I am unable to watch the
news anymore. I do not remember the last
time I picked up a newspaper. The most I
can muster is quickly viewing the headlines that leave me depressed and
sickened. I must say that I like and
prefer my rose-colored glass that shields me from reality in all its unabashed
ugly. Behind my rose-colored glasses, I escape and
go to places of sanctuary and safety where I try to do good and be good in the
face of the blatant bad and just life plainly sucks sometimes. These places revolve around my volunteer work
that remind me “It Could Be Me.” Volunteer work at
large venues to try to register people as life-saving organ, eye, and tissue
donors. Volunteer work at the animal rescue
events to advocate for animals. And,
above all else, my favorite volunteer work: The Midnight Run. It was at least five
years ago that I attended my first Midnight Run where I participated and assisted
in giving food, drinks, toiletries, and the absolute necessities that we take
for granted to those who are labeled as ‘homeless’ and having ‘mental
disorders.’ I had never been so
physically exhausted yet emotionally charged than that night. I did not hesitate to assist again a couple
weeks ago, but I knew my aging over 35-year-old body could not take on
staying up until past midnight. So, I
did what I did best: I prepped. I made
sandwiches. I bagged food. I organized toiletry bags. I matched shoes and tied laces. I talked.
A lot. To a room full of people—some
would go out late that night to help the homeless. Others as myself would not and would prep and
prepare. One woman I met this night of
prep and prepare made a comment that it was typically those with mental
disorders that were out on the street, but this was not always the case and
shared with me about this woman who made an impression on her: “She had a full-time
job, but her daughter got sick requiring around the clock care. She had to leave her job and the healthcare bills
kept piling up. Eventually, her daughter
died, and she was all out of resources and out on the streets.” I commented, “It
could be you. It could be me.” “Yes,” she responded,
“We all fall on hard times. Life can be
cruel and sad and painful, but also so beautiful. It could be anyone of us.” When I am at Midngith
Run and all my other volunteer gigs and when I see what is happening around the
world and to the people I love that is of pain and suffering, I am filled with
this odd and unexplainable feelings of empty and full at the same time. Always, always, the sentence that follows
after “It Could Be Me,” is “Dang, I am so blessed.” I sense a shift in the world we are living in. Cries for help. Heads buried in the sands. We all see and experience what is going on in
the world—whether it be directly or indirectly, but this is all about us and we.
We are all trying our best to get
through our lives and this world day in and day out. We all have a part to play in this world that can be for the better and greater. What are you doing for this world? Perhaps I do not always cling and wear my
rose-colored glasses after all. I think we all are
more fragile than ever, needing and craving more compassion and gentleness in these
tumultuous times. We all fall on hard times.
We can be quick to kick someone when they are down. When have you looked at someone on the
outside only to think ‘wow, that could be me,’ making you even more full of
gratitude? When have you been at your
most vulnerable to receive compassion as the ultimate reaction rather than
disdain? When have you experienced the
utmost kindness and gentleness that meant the most to you? When have you given compassion that meant the
world to someone else? What is your positive part and purpose to and in this world? Keep smilin’
until we meet again, Mary
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