Speak to Me Sunday: Passion and Hate

It is a beautiful thing to be passionate about something. Passion fuels belief systems, provides focus and clarity, and propels action. It inspires leaders to lead, missionaries to evangelize, activists to protest, artists to create, and pacifists to make peace. It unabashedly spills forth, compelling one to share, teach, and proclaim because you want others to experience what you have.

Passion anchored in kindness, patience and example, leaves room for growth. It opens doors and encourages dialogue. It helps you stand strong in your convictions, but it understands, empathizes, and welcomes. It does not force your way. It does not make you superior, or anyone else inferior.

But the same passion that inspires creation of the Sistine Chapel can also spark a war.

When passion is mired in hatred and scorn, accompanied by finger-pointing and name calling, when it snarls and spits, the result is alienation to the point that the only people listening to your message are those who are just like you. And this leaves absolutely no room for growth. 

It is human nature that passion and hate bubble forth from the same wellspring of heightened emotions, but while the former can be inspirational, the latter often leads to abandonment of all reason to the point of irrationality. It is passion without reason. The ability to see good (any good at all) in the opposing side is lost. Haters are gonna hate to the point it becomes pro forma.

And here we are.

Today, passion in our country is satiated with hatred that festers, boils, bubbles, and breeds destruction on all sides. It is ugly. It is dark. It hurts and maims and kills. Sadly, so many people miss the point. If your passion is fueled by hatred and violence, then you are just promulgating hatred and violence. 

It is that simple.

Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, 

sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields and meadows—then let your heart say in silence, 

"God rests in reason."
And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky—then let your heart say in awe, 

"God moves in passion."
And since you are a breath in God's sphere, and a leaf in God's forest, 

you too should rest in reason and move in passion.

-Kahlil Gibran

A No-Birthday Birthday

Today is my mom’s birthday.

Two days ago, she called to tell me she does NOT want anything for her birthday—no gifts, no fuss, no birthday cake. Nothing. “We will celebrate later,” she said, and I knew she meant after … after this month, after my dad’s cancer treatment is finished, after all this is behind us. My mother has a bullseye focus, and right now she is focused on my dad.

When my parents met with the oncologist, he told them: “My job is to cure cancer. Your job is to keep up with nutrition.” Well. The doctor was speaking my mother’s language, the language of food which is home-cooked, fresh, and nourishing. THIS was something she could do. Homemade minestrone? Done. Freshly baked bread? Done. In the mood for banana pudding? Protein pancakes? Baked chicken? Done, done, and done. When my father switched to eating smaller, more frequent meals, my mom set up a schedule to ensure his caloric intake was where it needed to be. 

She is tiny, but mighty.

On our family cruise last month, stormy weather in Seattle delayed boarding for all the passengers. When the port finally opened, we arrived to complete bedlam—taxis and Ubers everywhere, luggage drop-off points, a lengthy line just to get into the check-in area, and Seattle weather that was rainy, stormy, and cold. We stood there a moment, a little stunned. Where to even begin? How would my father be able to stand for that length of time in the drizzly weather?

Well, my mom was a terrier. She bulldozed her way to a counter, requested a wheelchair, flagged down an attendant, and within thirty minutes we were sitting in the Windjammer enjoying our first meal on board the ship.

My mom will go to battle for you; she will also dance with you.

On that very same cruise, one of my favorite memories was a line dancing class with my mom. All day the weather had been stormy, resulting in a rolling, pitching ship; in fact, several members of our group were out for the count due to seasickness. But the two of us danced in a room with a panoramic view of the choppy seas. We lost our balance due to the ship’s rocking but laughed and danced anyway.

Here is another thing about my mom: anywhere I go in Augusta—ANYWHERE—I always run into someone who knows my mom: from Bible study, church, the Italian classes she used to teach, her work as an interpreter, or her volunteer work. “I love your mom,” they tell me, which always makes me smile.

My mom. She is no-nonsense who does not like attention. It embarrasses her. She does not like to go to the mall, hates shopping for clothes, but will spend hours in a grocery store. She walks fast, likes to dance, and is not afraid to ask questions. She is both smart and practical. During her morning prayers she prays aloud and often sings a song she made up called, “Thank you Jesus, thank you, thank you Jesus!” (her grandchildren tease her about this). She loves honey mustard.

So, today is my mom’s birthday. And she does not want anything.

But if you see her, wish her a happy birthday anyway.

Happy birthday, Mom! We love you!