"Peace That Was Meant to Be..." by Liz Flaherty

Although I am a Christian, I admit to not knowing Israel's history well. Or Palestine's. Or why the Gaza Strip is so worth dying for. I definitely don't understand what is there that is worth killing for. Those people seem to hurt each other's children at will. Some of them hate women because they're...wait for it...women. Powerful people there want more power, more money, more land, more resources. And they don't care who they hurt. They proliferate untruths at a rate unimagined by the most dedicated proponents of "free speech" (as long as it's convenient) and users of artificial intelligence, which is--naysayers aside--still artificial. 

What makes me profoundly sad about this is that it's not that much different from what happens here in the land of the free and the home of the brave. The land where many of its citizens want that power, money, land, and resources reserved for and confined to...name your own religion, your own race, your own gender, your own ethnicity. While the border problem is a real problem, how many Americans don't even care about the children whose parents are looking for a better life? And how many of them drag their religion into their not caring.

At a gathering this week, I heard the comment that "nowadays," teachers are "just there for the paycheck." I didn't know the person who said it, nor why. The remark fell into a conversation about how things used to be. Frankly, I don't remember everything being as wonderful as others did, but that's okay. I don't begrudge them their memories. But I'm still upset that someone thought needing paychecks (I thought most people did) apparently precluded teachers being dedicated, available, and...there.  

Driving to Kentucky last week, it was hard to find a road without a detour sign on it, offering better things to come for highway drivers so that they will have more opportunities to wave at least one finger out their windows and urge non-locals confused by myriad traffic circles and gulp-worthy speeds to learn to f----- drive!

I have a broken wrist. I got it because I wasn't being careful enough, fell on a porch, and as I've said before, I don't bounce well. I have good insurance, family and friends who take me to the myriad appointments that accompany stitches on my face and a splint on my lower arm. My mouth hurts, but I've had prayers, cards, flowers, excellent care, and both sympathy and empathy. My sister-in-law Lynn sent me a collapsible purple cane with bling and a light on it and made my day. She hasn't stopped laughing yet, but...well...Lynn. I love her to pieces.

I have been to four medical facilities since I fell. I have been well and kindly treated, have laughed with virtually everyone. I've mastered pulling out my insurance cards without having to rummage through my entire purse.

Here at home, I can look out any window and see the trappings of autumn. Fields emptying of their bounty, leaves in colors that even past their peak lend vitality to every view. The deer are well-fed, but increasingly vulnerable. I'm thankful for the quiet, punctuated by the rhythmic sounds of farm equipment and grain trucks. I love seeing church signs that promise harvest dinners and soup suppers coming soon. 

We are so blessed here, in so many ways, aren't we? Most of us can still have opinions and memories and be as kind or as hateful as it suits us to be. We can worship--or not--at will, patronize whatever retailers and services we choose. I'm not so sure it's the same for everyone. I'm white; there are things I'll never understand. 

There are times I wish I were more articulate, and this is certainly one of them. Why can't we look at the horrors happening and still not see seeds of those horrors taking root around us? And, even if we can, what can we do about it? I wish I knew. More importantly, I wish those in power knew. Or cared. 

Have a good week. Be nice to somebody. 

Liz

LET THERE BE PEACE ON EARTH
by Sy Miller and Jill Jackson
Copyright © 1955, Renewed 1983 by Jan-Lee Music, (ASCAP
All Rights Reserved. International copyright secured.