Hatred is beneath the problems that we are facing and to some degree, in every negative experience.
Choose Love.
God is Love.
Someone once said that there are only two emotions…love and everything else.
All other emotion weaken the spirit.
A level of hatred lies within all of them, as the “little bit” in something as seemingly innocuous as self-doubt for falling short of one’s own expectations, to the extreme level that energizes feelings of rage for atrocities suffered by the masses that have become part of the history of mankind…and everything in between.
It is actually very simple and not the confusion that clouds the mind.
Could this be the grand design of The Creator?
He has given us a way to live our lives. He has given us His Ten Commandments.
Do we know what they are? Not knowing is leading the world to destruction.
Hatred for atrocities formed against us is a natural first response for a human being.
Remember that He and only He is to judge. Assuming this role for ourselves leads us in the wrong direction, away from Him.
Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.
Romans 12:19
We want to see judgement come to those who cause harm. And when it doesn’t seem to come when we expect it should, when we are so effected, maybe to extent of suffering physical pain, it seems by things that feel out of our control, we may feel justified with hatred for those people or organizations for all of the damage and feelings of hopelessness. This is a trap, a set-up by evil; evil hoping that you do not know the word of God.
Allowing ourselves to be influenced enough to hate is the work of the evil one.
Jesus is love. After being nailed to the cross, He recognized His enemies’ spirits were weakened by hate. He spoke to God:
Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.
Luke 23:34
The way of life is the way of Love…The Grand Design.
Sometime in the 1970s, there was a tv commercial by The United Negro College Fund which ended with this line. It was a commercial promoting the significance of education. Not sure if I’ve used the correct article; it could have declared “A” mind, etc. None the less the message remains the same.
What/who do we rely upon to inform us? Have we actually given thought to this question? I will guess many people have never. We are provided unsolicited information, answers to questions never asked. We live in a fast-paced environment leaving little space and time for our minds to ponder, to reach the place from where questions arise. We need not put in the effort, ultimately accepting data bombarding our senses. What is wrong here? Everything goes along smoothly so what could be wrong with this?
Well, in the presence of overwhelming information and distractions, we may have completely lost connection with what could be our own thoughts. But would we notice this phenomenon at all?
Observing trending ideologies, I am amazed with how easily they take root and grow; how readily accepted, that questions asked by a person who pauses to think before accepting information seems to be an irritant to others who accept without question whatever is presented. People can even become violent in their beliefs which I contend are not actually their own. The worst of this is that most likely, they won’t realize this. In so many areas of their lives, they haven’t had to actually think things through, so they don’t know that they have this natural ability. They don’t know the valuable resource within themselves. And the thinking person is a fright, a danger to their stability and safety. They put up defenses. They will argue a point, not realizing the genesis of which is not of themselves. They are not accustomed to being present with themselves.
We are feeling, experiencing how detrimental this has become for our society.
Ha! I actually had a client, a young woman, who once remarked that she doesn’t like to think!
Take time. Put in the work. Go within. Ask questions!
The following statement, I understand, was made by one of the brothers in Dostoyevsky’s novel, The Brothers Karamazov. I cannot verify this statement that I heard over the radio one day in the recent past. On my cursory search here on the internet, I have found only parts of the statement and also many refuting the existence of it at all. I have not read the book in which it is alleged to be found, but the words ring true of the world in which we find ourselves.
Char
The statement:
If there is no belief in God, then all things are possible. Then there is no right or wrong and the most powerful people rule the world.
Attributed to Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Russian Novelist
1821-1881
Colossians 1:16-17 For in Him all things were created, things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities. All things were created through Him and for Him. / He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together.
It is probably not a good idea to anticipate approval from other people.
They will resent you for this.
Harsh but true, they may even have contempt for you.
If it exists at all, your value is a self-determination. If people are drawn to you, they have the assumption that you are self-assured, just as they are self-assured. Otherwise, with the feeling that they may not be able to trust their instincts, they will loathe having taken notice of you.
If you are a mature adult, why would you look toward others to inform you of your value?
Respect that this is self-work and part of what people notice about you, especially when it is missing.
I’m writing this after finding a note to myself written a long time ago about a friend, a beautiful woman. She was never pleased with herself, no matter what she wore or how she styled her hair. I didn’t understand the problem until I noticed her interaction with a man that she wanted to know.
We were out together with another girlfriend. There was an attractive man walking toward where we were sitting. It was clear that he was focused on her. Though she already had his attention, she proceeded with swinging her hair from side to side, and sitting provocatively, more animated, etc.. She was embarrassing and so obvious that I looked toward the guy to see his response to her. He actually looked disappointed as his wide smile softened by the time he reached us. He probably expected a different response, perhaps just a little more reserved. He was polite and generous, ordering drinks all around. He stayed long enough to finish his drink and make a graceful exit back to his friends.
She was one of my best friends. And I remember that she had a terrible relationship with her father. He was never pleased with anything that she did. He was cold and critical.
Finding and reading this note to myself from so long ago, I think of how my dad was with me. He has been gone for a long time now. Though I have never given any thought about our relationship in comparison to my friend’s with her father, I think of it now.
May dad was a quiet man, so it is easy to remember the things that he said, and the consistent and reliable support that he was for me. Being the last of six children, it seems to me now that my father was aware of how I could get lost in the crowd of our family. He let me know that he could see me. One of my favorite memories is that at the end of the week on Friday evenings, so that I wouldn’t miss his arrival, I colored in my coloring book on the living room floor, waiting for him to return home from work. He’d walk in and without stopping or saying a word, he’d toss a Clark bar onto my coloring book. This was the rare thing as there were no extras in our family of 9.
My father was a busy and hard-working man with a lot of responsibilities to our family. And he also made time to let me know that noticed me. Just between the two of us, that Clark bar was a powerful gesture. It is an amazing thing that thinking about those times, I can still feel how I felt then, when I was 6 years old. My father always reminded me of how I could become whatever I could imagine. He said that often.
I don’t think my girlfriend got that message about herself.
My wish is that those of us who feel empty or unseen by the world could realize that we are amazing, every one of us is an amazing human being.
Parents provide this awareness through their love for us, but sometimes they themselves are also injured in the same way, by their parents. They don’t know how even if they want to be a better parent for their children. Unfortunately, feeling inadequate to give what the child is so needing, a parent’s reaction to this may be criticism and ridicule, for what they didn’t realize was missing in themselves. It is a desperate and harmful reaction for sure. Both the child and the parent are at a loss for understanding and both experience pain and longing.
But the truth is that we are made in His image, in the image of God, The Creator. If we believe this, then we can heal ourselves and we can forgive others. With this knowing, we can repair our hearts and love ourselves and those that have hurt us.
So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.
Genesis 1:27
Everyone of us is beautiful and amazing, every one.
We may think we know ourselves, but unless and until we determine and identify the various aspects of our personality, I wonder how can we truly know.
I may not be describing this as well as I might, but this is how it seems to me.
We should have an awareness of what is important to us, what we keep within us; such as:.
What we believe.
What we will not tolerate.
We we must always do in every situation.
What we will never allow ourselves to do in any situation, and so on.
And what are the things that we expect of other people who enter our lives, etc. etc..
Each person brings a pre-determined standard along with every encounter, otherwise we are vulnerable to any well-phrased opinion, especially by someone we admire.
Speaking of this, you may give credibility to someone, an eloquent speaker with a well spring of knowledge, very convincing, charismatic and engaging. But what if something that is said comes against a standard that you have for yourself…a standard that you actually have, but have not determined or recognized as such?
Maybe you paid to be in the audience of this person. You are enjoying what you are hearing. Then suddenly, the person says something that is a little irritating, just “a little bit” (channelling De Niro’s character from the movie Goodfellas, haha!). The person has captured your attention and has your trust and respect. But still, you find what has just been uttered to be slightly irritating. It doesn’t fit. Their narrative should resonate with you; you expected it to have. You are annoyed with yourself because of this intrusive and inconvenient feeling. You want it to go away. You wait to hear something that overrides this initial response within you, bringing the speaker back in line with what you expect to hear. You invested in this moment after all. Are you the only one who feels this way? It may seem to be only with you.
In a very real way it is only you. It is personal.
Whether you have actually given thought to this or not, you have a guidance system. And it may come as a surprise to find how unconsciousness you can be of it, and how it works with and for you.
I would like to suggest that you take a moment to identify what makes you who you are by getting to know your silent guidance system. What are your morals and standards for yourself, and for others? It may take a while because who can name every thing, and you have not thought In this way before, not like this? But it can be very enlightening. And the irritation that you felt with the person of many opinions, well, you will probably come to realize has something to do with your internal guidance system.
Discovering yourself by naming the things that make you who you are can be a lot of fun and a little surprising! But what is even more significant, is realizing there is a system at work all of the time. Trust that it is sorting things out for you. And, while identifying your guidance system, you may find that some things could be changed, in order to be your authentic self! If you are clearly and honestly identifying what guides you, you may want to actually make a change or two. With determined and thorough examination, you may have found by identifying all that is guiding you, that changes can be made! Each of us, we are evolving all of the time. So taking this look of what is guiding us can be thought of as maintenance; making sure that we are aligned with ourselves in the present time.
It is a hell of a thing! Residing within you may be a standard that has the ability to, and may have taken you in directions that you didn’t intend to go, and what a revelation this could be for you, more over how empowering that you control this! You have always been in control.
Well, now with this new-found consciousness of the control that you have always had, I think now as I write this, that there is also, and no less significant, the opportunity to forgive yourself for decisions you may have made, unconsciously!
Taking inventory of your guidance system and realizing the control you actually have in the creation of the life you live may be time very well spent.
Wow. Wee!!!
“Thoughts create things!” (this is a quote from in the movie, The Secret)
Get to know your guidance system. You may need an update!
…so said my mother. Always commenting on my propensity to think “too much” about things…”Go out to play.” was her common refrain, and rightfully so, I suppose. She had no better thoughts for the direction of my mind, heaven bless her.
It was a very long time ago but I remember clearly of visiting the farm in Virginia in the summer of 1957. As the days unfolded I became completely aware of the extraordinary experience of the farm life, of how it was for my grandparents.
Granddad used 2 buckets to collect water from a well. The quenching of thrist, cooking, cleaning and laundry, bathing and brushing teeth made possible only with the water my granddad collected from the well and carried to the farmhouse, every day of the year.
By contrast in Philadelphia, our water was managed by a system and people that we would never see or get to know. The flip of a switch or the turn of a knob provided all utilities for the household. And subsequently and without fail, there appeard every month on the floor below the mail slot of the front door a bill for services rendered. How completely convenient for us! Poor Granddad.
But then, hadn’t Granddad chosen to abandon his indoor plumbing after it failed? Hadn’t he simply gone back to his tried and true reliable way of the well? So the child wondered, “What would our family do if one day, the switching of switches and the turning of knobs produced nothing at all?”
For a little more of my grandfather I include this excerpt from my book:
Two Little Girls
Chapter 6
My grandfather preferred a simple life, unencumbered and close to nature and the freedom that self-sufficiency permitted. With two helpers, he was able to take care of the business of the farm and remained staunchly independent.
I remember that the sink and faucets were actually little more than furniture for the old country kitchen. Mother had told of a costly repair after which Grandfather surmised that the sink would continue on in this way, “costing more than it was worth”. Eventually, he abandoned it completely in favor of towing water from his well as he was so used to doing. Two silvery buckets were housed on the back porch for the purpose. The well was at the bottom of a small hill. Moss grew in the spaces between the stone which remained cold on the hottest summer day. It was surrounded by wood planks as the area would be swollen with rain following a storm. Several days had passed before I would accept that the frog residing there hadn’t rendered it unfit for its function of providing clean drinking water. But what I recollect is the cold, crystal clear, and sweet taste of the water from the old farm well.
Canvas Sack for Tire Chains
The Rappahannock River was in walking distance to my grandparent’s home. There were horses, cows, pigs, chickens and ducks; a smoke house, a barn for the animals and a tool barn. I remember the huge log pile just beyond the fence between the two barns. My grandmother tended a large garden providing all manner of vegetables and fruits. A pumpkin patch flourished on one side and watermelon on the other. I remember the tomatoes were biggest I’d ever seen. There was an apple tree, and a peach, and pear tree. Two large shade trees grew at each side of the front porch. And one of them had a rope swing that I loved. Swinging to and fro I could socialize with my grandparents, exchanging pleasantries between the pages of Grand pop’s comic books that he enjoyed reading at the end of the day, and with my grandmother, from her chair on the porch, as she prepared our supper vegetables for cooking on the old wood stove.
Grandmother’s Canning Jars
Two Little Girls is available at my publisher’s website:
In grade school, my class was given the assignment to memorize this poem by Rudyard Kipling. We recited it together in class. It comes to mind as I think of my children.
char
If
By Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master; If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same:. If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!
We tend to forget many of the experiences that we’ve had, and easily so as some are truly forgettable, others regrettable, and still others simply because we must get on with our lives. Some events, though we may not think of them when they occur as pertinent or relevant, remain with us somewhere deep inside.
For months I’d been struggling with a perplexing issue which seemed to defy resolution. I was bound on all sides with thinking about it, when suddenly a forgotten memory emerged. Shapes, colors, and details became part of the air around me, dancing in concert to form a story that I would tell in a little book that I would write.
This extraordinary experience of my childhood took place in 1957 in Virginia. As I wrote the words, I felt warm and comforting support for a time that I spent with my grandparents, so very dear to me now. Until the time of writing, I was unaware of how much meaning the summer had brought to my life. How impossible that it was safe in my heart all along It is a story of love and an ever-growing appreciation for my family. It might well have been entitled , “The Gift”.
Here is an excerpt from my novelette:
Two Little Girls
Chapter 1
As far as I was concerned, summer began with the day my father installed the screens in the windows. Early that morning, Mother would have taken the summer sheers from storage to the clothesline in our backyard. By the afternoon, she swooped up the freshened bundle and brought them back indoors to hang on the rods at the tops of the windows. When the transformation was complete, I’d run from room to room to see the curtains flying on the breeze that raced in through the windows of our big old house. Like a magical invitation to adventures possible only with summer, when one day melted into the next and no one asked about the time, I felt that I could fly too and that anything could happen.
There were 5 children in my family. My brother Lionel was the oldest; my sister Cecilia was next, followed by my sister Rose, then my brother Isaac, and me. We spent summertime totally absorbed in keeping pace with our friends as was our Mother in keeping up with us. She mended our scraped knees, our bruised egos, and the holes in my brothers’ dungarees. I remember lemonade and tuna sandwiches, cotton sun dresses and hair ribbons; the pennies I collected for the corner candy store, and my ankle socks that never stayed up. Summers seemed much longer then when hopscotch and jump rope, hide-and-seek and tag, dress-up and make-believe, with my bicycle, my dolls and friends filled the days until suppertime. When August finally came around, among the five of us someone would be chosen to vacation with our grandparents in the country. It was in the year 1957 that I was to spend my first summer there.
I’d thought so often about my first trip to the farm. But like the landing of a cascading boulder, my mother’s cheerful delivery of this summer’s plan completely shattered my vision of it. Leaving little room for the way that reality alters things but similar to most events concerning “the children”, I was quite certain of my unvarying reverie. It was always the same. My brothers and sisters are running through a country field with me, very happily and as usual, following close behind. But everything had been arranged and I alone would spend two weeks on the farm that year.
My family had gathered in the living room when Mother made the announcement. But my frustrating lack of enthusiasm was like a call to dinner in emptying the room of everyone and I found myself alone, save for the dog. While I struggled with the concept of being on my own, Spiky jumped onto the couch next to me. Placing his head upon my foot he kept a concerned and watchful eye over my disposition until we both fell asleep.
Later that day, I listened to Dad’s recollections of farm life adventures while Mother prepared supper. As she filled in with the finer points and particulars she’d taken note of my mixed feelings with her knowing smile that always took the sharp edges off of things. “Don’t forget that your cousin Joanna is just about your age and lives close to Grandpa‘s”, she nearly whispered. Then I thought of the pocket inside the little green suitcase as the place where my Jacks would find a perfect fit.
~~~~~~~ Truth is Beauty is Love ~~~~~~
You are amazing. Create something beautiful today!
This is an old post, from one of our worst years in recent memory, 2020.
While editing something else here, I was inspired to read this post again. How nice to be able to say that I have experienced the humanity in people more and more everyday. I hope that you are able to say the same.
Love prevails and heals, especially so when all else fails.
Char
What If?
Friends forever!
Hard to tell what the truth is. We’re in the midst of something that we cannot navigate if we are to listen to what is being said. There is just so much: half-truths, fabrications, even lies; information withheld because there is no complete certainty of what is actually within our midst. Everyone has an opinion; yet no one knows for sure.
And we do like being sure.
We need to know for sure.
Well, too bad because this one has got us by the “you-know-whats”. While no one wants to leave their well-being to a crap shoot, we do our due diligence health wise and hope it suffices.
As there is no definitive, there is no clearly effective shield from this scourge. No one finds themselves more able to insulate themselves than the person in back of the line.
Anger and divisiveness does not make us safer.
Sanitize everything, keep your distance…
So what now?
I must say that I’ve been made aware of a change. As unnerving as it is, I think the uncertainty makes people more considerate of each other, somehow. I notice kindness, more tolerance, even a tepid sense of humor in instances where people might previously have chosen to avoid each other. It is a little startling, pleasantly so. And I’ll take it!
Is this virus the thing that provokes us to be more of a human being toward next person?
It is a tough lesson but this microscopic bit of hope within the extenuating circumstances of the corona virus could have a more profound and unexpected impact toward improving the situation in which we all find ourselves; to change our way with each other like nothing else, if, you believe in the power of such sentiments as consideration, or kindness, compassion, love? I do. Is that a stretch?
But let’s face it. Fear makes friends like nothing else can. Or as Shakespeare said, “Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.”
Now the trick is to get to this place without such terrible provocation.
The effort is so very well worth making. And it requires so little of us.
Sending loving kindness and good health to everyone, everywhere!
Years had gone by without a single thought of the time in 1957 when I spent the summer with my grandparents on their farm in Virginia. Then, in the midst of a prolonged illness, among all of the things my mind was sorting through, this forgotten experience drifted in. Totally unprovoked and effortlessly revealing, I felt the need to write everything that I could remember, just as it presented itself to me.
And as I wrote, I became more and more immersed within the warmth and comfort of that time with my grandparents, so precious and dear to me now, as I realize after all, how much meaning it brought to my life.
This glimpse into their world was written with love and a deep and ever-growing appreciation for my family, for my heritage. It might well have been entitled , “The Gift”.
* A little of how it goes:
Chapter 1
As far as I was concerned, summer began with the day my father installed the screens in the windows. Early that morning, Mother would have taken the summer sheers from storage to the clothesline in our backyard. By the afternoon, she swooped up the freshened bundle and brought them back indoors to hang on the rods at the tops of the windows. When the transformation was complete, I’d run from room to room to see the curtains flying on the breeze that raced in through the windows of our big old house. Like a magical invitation to adventures possible only with summer, when one day melted into the next and no one asked about the time, I felt that I could fly too and that anything could happen.
There were 5 children in my family. My brother Lionel was the oldest; my sister Cecilia was next, followed by my sister Rose, then my brother Isaac, and me. We spent summertime totally absorbed in keeping pace with our friends as was our Mother in keeping up with us. She mended our scraped knees, our bruised egos, and the holes in my brothers’ dungarees. I remember lemonade and tuna sandwiches, cotton sun dresses and hair ribbons; the pennies I collected for the corner candy store, and my ankle socks that never stayed up. Summers seemed much longer then when hopscotch and jump rope, hide-and-seek and tag, dress-up and make-believe, with my bicycle, my dolls and friends filled the days until supper time. When August finally came around, among the five of us someone would be chosen to vacation with our grandparents in the country. It was in the year 1957 that I was to spend my first summer there.
I’d thought so often about my first trip to the farm. But like the landing of a cascading boulder, my mother’s cheerful delivery of this summer’s plan completely shattered my vision of it. Leaving little room for the way that reality alters things but similar to most events concerning “the children”, I was quite certain of my unvarying reverie. It was always the same. My brothers and sisters are running through a country field with me, very happily and as usual, following close behind. But everything had been arranged and I alone would spend two weeks on the farm that year.
My family had gathered in the living room when Mother made the announcement. But my frustrating lack of enthusiasm was like a call to dinner in emptying the room of everyone and I found myself alone, save for the dog. While I struggled with the concept of being on my own, Spiky jumped onto the couch next to me. Placing his head upon my foot he kept a concerned and watchful eye over my disposition until we both fell asleep.
Later that day, I listened to Dad’s recollections of farm life adventures while Mother prepared supper. As she filled in with the finer points and particulars she’d taken note of my mixed feelings with her knowing smile that always took the sharp edges off of things. “Don’t forget that your cousin Joanna is just about your age and lives close to Grandpa‘s”, she nearly whispered. Then I thought of the pocket inside the little green suitcase as the place where my Jacks would find a perfect fit.
By Rudyard Kipling
charondiane 
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