Category: Connection

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Part of the Body…

gregoryjoel

Happy Labor Day weekend to all. I’m sitting here at home enjoying the air conditioning and recovering from another surgery – this time on my left wrist for carpal tunnel. I assumed that such a minor procedure, after all it’s just a day surgery, was no big deal. I’d be able to return to the farm by Monday. My elbow surgery in July only kept me in for the weekend. It’s day two of recovery and I’m not so sure I’m going to be getting much done on Monday.

You see, the elbow, while sore after surgery, doesn’t require the same amount of care as the hand. The hand, on the other hand (pun intended), presents different challenges. I can’t pick anything up because trying to grip anything or lift anything causes severe pain. I try to be careful but sometimes I forget and believe me, it doesn’t hesitate to remind me that I can’t do that right now. One doesn’t realize just how important and how frequently we use our hands each day until their use is compromised…

Photo by Mark Stebnicki on Pexels.com

Ironically, my meditation this morning was from the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Corinthians.

“I want you to think about how all this makes you more significant, no less. A body isn’t just a single part blown up into something huge. It’s all the different-but-similar parts arranged and functioning together. IF foot said, “I’m not elegant like Hand, embellished with rings. I guess I don’t belong to this body,” would that make it so?… As it is, we see that God has carefully placed each part of the body right where he wanted it.

But I also want you to think about how this keeps your significance from getting blown up into self-importance. For no matter how significant you are, it is only because of what you are a part of… What we have is one body with many parts, each its proper size and in its proper place… Can you imagine Eye telling Hand, “Get lost. I don’t need you”… As a matter of fact, in practice it works the other way – the “lower” the part, the more basic, and therefore more necessary. You can live without an eye, for instance, but not without a stomach. When it’s part of your own body you are concerned with, it makes no difference whether the part is visible or clothed, higher or lower. You give it dignity and honor just as it is, without comparisons…

The way God designed our bodies is a way of understanding our lives together as a church: every part dependent on every other part; the parts we see and the parts we don’t. If one part hurts, every other part is involved in the hurt, and in the healing. If one part flourishes, every other part enters into the exuberance.

You are Christ’s body – that’s who you are! You must never forget this. Only as you accept your part of that body does your “part” mean anything.” (First Corinthians 12. 14-27 The Message Bible)

I know this was originally written to Christians in a church beset by “getting along” problems, but it’s a great reminder to all of us today regardless of faith tradition or lack thereof. This ancient wisdom is applicable to all levels of our culture.

Take immigration for instance. The recent suicide of Pierre Damas Bel, a young Haitian immigrant who recently lost his Temporary Protected Status (TPS) is a prime example. This young man was an honor student who wanted to be a doctor. When the administration stripped Haitian immigrants of TPS, they were in effect saying “Get lost. I don’t need you!”. In fact, it not only reflects cruelty but reflects stupidity as well. Haitian immigrants make up a large portion of the healthcare industry, whether it be as medical doctors or home caregivers. Their impact in the community is to be celebrated and encouraged, not hatefully dismissed.

I find hope in the fact that other members of “the body”, neighbors surround the hurting member with their shared hurt, anger, and their healing. The folks in Minnesota who took to the streets despite severe cold weather to document the wounds to their neighbors and remove the cancer of ICE, took food to members to afraid to leave their homes, and support their community. I applaud the people of LA, Danbury, Connecticut, Springfield, Ohio, and countless other places that have shown the importance and care of all parts of the body no matter who and what they are.

Community, “body” – no matter what you call it you can’t ignore that each part is equally important. I’m an urban farmer. My job is to get fresh food from Opal’s Farm to our neighbors, to provide access to healthy food that impacts the health of the community. That’s just as important as the medical professional who treats the illnesses stemming from improper nutrition and the denial of access to it. Two sides of the same coin. Taking care of the other parts of the body – our neighbors and community members.

I’ve come to believe in the simplicity Jesus taught his disciples – Love God, love your neighbor, and everything else will take care of itself. Together we can take care of the “body”, one part at a time by simply doing our part.

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May 29th…

gregoryjoel

I haven’t written much this month. May is not one of my favorite months. Although I love springtime at the farm, it tends to be emotionally draining for me and my family (I think I drain them…). You see, my youngest son, Jeremy died on May 29th, 2020. It’s been six years and I still have a hard time with every anniversary. I miss him every day, but the 29th is the most difficult of all.

You would think I’d be better at figuring out why I’m suddenly distracted with day-to-day work, forgetful (more than usual…), and feeling overwhelmed. It’s usually the week before the 29th that the light bulb comes on and I have to go and make amends to those I’ve been short with. Fortunately, I have some wonderful people in my life who understand I’m why I’m not handling everyday interactions very well, showing me much more grace than I feel I deserve.

One thing I’ve learned over the last six years is that grief has no expiration date. Well meaning friends have given me the space to grieve but they don’t always understand why the feelings are so strong after six years. They don’t come right out and say it, but it often feels like they think I should be “over it” by now. Grief has a way of distorting reality. I’m sure no one (well, at least most people) really thinks ill of my grief. I often must remind myself that feelings are not facts.

Last year I started writing a collection of stories about Jeremy and I. I’ve shared the first couple of them with my friends and readers. The others have been slow in coming. Writing time is a prized possession around here. My wife, my home, and the farm fill my cup to overflowing, leaving little room for the reflection honest storytelling requires, especially when it comes to being honest about my own demons and an often turbulent, yet tight, relationship with my son. They’ve been full of ups and downs, joy and despair, but I hope to share more of those stories as the coming year allows.

Just for today, I’ll let the feelings come. I’ve been told that grief becomes easier to bear as time goes by. I’m not sure it gets easier, but I know it gets different. I’m often reminded of all the joy Jeremy brought into the world – my world – but there’s always a deep sense of loss underneath the surface. Maybe that’s a good thing. It’s also a reminder that I get to honor Jeremy and the God who loves me by how I celebrate each day through my family and my work. Moreover, I’m constantly reminded that the loss is only temporary in the grand scheme of things – that one day we’ll all be together again in a world free of the tears that this world so often has.

So folks, if I’m a bit melancholy and irritable today, please allow me my feelings and know it’s a hard day for me. Maybe if we could all remember that everyone has difficulties in life we may not see, we could all be a little more patient and loving towards others. That would sure make living easier for all of us. Please remember too, that sometimes the greatest gift one can give to a grieving person is their simple, silent presence. There are no words of comfort, only the reminder that we are loved.

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Freedom Every Day for Everybody…

gregoryjoel

I was sitting here this morning drinking coffee, reading a great book (Martyrs to the Unspeakable – The Assassinations of JFK, Malcom, Martin, and RFK by James W. Douglass), and thinking about the last year (although the last decade has been a debacle for democracy in general). I’ve been a bit nostalgic lately, grieving the loss of civility and the deep divisions between the communities around me.

My friend, Dione Sims, (who happens to be my boss and the Executive Director for Unity Unlimited, Inc. – the parent non-profit for Opal’s Farm), is running for Congress in Texas Congressional District Twenty-five. I don’t have the opportunity to volunteer with her campaign as I would like. Spring at Opal’s Farm usually requires more work hours than there are hours in the day. During our recent phone check-in, I asked her about her campaigning, and she told me something that gives me hope once again for a return to the civility and unity I long for.

Hood County, southwest of Fort Worth, is dealing with the issue of huge data centers being built next to there communities. I won’t bore you with all the arguments for and against, but many community members oppose the data centers and the noise, energy, and water pollution that accompany such behemoths in their neighborhoods. At a recent campaign appearance in Hood County, a community member asked Dione about her stance on data centers. Her response was telling about what she will bring to Congress – real representation of the people in her district: something we all wish would happen no matter which side of the political spectrum we find ourselves on.

She answered that the issue needed to be decided by the people, and that as their representative in Congress it was her job to reach across the divided and bring the community together and draw a consensus on whatever he issue was. She was there to represent them – to speak their concerns to power. Moreover, that what many of the new candidates, especially Democrats (of which I am not a part and a proud Independent) have the same goals.

I found a degree of hope in this for a return to what the democracy I was taught about growing up. Political Science might have been my college major but politics is no longer my forte. As I’ve grown older it’s no longer about Republican or Democrat, right or left, but about right and wrong, representative democracy over authoritarianism, the will of the people, all people, versus the will of a small few.

I certainly don’t have the answers to all the challenges we face as a nation, a state, or a community, but I believe that we do. Maybe it’s time to put aside our differences and elect real representatives of what we want from our government, people that will listen to us and not the voices of their corporate donors and lobbyists. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll start waking up to the fact that democracy isn’t guaranteed and requires our participation in making this a good place for all of us, no matter what color, race, gender, religion, ethnicity, or political affiliation we are. This is what Dione has been doing at Unity Unlimited, Inc. for over twenty-five years as the Executive Director of Unity and will do. as your representative in Congress.

“Hard work should pay off, and nobody should have to live one emergency away from losing everything.” -Dione Sims

The things that are important to most of us – the ability of afford a home, to have healthy food and clean water, to thrive in our communities, and to be free to live in peace has been ignored long enough. It’s time to ask our elected officials to really listen to us and act accordingly. I’m hopeful that people like Dione Sims and so many candidates like her will be doing those same things in the 120th Congress of the United States.

“I’m running to make freedom livable.” -Dione Sims

And remember, f you didn’t vote in early voting, please to vote on Primary Election Day, March 3rd!

“No one is free until everyone is free, and freedom has to show up in real life.” -Dione Sims

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Dogs, Horses, and Maddie

gregoryjoel

I went to the farm Sunday afternoon to water the newly seeded beds. It may have rained a lot of last week, but new seedlings require consistent water to germinate well. Besides, I like Sunday afternoons. I enjoy the solitude of the day. It’s quiet except for the occasional bicyclists whizzing down the Trinity Trail, encouraging each other as they ride past.

I noticed a grey compact car parked toward the back of the empty lot in front of our barn. It’s not unusual for people to park in the vacant lot and walk down to fish or walk the trails so I paid it no mind. I drove down to dump compost before returning to open the barn and getting the generator out. As I unlocked the barn, I caught a glimpse of an older man sitting in the grass next to the tree in the vacant lot. He grabbed my attention because he didn’t look like most of the folks going fishing or the homeless people that frequent this part of Sylvania Street and the Trinity Trail. He was dressed in a sport shirt and jeans, his hair neatly combed, and gave off a fatherly aura, if there is such a thing.

It was then I noticed who he was talking to. It was a beautiful black and brown German Shepherd. I looked back at the barn door quickly as if my eyes had intruded on a very important and precious moment. I don’t know anything about that man or his dog, but I do know about something about men and their dogs (no offense to my wife or all the other female dog lovers). There was something deeply personal and tender about what I had seen. There was a sense of sadness in the picture. It was as if he were saying goodbye to an old friend. Could it be that he was spending his last day with his faithful friend? I have no reason to know this was the case except for the feeling in my gut. A tear blurred my vision as I opened the door and stepped into the barn.

I hurriedly loaded my truck with the generator and some tools and left as quietly and as quickly as I could. I went about my chores but couldn’t shake the image I had just witnessed.

I’ve always had a special relationship with all the dogs who have graced my life. I’m convinced that the world needs more dogs (and horses but that’s another story…) and less people. It’s no surprise to me that dog is simply “god” spelled backwards. They share the unconditional love quality of the Creator. I needed to be around such unconditional love more than ever. That’s when Maddie, and a couple of months later Missy, came to live with me.

Maddie was half Dachshund and half German Shepherd. I’m not sure which one was the father, but I’m convinced it was not the Dachshund. I can’t figure how that would’ve worked if it was. She looked like a Dachshund with a semi-German Shepherd head. My first thought was that she was so ugly she was cute. That changed soon enough.

 Maddie was eleven years old when she came into my life. Her owner had lived at Samaritan House, a transitional housing place for homeless folks with HIV/AIDS, and been the caretaker for the house dog, Maddie. The two became inseparable. When her owner moved into her own place Maddie went with her. Unfortunately, her owner passed the same year I found myself at Samaritan House and getting clean from too many years of addiction.

Her owner’s sister brought Maddie back to Samaritan House because the only other alternative for her was the shelter. I volunteered to keep her, and we bonded immediately. She became my dog.

Three months later Missy came into our home. I was doing some landscape work for a friend. She had two dogs: one a Boston Terrier and the other a Sheltie named Missy. She had taken Missy in from a breeder and then discovered she was incredibly allergic to Missy’s long hair. She asked if I would like to take her. I said yes without hesitation even though I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to have her in my little apartment. Moreover, I wasn’t sure how it would work with Maddie. I’d figure it out. When my friend said her good-byes to Missy, I opened my truck door and Missy jumped in. She never looked back.

I finally moved from Samaritan House to my very own place. It didn’t have a fence, but I didn’t have to worry about the dogs. Missy kept Maddie safe and would always herd Maddie back to the house when she wandered off. She got along well with Maddie, but Maddie made sure everyone knew she was the alpha in our little pack. Maddie would stand at the food bowls, while Missy waited patiently for Maddie to finish eating. Maddie would empty her bowl, walk over to Missy’s bowl, and lick the top and sides of the food bowl just to show she could.  She wouldn’t eat any mind you, but she made it quite clear who was in charge. When bedtime came Maddie slept by my head and Missy slept at my feet.

Maddie was eleven years old when she came to live with me. I knew when I took her in that I may not have her long. Despite the tendency of Dachshunds and Shepherds to have hip and back issues as they age, Maddie never had those problems.  She may have slowed a bit, but she was full of energy, bringing joy and love to my home.

\When I moved in with my “adopted brother” Craig a couple of years later, she wormed her way into his heart. The dogs who would “have to stay outside” still slept with me and often took on the role of service dog to Craig. He had severe diabetes and both Missy and Maddie warned me when his blood sugar dropped too low. He often told me how special they were to him.

It was 2011 and the morning was unusually hot and humid for the early Spring. I began my morning ritual of letting the dogs outside and making the morning coffee. Missy bound out the back door, but Maddie stayed in her bed. She had given up sleeping with me a few weeks earlier. She could no longer jump up on the bed and preferred her little mattress on the floor next to me. She had been sleeping more than usual, but at the ripe old age of sixteen she was entitled to take her time waking up.

I finished my morning ritual and headed off to work. Missy was at the door when I returned. She was running back and forth to my bedroom, baking for me to follow. Maddie was still in her bed. I reached down to love on her when I noticed she had messed on herself. I gently picked her up, cleaned her off, and placed her on the bed next to me. Missy sat at attention with a concerned look on her face. Maddie hadn’t eaten in a couple of days and now she even refused the dog treat I offered her. I knew it was her time. I began to sob uncontrollably, hugging my sweet Maddie as she laid her head in my lap.

I agonized over the decision I knew I had to make. Maybe she had caught a bug, or it was something she ate and she’ll be better in the morning. I knew it was simply wishful thinking. She had lived a long full life, loving those of us who God put in her path – at Samaritan House, with her caretaker, and with me. She was a rescue dog who really the rescuer. I had been given time with her I never expected and now couldn’t think of life without Maddie. Even Missy could sense that the end was near and come over to love on Maddie and I.

I didn’t sleep much that night. I checked on Maddie frequently through the night to make sure she was comfortable. When morning came, I told Craig what I had to do. He sat down with me in our morning coffee spot – his garage wood shop – and asked if he could pray for us. We prayed together; both choking back the tears. He shared my pain and knew he couldn’t fix the problem. He could be there for me. I’ve been blessed by the people God has put in my life as well. That point isn’t lost on me.

I got showered and dressed slowly. Every moment felt like a weight keeping me down and struggling to just “be”. I wrapped a blanket around Maddie and gently picked her up. Missy followed us to the truck and stopped short. She knew that it would only be Maddie and I leaving today. I think she knew that only I would be returning.

I drove to the Humane Society shelter – the same one Maddie had come from all those years ago – and explained our situation to the receptionist. I couldn’t afford a veterinarian, but I couldn’t let Maddie suffer any longer. She was so kind and said to simply donate what I could at another time. She called the veterinary tech while I left to bring Maddie from the truck.

We went to a private room behind the office. There the tech explained to me what he was going to be doing, that Maddie would simply go to sleep, and asked if I wanted to stay with Maddie. There was no question. I had to be there to love her until the end. He then brought out the syringe and administered the shot. “It might take a few minutes”, he said, “because her metabolism has slowed so much.” I wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. I didn’t want to leave Maddie, but I felt myself breaking down. Maddie’s breath began to slow. She looked at me one last time as I held her.

Maddie took her last breath and died in my arms. The tech said to take as much time as I needed. The receptionist brought me a note, thanking Maddie for her years of service to the HIV community and with it a note about the Rainbow Bridge:

“Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together….”

Author unknown…

I don’t know if the man I saw was going through these same feelings or the same situation. What I do know is that whatever he was going through his faithful companion would be there until the end. That’s what dogs do.

One of my favorite author, Brennan Manning, tells a story of watching a dog being dumped on the side of the road. As the car sped off, the dog ran down the road chasing the car, pursuing his owner with all his might even though he was rejected and abandoned. God is like that with us. Regardless of how much we have rejected and abandoned Him he pursues us with His unwavering love and forgiveness, wanting to be with us every no matter what.

I guess that’s why Dog is God spelled backwards…

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Bumps in the Road

gregoryjoel

It’s been an interesting Spring at Opal’s Farm. I’ve been busier than a one-armed paper hanger as my uncle used to say.

For one thing, I received a letter from the Social Security Administration this week. It said I’ve reached the age where I am now considered retired. I have to laugh when I realize Ms. Opal “retired” the year after I graduated high school. If that’s what retirement looks like, then I’m grateful for it. It means I can focus on loving and serving others full-time just like her. At ninety-eight, she reminds me that she just keeps running forward so the good Lord can’t catch her to take her home. Besides, there’s so much more to do. Especially now…

The other thing that happened is a little less humorous. My left knee blew out on me last Wednesday as I was putting tools away for the day. That wouldn’t have been unusual as it tends to happen now that I’m old enough to suffer the consequences of an overactive youth. This time was different. It didn’t stop hurting the next day and the pain was in a different part of my knee and increasing rather than decreasing. I decided Friday afternoon I had better go to the ER and have it checked out.

Fortunately, nothing is broken, but since X-rays don’t show cartilage or ligament damage, I’ll be seeing the orthopedic surgeon this week. Moreover, the ER doc said I had a lot of arthritis, and the next step was a knee replacement. I feared that might be the case. I guess I’ll find out this week. It’s a pretty big bump in the road.

He also told me to take steroids and pain medicine, wear the immobilizer, use the crutches, and stay off my knee for a few days. I can take medication. I can use the immobilizer most of the time. I can even use the crutches sometimes. However, for a farmer four days of bed rest isn’t possible this time of year. My doctor and I have an agreement – I don’t tell him how to practice medicine and he doesn’t tell me how to farm.

I went market and “Taste the C.U.R.E” class yesterday. If people ask me what happened I simply tell the truth – I got older!

I guess there’s more news to come and a lot of decisions to be made. I’ll just hobble along and work on the farm until then. I’m going to be much slower so I’m extra grateful for the volunteers we have right now. Spring is the busiest time of year for farmers and Opal’s is no exception. The farm still needs daily care. I’ll be there as long as the good Lord lets me, but we need extra volunteer help right now. Please think of us if you have a little spare time and want to get you’re hands dirty. After all, dirt don’t hurt.