Hope by Emma

This is a short story by my youngest sister Emma. She's twelve years old and this story won second place in a city-wide middle school contest. What a rockstar!

Hope

Faint beams of golden sunlight stream through cracks in the walls as our mining village hums to life. The rhythm that any miner can hear is already in full swing; the clang of men handling their pick-axes, the rumble of carts far off as they head down into the overwhelming darkness, and the forlorn hum of the miner’s song which pulses through the entire area as simply as wind blows. I know these sounds very well; in fact this is my regular wake up call. With great reluctance I slowly push the covers off and grab around for my boots.

I look through the bare cupboards for some kind of sustenance besides plain-watery gruel, though as expected the menu remains unchanged. As I tie my apron strings Papa strolls into the room in his soot covered breeches and cap, a pick-axe slung over his shoulder. He never shows it, but if you look closely you can make out a faint trace of tiredness in his step. It makes me uncomfortable to see that strong man in pain so I try and ignore this brief moment of embarrassing transparency.

Right about now the miners are shuttling down, deep into the soot coated abyss. Every man young and old works in the mine and so will their children and their children’s children. The conditions are terrible though no one speaks of it. The men are paid far too little and eventually become greatly indebted mostly because of the company stores which claim every penny you earn. Pa has been in very serious debt for a long time so we have learned to get on with little or nothing.

Pa has never allowed me to work in the mines so I mostly tend to housework and take on small jobs as Pa works day and night. Extreme numbers of people have died in freak accidents in our mine; falling down mine shafts, exhaustion, fatal gasses, cave ins, flooding, the death toll is unbelievably high.

It is mid afternoon and I am stirring clothes into hot water and hanging some up to dry when I hear something that makes my heart sink to the very bottom of my shoes; the bang of a loud explosion. Seconds afterwards screams erupt and everyone is sent into a tailspin. The only thing that I can think of is Pa. I can’t hear anything anymore. My own heartbeat is drowning out the screams. I jump to my feet in an instant and run barefoot through the streets with all the fervor of a man on fire. I lope past houses, bushes, trees, hysterical women, confused children until I find myself at the entrance to the mine.

I am not, by far, the first one there. Families stand waiting for assurance that their loved ones are not involved. Miners start to emerge from the gaping mouth of the mine dusted in black and having coughing fits.

No one knows what’s going on but men keep streaming out into the grasp of loved ones, only about thirty families now remain without a coal coated face among them. Less and less men and boys come until only about fifteen families are left. Some have started to cry and wring their hands but I know pa has not died. He’s Pa, it just can’t happen. The inside of my mouth feels like it’s been coated with coal dust and my eyes are burning. Subconsciously I feel a fat wet drop streak down my cheek then another then another. Some miners are giving me sympathetic looks, but nothing has happened. Pa is alive he is just trying to help others out of the tunnel, then he’ll come up safe and sound and I’ll bury myself in his chest and come back up, my face smudged with coal and smile up at him. While thinking this I do not notice the official coming near us. He clears his throat, “Folks this was a heavy blow and I’m very sorry for your losses. Please go home. There are no other survivors.”

He is mistaken he has to be. I rush over to the man and beat on his chest with my fists in a last feeble struggle to hold on. “STOP LYING TO US THEY ARE NOT DEAD” I shout, until I think my head is going to split from the effort, but all I get in reply is a sad silence so thick that my forced thoughts can not swim through it, leaving me with the cold hollow realization that papa is dead.

I do not know I have left until I am at home stoking the fire and putting a kettle on. Papa likes a cup of hot tea after a long day. Tears slip down my face and hiss as they fall into the fire. Papa is not coming home. A knock sounds and I wipe my tears away hurriedly and answer.

April 2, 1902

It’s been four months since that day when my father passed. I still miss him terribly. I write in this journal because my elders tell me that it will ease the pain some.
Four months ago when I answered the door I beheld my school fellow. I had not seen her for three months. As we grew older, our economic situation put school out of the question. It was decided that I would go live with her.

For a time I was only unhappy and despondent but because she was patient and waited with me in silence sometimes for hours on end. Slowly but surely I made improvement. She prayed with me at a small rubble chapel and cried with me when I needed someone to cry with. She ran with me when I needed to run away, and sometimes all she did was embrace me while I was not present, but in another world with papa.

She loves papa too although she does not know him. She loves him for me. I know that I will smile soon and she will smile with me.

Times are hard and friends are scarce but I have a great friend to help me through and I am ever more grateful for her. Though it still chills me to think papa will not be home ever again I know that somewhere he watches me and smiles. For now, I have a friend in the form of Hope.

Weighty Matters

No, for once, not the weight on a scale . . . but the weight on your shoulders.

My life has been feeling heavy lately. I've been feeling oppressed and alone and you know what? I KNOW it's not just me.

I see it.

In your eyes.

Life is overwhelming for many people right now. And you know and I know, it's more than the economy . . . it's more than illness or grief or family problems.

There's just a black cloud that's perpetually floating over our respective heads. No matter what you've been trying to do and no matter how hard you try, you can't get out from under it.

Does it help you to know that it's not just you? Because it isn't.

Prophets of old foretold of our day. They said,

"When ye shall hear of wars and commotions, be not terrified: for these things must first come to pass; but the end is not by and by.

Then said he unto them, Nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom:

And great earthquakes shall be in divers places, and famines, and pestilences; and fearful sights and great signs shall there be from heaven.

But before all these, they shall lay their hands on you, and persecute you, delivering you up to the synagogues, and into prisons, being brought before kings and rulers for my name’s sake.

And it shall turn to you for a testimony. . .

And ye shall be betrayed both by parents, and brethren, and kinsfolks, and friends; and some of you shall they cause to be put to death.

And ye shall be hated of all men for my name’s sake.

But there shall not an hair of your head perish.

In your patience possess ye your souls. . . .

For these be the days of vengeance, that all things which are written may be fulfilled. . . .

And there shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of nations, with perplexity; the sea and the waves roaring;

Men’s hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth: for the powers of heaven shall be shaken.

And then shall they see the Son of man coming in a cloud with power and great glory.

And when these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh. . .

Heaven and earth shall pass away: but my words shall not pass away. . . .

Watch ye therefore, and pray always, that ye may be accounted worthy to escape all these things that shall come to pass, and to stand before the Son of man." (Luke 21)

The beauty is that the Lord has also provided us with prophets and apostles today who know how hard it is and know the heaviness we feel. They let us know that it's okay to acknowledge our misery and loneliness, and let the Lord know our woes.

Then they give us the hope and strength to move forward. They testify to us that the bleak tunnels we currently find ourselves in will eventually lead to daylight, even if we can't see it just yet.

Christ: The Messiah or A Nutcase? - Thoughts from Bono

. . . . yes, THAT Bono.

I ran across this really interesting excerpt today from a book on U2's front man, Bono. The entire book is an interview dialogue between Bono and a reporter friend of his, Michka Assayas.

Not only have I loved U2's music since I was a little kid, but I've always appreciated their influence and push toward worldwide humanitarian efforts. Their global consideration of other through health, homelessness, poverty, human rights, etc is impressive. Additionally inspiring is seeing that this agenda hasn't dimmed over the years where, when compared with other groups or bands, one wouldn't be the least surprised to see a rise in selfishness and/or burn out. U2 has been able to keep up with the hits and the help.

Anyway, the excerpt that I found had to do with Bono's view on religiosity and specifically about Jesus Christ and grace. I found it very interesting and succinctly described, and, lately, I've been feeling like there has been a growing lack of respect for religious voice and perspective, so I decided that I wanted to share this.

Hopefully these types of heartfelt thoughts will help to remind that religious views are not just wispy dreams of those grasping at straws, but that they can be solid, logical and poignant convictions to those who hold them . . . many of us understand why you assume we're nutcases, but we feel the resonance of truth vibrating so strongly in our souls that "instead of trying to downsize divinity" (Neal A. Maxwell, Our Creator's Cosmos) we become willing and able to deviate from terrestrial paradigms, no matter the consequence.

Anyway, here's what Bono has to say.


Bono: My understanding of the Scriptures has been made simple by the person of Christ. Christ teaches that God is love. What does that mean? What it means for me: a study of the life of Christ. Love here describes itself as a child born in straw poverty, the most vulnerable situation of all, without honor. I don't let my religious world get too complicated. I just kind of go: Well, I think I know what God is. God is love, and as much as I respond [sighs] in allowing myself to be transformed by that love and acting in that love, that's my religion. Where things get complicated for me, is when I try to live this love. Now that's not so easy.

Assayas: What about the God of the Old Testament? He wasn't so "peace and love"?

Bono: There's nothing hippie about my picture of Christ. The Gospels paint a picture of a very demanding, sometimes divisive love, but love it is. I accept the Old Testament as more of an action movie: blood, car chases, evacuations, a lot of special effects, seas dividing, mass murder, adultery. The children of God are running amok, wayward. Maybe that's why they're so relatable. But the way we would see it, those of us who are trying to figure out our Christian conundrum, is that the God of the Old Testament is like the journey from stern father to friend. When you're a child, you need clear directions and some strict rules. But with Christ, we have access in a one-to-one relationship, for, as in the Old Testament, it was more one of worship and awe, a vertical relationship. The New Testament, on the other hand, we look across at a Jesus who looks familiar, horizontal. The combination is what makes the Cross.

Assayas: Speaking of bloody action movies, we were talking about South and Central America last time. The Jesuit priests arrived there with the gospel in one hand and a rifle in the other.

Bono: I know, I know. Religion can be the enemy of God. It's often what happens when God, like Elvis, has left the building. [laughs] A list of instructions where there was once conviction; dogma where once people just did it; a congregation led by a man where once they were led by the Holy Spirit. Discipline replacing discipleship. Why are you chuckling?
Assayas: I was wondering if you said all of that to the Pope the day you met him.

Bono: Let's not get too hard on the Holy Roman Church here. The Church has its problems, but the older I get, the more comfort I find there. The physical experience of being in a crowd of largely humble people, heads bowed, murmuring prayers, stories told in stained-glass windows

Assayas: So you won't be critical.

Bono: No, I can be critical, especially on the topic of contraception. But when I meet someone like Sister Benedicta and see her work with AIDS orphans in Addis Ababa, or Sister Ann doing the same in Malawi, or Father Jack Fenukan and his group Concern all over Africa, when I meet priests and nuns tending to the sick and the poor and giving up much easier lives to do so, I surrender a little easier.

Assayas: But you met the man himself. Was it a great experience?

Bono: [W]e all knew why we were there. The Pontiff was about to make an important statement about the inhumanity and injustice of poor countries spending so much of their national income paying back old loans to rich countries. Serious business. He was fighting hard against his Parkinson's. It was clearly an act of will for him to be there. I was oddly moved by his humility, and then by the incredible speech he made, even if it was in whispers. During the preamble, he seemed to be staring at me. I wondered. Was it the fact that I was wearing my blue fly-shades? So I took them off in case I was causing some offense. When I was introduced to him, he was still staring at them. He kept looking at them in my hand, so I offered them to him as a gift in return for the rosary he had just given me.

Assayas: Didn't he put them on?

Bono: Not only did he put them on, he smiled the wickedest grin you could ever imagine. He was a comedian. His sense of humor was completely intact. Flashbulbs popped, and I thought: "Wow! The Drop the Debt campaign will have the Pope in my glasses on the front page of every newspaper."

Assayas: I don't remember seeing that photograph anywhere, though.


Bono: Nor did we. It seems his courtiers did not have the same sense of humor. Fair enough. I guess they could see the T-shirts.


Later in the conversation:

Assayas: I think I am beginning to understand religion because I have started acting and thinking like a father. What do you make of that?

Bono: Yes, I think that's normal. It's a mind-blowing concept that the God who created the universe might be looking for company, a real relationship with people, but the thing that keeps me on my knees is the difference between Grace and Karma.

Assayas: I haven't heard you talk about that.

Bono: I really believe we've moved out of the realm of Karma into one of Grace.

Assayas: Well, that doesn't make it clearer for me.

Bono: You see, at the center of all religions is the idea of Karma. You know, what you put out comes back to you: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, or in physics; in physical laws every action is met by an equal or an opposite one. It's clear to me that Karma is at the very heart of the universe. I'm absolutely sure of it. And yet, along comes this idea called Grace to upend all that "as you reap, so you will sow" stuff. Grace defies reason and logic. Love interrupts, if you like, the consequences of your actions, which in my case is very good news indeed, because I've done a lot of stupid stuff.

Assayas: I'd be interested to hear that.

Bono: That's between me and God. But I'd be in big trouble if Karma was going to finally be my judge. I'd be in deep s---. It doesn't excuse my mistakes, but I'm holding out for Grace. I'm holding out that Jesus took my sins onto the Cross, because I know who I am, and I hope I don't have to depend on my own religiosity.

Assayas: The Son of God who takes away the sins of the world. I wish I could believe in that.

Bono: But I love the idea of the Sacrificial Lamb. I love the idea that God says: Look, you cretins, there are certain results to the way we are, to selfishness, and there's a mortality as part of your very sinful nature, and, let's face it, you're not living a very good life, are you? There are consequences to actions. The point of the death of Christ is that Christ took on the sins of the world, so that what we put out did not come back to us, and that our sinful nature does not reap the obvious death. That's the point. It should keep us humbled . It's not our own good works that get us through the gates of heaven.

Assayas: That's a great idea, no denying it. Such great hope is wonderful, even though it's close to lunacy, in my view. Christ has his rank among the world's great thinkers. But Son of God, isn't that farfetched?

Bono: No, it's not farfetched to me. Look, the secular response to the Christ story always goes like this: he was a great prophet, obviously a very interesting guy, had a lot to say along the lines of other great prophets, be they Elijah, Muhammad, Buddha, or Confucius. But actually Christ doesn't allow you that. He doesn't let you off that hook. Christ says: No. I'm not saying I'm a teacher, don't call me teacher. I'm not saying I'm a prophet. I'm saying: "I'm the Messiah." I'm saying: "I am God incarnate." And people say: No, no, please, just be a prophet. A prophet, we can take. You're a bit eccentric. We've had John the Baptist eating locusts and wild honey, we can handle that. But don't mention the "M" word! Because, you know, we're gonna have to crucify you. And he goes: No, no. I know you're expecting me to come back with an army, and set you free from these creeps, but actually I am the Messiah. At this point, everyone starts staring at their shoes, and says: Oh, my, he's gonna keep saying this. So what you're left with is: either Christ was who He said He was the Messiah or a complete nutcase. I mean, we're talking nutcase on the level of Charles Manson. This man was like some of the people we've been talking about earlier. This man was strapping himself to a bomb, and had "King of the Jews" on his head, and, as they were putting him up on the Cross, was going: OK, martyrdom, here we go. Bring on the pain! I can take it. I'm not joking here. The idea that the entire course of civilization for over half of the globe could have its fate changed and turned upside-down by a nutcase, for me, that's farfetched.

Bono later says it all comes down to how we regard Jesus:

Bono: If only we could be a bit more like Him, the world would be transformed. When I look at the Cross of Christ, what I see up there is all my s--- and everybody else's. So I ask myself a question a lot of people have asked: Who is this man? And was He who He said He was, or was He just a religious nut? And there it is, and that's the question. And no one can talk you into it or out of it.

Count Me Concerned

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-derbyshire-12598896

This article blows my mind a little . . . a couple is denied the right to provide foster care because "they said they could not tell a child a homosexual lifestyle was acceptable".

"Significantly, the court said that while there was a right not to face discrimination on the basis on either religion or sexual orientation, equality of sexual orientation took precedence."

Wait what?! . . . Anyone else catch the paradox? "Equality of sexual orientation took precedence." I think the term they're looking for is: inequality.

Sure. Ideally, parenting should be a privilege and not a right. But it's not. The power to create and rear children is kind of a mind-blowing phenom when you stop and think about it. Seems like something that's a big enough deal that it should be kept under lock and key. But it's not.

For a group of people worried about parents offending and harming children, we're not really advocating much abstinence to our youth who could potentially become premature parents, even if the sex is "safe". And other than sexual predators, we don't force contraceptives or castration on the "undeserving" or the "incompetent". Thank goodness.

Really, as long as you've got a willing companion (well, and sometimes that's not even a prereq) procreation is an opportunity afforded to all the fertile of our species.

And here we have a couple, willing to take in kids who have been abandoned or neglected or mistreated or in peril and we're worried that they might share some personal opinions with the children in their homes.

All I can think is how many unplanned and unwanted children there are. Kids who end up in proctor homes or orphanages with "staff" instead of parents. Kids born to parents who can't get past their own neuroses long enough to let own children know that they're loved . . . kids born to addicts and abusers. Kids born to poor families who were hungry before one more mouth was added.

No family or set of parents are perfect. They just aren't. Do I want foster programs to be as sure as they possibly can that they're getting parents that don't hit and sexually exploit? You bet. But no child has a guarantee to perfection . . . EVERYONE has hang ups. EVERYONE.

And since when did good parents guarantee a good child? It doesn't. How many people do you love that are amazing in spite of, and probably because of, the trials incurred by their family?

Obviously we want the best for children when we have the choice, but no one is a diviner and the cycle of families has been producing unpredictable results since the dawn of time.

The connotation that such clairvoyance and measure of perfection exists seems to be eerily fated toward the 2081 world of Harrison Bergeron . . .

Which, begs the question: who deemed themselves perfect enough to delineate parental perfection?

Interestingly enough, there were two Justices in on this decision. One was Justice Munby who seems to have some very personal baggage around his own family life and seems to identify as a victim of family abuse . . . and the other is Justice Beatson who came into the High Court directly from acadamia . . . and who has no mention of an immediate family or children in any article or bio I've been able to collect. . . It's easy to find mud on those in the trenches, Jutsice Beatson.