State of Grace

Years ago, we hired a part-time nanny/housekeeper. Delia, as we’ll call her, started out strong, but things went south pretty quickly. Long about week three, she asked for a small loan – her car needed a few repairs. We had a vested interest in her having reliable transportation so we wrote the check. Before the first payment was made on the loan, Delia had another request – an advance on her pay. She needed cash for a family emergency. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, we wrote another check.

And then Delia disappeared. Didn’t show up for work the next week. Or the next. No phone calls to explain. Not a word. We weren’t surprised. Just disappointed.

But we were surprised when she rang a few months later. Yes, she needed money. Just a little. She was sorry for skipping out on us like that. Things were looking up, she would repay every penny.

You know what happened. Strike three. Yet she continued to call occasionally - there was no more money exchanged after that, we’re generous, not stupid – but we were always amazed at her gumption. How dare she expect more! Not long after that, we moved out-of-state and that was the last we heard from Delia.

Yesterday, I was at the MRT, just got off the train, was walking through the station. And a passerby ran into me. Hard. She had a big clunky bracelet on and it hit me right on the edge of that little bone on the inside of my wrist and reverberated up through my shoulder. She shot an ugly glance over her shoulder as she hurried on her way.

I started to cry like a baby. I’m not talking getting misty-eyed, or shedding a few tears. I mean a full-fledged, all out bawl. I dug through my purse for a tissue and my phone – I had to call Charlie and tell him how mean she had been.

Then it hit me. I’m still grieving. And grief has left me very fragile. I thought it was behind me, heaven knows I’ve had lots of tears for my dad. But I was confident the really hard cries were a thing of the past. Now, just like Delia, here was that greedy fellow, Grief, knocking at the door, expecting even more from me. How dare he.

I talked with Charlie, wiped my eyes, and climbed aboard bus 174 to continue my journey. There was only one seat open. A school girl, absorbed in her iPod, was closer to it. Just my luck, I thought. Then she glanced at me, loaded down with packages, nodded her head, and walked on, leaving the seat for me. I plopped down, dropped my bags at my feet, and smiled. It is amazing how much a little kindness can accomplish. My entire mood shifted.

As I sat there reframing, a mom and her two children boarded a few stops down the road. The seats beside me had since opened up, and they sat down, the little boy fussing terribly. The mom apologized – he was just hot and tired, she said. I assured her there was no need for apologies – I understood. We struck up a conversation – they are an American family here for a short-term assignment this summer, learning their way around. She was talking about the challenge of grocery shopping with no car so when I told her about the home delivery service offered free by most of the big supermarkets, she was pretty happy. I gave her my name and number, asked her to give me a call if I could help in any way, and exited at my stop.

Grief will still surprise me now and then – he can ask all he wants, but it’s mine to give, not his to take. You see I’ve relocated – to the state of Grace. Much harder for him to reach me there.

And, as I set out on this new day, I choose kindness – someone out there always needs it.

Family

Charlie and I saw this ad for the first time the other night...had to share it. Well done and thought-provoking. Have a look...it's only 3 minutes.

Family

Dad

As many of you already know, my Dad died on May 7. It was not expected; for 76, he was in pretty good shape and hadn’t been sick, besides what we thought were the typical aging things. He went in for surgery in late April, came through just fine, came off the ventilator, and we had a couple of great days. Then, his lungs took a turn for the worse, he went back on the vent, and 12 long days later, his kidneys began to fail. It was at that point that we knew it was time for us to say goodbye. We knew he was ready. In fact, we’re pretty certain he had known for quite some time that his earthly days were growing short.

On Friday afternoon, May 7, at 4 p.m., we were close by his side, holding his hands and praying with him as he went home to heaven. It was the most painful and the most beautiful moment of my life. It is said that those who love deeply, grieve deeply. I think it is a fair trade. I would not relinquish any of the love, the laughter, the arguments, the discussions, or the memories that I shared with Dad. Do I miss him? No words can describe it. But I know where he is, and I know we will rejoice together again. Our hope is in the Lord.

A few weeks before he died, he called me out to the front porch to talk with him and a dear friend of his who had just been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. Dad wanted me to tell this friend what I thought about death and heaven. I struggled to reply, to find some words of comfort, believing they were for his friend. My own words failing me, I turned to Paul. He wrote this in a letter to the Corinthians. If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all others. (I Cor. 15:19) I went on to say that death may seem like a terrible thing, but we hold on to God’s hand, keep walking, and soon we see that it was just part of God’s plan for us, a momentary pain to reach an everlasting joy.

Later, when Dad was so sick and we were told the end was near, these words came back to me, and I thought to myself “Oh, Dad wasn’t asking me to tell this to his friend. He was asking the question for himself.” I fretted over my answer, trying to recall what I had said. Did it bring him any comfort?

A few days after he died, these words again came to my mind and, amidst all the funeral arrangements, the tears, the grief, a peace came upon me. And I smiled. Dad hadn’t asked me for clarification for his friend or for himself. He wanted me to say it so when I needed it I would remember what I believe and REALLY BELIEVE IT. When it comes to faith, like Yoda says “Do. Or do not. There is no try.”

I do. I do believe.

Thanks Dad.

Soul Food

Another year, another feast. These are the books I consumed last year – some quite nutritious, others purely indulgent, but for the most part, all greatly enjoyed. I’ve already started on this year’s batch – more on those in the days ahead. But for now, a 2009 recap.

First, the nonfiction. All were great reads - the ones in bold are highly recommended.

90 Minutes in Heaven (Don Piper)
Musicophilia (Oliver Sacks)
Readings from the Ancient Near East (Arnold, Beyer)
The World’s Religions (Huston Smith)
Markings (Dag Hammarskjold)
The Human Brain Coloring Book (Diamond, Scheibel, Elson)
What’s So Great About Christianity? (Dinesh D’Souza)
The Path Between the Seas (David McCullough)
Why Religion Matters (Huston Smith)
Outliers (Malcolm Gladwell)
Here If You Need Me (Kate Brastrup)
The Art of Asking: Ask Better Questions, Get Better Answers (Terry J. Fadem)
What You Can Change and What You Can’t (Martin Seligman)
My God, Our God! (E. Joseph Steier)
What Jesus Meant (Gary Wills)
First, They Killed My Father (Loung Ung)
My Stroke of Insight (Jill Bolte Taylor)
On Gold Mountain (Lisa See)
I and Thou (Martin Buber)
Death: The Final Stage of Growth (Elizabeth Kubler-Ross)
The Color of Water (James McBride)

And fiction which I’ve categorized a bit further:

Favorites:
People of the Book (Geraldine Brooks)
Their Eyes were Watching God (Zora Neale Hurston)
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Stieg Larrson)
The Girl who Played with Fire (Stieg Larrson)
The Girl who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest (Stieg Larrson)
84 Charing Cross Road (Helene Hanff)
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society (Shaffer and Barrows)
44 Scotland Street (Alexander McCall Smith)
Espresso Tales (Alexander McCall Smith)
Love over Scotland (Alexander McCall Smith)
The Unbearable Lightness of Scones (Alexander McCall Smith)
The World According to Bertie (Alexander McCall Smith)
La’s Orchestra Saves the World (Alexander McCall Smith)
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith)
Firefly Lane (Kristin Hannah)
To Dance with the White Dog (Terry Kay)
The Household Guide to Dying (Debra Adelaide)
The Collected Tales of Nikolai Gogol

Entertaining:
In the Kitchen (Monica Ali)
Inspector Singh: Most Peculiar Malaysian Murder (Shamini Flint)
Inspector Singh: A Bali Conspiracy Most Foul (Shamini Flint)
We Are All Made of Glue (Marina Lewycka)
Simple Genuis (David Baldacci)
The Red Thread (Dawn Farnham)

Left me feeling ? What the heck was that?:
On Beauty (Zadie Smith)
The Accidental (Ali Smith)
Never Let Me Go (Kazuo Ishigero)
My Favourite Wife (Tony Parsons)
The Angel’s Game (Carlos Ruiz Zafon)

Pleasant surprises recommended by Charlie:
A Scandalous Man (Robin Ester)
One Day (David Nicholls)

If you’re a fan of Lamb (as I am – I Know This Much is True is one of my all-time favorites) – otherwise, you may not like either one:
The Hour I First Believed (Wally Lamb)
Wishin’ and Hopin’ (Wally Lamb)

Happy reading!!

Coming soon to a bookstore near you!

What a night! This past Friday, 6 November 2009, marked – to my surprise – the inaugural meeting of the Jennie Smith International Fan Club. Perched high atop the city at New Asia Bar, my dear friends, Lou Anne, Scott, Pilar and Frank – presented me with an official plaque, a charter, and ID badge. I even have an official seal!!

So, you say – what is this all about? Well, this summer I wrote a novel. Raiders of the Red Dot – all about mystery and intrigue in Singapore. Valuables buried away during WWII. Treasured objects snatched from Baghdad museums. Precious sacred writings traded to the highest bidder. So, in anticipation of the bestseller list, my friends were kind enough to boost my spirits and lend their support as I wade through the murky waters of publishing.

Stay posted – and get your orders in now!

Winging it

Last night at dinner at the American Club, there were two men sitting at a table behind Charlie and me, one of whom had a vocabulary comprised mostly of the f-bomb. And he didn’t speak in mild tones. At one point, I was tempted to go to the library, fetch a dictionary, and present it to him. “Sir, there are a variety of adjectives in here. Have a go at learning some new words to define your world.”

Then I started thinking – what if the words we say created a tangible aura around us? What would mine look and smell like? Yikes…maybe I don’t want to know.

Words, written or verbal, are vital to our existence. They are how we build relationships, get work done, create our world. But I know I often use them recklessly and unconsciously.

My friend, L., and I were talking yesterday about the common stereotypes in organizations about various departments – legal, H.R., finance, marketing. I realized how debilitating these preconceptions can be to team spirit – and, even when we think we’re encouraging teamwork, how easily innuendo can undermine unity. An accountant walks into the conference room and someone says “Ah, the bean counters are here.” Or comments are made like “the folks from legal are sure to slow us down.” Or “those marketing guys don’t have a clue about who really does the work around here.” These little digs, often disguised as humor, are like poisonous darts aimed right at the heart of the team.

Another word abuse to watch out for is the use of the term “girl” for almost any female co-worker. Would you call a male co-worker a “boy”? “Who’s that boy in engineering on the first floor?” I don’t think so, unless you are truly employing child labor. So what term is appropriate? I personally like “colleague”. It’s gender-neutral, professional, and respectful. Take it out for a test spin.

In the book of Samuel, the elder Eli mentors the young boy Samuel, instructing him to listen to God when he calls. Samuel does, and we are told that “the Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground.” (I Samuel 3:19) When Samuel spoke, his words were true, purposeful, and sound.

F-bombs drop loudly, and bring no lasting return to the speaker nor reward to the hearer. But good words – words of integrity, honesty, and generosity – these words soar.

May your words have wings.

A careless word may kindle strife,
A cruel word may wreck a life,
A timely word may lessen stress,
A loving word may heal and bless.
-- Author Unknown

It takes a village

We set our alarm a little earlier so we could enjoy the hotel buffet a bit longer before our trek to two villages, first on land, then on water. Vy and our driver were waiting – with a 4-wheel drive. Our first stop was a rough ride down a dirt road to a small village. The town center was bustling with commerce. From there, we traveled by oxcart, or as Vy says - “Cambodian BMW” - further into the village where we visited a school.

Cambodia was colonized by the French, but gained independence in the 1950s under the rule of a prince who was eventually replaced by a democratic government. In 1975, the country was seized by the Khmer Rouge, a radical group with a vision of creating a perfect agrarian society with no Western influence. Before they were overthrown by the Vietnamese, the Khmer Rouge under the leadership of Pol Pot, killed one-fourth of the country’s population, almost 2 million people. The trial of one of the leaders is currently underway right now so check out CNN for more information. Also, the book “First They Killed My Father” by Loung Ung is a heart-wrenching story of one family’s experience. Amazingly, the Cambodian people are beautiful, generous, and welcoming – in spite of the horrors of their recent past. Or perhaps because of it. They seem to take special joy in simple things – food preparation, friendship, children, nature.

After a brief rest back at the hotel, we set off for the floating village. Many of the homes in Cambodia are elevated to accommodate rising waters during rainy season, but the floating village takes it one step further. It’s floating 24/7/365 – including the stores, schools, dogs, gas stations, even a pig farm.

Now for some shopping. What would we take home to remember this lovely country? The Khmer Rouge had been especially hostile to educated people, artists, doctors – urbanized people. Cambodian culture lost many of its teachers and artists during the genocide. Artisans Angkor is a special school that was established to train students in traditional arts, such as silk weaving and painting, lacquer, and stone carving. We had a short tour of the school and then visited the gift shop where we picked up a variety of items. After that, it was a stop at S. Khey Art Gallery where Kate purchased “Happy Monks.”

Then it was back to the hotel around 5 p.m. A very long day, we were hot and tired, but not too weary for a visit to the pool and a chat with Bun Von. We met another American couple there and shared tales of our adventures as the sun set on our last night in Cambodia. Back to Singapore tomorrow, but we hope our future holds a return to Siem Reap.

Village People