude and rejoice in the presence and accomplishment of others, what better way to eliminate fear and allow faith to step in?!  I look at the calendar and start to mark all the dates that call for a celebration. I start with Soorp Dznoont the Epiphany, through lent and Easter and Theophany to come. Then I move on to birthdays of family and include friends I remember including  the different Saints’ days and people I know who bear the names starting with Sarkis in January, Vartan in February,  …and finally Hagop and Peter and Paul in December. Next, I recall anniversaries. A little while later I start to add meetings and major dates of events planned. Pretty soon the year is filling up with celebration days. But what of the days that have nothing marked on them? I am on a roll; I cannot let my celebrations end there. I look for every reason imaginable to celebrate: The first day of spring, the last day of autumn, the shortest day, the longest day, my grandson’s first day of school… the list is endless. I attach a footnote six months down the road to check with a friend for her second “six month” follow up with doctors at the City of Hope. Regardless of the outcome I will celebrate with her, her presence in my life, I promise myself. I’ll celebrate the past, the present and the future. And for those days I have not marked a specific cause, I highlight. Those will be even more special as I will have to create as I wake up to the day. So I challenge any of my readers to ask me on any given day of the year 2013 what I’m celebrating and I will answer without hesitation. Who knows, it could be you I’m celebrating.

Happy New Year to all and May your days be a succession of celebrations.

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I believe in Santa

Posted on December 21, 2012 by thisihumblyspeak

Just as I believe in the power of the unknown which propelled me as a child to gaze into my imagination with a sense of awe as I stood between the known and the unknown, I believe in Santa. It is that same belief that tells me that there are things larger than me, and that I don’t have all the answers. But I do know that beyond all commercializing of the true spirit of Christmas, Santa is a great symbol of the spirit of a very real man who lived in the third century.
He was born Nicholas around 280 AD to wealthy Christian parents who died when he was young. Nicholas gave away his inheritance to the poor and became the Bishop of Myra. He continued to help those in need, particularly children, and was soon known as protector of children and sailors. When Nicholas died in 343 AD, the anniversary of his death, December 6, became known as Saint Nicholas Day, a day for celebrating and feasting. Nicholas, who was a “saint” by reason of his faith in Christ, and was titled “St. Nicholas” by reason of the traditional Church’s recognition of his love and good works, was a true believer and a genuine servant to mankind. He became real in spirit and intent, flavored with good and godly ideas of love, giving, caring, and helping. The name Santa Claus evolved from the Dutch nickname, Sinter Klaas, a shortened form of Sint Nikolaas.
I believe in Santa in whatever generosity of spirit he symbolizes, and I like the idea that the contemporary role of Santa still incorporates the traditional call to personal accountability for good or bad deeds done or undone. I love looking back on the Christmases when I knew he was true, those when I suspected, and even those when I knew Santa was winking, when we both pretended that it was all truly real for the sake of the other children, instead of just real in spirit and intent.
Just as my parents wrapped simple gifts of my childhood and delivered them through a Santa that always made me recite verses or sing for my gifts at New Year’s Eve, I, too, chose to wrap the presents for my children as I imagine they now are doing for their children. And much as I believe in the symbolism of Santa, I know this does not make me Santa. Santa is bigger than any person, and his work has gone on longer than any of us have lived. We can only strive to be like him; to bring laughter and playful moments to the world around us that make our imagination run wild with a hope for the impossible. His reality of spirit and intent teaches children how to have belief in something they can’t see or touch. What he does is powerful. He inspires faith in the unknown with a capacity to make us believe in things we can’t measure, like love, and “magic,” and hope, faith and happiness. These are the great powers that light our life from the inside out, even during our darkest, coldest moments.
Santa, to me, says something about us. His persistent presence in our holiday traditions and the love that we as a people have for him says that we have not lost the capacity to believe in something more. He is an intangible, fanciful expression of our buried and almost forgotten belief in the goodness of the human person. He is an expression of our longing for something beyond that which we have in front of us… an expression of our desire to believe in things we can’t measure.
The legend of Santa Claus, as we know it, gives me hope for the future. It gives me hope that adults and children alike can see life through bewildered eyes. It gives me hope that one day we will indeed recover our belief in Someone greater than ourselves, Someone who makes life, and Christmas, truly meaningful. Life is miraculous, magical and wonderful, just like Santa, but only those who are willing to believe in the mystery will be able to see the beauty in a world that is also full of war, hunger, hatred and fear. Choose to let it go and the magic will disappear, just as with the belief in Santa. This Christmas and beyond, extend the childhood awe and wonder of the reality of Santa’s spirit and intent. Stand between the boundaries of the known and unknown and choose to see the small miracles that happen around you every day, and the magic will unfold and endure. Yes, I believe in Santa.

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Autumn Leaves

Posted on November 15, 2012 by thisihumblyspeak

(Published in Armenian Observer Nov.7, 2012 issue)
Every so often, I go to a spot which overlooks the valley. I watch and wait for leaves of the trees below to turn their colors before breaking away from their branches in the cycle of life to say autumn is here and to welcome the winter. This year the wait is long. But if I gaze long enough with immersed attention at the bark of a tree and follow its form through the branches, a revelation of sorts takes place. I can transport myself through thoughts to a time when I happened to make a stop in Jermuk, Armenia, some years ago.
Autumn leaves were starting to fall crimson and orange; they spiraled like tiny, twirling ballerinas across the windshield of the car. It was the midst of time for autumn colors, that three week stretch of October when winds pick up and the first signs of cold air strike. The city was its quiet ghost-like self with its tree lined two main streets. An occasional resident with a small bag of groceries or a bundle of something tucked under an arm of an already weary body met my gaze as I stepped out of the car and stood on a small side street. The trees on either side had locked their branches together and formed an archway above me, draping me with a dense quilt of reds and burgundy. A cool and soft breeze gently rustled the “quilt,” dropping leaves that were weary and ready to let go of their life-supporting branches, lifting them into the air as though to float on the wind. Starved for these colors, I absorbed the beauty that reigned in the dying leaves chasing each other like children playing ‘catch me if you can’. Their colors and vibrancy brought with them the first scent of the season, that fresh smell of snapped twig and musky leaves.
A sudden gust of cold wind blew with a ferocity that ripped the shawl off my shoulders, and in a matter of a few seconds, the entire street and city grounds were covered by a blanket of leaves on loan by nature herself.
The trees had lost their leaves. Only a couple here and there still trembled on their branches by the frailty of a stem. Soon, every trunk would become a bare and naked stretch of gracefully intertwined branches. I thought to myself, how easy it is for the trees. It looks so simple to let go, let fall the rich colors of the season, without grief. Would it not be wonderful if we too could do just that? Let go and enter deep into our roots for renewal and slumber. If we could learn from nature and imitate the trees; learn to lose in order to recover; learn to accept that all that comes is also all that leaves. Learn to give ourselves away like a tree that sows seeds every spring and never counts the loss. Learn to share our beauty, shade and comfort like a tree in the summer that never withholds its fruits because it knows that to give is to gain. Learn to mature beautifully into the gold and scarlet of our autumn years and lose some of who we are, like a tree that begins to lose some of its leaves. The wind whispered, “It is not loss, it is adding to future life.” And as if the wind played havoc with my thoughts it stirred the leaves and gathered them in cyclonic form, and with an eerie whisper deposited them into neat piles at the foot of the trees from where they’d ended their breathing life cycle. They would soon decompose to nourish the roots.
The sudden sounds of laughter from children interrupted my thoughts. Children of all ages came out of nowhere, it seemed, to jump into the piles of leaves playing ‘catch me if you can’ with shouts of gleeful merriment. The crunch of leaves beneath their little feet, the joyful sounds of their laughter spoke through the wind with the revelation that children, still in the bud stages of life’s cycle were “harvesting” their youthful pleasures from the winter years of trees. There is something to be said about the steadfastness of trees and the cycle of life. We are mortal, but we remain, like the tree, strongly rooted and spilling out our treasures to the wind.
I looked across the valley and saw that autumn had arrived with its plentitude of colors preparing for winter loss. The wind whispered again, “It is not loss, it is adding to future life.”
To the memory of my mother who gave herself away like a tree, spilling out her treasures to the wind.

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Life in Questions

Posted on October 29, 2012 by thisihumblyspeak

Why? Why momma? What’s that? Will it hurt? Can you carry me? Are we there yet? Do we have to go home? Do I have to eat that? Am I a good girl momma? Can I have a dog? When will I grow up? Why does it hurt? Will you tuck me in? Are you praying momma? Where does Santa live? Why is Buster sick? Is it tomorrow yet? Can I keep the cat? Do I have to get up? Do I have to go to school? Where’s dada? Why won’t you read “The Monster at the End of The Book” again? Why’s momma crying? Are you guys getting a divorce? Do you love me? Why can’t I play? Why did granny die? Will I die? It’s not fair, is it? Do I have to take out the trash? Why should I worry about starving children in Africa? Do I have to go to church again? Why can’t I wear makeup? Are you sad, dada? Can I spend the night at Sara’s? Tracy’s mom lets her, so why won’t you? What homework? Why doesn’t he call? Will he kiss me? Am I in love? Can I go to the prom? Am I too fat? Does he love me, does he love me not? God, why do I hurt so much? Can I borrow the car? Why do I have to be back by 11? Why? Don’t you trust me? It’s never fair, is it? Why won’t my parents understand me? What if I don’t want to go to College? Can I be an actress? A lawyer!? What if I want to be a doctor? What if I’m not good enough? Please God, will I get in? Is my room the guest room now? Why do we have to go to war for peace? Can’t we put an end to world hunger instead? Why’s life so hard? Why didn’t you tell me it was this tough? Why are you crying? Aren’t you proud I made it? Is this true love? How will I know he’s the one? When will he propose? Who said marriage is all bliss? Who said raising children is a piece of cake? How was your day honey? Why didn’t momma tell me it was this tough? Do you know how much I love you kid? God, why can’t I get a good night’s sleep? Were you a good boy? Where does it hurt? Let’s see, what did Santa bring you? Did you brush your teeth? Did you say your prayers? You hid your sister where? Why can’t they just grow up? Which of you didn’t let the dog out? Can’t you just take the trash out for once without being asked? Why are you sad? How was your day? Why do you want the car keys? Oh God, will you keep them safe? Is this what my parents went through? What makes you think you’re fat? Do you know how beautifully handsome you are? Can you believe they’re out of high school? When did they grow up so fast? Do we convert his room into the guest room? What do you mean another semester? Do you know how much it costs to send you to college? Why am I crying? Did you get the job? Do you know how proud of you I am? Did you call your dad? Are you eating right? Isn’t it pitiful that we’re still at war, and world hunger is on the rise? Did you hear about Sara’s cancer? Did she have to die so young? Life’s not always fair, is it? When do I meet this love of yours? Son, is she good to you? Have you set the date? Do I look fat in this dress? Daughter, will you be at church this Sunday? Dada, can I help you with that? Momma, didn’t you hear me? Will you and dada visit us this year? Kids, did you thank your grandparents for the gift? Do you miss your grandpa as much as I do? Why do I feel like an orphan without my parents around? When is our next church meeting? Have you seen my glasses? Really? I’m going to be a grandma? Isn’t my grandchild the cutest? Who knew being a grandparent would be this rewarding? Why don’t you put some socks on those little feet? Won’t he catch a cold like that? Do you want me to baby-sit? You want me to read “The Monster at the End of the Book”? Again!? Did you brush your teeth? Did you say your prayers? Do you know how much I love you? Isn’t life wonderful? What did I do to earn such joy? Did you call the doctor? Why am I tired? Why do my joints hurt? Did my best friend have to die so soon? God, why does it hurt so much? Why are we still at war? When is the next church meeting? How are the grand kids? Did they get the birthday card I sent them? Did they get their graduation gifts I sent them? Where did you say you were going for Christmas this year? Will I see you soon? Did the kids call? Did anyone call? Is it time for dinner? Why do I have to stay up till 9 p.m.? Why can’t I go to bed earlier? God, why can’t I get a good night’s sleep? Was it only yesterday? Do I have to swallow those pills? What did I spend my time on? With whom did I spend my time? God, I don’t remember…was I a good person? Can I stay a little longer? Do they know I love them? Do I have to go? Why? Please God, will you carry me? Did I make it God? Am I home yet?

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Accident or Coincidence?

Posted on October 13, 2012 by thisihumblyspeak

Whether coincidences are truly meaningful is a mystery. But for some and especially for me, talent for noticing and “manipulating” them is natural, because I believe in the concept of synchronicity, or as more commonly put, “everything happens for a reason.”

It was a hot, sunny Sunday morning, one of those “perfect for a stroll on the beach” kind of days. ID and I were walking the length of the shore while debating the validity of my belief.  I had said “bumps disguised as interruptions, annoyances, something unplanned, hold meaning in their appearance,” and that triggered our exercise in philosophical self-examination.
“There is no reason, no ‘look on the bright side’ argument to this,” said ID. “Things happen. If it’s a good thing, you’re lucky; if it’s bad, you’re unlucky. Stop looking for a ‘goodness’ reason in all things.” He was quite adamant. “Accidents or things happen because they happen.”
“Yes, accidents, as you call them, happen because certain factors in the process of life come together at that particular moment in that particular way resulting in a particular outcome which you wish to call unfortunate. It may not be unfortunate unless you wish to make it unfortunate.” I philosophized.
“Do you mean to tell me I am creating my own misfortune?” asked ID.
“In a way, yes,” I said softly. “If you see yourself as the victim of a situation, then that’s what you are. See yourself as being in that situation because you choose to be, and soon you’ll see that life proceeds from your intentions for it. Life is a process of elements and factors, and the result of your thoughts about it, positive or negative, is a choice you make,” I repeated.
“So, let me get this straight. I’m standing in a crowd watching a parade and a bird flying overhead drops a load and out of all the hundreds in the crowd, the crap lands on my head, and you’re telling me I’m supposed to look on the bright side and be positive because lucky me, there’s got to be a good reason behind this because I just got crapped on!?” ID was mocking me.
“Precisely!” I beamed, ignoring his sarcasm. “Out of all the hundreds in the crowd, what are the chances that the bird would land a load on you? How lucky you must be to be singled out. Imagine if that had been a gold coin that fell from the sky. Would you have considered it fortunate or unfortunate? Whether you believe in the concept of synchronicity or not, approach the mishap as a gift; the accidents as not so much of an accident but something we can always learn and grow from.” I stood my ground.       “You know, there is Divinity in coincidence,” I added.
“It’s just a simultaneous collision of two events that has no special significance and obeys the laws of probability,” insisted ID whose mathematical inclination was prone to list statistics. “Believing in the significance of oddities is very self-serving,” he added. “Accidents just happen. They don’t mean anything,” he mumbled.
“Yeah, but nothing happens by accident,” I chuckled.

We walked in silence breathing the cooler air of the sea breeze. The perfect blue of the ocean met the pale azure sky. The surf roared in the distance, rolled to a crash and lapped around our bare feet on the sand. The squeal of children splashing in the water mixed in harmony with the squawk of gulls flying high and low. I could not have asked for a more picture perfect moment when it happened.  A bird dropping fell on my head.
“How fortunate to be singled out!” beamed ID, with some tender irony as I started to clean the mess in my hair.
“Maybe it’s to prove my point. Bumps and inconveniences on our journey are the most powerful, transformational encounters,” I said. And at that moment, another bird dropping fell. “What are the odds of that?” I asked ID. I dunked my head in the cold waters of the ocean to wash away the residue, while ID rambled on, “Ian Fleming wrote ‘Once is an accident, twice is coincidence, three times is an enemy attack.’”
“Then let’s get out of here before the enemy attack,” I chuckled. It was still a perfect day.

For those of you wondering what ‘good’ came out of the “accident” or “coincidence”, I enjoyed and savored a delightful unplanned lunch with ID overlooking the ocean, under a covered patio.

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I Miss The Sounds

Posted on September 30, 2012 by thisihumblyspeak

I read the other day, that the most dominant memories that seem to persist are smell and odor linked. Second comes sound. Strange as it may seem, for most of us it is our noses that have such a hold on our memories. The familiar aroma of baked bread, the scent of perfume or suntan lotion, the smell of coffee or herbs, the musty odor of a damp room or even the reek of rotten food…all have the power to retrieve a detailed picture of past times and either whet the palate and stimulate the appetite or repulse the body causing shudders up and down the spine. But, for me, equally important are certain sounds that evoke not just a memory but a yearning for the familiar, like a song or melody, a sound that reminds me where my roots were planted by a humanity whose differing beliefs have been under attack for many years but have not been defeated. I came to know these sounds of differing beliefs as a child raised in the Middle East and abroad.
I grew up to appreciate the vibrations of bells ringing from the belfry of churches during the long summer months of my childhood in Lebanon or schooling in England. Bells that beckon arrivals and departures, births and funerals, weddings, baptisms and a call to prayer. I miss the bells. I grew up to appreciate the echoes of praise by Imams bellowing from high atop the minarets and over flat roof tops during the hot drawn days in the deserts of Kuwait. I miss the Adhan or “call to prayer.” I grew up to appreciate the resonating sound of chimes and gongs from neighbors’ homes leading their Buddhist friends into the early hours of meditation. I miss the gongs that beckon. For these are the sounds that publicly call the populace to prayer and meditation reminding us to take a moment away from our quest for daily bread and reach within ourselves.  In a world that is constantly moving at a pace that allows little time for personal introspection, I miss the daily sounds that act as a beacon for the vines of my soul, sounds that take me back to the roots of my upbringing. These are the sounds that bring forth a familiar calm, a feeling of mysterious connectedness linking me to others despite our vast differences in the complexities of our daily lives.
Like smells that unfold memories, the ability of sound to induce meditative states is a well-known practice of thousands of years to Hindu and Buddhist, Christian and Muslim, Jewish or Shinto cultures which uses rhythmic chanting, drums, chimes, gongs, bells and repetitive verse to awaken the consciousness and revitalize the knowledge and need of prayer. In our quest for our daily bread we are often numbed by the outside world. We run to meetings, we run to leave, we buy, we sell, we negotiate and deal. As working people we have become careless with our religion, and we seem to have cut God out of our lives. And though we live in a country that allows for freedom of worship without public imposition of bells and chimes and Adhan, I truly wonder whether the non-exposure to sounds that remind us to respect the other man’s time of worship is doing us more of a disservice by promoting a further lack of tolerance and understanding of the differing beliefs.
In our constantly moving modern world, we need some grounding. Life often catches us in a web of circular mazes. But for that brief moment when we hear the sounds that remind us to breathe… the tintinnabulation of bells, the Adhan of the Imam, cantors in temples or the resonance of the gongs…it is our chance to slow down or even stop to listen, regardless of whether the sounds call me or her or him to prayer. At that moment and ever so briefly, we are all being refreshed and become vessels of God.
May each of you find that particular sound in your daily lives that will prompt you to take a moment to meditate and reflect, and for that brief moment, you and I will mysteriously connect as we remove ourselves from the daily web that robs us of our ties with God. May you find the sound that brings us together to gain strength in our pursuit of the mundane. May you find that particular sound.

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Company of Strangers

Posted on September 5, 2012 by thisihumblyspeak

The hour is late and the night is dark, perhaps darker than most nights.  I have a long stretch of freeway to travel through unpopulated terrain while strapped into my seat, surrounded by leather, glass and metal, alone, at one with the steering wheel and windshield. The radio is tuned to soft music in the background which serves to entertain me at a subconscious level.  The aroma of fresh brewed coffee I picked up at the onset of my journey stimulates my senses, and a familiar comfort fills the cabin of the car. I ease into my solitude for the drive. There is an almost welcoming sweetness in that solitude. I do most of my thought gathering and memory sifting on these long stretches.   I drive at a steady pace changing lanes once in a while to either pass the random car on the right or to let the stranger in the car to my left overtake me. And that’s when it hits me as it has done on many a late night drive…there is that one car randomly traveling with me on the freeway for a really long time. Maybe it’s a semi truck with two dirt bikes on its way back from a day of fun, ormaybe it’s a college student in a dented car on a road trip. It could be a sedan driven by a traveling sales rep, or maybe a minivan with a driver and pet dog.  Or maybe, just maybe, it’s someone like me returning from a late night of meetings or social obligations.  Their occupation, profession or purpose on the road is irrelevant. The remarkable concept is that I am sharing the road with a stranger who has been traveling the distance with me. I don’t know who he/she is, but my heart lifts a bit when I realize that I’ve got company. Suddenly, it’s as if I have a freeway companion along for the ride. I smile.  Much as I am engulfed in my own thoughts, the knowledge that the same car is still driving along, either behind me and in front of me adds a warmth to the comfort of my thoughts and surroundings.

It is that same warmth I experience when traveling by plane, especially on long distance flights with connections in foreign countries. I arrive at the airport with ample time to enjoy a cup of coffee while waiting to board the plane. When I board the plane and head toward my designated seat, my eye might catch sight of someone. “I’m sure I’ve seen her  before,” I might think to myself, as I make my way to my seat, and then it occurs to me that she’s the same person who was standing  in line two orders ahead of me at the coffee shop where I bought my coffee. I smile. She’ll be on the 11 hour flight to Europe along with me. Sometimes, as I make my way up and down the aisle of the plane, I might catch sight of her. She, like me, seems to be content with just “being there.” The plane taxis in to the European city where I have a couple of hours before I make it to my connecting flight. As I disembark from the plane and make my way through the crowded terminal, she passes me. A silent nod of the head and a smile acknowledges “We had a good flight,” before steering into our separate ways. Once again I board the plane to make my final connection to the country of my destination. In my designated seat, I look up to find her sitting a few rows ahead or behind me. At meal time, I smile toward her and shake my head as she picks up her drink and toasts the air as if to say “I knew you wouldn’t leave me.” One final time, the plane taxis in to the airport of my final destination. This time I actually witness her departure with a slight trill of the hand, a final silent nod of the head and a broad smile that acknowledges “Thanks for being there. Enjoy your stay.”

Somewhere, at a fork in the road, a freeway exchange, or airport terminal the stranger and I will part company, but not before acknowledging each others’ presence with a honk or headlight flashes, a nod , a wave, or shake of the head that says, “Thanks for the company and may our paths meet again.”

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Praise the Man

Posted on June 16, 2012 by thisihumblyspeak

Much is said of the woman who works hard in and out of the home. Much is said of the working mother as a key figure in and among family life. But what of the working man, the father? I think he deserves mention.
I admire the working father of today who is actively involved in the lives of his family. My own baba was a hardworking, forward thinking beacon of light, stability and hope. He was a man unafraid to be a “real” man… a true father who had something of a mother in him…something tender; a true father who knew that his strength was to motivate and inspire not with a Zeus like authority but rather by gentle  example and support. He had a unique fondness of all mothers and insisted on women’s need to be educated and self-sufficient.  Like most men of his time, he had the wisdom of school-of-hard-knocks experience, yet he was a raging optimist, which became his greatest asset. He was a true father who influenced and changed the lives of countless people with his knowledge and a personality that came from a divine spark from within. I miss my baba but am grateful for his 93 years of God given life shared on this earth.

 Today’s man has come a long way from being the sole provider and protector of families and he has stepped in to take on some of the responsibilities that woman has worked hard to shed off her shoulders in the process of attempting to gain her share of equality. Admirable is the man who helps with the children, prepares them for school, picks them up, feeds them, bathes and dresses them, reads to them, plays with them, puts them to bed. He helps with budgeting, planning meals, shopping, cooking, laundry, washing, fixing things, entertaining guests, and, often solves a problem without bitching and moaning.  You see, man is a problem solver. He is brought up to be one. He finds a solution and he goes straight to it, regardless of whether it is what you want. He is pragmatic and solves your problem with a simple “you should…”
I appreciate the working father of today. He takes responsibility for his actions. He doesn’t make excuses. He is, after all, brought up to be the designated risk-taker even if the risk is emotional. Is not man the one women expect to take the ultimate emotional risk when, not knowing the outcome, he makes the first move by asking “Will you marry me?”?
I value the working man of today. He suppresses his sense of isolation when women or daughters are recognized as caregivers to parents even though the 2010 Census shows that almost 40 percent of caregivers are men. And though man is often made to feel less needed by the modern woman’s lack of regard for his masculinity by seeking to be a single parent, he is still the first to rush women and children out of burning buildings, put them in lifeboats first and help navigate them through high waters.
I praise the working father of today. He is still chivalrous despite being “scolded” for his niceness which is often misunderstood as lack of sensitivity or disrespect toward his “equal” counter-gender.   Next time a car breaks down, chances are, it’s a man who’s going to stop and offer to help. Carrying something heavy? Chances are a man is going to offer his help with it. Received a bouquet of flowers for an anniversary or birthday? Chances are the man sent them.
I like the working father of today. He is as educated as his female equal. He holds a full time job. He takes on the homemaker responsibilities with pleasure and enjoys time with his children. He is responsible and takes over what once was the predominantly female role of caregiver. He is not as emotionally shut down as once thought he was, and he does not bitch and moan. He is helpful off-road and in house. He is chivalrous; and if his upbringing to protect and shelter has not been altered, he will do so with blind faith for his family, his spouse and child/children. He is unafraid and ready to exert all he has for their sakes, physically, mentally, and spiritually, at any time of the day or night.  Praise the man, for he is found in your father, your brother, your husband, and your son. Praise the man. Happy Father’s Day.

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Congratulations Graduate

Posted on June 8, 2012 by thisihumblyspeak

Recently, I attended a graduation ceremony of the son of a dear friend of mine. The campus was stirring with motion and emotion. The atmosphere was electrifying with radiant hope swarming amid the buzz and commotion of proud parents and friends wrapped up in the moment, celebrating graduates at the threshold of their lives. It took me back to thirty some years ago when I had stood behind a podium and presented the valedictorian address to the graduating class of the University of La Verne, my Alma Mata.  As I recall the “speech,” the message then was rooted in dreams and passions of making the world a better place; of accepting the responsibility to become extraordinary citizens of humanity, to serve mankind and to leave the world better than we had found it.  Had much changed today?  If I were to address the graduates of today, what would I say with the accumulated “wisdom” of the years? My mind started to drift.

….Graduates… keep an open mind and recognize the wisdom revealed by life as a crucial catalyst to your education. The process of learning is lifelong. I shall never forget a few years back when my father had looked through TIME magazine, intrigued by news and science articles highlighted on the cover. He scanned the articles, shook his head as he put aside the magazine with a forlorn smile and said, “So much more to read, so much more to learn, yet so little time.” My father was 93 then.
Most of you will choose to seek further studies and attain higher grounds. You will be challenged, you will compete and you will perform with professionalism achieving the highest points of your desires. As important as your obligations are as doctors, scientists, lawyers, business leaders, athletes, educators, remember that you are human beings first and your human connections, parents, family, spouses, children, friends are the most important investments you will make. Do not fall prey to becoming victims of your lives. Become the heroes.
Find humor in your lives. Take time to laugh with your human connections. Your view of the world will become more realistic. You will become less egocentric and more humble when you reach that “AHA” moment, the moment of success. But more importantly, humor will make you feel less defeated in times of trouble, because inevitably, you will meet failure, you will meet disappointment. And when you have to face the dilemmas of good and evil, and are lost in the delicate shadings between the two, remember your purpose, remember this day, the day when classmates, family, faculty and friends celebrated you as a graduate and entrusted you with the future. Surround yourself with those human connections who will remind you of your beauty when you feel ugly; who will believe in your innocence when you feel guilty; who will make you whole again when you feel crushed; and who will set you on the right path when you feel you have strayed.
Take time to observe water in all its forms…steam, mist, droplets, trickles, rain, waves, torrents, sleet, snow, ice.  Each is water and each is crucial to the world we live in. At a recent assembly, the Archbishop Derderian quoted Mother Teresa who, when asked what she thought she could achieve as a single person doing all she did with such passion and devotion, had responded knowing that she was “just a drop in the ocean, but,” she had said, “the ocean would be less without that drop.”  Graduates, be that drop or be the torrent but do not separate yourself with labels, for you are each as water, crucial in different forms. Education is a lifelong process. And in the process do not neglect to pay your debts owed for your existence. Remember that the higher your achievement in the measure of your success, the greater your debt to the past. Do not let it be said of you what Voltaire the French poet said of one of Louis XIV ministers that “this man is guilty of all the good he did not do.” Pay your debts of the past through deeds of love and service. Root your lives in justice, compassion and humility and listen to the voice of your heart’s knowledge even when nobody else is looking.

Think all this, do all this with a strong faith in humanity, and you will have done an extraordinary task in a world that will be a better place.
Congratulations, Graduates!

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Mother

Posted on May 18, 2012 by thisihumblyspeak

Last Spring I had the good fortune of being in Beirut, Lebanon, and there, the first day of Spring is Mother’s Day. Buds bloom, trees unfold their brightness, birds nest, nature recycles life and the people of the Middle East celebrate new life and hope with Mother’s Day. It seems apropos. All things that remind us of hope, of life, of stability and belonging, of creation and procreation, are symbolized by and encompassed in the word Mother. Mother earth, Mother Nature, motherland, mother church, mother tongue, mother ship, mother board, mother of all inventions…mother.
Mothers.  Love them, or hate them. Look up to them or look down at them. Their loving hands caress gently or strike fervently. Cherish them or curse them. Emulate them or vow to become what they’re not. Idolize them or move away from them with disdain Nurtured or neglected by them, no matter how we feel, no matter what our sentiment regarding our emotional and psychological wellbeing, we owe who we are to our mothers.

As I reflect upon who I am today, a cyclorama of varied memories unfurl before me. Memories collected and stored– some precisely rendered and accurate while others grainy and modified by the caprices of time seem to ambush me with complexities of emotions. I thought it was easy to sum up my mother, but now as I face the reality of a life of a woman whose past strength has fed me, I have to remind myself that I cannot expect my mother to fight back with the same strength of her past. I come to realize that the complexities are mine and mine alone.

 There were moments in the past where as a child I was unnerved by mama’s sharp interrogative eyes that knew how to speak with a glare and bring out the difference between truth and fabrications. In my teens and youth I was angered by the strength of her fertile mind and charismatic verve. She proved her points and always came out triumphant. Then as a young woman I began to appreciate the debating bright mind that helped me to straighten the jagged edges in my life situations. Today, I am moved to tenderness when I see in her eyes a frightened look that almost immediately shifts into a world of her own. What was once precisely accurate in her reasoning now wafts intermittently between real time and years of memory that fail to connect.
Sitting before me is incarnate the wisdom of a woman, which, as I recall, she happily shared by example and through lessons that at the time seemed harsh, but in retrospect and over the years, appear well invested. She smiles…a beatific, pensive smile. Somewhere in that smile is a no nonsense woman who knew how to pull a family of over 70 relatives together, host dinners for business associates and still find time to volunteer her learned and intuitive skills among friends and benevolent organizations. She asks me, “What are you writing?” “Things I’ve learned from you,” I reply. She nods, and for a split moment, the interrogative eyes reappear. She taught well. She taught hard. She pushed for perfection to make up for her imperfections. She is human. She makes mistakes. She is counselor to many, consoler to even more, a worrier and a warrior, a cheer squad when needed, a philosopher in her own right, and an example of unconditional love in the form of perfect composure. She is mother.
“What are you writing?” she repeats again. Repetition, once used as a habit for instructing and absorbing facts and for demanding compliance is now simply a habit for loss of remembrance. I repeat, “Things I’ve learned from you.” There is a nostalgia in my voice, an almost sadness. “Like what?” she asks. Encouraged by her interest I start to ramble about how she taught me that the ultimate purpose in life is to be a convinced servant of humanity; to be able to give the best of oneself is a true and only gift that one can give to the world; that there is divinity in coincidences; that the valor of a person is measured by what he/she does behind closed doors; that when all is said and done, we are accountable to a higher authority; that to waste money is to disrespect its value; that there is no difference between rich and poor except in our perceptions and judgment; that there is a difference between pity and compassion; that nothing is worth doing if not done with a value of the virtues. “Do not use slander. Maintain the integrity of your soul,” she interjects. She is aglow with serenity and compassion. She is content.

At the end of that day, as I said good night to my mother, I lost myself in a memory of moments when I had been a little girl. I recall waking up one night to see my mother’s silhouette in the bedroom. Her fingers intertwined gracefully around her clasped hands in a prayer position. In the near gloaming light that emanated from a framed image of the Virgin Mary and Child, my mother was praying, reciting in an almost whisper. Upon seeing me awake and I having told her that I couldn’t sleep, she left the room and returned with a small apple which she handed to me to eat. She assured me that eating the apple would bring sleep to my eyes. She then resumed her position and continued her prayers while I ate the apple. When both of us were done with our “tasks,” she approached my bed, and with a tender word, she kissed me and tucked me in again for the night. Whether it was the image of my mother praying, the soft whispering lull of the words, or the bites of the apple that immersed me into immediate slumber I shall never know, but I do know this… that till today an apple at night helps me sleep. The memory clings to me as comfortably as does the fit and warmth of a favorite old sweater.

That night, as I kissed my mother goodnight and pulled the blanket over her aging body, I said a short prayer and as I turned to walk out the door, I heard the soft whispering lull of her prayers. From my pocket, I took a neatly wrapped apple and in the near gloaming light of the Beirut night skies, I bit into it.

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