Looking for the Good

High-heeled western boots, slow-clopping down the hall, halt outside my office. A tall Texan, his flat brim Stetson and long trench coat advertising his roots, frames the doorway. Though thirty years ago, the hilarity of Spencer’s first visit wins me over and over.

Our one-act play opens a month into the semester. My polite visitor takes off his hat, sits, stretches his legs, locks eyes with mine. His chuckling escalates. Spencer speaks. “I’ve just moved here, been in a few scrapes back home, my mother wanted me to try community college. Some guidance counselor asks me what my interests are and I’m sure I shouldn’t tell him, so I blurt out I want to be a doctor. Yesterday I met with him again, report that my fulltime schedule suits me pretty good, and I can’t get enough of your class.” Pounding my desk, my visitor doubles over in laughter. “When he asked me how I liked Anatomy and Physiology, I knew my smart-alecky premed comment backfired. How could I tell him I signed up by mistake for a philosophy course?”

These days especially, this once-in-a-career event surfaces. Imagine a different story. Boot stomping, puffed up Spencer cherishes his disinformation and misunderstanding—he informs me that my class is, in fact, Anatomy and Physiology. Furthermore, he’s going to take all of my classes for his biology degree. Flabbergasted, how fast could I dismiss this guy?

Almost as fast as we can tune out the smugly inane, flagrantly foul, fortunately slim majority that haunts the United States House of Representatives. Ignoring their ignorance, let’s cheer on these in fact real women.

Longtime federal prosecutor and current law professor at the University of Alabama, Joyce White Vance elevates “Civil Discourse” in her daily newsletter. I count on her clarity, honesty, humor, emotion. A televised and online presence, Vance seeks her readers’ help in naming her chickens and test-tasting recipes. She hides nothing and gives all.

CEO of the King Center in Atlanta, Bernice King finds solace and motivation in her mother’s assurance that “you don’t have to be your daddy.” Listen to her interview with Jemele Hill, this humble woman raised in her father’s restrictive Baptist tradition. She remains undaunted, though “exhausted, exasperated, and, frankly, disappointed” by “so little progress” in addressing society’s gravest problems.

News briefing from Troy, Virginia. “It’s been a busy couple of years for me but I am doing very well. On Thursday I graduated from an intense, amazing 15-month program that emphasized integrity and affirmation. Dealing with childhood trauma made it worth it. Friday I finished up a program on ways to reduce violence. My current project, with another woman, involves rewriting educational material written in 2005 that only focuses on males—hard to believe, but not for you. No shortage of activities for me!” Another former student, she closes: “I hope you are well and that I hear back.” Ashleigh has more than fifty years in front of her at the Virginia women’s prison.

(Spencer majored in Philosophy, serving as a public defender in Texas.)

Yet unmarked by our footprints, snowy January heats up with poet Dana Gioia’s “New Year’s” promise. “Simply by bringing us along—to see” a year of days ahead, “the new year always brings us what we want.” Love shimmers in each present moment. Who, what, where, when, how? Instantly.

“There’s a crack, a crack in everything / That’s how the light gets in.” I stand at full attention for Leonard Cohen’s “Anthem.” Yes, though birds sing, endless conflict ensnares the dove. Yes, yes, killers in power pray loud, yes, yes. Despite this numbing repetition, however, love finds its refugees. Listen. Watch the musicians’ shared reverence. Cohen straightens up. Postures, pull skyward.

Jason Mraz’s immersion in “Gratitude” also dunks on you and me. Childhood bullies, dance-refusing girls, divorced parents? Every single thing a lesson: “I learned that it’s okay for hearts to go their own way.” Why? What about those constant growing pains? “They shaped my life.” He learns to like and to love Jason Mraz. He sings thank you to seed-sowing farmers, road pavers, purring cats. Also, custodians, engineers, volunteers, thanks for the infusion of generosity. Here’s to my many teachers—gratitude for educating me to follow my heart.

Music assures Mraz that he’s understood—in thanksgiving, he’s looking for the good. Me too. You too. Us two.

Dawn never flashes her signal on an old day. Untrammeled snow.

Thank you, pansy and bluebird pairings. Freshly-squeezed limes. Coffee aromas. Simmering onions. Loosening muscles.

missing capital letters. thank you.

Thank you, Webb Telescope

Thank you, awaited envelope

Thank you, cracks in everything

Hearing hearts singing,

thank you

---

---

Subscribe to Blog

Blog Subscriptions