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Loving the Good

10 Jul

I would make a good vigilante.  Well that is not completely true…a partially good vigilante.  A possibly good vigilante?  Ok, okay; vigilantes and good cannot coexist–at least they would not coexist within my person.  But I can attest to the fact that I do love it when good prevails and within my fantastical perspective, which I am indulging within this writing, the vigilance committee makes no mistakes while righting the wrong of another.  Thus, it is always good (do I really need to remind that this is fantasy, not reality?  Well there it is, the reminder, just in case one of you reading wanted to jump on that last statement as if it were rooted in truth.).  And with a deep sigh of relief…sigh, sigh, sigh…I can tell you that today I was privileged to experience the good; no vigilanteism required.

As written in my previous post titled, “Choosing My Stride”, my friend and her children were in peril as a result of violence within their home.  I am happy to say that she and the wee ones are in the loving, and extremely adept, care of Human Options (humanoptions.org).  Their safety is secured and the process of healing has begun.  Within the chaos of the last several days, there was one aspect of calm that came alongside us and whose presence brought forth such good that I am still blown away by it at this moment.

The calm force, ironically, was the high profile criminal attorney (also mentioned in the last post).  Without so much as a dime in his pocket, he invested time, energy, expertise, and his connections toward assisting my friend and thereby her children.  The result?  Today we received word that the district attorney rejected the case against her due to the complexity of the domestic violence circumstance.  This victory came without a signed contract, without a verbal agreement for payment, and in full knowledge that funds were not on hand.  And with today’s news, no funds are needed.  Case closed.  Again, as mentioned above, my loved ones are now fully able to focus on healing.

When goodness crosses my path, I feel as if I am bubbling over inside myself with joy.  I honestly feel giddy, as if I have been granted access to something extremely special.  As a result I want to express my elation from the roof tops (or tree tops, or any tops for that matter), “I have met a person of quality; a person with integrity; a person who exhibits generosity; a person who cares!”  It is not that I do not know and dwell in the company of such people, I assure you I am blessed to say I do.  And to them I give the same accolades, and for them I thank G-d daily.  But in the last several days, and most specifically today, I was privy to be witness to the good in action–the selfless, generous gift from a stranger.  A stranger only because the introductions are fresh.  Though with the bond of fighting the good fight between us, a new alliance is formed.  And indeed I am proud to say I know this person.  He is a good man!

For the first time in six months, in regard to the circumstance of my friend and her family, I can truly breathe.  The vigilant Rivka is not needed, of course it never is.  Gratitude abounds and joy leads to a peaceful slumber.  Hallelujah and an Amen.

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Risk Of

23 Jun

The other day, when I accompanied Cole (my disabled son) to the airport to fly to Oregon for a white water kayaking experience, I had the daunting task of taking my hands off his care and entrusting his well being to himself.  …Please take a moment to pause at this sentence and consider that I am a mother, who loves her son.  Period.

Pause, pause, pause, pause.

I was standing next to Cole at the Jet Blue gate, while he was sitting in a wheelchair holding his USMC backpack and his cane.  He was awaiting the escort who would take him to the taxiing jet.  When the escort arrived, Cole was juggling his boarding pass along with the other two items mentioned.  I found myself ready and eager to assist with suggestions for a more efficient and safe ride to the plane EXCEPT, the USMC emblem on the pack reminded me of who my son is and who he isn’t.

He is a capable and experienced human being.  He is not a feeble unaware teenaged child.  He is a burgeoning man who has several travel experiences, without his mommy and daddy, under his belt.  He is not without knowledge of how to hold a ticket, backpack, and cane while being escorted via wheelchair through corridors–after all, he traveled to Nicaragua in January just after having had an eye surgery!  He is his own being.  He is not mine.

As I caught myself and halted my intrusive actions, I waved goodbye and watched him pass through the door with himself as his advocate and a stranger for an escort.  I turned toward the exit and coaxed myself through the door with the above reminders guiding my every step back to the parked car.  Had Cole been underage, I would have stayed until the airplane lifted off the ground.  But again, he is not that little boy any more, so I kept walking.  In my journey to the roof top of the parking structure I reminisced about the last email sent to us from the camp Cole was off to (www.firstdescents.org).  It was an email with a waiver attached that was mandatory he sign in order to attend.  It was a “Risk Of…” waiver.  Essentially, as you can fathom with a white water kayak camp, the waiver covered any and all possible risks of injury, illness, and potential death.  He had to sign his life away in order to live.  OK, that was a bit of a dramatic statement, but it works so I’ll leave it be.

Now at my car, I sat a moment in the silence ever so present due to the vacancy of the passenger seat.  And the idea of “risk of..” kept rolling over and over within my mind.  At that moment I wanted to express a profound prayer on my son’s behalf, but “risk of, risk of, risk of…” kept me from being able to land on continual thoughts which could possibly formulate into a petition to The Father to benefit my son.  And then I finally realized, “Yes, there is a ‘risk of’.  But that is a risk we all have to take, every day of our lives.  And Cole, fully aware, was interested in experiencing life despite the known perils.”  With the calm now present within my soul which came from the acceptance of the statement, I was ready to formulate a prayer.

“Lord, I pray Cole will have a good time.  And Lord, if he dies, I pray he dies happy…amen.”

I then turned on the car, drove out of the structure, and left the area before the plane took off.  Knowing full well the risks of the day, the hour, the moment, and the future.  Risks I’m willing to take and be a part of.  It is just plain old living.  Nothing new, no epiphany, just plain ‘ol livin’.

Cole called this morning.  He hasn’t yet been on the white water or in the kayak.  He has been sick to his stomach and very aware he is the only camper who is challenged physically, to the degree he is.  I handed the phone to my loving husband and walked away.  His dad gave him a pep talk over the phone and I am giving myself one still…

“Risk of, Rivka.  …risk of!”

 

 

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Not So Common Courtesy

18 Jun

As I was in the middle of preparing tonight’s dinner (or supper, depending on the region you belong to), the phone rang.  The area code was one which I recognized, and which I anticipated a call back from, so I answered the call.  My “hello” was met with a fast paced presentation about solar energy and the “absolutely free cost for installation” provided from the government, should I qualify.  The man on the line then said, “Now I’m going to ask you several questions.  First…”  At that point I went in for the kill!  “I need to stop you right there!  What did you say your name was?  Well Mark, I do believe the appropriate way to proceed, before telling me you are going to ask me questions, is to first ask me if I am interested in being a candidate.”  To which I said, after he asked, “No”.  And he said, “Well … we are supposed to…”no?”…well then goodbye!”  —CLICK—

I’m thinking that Mr. Mark has never had a lesson in courtesy.  At least that is the idea I have decided to land on.  I was honestly ready to give him a good lesson, but he was so confounded by my interruption of his script, or re-direction rather, that his best response was to hang up.  No matter to me.  I was cooking and prepping food which is always nice to do two handed (instead of holding the phone with one hand).

And I would have left the incident there, instead of bringing up here, but the topic of courtesy–or lack thereof–has really been heavy on my mind as of late.  For instance, today when driving up to Long Beach I had the unpleasant experience of having a car speed up upon seeing my indicator light flash, signaling my move to the next lane.  I had, upon depression of the switch, plenty of room to move over until the car sped up with intent to block my indicated lane change.  Now since I couldn’t drag the driver to the side of the road and give him a proper lesson in courtesy, and since I couldn’t legally disable his rear tire by way of assistance from a firearm, I was left with only one choice.  I moved into the lane I had indicated I was going to move into as if the discourtesy of the other driver was in no manner affecting my action.  In other words, I arrogantly moved over into the lane as if to say, “go ahead, hit me–you ass!”  I think my confidence (call it what you will, but I will hang on confidence), stems from driving classic cars…they can withstand a bumping into without sustaining significant damage.  The only problem–I wasn’t driving one of my classics at the time.  I was in a new fan-dangled plastic bumper-ed car.  And though, thankfully, I was not hit nor did I cause an accident of any kind, my action did force the other driver to hit his brakes because I (in a vehicle of course) was now in his face.

I realize that in both of my anecdota one could argue the infraction lies in my response…as I appear to be a little too tightly wound.  To which I concur (to being tightly wound), though I will not accept the title of, discourteous.  Let me explain.

The salesman, Mr. Mark, knowingly cold-called my number at the dinner hour.  Without knowing anything about who he was calling, he brazenly proceeded without gaining the proper introductions and permission to do so.  And truly, had Mark come across with an ounce of consideration, I would have heard him out or suggested a better time to try back.   Had the conversation begun something like, “Good evening.  I am sorry to interrupt your day, but may I have your permission to discuss an exciting opportunity for you to be given solar energy?”, I would have been more receptive to his information…honestly!

And as far as driving…

You can consider me the type of driver who doesn’t believe in speeds less than 65mph.  That is right, Sammy Hagar and his ‘I can’t drive 55’ has nothing on me, cause 65 is my minimum!  But even so, should you activate your indicator light to move over to my lane, I will make way for you.  And though I prefer my way on the road be uninterrupted and in a constant forward motion, I will change my lane or adjust my acceleration, in order to accommodate the understood request presented by either your right or left flasher.

To me, consideration of others is an action we are each obligated to bestow, and an action we are obliged to receive.  And because I do consider others while driving, or calling, or interacting; and also because I am wound super tight…I feel compelled to instruct by passive or not so passive means.  After all, the coined term is “common courtesy”…though today it is appearing to be ‘not so common’.

Oy vay, write about a subject of this kind and watch out! …I am opening myself up to having all of my ‘missteps’ listed out before me.  Bring it on, I say; bring it on.  🙂

 

 

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