Monday Meeting — Fr. Greg Boyle

Let me introduce you to one of my favorite Jesuits – Rev. Gregory Boyle, S.J., founder of Homeboy Industries ( http://homeboyindustries.org ) and author of Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion (Free Press, 2010). 

For 25 years, Fr. G (as he is respectfully called by the homies) has run Homeboy Industries, a gang-intervention program located in Los Angeles’ Boyle Heights neighborhood, otherwise known as the gang capital of the world. “Hope has an address.” Its mission is “to provide hope, training and support to formerly gang-involved and recently incarcerated men and women, allowing them to re-direct their lives and become contributing members of their community.”

To find joy in serving others. To love unconditionally. To acknowledge everyone as a human being with value. To learn the patience needed to walk in the darkness with someone sorely in need of being lifted out of despair, out of the darkness, into the light.

                          A Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi

“Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
Where there is injury, pardon,
Where there is doubt, faith,
Where there is despair, hope,
Where there is darkness, light, and
where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved, as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive –
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.”

It sounds like St. Francis of Assisi would feel at home working in LA, right next to Fr. G of Boyle Heights. Encouraging us to seek something much bigger than ourselves as individuals.

“Here is what we seek: a compassion that can stand in awe at what the poor have to carry rather than stand in judgment at how they carry it.” ~ Fr. G

My son – the one who was born on St. Francis’ birthday and has Francis as his Confirmation name – called me up one night quite awhile after I gave him his own copy of Fr. G’s book. The above quote was the one that stood out for him, the same one that stood out for me. Interconnected. Reaching out. That same son (actually, my one and only) who helped his Dad and I for more than 8 years in our church’s soup kitchen, told me that he found the book to be exceptional, but (there’s always a but) he couldn’t keep wiping away tears one minute, then laughing out loud, while reading it during his daily subway commute.

Laughter and tears. I agree. But by no means is it only about darkness.

Meet:

David: “Yeah, I know I can fly. I just need to catch a gust o’ wind.”

Sharkey: “Damn, G. I’m gonna tattoo that on my heart.”

Willy: “God thinks I’m ‘firme’ (could not be one bit better).”

Rascal: “You know, I’m gonna take that advice, and I’m gonna let it marinate (pointing at his heart) right here.”

A homie who has given up: “That’s it. I’m moving to Mars. This planet is tired of my ass already.”

Scrappy: “I have spent the last 20 years building a reputation for myself…and now…I regret…that I even have one.”

Betito: “Hey, G, you know what you are? You da real deal.”

Terry (a 16-year-old pregnant girl in a short, bright red dress): “I just want to have a kid before I die. Promise me you’ll bury me in this dress.”

Leo: “I was watching Jerry Springer…and they had a commercial ’bout that ITT Institute – where ya learn shit, and I think, maybe I’ll call G, you know, and get me one a’  them careers.”

A homie calling off work: “I have anal blindness. I just can’t see my ass coming to work today.”

Moreno: “Damn, G – Biooooology. That’s the boooooomb right there! On Monday, we’re gonna DIGEST a frog!”

Soledad at the death of 2 of her children: “The hurt wins…the hurt wins.”

Chico at his new job: “Dear G: I am learning how to use a fax machine. A am learning a gang a’ shit here. Thanks for getting (this job) for me.”

A place of truth. Community. Dismantled boundaries that were erected to keep others out. Boundless compassion. Acceptance. Love. Kinship. Loveliness. Sacredness.

A gathering of souls. Where our souls quicken in awe at the rightness of it. Where the human spirit triumphs.

As Fr. G says: “And so the voices at the margins get heard, and the circle of compassion widens. Souls feeling their worth, refusing to forget that we belong to each other. No bullet can pierce this.”

One last thing: Fr. G has been diagnosed with leukemia. A cancer of the blood that cannot touch his heart. His soul shines and marinates in love, compassion and understanding.

Enlightened witness. Priest. Jesuit. Man.

“Go forth and set the world on fire.”
~ St. Ignatius of Loyola

That is what I wish for the world. For the new Pope. For the homies.

And for Fr. Greg, whose grace and spirit are tattooed on my heart – my love, prayers, gratitude and blessings.

Pax vobiscum. May peace be with you.

You are my light.

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Monday Meeting — 91 Year Old Cancer Survivor Completes Marathon

It took Harriette Thompson more than seven hours to run a marathon Sunday in San Diego. But that was awfully good, considering she’s 91 and recovering from cancer.

In fact, she beat the previous record for women 90 and up by two hours and 45 minutes. She also became the second-oldest woman to complete a marathon in U.S. history.

She told the Charlotte Observer before the race that the only time she feels her age is after running a marathon.

“Lots of times, I see young girls coming in and limping, hardly able to move,” she said, “and I think, ‘Well, that’s pretty good that I don’t feel that bad.’ “

Thompson finished Sunday’s race in 7 hours, 7 minutes and 42 seconds. It was her 15th marathon in 16 years. She started running the San Diego race at age 76, missing only last year’s because of oral cancer.

Thompson has been battling skin cancer recently. She told reporters she had undergone nine radiation treatments in 11 days, the last one coming just a month before the race. She wore bandages and tights to cover wounds left by the treatment.

Thompson runs every year to raise money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Her brother died from lymphoma in February, Runner’s World .

“Everybody in my family has died of cancer,” Thompson last week. “It’s sort of in our genes.”

Thompson is a onetime concert pianist. She says the discipline of playing has helped her running and that she sometimes keeps pace during a race by replaying pieces in her mind.

“I usually think of Chopin etudes, the ones that are technically difficult, because usually they’re pretty fast, and it stimulates me to go a little faster, and also helps pass the time,” she told WFAE.

Thompson runs, takes yoga and stretching classes and exercises on an elliptical machine. In her retirement community, according to the Observer, she’s “one of very few residents who [move] at faster than a strolling pace.”

She told reporters that if she’s alive and able to compete, she’ll run the San Diego marathon again next year.

“If I’m still here next year, I think I’ll probably be able to train better and be in better shape,” Thompson the Observer. “If I’m able, I’ll try again.”

On Monday, she was heading back to Charlotte to spend her 67th wedding anniversary with her husband, Sydnor.

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Source: Alan Greenblatt, NPR
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Monday Meeting — A Glass of Milk, Paid in Full

One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to pay his way through school, found he had only one thin dime left, and he was hungry. He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the door.

Instead of a meal he asked for a drink of water. She thought he looked hungry so brought him a large glass of milk.

He drank it slowly, and then asked, “How much do I owe you?”

“You don’t owe me anything,” she replied. “Mother has taught us never to accept pay for a kindness.”

He said, “Then I thank you from my heart.”

As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was strong also. He had been ready to give up and quit.

Year’s later that young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled. They finally sent her to the big city, where they called in specialists to study her rare disease.

Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation. When he heard the name of the town she came from, a strange light filled his eyes. Immediately he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room.

Dressed in his doctor’s gown he went in to see her. He recognized her at once. He went back to the consultation room determined to do his best to save her life. From that day he gave special attention to the case.

After a long struggle, the battle was won. Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked at it, then wrote something on the edge and the bill was sent to her room.

She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for it all. Finally she looked, and something caught her attention on the side of the bill. She began to read the following words:

“Paid in full with one glass of milk.

Signed, Dr. Howard Kelly.”

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Thursday Re-View — The Tree of Life

The Tree of Life

When working with students, many times on their first visit to my office, they remark about how relaxing it seems. The colorful prints, inspirational wall words, plaques with favorite sayings, bubbling fountain and the hint of aromatherapy are a calculated effort on my part to not only relax the students, but myself. I also use some of these items as therapy aids when appropriate.

One of my favorite pieces is a unique wire sculpture that I found years ago at a flower show. It is a windblown tree made of twisted wire in a sienna brown finish. Its solid roots are thick and gnarled, leading into a sturdy trunk, filled with branches that are leaning in one direction, as if buffeted by a strong wind.

treescompany.org

 

To me, that sculpture is indeed the “tree of life” we hear so much about in philosophical readings. The image represents the triumph of the human spirit that I see so often when working with clients in the often difficult therapeutic process.

The roots are our foundation – our family background, our experiences, our heritage – the basis of who we are and where we come from.

The trunk is our self, determined, always reaching up toward the light as we continue to grow, to heal, to seek.

The branches are our life journey, each twist and turn a major decision, whether good or not-so-good, that takes us off in another direction. Some branches are shorter than others, some more twisted, some joining or grafting together to lend strength, others growing in a convoluted route that seems impossible to follow, without a clear beginning or defined end.

It sounds like life, doesn’t it?

Whenever I offer my interpretation of its symbolism, people usually groan when I mention the branches being a map of their decisions. They’re probably remembering the ones that still loom as regrets; the ones, in hindsight, they wish they’d never made at all. But without those questionable decisions, our tree wouldn’t be as full, as beautiful or as complete.

That fullness affords us with hard-earned wisdom that we can pass on to others in need. That fullness gives us the power and stamina needed to withstand what ever life hands us – the gale force winds, the torrential rains, the searing sunshine and drought, the changing of the seasons. Yet that same fullness is flexible enough to lean with the forces of nature, yet not be uprooted.

Each season brings its own joy. Spring, with its beautiful blossoms that burst forth from tiny buds. Summer, with its sunshine and warmth. Autumn, with its colorful palette of bronze and gold, orange and scarlet. Winter, with the gentle touch of drifting snowflakes and a veneer of ice that glimmers like diamonds when brushed by the sun, its starkness a beautiful simplicity.

At any one time, the same tree might provide beauty, shade, food, heat, light, exercise, furniture.

A nesting place, a perch, a house, a climb, a landmark, a place to lean on or hide.

A groundedness, a permanence, a sense of time passing and history.

A quiet purpose, a meaning, a truth.

We can count on the tree, just like we can count on ourselves.

We are the tree, still standing, still growing, still providing, still seeking.

We are beautiful, we are natural, we are a gift.

A Tree of Life.

Angel Oak
John Island, SC

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Monday Meeting — After Losing His Wife to Cancer, a Widower Decided to Eat Alone at a Restaurant for the First Time — What He Did Before He Left Made People Cry

Lee Ballantyne lost his wife, Carol, just before New Year’s Eve. They had been married 43 years.

A week after her death, commencing with days and nights filled with many firsts, Ballantyne did something strangely novel: He ate alone at a restaurant.

At Cicco’s Ristorante north of Toronto, the widower saw something that brought memories of Carol flooding into his mind — a couple sitting next him who reminded Ballantyne of his marriage of nearly half a century.

“I just wanted to write what I felt at the time so I scrawled it on a napkin,” Ballantyne, 65, told “Today.” Here’s what the Barrie, Ontario, man wrote:

Ballantyne gave the note to the waitress and asked her to put the couple’s bill on his credit card. The waitress asked Cicco’s owner Lindsay Weiss to assist bestowing the note to the pleasantly surprised couple.

“They were beyond touched and grateful,” Weiss told Today. “I cried. The waitress and chef cried. It was one of the kindest gestures I’ve ever witnessed.”

Ballantyne got a phone call from one half of the couple he saw at Cicco’s, and the man expressed condolences to Ballantyne and said he and his wife would like to take the widower to dinner.

But the news spread farther than Cicco’s.

Several restaurant employees posted Ballantyne’s note on social media. It hit Reddit, and then the viral switch was flipped. His note has been viewed more than 800,000 times.

“It was just a simple gesture and it seemed like an ideal time to do that. I guess I had a selfish motive, I wanted to make myself feel good,” Ballantyne told “Today.” “And it did for a while. It still does.”

Ballantyne said he’s happy “people got to know a little about Carol” — who was 62 when she died, having suffered from lung cancer and other health issues.

“My wife’s strength and joy of life is now known to millions of people just because of that gesture so I accomplished something there.”

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Source: Today – Content Submission: Lucy Taylor
Blog: Kindness Blog
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Monday Meeting — That Cranky Old Man

When an old man died in a nursing home, nurses found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed them, it was spread throughout the nursing home and afar. The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in magazines for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his poem. And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet.

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Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking…
When you are looking at me?

A cranky old man,
Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit
With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food
And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice…
“I do wish you’d try!”

Who seems not to notice…
The things that you do.
And forever is losing…
A sock or a shoe?

Who, resting or not…
Let’s you do as you will,
While bathing and feeding…
The long day to fill?

Is that what you’re thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse…
You’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am…
As I sit here so still,
As I do all your bidding,
As I eat your will.

I’m a small child of Ten…
With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters…
Who love one another.

A young boy of sixteen…
With wings on his feet,
Dreaming that soon now…
A lover he’ll meet.

A groom at twenty…
My heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows…
That I promised to keep.

At twenty-five, now…
I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide…
And a secure happy home.

A man of thirty…
My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other…
With ties that will last.

At forty, my young sons…
Have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me….
To see I don’t mourn.

At fifty, once more,
Babies play ‘round my knee,
Again, we know children…
My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me…
My wife is now dead.
I look to the future…
I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing…
Young of their own.
And I think of the years…
And the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old man…
And nature is cruel.
It’s jest to make old age…
Look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles…
Grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone…
Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass…
A young man still dwells,
And now and again…
My battered heart swells.

I remember the joys…
I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living…
Life over again.

I think of the years,
All too few…gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact…
That nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people…
Open and see.
Not a cranky old man…
Look closer…see…ME!

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Source: Good Time Stories
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Monday Meeting — Mother Left Paralyzed by Childbirth Finds an Amazing Gift on Her Lawn

A mother left paralyzed after giving birth has arrived home to find a gleaming $45,000 Nissan Navara complete with a giant red bow parked on her front lawn and a note from an anonymous Good Samaritan.

Jessie Bruton, 27, lost feeling in both of her legs after pressure on her spine caused severe nerve damage while she was pregnant with her third son nine months ago.

The mother of three found the white Nissan Pathfinder outside her house in Oak Flats, south of Wollongong, last month.

‘I had a really bad day… I was in heaps of pain. We came home and the car was there. I didn’t think it was for me. We sat around out the front for ages before we checked if it was open,’ Mrs. Bruton told MailOnline.

The generous donor left a card inside the car saying they hoped the gift would make Mrs. Bruton smile considering what she has faced.

‘My husband Mick was crying, I was crying and my boys were running around trying to find DVDs to put in the car,’ she said.

‘I stared at it for ages, but when I jumped in I realized it had been converted for me. It was pretty amazing.’

The car has been fitted with hand controls and is big enough to accommodate her walking frame, wheelchairs and prams for her young sons – Levi, 7, Nash, 2, and six-month-old Klay.

‘At first I thought my friend Kylie was behind it because she’s been organizing a fundraiser. But I rang a few people and no one knew anything,’ Mrs. Bruton said.

The Bruton’s used the hand-over papers in the car to contact the seller but she wouldn’t reveal who the generous buyer was.

‘Then I thought they did it out of the kindness of their heart so I shouldn’t dig around to find them if they don’t want me to,’ she said.

Mrs. Bruton said she would be ‘forever grateful’ and wished she could hug the anonymous donor.

‘They have no idea what they’ve given me,’ she said.

‘Klay was our last baby, we’d bought a house, I’d finished my certificate III in fitness. Everything was in place and it turned our world upside down. It’s been really hard to rely on others so much.’

Mrs. Bruton, who had been driving for 10 years before she was left paralyzed, passed her disability driving test on Tuesday.

‘My husband and I went and had a coffee last night and I drove him. I felt normal for the first time in 12 months,’ she said.

Doctors are not sure if Mrs. Bruton will ever walk again unaided, but the former fitness instructor said she was doing as much physiotherapy as possible to help.

Mrs. Burton, her husband and three boys had to move back in with her parents while they raise money to modify their family home.

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Source: The Daily Mail
Blog: The Kindness Blog
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Monday Meeting – What This Man Saw His Little Boy Doing Is Amazing. But What Happened Next? Even Better.

A few months ago, news emerged about a little boy in the Philippines named Ken who began taking walks every day. His father followed him out of curiosity and discovered that his loving son was looking after three very sick puppies that were living on the streets. After that, Ken and his dad Kay began looking out for them.

Not long after discovering the puppies, Ken and his dad decided to rescue them. First, they were taken off of the streets and put into a temporary home inside of a garage. Given the nature of their mange, they had to be isolated and handled carefully.  That decision to rescue them turned into so much more: The Happy Animals Club.

Ken had wanted to start an animal shelter since he was 8 years old. So it makes sense that he was so dedicated to the three little pups he found. Donations and dog food from all over the world helped Ken keep these dogs healthy. First, they needed to be put on an anti-mange regimen that involved shots and lots of bathing. The donations helped them buy imported dog food for the malnourished animals, which is costly in the Philippines. Soon, the three began to put on weight, regrow their fur and learned to trust humans.

Blackie, who was fearful before, turned out to be an extremely affectionate, loving dog who would rather hug than eat dinner. She is one happy animal!

Brownie surprised everyone with a gorgeous coat.

And the little white puppy is now an affectionate bundle of joy. She loves running and playing in the park.

They leased a small lot so that they could begin rescuing dogs from the pound. So far, not a single animal welfare organization has stepped forward. The 9 year-old boy’s Happy Animals Club will be the first non-profit to start rescuing dogs from certain death, and the first no-kill animal shelter on the island of Mindanao.

Before they got to work, they got their rabies shots… Ken is happy to dedicate time to the animals, even when the city is experiencing “brownouts” due to lack of available power.

Thanks to many generous donations, work has started on the Happy Animals Club animal shelter! The first task is to build a fence so that the dogs don’t go running onto the street whenever the gate is opened.

This all started as a boy who was kind hearted and generous enough to begin watching over three sick puppies on the streets. It turned into something absolutely incredible. Not only are those dogs happy and healthy, but because of Happy Animal Club and kind strangers all over the world, more dogs in the Philippines are going to be rescued. We’d like to give a big THANK YOU to Ken and Kay for all of their hard work. We also want to thank the wonderful people everywhere that sent in donations to help these dogs heal and find a home.

Heroes don’t have capes. They have big hearts.

www.happyanimalsclub.org

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Source: Kindness Blog
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Midwife of Meaning

O Midwife of Meaning,
tend me with Your loving presence,
Your gentle heart, Your capable hands.

I am pregnant with possibilities as I enter the autumn of my life
with the hope that I might experience the crisp leaves of scarlet and bronze,
of orange and gold, at least once more before the seasons change.

I am pregnant with the faith that I shall be given warmth and shelter in the coming winter,
along with a peaceful understanding of what this time of life brings.

I am pregnant with a seed, a thought, a whisper, a promise,
that I shall become more real as I become more worn;
that I shall become more true as I become more real.

The contractions of my womb produce an authentic me,
my soul shining bright amid the ravages of age.

O Midwife of Meaning, I am pregnant with Divinity.
Allow me to birth Love,
allow me to birth Hope,
allow me to birth Self.
Imago Dei.

O Midwife of Meaning,
tend me with Your loving presence,
Your gentle heart, Your capable hands.

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Monday Meeting — Man Who Saved Abandoned Newborn Gets Invited to Her High School Graduation

Man Who Saved Abandoned Newborn Baby Gets Invited To Her High School Graduation 18 Years Later
Posted on KindnessBlog

A 911 call was made in Gibson County, Illinois, on a November morning in 1995 about a child who had been left under a pine tree at a cemetery…

Police and firefighters rushed to the reported scene, but found nothing. Local firefighter Charlie Heflin decided to look in a different cemetery. He didn’t find anything there either, and had already began walking back to his car when he had a hunch to check one more spot.

Heflin told WFIE:

“I heard a little whimper when I got close to the tree. I dug down inside this real huge pine tree and found her.”

The baby girl was on the verge of death, covered in blood and leaves in the freezing weather. Her umbilical cord was still attached.

“I handed her off to the paramedics and I didn’t see her since.”

The child was adopted five days later by Bonnie and Greg James, who named her Skyler. Bonnie began looking for the man who saved their child when Skyler turned 5 years old. She told the local news station:

“We had his name from the newspaper. Social media wasn’t what it is today back then.”

James found Heflin on Facebook just three weeks before Skyler’s high school graduation. She called the fire station where he works and, after an emotional conversation, told Heflin to come to Skyler’s graduation ceremony and party.

Skyler had no idea about the arrangement, as she explained to WFIE:

“I was talking to someone at my party and my parents came up and said, ‘We need you for a second.’ They took me over to Charlie and he introduced himself to me and told me the whole story again. I was totally shocked. It’s something that I’ve dreamed of since I was a little kid, and it’s amazing.”

Heflin gave the Charleston High School graduate newspaper clippings about the rescue and even the jacket he was wearing the night he found her.

The Patoka Fire Station fireman and AMR representative said Skyler was the inspiration for Illinois’ “Safe Haven Law,” which allows parents to drop off newborns at hospitals, fire or police stations and without facing legal punishment.

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via WFIE, Photo Courtesy: Facebook
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Monday Meeting — Ohio Teen Takes His Great-Grandmother to Her First Prom

Ohio Teen Takes His Great-Grandmother to Her First Prom
Lindsay Deutsch, USA TODAY- May 2, 2014
source: gyatoday

It was a senior prom like no other.

Along with many others nationwide, Ohio resident Delores Dennison had the prom experience of her life this week, including the perfect dress, the perfect dance and the perfect date — her great-grandson, Austin.

Austin Dennison, a 19-year-old senior at Parkway High School in Rockford, Ohio, asked his 89-year-old “Granny DD” to be his date after learning she’d never gone to prom when she was a teen, the Times Bulletin reports.

Inspired by his government teacher, whose brother took their grandmother to his senior dance, Dennison called up his great-grandma and asked her to be his guest.

“He said, ‘Grandma, I want you to go to the prom with me,’” Delores Dennison told the Times Bulletin. “I had a bad heart attack and stroke. ‘I’m not that good on my feet,’ I told him.”

But she agreed to go, and the rest is (adorable) history.

Austin bought his great-grandmother a pearl necklace the day before the prom, and played his guitar and sang Iris for her.

The night of prom, they ate dinner at Bob Evans, which is one of her favorite restaurants. And when they arrived at the dance, they had classic prom pictures taken, then danced together.

The band played the Frank Sinatra song Delores, a song her husband used to sing to her (“I love the kisses of Delores”) and “there was a standing ovation when we came out,” said Austin, who plans to attend Florida Gulf Coast University in the fall.

The night ended well: “We got home shortly after 9 p.m., later than I go to bed these days,” said Delores.

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Monday Meeting — 3 Little Girls, Cancer and a Photograph

A photograph showing three little girls battling different forms of cancer hugging each other has gone viral. The photograph showing 6-year-old Rheann, 3-year-old Rylie and 4-year-old Ainsley coming together and sharing a special moment together has been shared thousands of times on social media after local news channel Koco News reported about it.

The photograph was captured by Lora Scantling and included a bunch of other pictures as well. However, it was this one special picture of the three Cancer affected girls that seems to have captured the imagination of people around the world. Even more intriguing is the fact that the three seemingly close knit friends hadn’t even met each other before the shoot happened.

The much shared photograph has a caption that says “Sometimes strength comes in knowing that you are not alone.” This also seems to have struck a chord with people – especially those who have in the past battled with cancer or have relatives that have suffered from it. According to the photographer Lora Scantling, the idea behind the photo shoot was to highlight awareness about the struggle little children face when they become cancer patients. “I just wanted something that showed the strength and the bond and that they weren’t alone,” Lora said later to Koco News.

As for the girls, little Rylie is battling kidney cancer while the older Rheann has brain cancer. The third girl Ainsley has leukemia (blood cancer). The three girls are now friends and are happy with the attention their touching photograph has received from people all around the world. They have also come a long way and will continue to fight the disease now that they know they are not alone in the battle. They also had a lot of fun during the photo shoot, according to Lora.

Each of the girls has a Facebook page.  You can read Rheann’s, Ainsley’s and Rylie’s updates on their pages.

Be well, lovely little girls.  Be well. 

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News Source: Koco News – Content Submission: Lucy Taylor
Photo: Lora Scantling – Blog: Kindness Blog
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Today’s Quote

That’s all a man can hope for during his lifetime
— to set an example —
and when he is dead,
to be an inspiration for history.

~ William McKinley ~
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Monday Meeting — Mychal’s Prayer

Mychal’s Prayer:

“Lord, take me where You want me to go.

Let me meet who You want me to meet.

Tell me what You want me to say,

and keep me out of Your way.”

In Fr. Gregory Boyle (My Journey with St. Francis, the Jesuits & Pope Francis, Part II), I introduced you to a very special Jesuit. In Fr. Mychal Judge, I’d like to introduce you to a very special Franciscan.

Fr. Mychal Judge – Chaplain of the New York Fire Department. A gay, Irish, recovering alcoholic Franciscan priest, friend to the homeless, policemen, firemen, addicts, politicians, AIDS patients and so many others.

He was not a “conventional” priest, but rather a human being with flaws, like the rest of us. But a human being much beloved by thousands of people to whom he ministered, much admonished by those whom he antagonized. He was sensitive, humble, compassionate, extraverted, vain about his hair, a committed multi-tasker always on the go who kept a journal, still wrote letters and had a “wild” laugh. Hugging people, blessing strangers, ministering to the firemen and their families, advocating, listening, loving, serving and never judging.

He resided in the friary of St. Francis of Assisi Church in Manhattan, the same saint who served as a role model for Fr. Mychal’s life.

Fr. Mychal responded to any fire of three alarms or more, so it made sense that on September 11th, he was at the WTC in record time.  One of the firemen who saw him in the lobby of Tower One noticed concern on Fr. Mychal’s face, his lips moving, “like he was praying.”  Minutes later, after giving Last Rites to a firefighter from Company 216, Fr. Mychal was caught in the debris from the collapse of the South Tower.

Rescuers carried him out of the rubble, captured in an iconic photograph by Shannon Stapleton, which one of Fr. Mychal’s friends calls “a modern Pietà.”

Fr. Mychal was given Death Certificate Number 00001, a posthumous honor as the first body released from Ground Zero. Although already gone, the priest was given Last Rites by a Lieutenant on the Manhattan Traffic Task Force and a fellow New York City police officer, since no priests were available. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Sacred Ground. Light in the darkness.

Fr. Mychal’s funeral, a two-day event, brought thousands of people – blue collar workers, policemen in dress uniforms , firemen in work clothes straight from Ground Zero, a former President, Senators, mayors, governors, archbishops, cardinals, priests, the homeless, AIDS activists – so many people from all walks of life. Fr. Mychal was buried on the 23rd anniversary of his sobriety. His body may have been buried, but not his spirit. Not his memory.

As Fr. Michael Duffy, homilist at at Fr. Mychal’s Mass of Christian Burial, said:

“I think that, if he were given his choice, Mychal would prefer to have happen what actually happened. He passed through the other side of life, and now he can continue doing what he wanted to do with all his heart. …Mychal Judge is going to be on the other side of death…to greet them (deceased firefighters) instead of sending them there.”

In the 2006 documentary “Saint of 9/11,” a younger Fr. Mychal, when interviewed, had this to say about his life:

“Life and death – so valuable.
I wonder when or what my last half hour will be…
will it be doing something for someone, trying to save a life?”

Yes, Fr. Mychal. Your wish was granted. Your last half hour was ministering to those in need. In the midst of the chaos, you presence offered comfort and peace. You did your job – you affirmed your calling – and you did it well.

So I recite Fr. Mychal’s prayer which so resonates within me.

And I hope – indeed, I pray – that my last 30 minutes of life will be even half as good as this very human, yet very holy, Franciscan.

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Monday Meeting — Remembering Talia Joy Castellano

Talia Joy Castellano was beautiful.

An Honorary CoverGirl beautiful.

When she was 7 years old, Talia was diagnosed with Stage 4 Neuroblastoma. She died on July 16th, 2013. She was 13 years old.

On her Facebook profile, she wrote: 

“I’m Talia, I’m 13 years old and I love makeup. “Make-up is My Wig” I like to say.
 You can prob see I’m bald- I have cancer. (neuroblastoma)& leukemia)
I don’t like wearing wigs so I wear makeup to feel good and pretty inside –
and I guess outside. LOL!” 

She absolutely loved make-up. Her You Tube channel, taliajoy18, included make-up tutorials about how to effectively use eyeliner and matte bronzer, the difference between make-up for days and make-up for evenings, the latest in lipstick shades, along with hundreds of other tips. It also included updates and personal videos about her cancer treatments.

Taliajoy18 had over 750,000 subscribers.

In August, 2012, Talia commented on her notoriety:

“You Tube, and all the support that I get from everyone
telling me that I’m inspiring and not to give up,
it really makes you stop and think about how many people there are
that love you…You’re not there alone.”

In September, 2012, Ellen DeGeneres invited Talia to appear on her TV show and revealed that CoverGirl had named Talia an Honorary CoverGirl.

At Thanksgiving, her Facebook listed the “little things” Talia was grateful for – like “how stinking cute her pooch looks in her sweaters, the smell of her mom’s corn casserole, having campfires in her back yard with her family when the sun goes down, just being in the same room as her big sister, the little hugs of encouragement from a friend…”

Five days before she died, Talia posted 76 “Things I Wanna Do Before I Die.”

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nydailynews

She actually got to a few.

No. 60 – Help a newbie with cancer.

She asked her Facebook fans to head out to do some of the things for her, in case she didn’t get a chance to perform all 76 wishes. To this day, her fans are still keeping Talia’s dreams alive by completing her bucket list, then posting their shots on Facebook.

No. 10: Water balloon fight.

No. 3: Dance in the rain.

In her final days, Talia was still her brave, sweet self. Her family shared this moment:

“Talia woke up again and asked for more to drink.
Her family and friends in the room started showing her the packages and fan mail again.
After a few minutes, Talia paused.
She looked around the room and said ‘I could cry right now…’
Her Mom got up real close to her and said ‘What’s wrong baby?.. Don’t cry..’
And Talia said ‘I’m just so grateful… I’m so grateful for you guys…’
Her family said that ‘This all melted our hearts.’”

In a video interview with The Truth 365, Talia shared this:

“In a hundred years, I would like to be remembered
as the bubbly girl who wanted to do something
about childhood cancer.”

On July 16th, her family posted this tweet: “It is with a heavy heart that we share with all of you that Talia has earned her wings at 11:22am,” which continued on Facebook:

“Please lift her beautiful soul, her beautiful light to heaven
and please send your love and prayers to her family
during this most difficult time.
God speed little one, may you be free from pain and suffering,
may your soul feel the light and love that you brought to so many of us
on this Earth during the short time you were her with us.
We will miss you more than you will ever know baby girl.”

Talia Joy Castellano was beautiful.

An Honorary CoverGirl beautiful.

But even more beautiful was her bubbly outlook, her courage and determination in the face of her cancer. Her wanting to reach out to others by educating them about make-up, childhood cancer, and being a teen-ager. Her continuing to offer hope and inspiration by jotting down and sharing her own bucket list of 76 dreams just 5 days before she died.

Her smile was huge, her heart even bigger. And her soul – her soul limitless. And eternal.

Talia Joy Castellano lives on in her “Angels for Talia” site on Facebook. In every person who carries out one of her 76 “Things I Wanna Do Before I Die” in her memory. In every person who reads about her, watches her You Tube videos, or smiles when they see her picture.

Talia’s No. 41 on her list is simple: Be loved.

One more to be crossed off your bucket list, Talia. Most certainly, you are, and always will be, loved.

Thank you for inspiring those of us left behind.

Your spirit shimmers and dances with light.

You are precious.

You are beautiful.

You are loved.

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related post: My Last Days: Meet Zach Sobiech

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The Impossible Dream

“The Impossible Dream“
Man of La Mancha
music by Mitch Leigh
lyrics by Joe Darion

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To dream … the impossible dream …
To fight … the unbeatable foe …
To bear … with unbearable sorrow …
To run … where the brave dare not go …
To right … the unrightable wrong …
To love … pure and chaste from afar …
To try … when your arms are too weary …
To reach … the unreachable star …

This is my quest, to follow that star …
No matter how hopeless, no matter how far …
To fight for the right, without question or pause …
To be willing to march into Hell, for a Heavenly cause …

And I know if I’ll only be true,
to this glorious quest,
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm,
when I’m laid to my rest …

And the world will be better for this:
That one man, scorned and covered with scars,
Still strove, with his last ounce of courage,
To reach … the unreachable star …

Don Quixote
Pablo Picasso

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Dedicated to all those who strive
with their last ounce of courage,
to reach that unreachable star…
~ Theresa

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Thursday Re-View — The Tree of Life

The Tree of Life

When working with students, many times on their first visit to my office, they remark about how relaxing it seems. The colorful prints, inspirational wall words, plaques with favorite sayings, bubbling fountain and the hint of aromatherapy are a calculated effort on my part to not only relax the students, but myself. I also use some of these items as therapy aids when appropriate.

One of my favorite pieces is a unique wire sculpture that I found years ago at a flower show. It is a windblown tree made of twisted wire in a sienna brown finish. Its solid roots are thick and gnarled, leading into a sturdy trunk, filled with branches that are leaning in one direction, as if buffeted by a strong wind.

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To me, that sculpture is indeed the “tree of life” we hear so much about in philosophical readings. The image represents the triumph of the human spirit that I see so often when working with clients in the often difficult therapeutic process.

The roots are our foundation – our family background, our experiences, our heritage – the basis of who we are and where we come from.

The trunk is our self, determined, always reaching up toward the light as we continue to grow, to heal, to seek.

The branches are our life journey, each twist and turn a major decision, whether good or not-so-good, that takes us off in another direction. Some branches are shorter than others, some more twisted, some joining or grafting together to lend strength, others growing in a convoluted route that seems impossible to follow, without a clear beginning or defined end.

It sounds like life, doesn’t it?

Whenever I offer my interpretation of its symbolism, people usually groan when I mention the branches being a map of their decisions. They’re probably remembering the ones that still loom as regrets; the ones, in hindsight, they wish they’d never made at all. But without those questionable decisions, our tree wouldn’t be as full, as beautiful or as complete.

That fullness affords us with hard-earned wisdom that we can pass on to others in need. That fullness gives us the power and stamina needed to withstand what ever life hands us – the gale force winds, the torrential rains, the searing sunshine and drought, the changing of the seasons. Yet that same fullness is flexible enough to lean with the forces of nature, yet not be uprooted.

Each season brings its own joy. Spring, with its beautiful blossoms that burst forth from tiny buds. Summer, with its sunshine and warmth. Autumn, with its colorful palette of bronze and gold, orange and scarlet. Winter, with the gentle touch of drifting snowflakes and a veneer of ice that glimmers like diamonds when brushed by the sun, its starkness a beautiful simplicity.

At any one time, the same tree might provide beauty, shade, food, heat, light, exercise, furniture.

A nesting place, a perch, a house, a climb, a landmark, a place to lean on or hide.

A groundedness, a permanence, a sense of time passing and history.

A quiet purpose, a meaning, a truth.

We can count on the tree, just like we can count on ourselves.

We are the tree, still standing, still growing, still providing, still seeking.

We are beautiful, we are natural, we are a gift.

A Tree of Life.

Angel Oak
John Island, SC

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Today’s Quote

When you are inspired by some great purpose,
all your thoughts break their bonds.
Your mind transcends limitations,
your consciousness expands in every direction
and you find yourself in a
new, great and wonderful world.
Dormant forces, faculties and talents come alive,
 and you discover yourself to be
a greater person by far
 than you ever dreamed yourself to be.

~ Pantanjali ~
Yoga Sutra

Battle of Gettysburg – The Aftermath

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Gettysburg – The Aftermath

At the time of the Battle of Gettysburg, the small town numbered 2,400 inhabitants. The armies that initially descended on the village numbered nearly 165,000 men at arms and brought with them hundreds of wagons, cannons, limbers, caissons, ambulances, and tens of thousands of horses and mules. In less than 5 days, the bulk of these forces disappeared. Dead men totaled over 7,000, more than 5,000 animals had been killed, and nearly 26,000 soldiers were wounded, 21,000 of which remained in and around Gettysburg. The Confederates managed to transport several thousand of their wounded back to Virginia in a 17-mile-long wagon train. (Gregory Coco, “A Vast Sea of Misery“)

Gen. Meade lost about 25% of his army at Gettysburg, while Gen. Lee lost nearly 40% of his. The war would drag on until April 1865, but after Gettysburg, the “High Water Mark of the Confederacy,” the end was inevitable.

Every available barn, stable, shed, schoolhouse, church and home were impressed into service as field hospitals, both in the town as well as several miles away. Disorganization and chaos reigned initially in primitive conditions. Scores of injured troops in every conceivable state of injury were scattered over the countryside, out in the open, without even a blanket for covering. Rock Creek and White Run overflowed following July 4th’s heavy rains. Soldiers weakened by blood loss, dehydrated and lacking nourishment waited days before being seen by medical staff. Their conditions were aggravated by the cries of those mentally anguished and by natural scavengers in the form of blowflies, maggots, beetles, spiders, and wandering hogs.

A wounded New Hampshire soldier named Drake “had the unpleasant sensation of watching as a hog tore the flesh from the bones of his recently amputated leg. It was eaten up before his eyes. Drake recalled that he could even feel a sharp pain very clearly as it happened.” (Gregory Coco, “A Strange and Blighted Land“)

More than 3,000 horses were killed outright in the 25 square mile battlefield. Injured horses and mules were being mercifully shot several weeks into July. The livestock of the civilians – carcasses of cows, pigs, oxen, sheep, and fowl – were burned along with horses and mules. On July 4th, one soldier described: “The sights and smells that assailed us were simply indescribable… The odors were nauseating, and so deadly that in a short time we all sickened and were lying with our mouths close to the ground, most of us vomiting profusely.”

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Sophronia Bucklin, Volunteer Nurse:

“I visited the battle ground on several occasions – the first time soon after the conflict, when the evidence of the horrid carnage…lay on every hand in fearful sights… I had grown familiar with death in every shape. Yet, when right above my head, at one place, so close that it touched me, hung a sleeve of faded army blue – a dead hand protruding from the worn and blackened cuff – I could not but feel a momentary shudder.

Boots, with a foot and leg putrifying within, lay beside the pathway, and ghastly heads, too – over the exposed skulls of which insects crawled – while great worms bored through the rotting eyeballs. Astride a tree sat a bloody horror, with head and limbs severed by shells, the birds having banqueted on it, while the tattered uniform, stained with gore, fluttered dismally in the summer air.

Whole bodies were flattened against the rocks, smashed into a shapeless mass, as though thrown there by a giant hand, an awful sight in their battered and decaying condition. The freshly turned earth on every hand denoted the pits, from many of which legs were thrust above the scant covering, and arms and hands were lifted up as though pleading to be assigned enough earth to keep them from the glare of day.”

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Abraham Lincoln
2 weeks before Gettysburg Address
(Alexander Gardner)

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Executive Mansion, Washington, Nov. 21, 1864

Dear Madam,

I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant-General of Massachusetts, that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle.

I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save.

I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours, to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of Freedom.

Yours, very sincerely and respectfully,

Abraham Lincoln

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Lincoln at Dedication
Gettysburg, Nov. 19, 1863
Matthew Brady Collection

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Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
November 19, 1863

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Gettysburg Address

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On April 9th, 1865, Gen. Robt. E. Lee, Army of Northern Virginia, surrendered to Lt. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant, Army of the Potomac, at Appomatox Courthouse, Virginia. The terms of surrender were generous, allowing the men to return to their homes with their horses and mules, to be used in spring planting.

Five days later, President Abraham Lincoln fell to an assassin’s bullet while attending a play at Ford’s Theater in Washington, DC. He died in the early morning hours of the following day, April 15, 1865.

The American Civil War – the War Between the States – cost nearly 1,100,000 in casualties and claimed almost 625,000 lives.

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Before the war, the country was referred to as the “united states are;”
 after the war, the country was referred to as the “United States is.”
~ Shelby Foote, Historian

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150 Years Ago: July 3, 1863 – Gettysburg

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Part III, Day 3 at the Battle of Gettysburg: July 3, 1863

“That last and fatal day opened furiously for many, even before the hazy sun broke…around Gettysburg. Hours of mortal combat over Culp’s and Bliss’ and Spangler’s farms led out that day, then finally crested and dissolved upon the cultivated and rocky fields of farmers Frey and Small and Rummel and Lott. 17,000 fell in that long, ghastly 24 hours, and then the mighty armies turned away, leaving their death and destruction behind.” (Gregory Coco, “Killed in Action,” p. 85)

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Of the 5 women known to have fought in the Battle of Gettysburg, 2 of the Confederate women soldiers were casualties of Pickett’s Charge on July 3rd. One was severely wounded and unable to move herself from the wide expanse of fields. That evening, a Union Private on guard detail called her screams of agony that lasted the night “the most awful sound he had ever heard.” It isn’t known whether she survived.

In reporting on the burial of Gettysburg dead, Brigadier General William Hays reported a “female private in rebel uniform” among his count. She was found on the west side of the stone wall of the angle at Cemetery Ridge. She would have been one of 12,000 Confederate soldiers who marched across a mile of open ground through the withering fire. Two Confederate magazines told about the “Hero of Pickett’s Old Brigade” in which a husband and wife, thought to be a father and son by their fellow soldiers, participated in the final charge. A “fair, sweet-faced” Confederate flag bearer was shot while bearing the flag forward. The flag bearer – the wife – fell at the side of her husband and were buried together on the battlefield.

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This widely published incident about a Union soldier’s contact with Gen. Robt. E. Lee, Army of Northern Virginia, on July 3rd was related by Confederate Brig. Gen. A.L. Long and Union Brig. Gen. M.J. Wright:

“I was at the Battle of Gettysburg myself, and an incident occurred there which widely changed my views of the Southern people. I had been a most bitter anti-South man, and fought and cursed the Confederacy desperately. I could see nothing good in any of them.

The last day of the fight I was badly wounded. A ball shattered my left leg. I lay on the ground not far from Cemetery Ridge, and as General Lee ordered his retreat he and his officers rode near me.

As they came along I recognized him, and though faint from exposure and loss of blood, I raised up my hands, looked Lee in the face and shouted as loud as I could, ‘Hurrah for the Union!’ The general heard me, looked, stopped his horse, dismounted, and came toward me. I confess that I at first thought he meant to kill me.

But as he came up he looked down at me with such a sad expression upon his face that all fear left me, and I wondered what he was about. He extended his hand to me, and grasping mine firmly and looking right into my eyes, said, ‘My son, I hope you will soon be well.’

If I live a thousand years I shall never forget the expression on General Lee’s face. There he was, defeated, retiring from a field that had cost him and his cause almost their last hope, and yet he stopped to say words like those to a wounded soldier of the opposition who had taunted him as he passed by! As soon as the General had left me I cried myself to sleep upon the bloody ground.”

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2nd Corps Hospital:

“A young soldier, a mere boy, was brought in on a stretcher while a soldier walked alongside and held his hand on a wound in the thigh of the boy’s body. He said he was entirely free from pain. A surgeon examined the wound and said, ‘Nothing can be done for you; you must die; if you have any word or message to send home, attend to it at once; you will die within a few moments after your comrade takes his hand from your wound, and that must be soon.’

The soldier asked for paper and pen which were quickly furnished. He wrote a letter to his mother, stated his condition and that a friend was holding the wound while he wrote to her, saying as soon as he finished the letter, his comrade would let go and he would bleed to death in a few minutes.

The letter was finished, he let himself fall back, hesitated a moment, then said, ‘Now you may let go,’ and Levi Smith of Company A, 148th Pennsylvania Infantry, who held the wound, withdrew. In a few minutes, life had gone out.”

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Volunteer nurse John Foster:

“Nothing struck us more forcibly than the entire absence of animosity and ill-will between the soldiers of the 2 armies; the moment the battle was done, the men came together naturally… An example: A Federal soldier was wounded during the terrible engagement on Friday – struck down by a ball on a part of the field over which hostile lines swayed to and fro with varying success. As he fell and his forces were gradually falling back, the enemy pushed forward and occupied the ground where he lay.

Discovering him, several soldiers set to work immediately providing him a shelter, erecting about him as he lay a barricade of stones several feet in height, and 2 or 3 feet in thickness. Presently, under a menace from the Union, the enemy withdrew from that part of the field, leaving the soldier and his hastily constructed castle about mid-way between the opposing lines.

A steady fire of musketry followed for an hour or more, but, notwithstanding his exposed position, the occupant of the half-way house escaped without a scratch. ‘The balls,’ he told us, ‘came with an incessant pat, pat, pat against the stones, or whistled with a sharp cry almost continuously over my head. I felt every minute that the next would end my career; but, after all, not a single bullet reached me, and I crept out, when the fight was over, with no other injury than I had sustained before the rebels put me under the shelter.’

Outside of the barricade thus constructed hundreds of flattened bullets were afterward picked up, fully confirming the truth of the soldier’s singular story.”

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At 1 o’clock on July 3rd, the Confederate artillery – some 200 guns – opened fire in the Union line. The bombardment lasted almost 2 hours, and it was conceded that, “never in any battle in the world was the fire of light artillery so heavy as that at Gettysburg.” (Major Thomas Osborne, 11th Corps Artillery).

“Man seldom ever sees or hears the like of this but once in a lifetime; those that saw and heard this infernal crash and witnessed the havoc made by the shrieking, howling missiles of death as they plowed the earth and tore the trees will never forget it. It seemed that death was in every foot of space…” (Lt. John Lewis, 9th Virginia)

“…Down upon our faces we lay, and immediately beheld forth the roar of more than 100 guns from the Confederate batteries… The very atmosphere seemed broken by the rush and crash of projectiles, solid shot, shrieking, bursting shells. The sun, but a moment before so brilliant, was now almost darkened by smoke and mist and shadowing the earth, and through which came the hissing and shrieking, fiery fuses and messengers of death, sweeping, plunging, cutting, ploughing through our ranks, carrying mutilation, destruction, pain, suffering and death in every direction… There was to be seen at almost every moment of time, guns, swords, haversacks, human flesh and bone, flying and dangling in the air, or bouncing above the earth, which now trembled beneath us as if shaken by an earthquake… Men prayed on that field that never prayed before… So rapid was the firing and so great the number of guns engaged that the fire from one could not be distinguished from another; there was one continuous roar…” (Sgt. David Johnston, 7th Virginia, Kemper’s Brigade)

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“Dead faces! How they haunt us! Lying all about the fields and beside every tree in the woods.
Who are they? Whose father or brother or husband? Here is a body all broken and mangled.
Who praised the symmetry of that farm when last it stood in its native Northern village?
Here is a face all black and swollen. Who was it that a few months ago called it beautiful?”
~ Russell H. Conwell

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awesomestories.com

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And the earth, soaked with the blood of its children, wept.