Light from Dimness

I visited this Catholic church in a suburb of Boston.

    On the spur of the moment I entered a church.
    Nobody else was there. The lighting was dim. I knelt and prayed.
    Churches with dim interiors put me in a mood for worship.
    One day after my impromptu visit I attended mass elsewhere. The lector read from Ephesians: The light of Christ does not simply shine on us; it should shine out from inside us.
    Heeding that advice requires a change in outlook. Contemplation and prayer can foster such a change. 
    In order to become a light unto the world, spend time in dim and quiet places.

Faith and the Bottom Line

    Nobody reached for the Milk Duds.
    Baskets of candy flanked check-out lines at a supermarket. The prices were reduced. I’d never seen candy—or any product—occupy that spot. Floor space usually remains open to accommodate foot traffic.
    Chances are, the store’s management had ordered the candy without considering the season of Lent. Many Christians fast during these forty days. They avoid sweets.
    It behooves a company to factor in behaviors of the faithful. Religions affect bottom lines.

Swirling Assemblage

    Every day, seagulls soar en mass above a parking lot near my home. They're not going anywhere in particular. They fly every which way, without a common direction. They're a swirling assemblage. This aerial performance lasts about one minute.
    How do they avoid collisions with each other? Why they perform this seemingly haphazard activity? They're not looking for food. Maybe they're just having fun.
    For the longest time, birds didn't interest me. Their ubiquitousness rendered them boring. But now I enjoy birds. Their interrelationships are on display. It's easy to watch them get along, or not get along, with each other.
    Observing birds reduces stress, and whatever reduces stress is healthy.
    Birdwatching contributes to our well-being.

Calling Their Bluffs

Airbag is located under the dashboard of my car. Auto dealership seen in background.

    A nationwide recall notice arrived in the mail. My car had a safety problem.
    I telephoned a dealership. The conversation went something like this:
    “Hello,” I said.
    “Hi, can I help you,” a woman said.
    “I’m calling to set up a service appointment. I got a recall notice for the passenger side airbag.”
    “Sure, we can take care of that. Let me put together a customer profile.”
    “Does that mean I have to give out my personal information.”
    “Yes sir.”
    “I’d rather keep that information private.”
    “May I ask why?”
    “I don’t want to be placed on another marketing list. I bought my car from the previous owner of your dealership. Afterwards, the dealer robo-called me on the telephone. The calls went on for months.”
    “Sorry to hear that, but we need your contact information.”
    “I’ll give you the vin (Vehicle identification number).”
    “We also need your contact information.”
    “I really don’t want to give it out.”
    “Then we’ll be unable to repair your airbag.”
    “So be it. I hope nothing bad happens.”
    The woman paused to think. My last remark was loaded with innuendo. It implied that if the airbag--the defective airbag--discharged prematurely and injured a passenger, the dealership would be in trouble.
    “Okay, we’ll fix the airbag,” she said.
    All to often, cashiers ask for my personal information when I buy products with cash. I don’t comply with their requests. Sometimes cashiers persist. They’ll state that my contact information is necessary for sales to go through.
    I call their bluffs. I refuse to provide them with the information. At that point, cashiers back off. They accept my dollars and that’s the end of it.
    All to often, cashiers aren’t just cashiers, they’re also data miners.

Graffiti Train

    While idling in traffic, I viewed a parade of ugliness. A freight train passed by. Graffiti marred the sides of almost every boxcar. I reminded myself that this ugliness came from somewhere else.
    Graffiti is rare around here. People care about aesthetics. There’s respect for property, both public and private. This attitude prevails in most regions of our nation.
    When I visit Europe, I am dismayed at the prevalence of graffiti. I would not want to live in a place, foreign or within the USA, where graffiti is commonplace.
    Graffiti is a harbinger of cultural problems.

Oh Sew Kind

Seamstress holds the quilt mended on behalf of my mother.

    Fifty-eight years. That’s how long my mother has owned a quilt. It’s small, intended for a child. That quilt probably warmed me when I was a toddler.
    Now the quilt warms Mom. She drapes it over herself in the living room.
    Mom’s got Alzheimer’s disease. She’s 93. Her husband is not longer alive.
    Her memory is fading but she hasn’t forgotten about the longevity of that quilt. She remarks at how much pleasure it has given her. That quilt is a connection to her past.
    Wear and tear had taken a toll on the fabric of the quilt. Mending was needed. Last week I purchased new fabric. Like the original fabric, this material was pink in color and smooth to the touch.
    I visited a dry cleaning store. A seamstress works there. I requested that she sew the new fabric on to the quilt. I mentioned why the quilt was important to my mother.
    The seamstress spent two hours sewing the fabric. Her work was excellent. I prepared to pay her bill.
    She cut back her price by a third. This gesture expressed sympathy for Mom and support for me as her caregiver.
    The seamstress’s goodwill came as a surprise, but I wasn’t surprised by her goodwill. Other people have performed random kindnesses to Mom and I.
    When people observe an elderly person being assisted, their hearts soften.

Spontaneous Generosity

        A young woman approached my mother while inside a market. The woman offered to buy Mom a loaf of bread. Mom, by the way, is 93 years old. I was standing beside her.
     The bread was fresh and warm. Beforehand, Mom and I had handled a loaf. We had debated whether or not to purchase it. I chose not to. Unbeknownst to us, the young woman had overheard our conversation.
    I told the woman I would purchase the loaf after all. She again expressed a desire to buy the loaf for us.
    It seemed odd, a stranger offering to buy us bread. Why the generosity? Did she think my mother and I were poor?
    That explanation was plausible. The date was Monday, January 2nd. On the first Monday of each month, welfare payments are released to people in need. They mob this supermarket on that date. Prices are lower than anywhere else. Mom and I are not welfare recipients, we are middle class, but we still shop there.
    The young woman wandered over to a check-out line. Mom followed her.
    I cued up at another line. While a clerk tallied my purchases, I glanced toward the young woman. She and Mom were chatting. Smiles creased both of their faces. It was as thought they were old friends.
    The young woman handed the loaf to Mom. Mom returned to my line. Turns out, the young woman had bought us the loaf of bread.
    After paying for my food, I walked toward the young woman. She wore a head cover. The bottom of her ankle-length dress extended below her coat. The dress was plain.
    I asked her why she was wearing those clothes. She told me she was a member of a Mennonite Church. It was located nearby. Mennonites dress modestly.
    I shook her hand and thanked her for the bread.
    She smiled and said, 'Go with Christ.'
    The encounter reinforced a notion: An act of generosity lifts the spirits of both a recipient and a giver.