Do It Anyway – Mother Teresa

I offer the following words from Mother Teresa as a source of inspiration in difficult moments-

for children in Calcutta:

              People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered.  Forgive them anyway.

            If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives.  Be kind anyway.

            If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies.  Succeed anyway.

           If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you.  Be honest and sincere anyway.

            What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight.  Create anyway.

            If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous.  Be happy anyway.

            The good you do today, will often be forgotten.  Do good anyway.

         Give the best you have, and it will never be enough.  Give your best anyway.

         In the final analysis, it is between you and God.  It was never between you and them anyway.

-this version is credited to Mother Teresa. It is thought to have been based on The Paradoxical Commandments by Dr. Kent Keith.

 

You might also enjoy: A Child’s Smile , If

If, by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling, 1895

Source: A Choice of Kipling’s Verse (1943)

When I’m down and feeling sorry for myself, “If” is one of the poems I return to for inspiration. Here are YouTube links to great readings of this poem, the first  by Holly Musgrove, the second by Sir Michael Caine-

Insert video link  to Holly Musgrove 

Insert video link to Sir Michael Caine

Life is a gift and a responsibility. Let’s make the most of it!

Tio Stib

Shape Shifting

the mirror of life stares back at me
a history of those times once free
the many men I’d tried to be
the many worlds I’d longed to see
so many new realities
I lived in hopes of finding me

some were good and some were bad
there were happy times and sad
joyful moments and some quite mad
questing for the dreams I had

some lasted days, some only hours
some grew from seeds to lovely flowers
but then the moment finally came
when each went up in spirit’s flame

was I born a vagabond
to never settle down for long
to never truly quite belong
heart pulled on by distant song

lovers, friends, and passersby
I’ve known them all
said my goodbyes
but now, as I face the end
I wonder if I’ll fly again

the caterpillar exists to eat
the pupa then goes off to sleep
and in its sacred, silky place
transforms into a different face

and so I build my new cocoon
as life within me starts to swoon
in hopes that with the coming moon
I will stretch my wings once more
and fly away to distant shores

so begins my every day
shape shifting in the cosmic play

tio stib
2016, 2018, 2019

You might also enjoy: Paddling a Submarine vs. Living an Authentic Life, A Friend Passes

Jumping Off

leaning out the open door
time roars by
it’s gone
no more
I wonder what my life might be
had I the courage to jump free

behind me in the train’s cocoon
dreams fly off to distant moons
faces glued to heartless screens
joyless stares and silent screams

and so we travel every day
secure and safe or so we say
the child no longer comes to play
the status quo will have its way

will I stay an untold story
remain in hopeless purgatory
pretending that I care no more
soul crying for its need to soar

then I jumped off into space
the unknown flying in my face
It’s not clear where I will land
no matter
I am free again

tio stib

2016, 2017, 2019

You might also enjoy: Life is Like a Broken Egg, Paddling a Submarine vs. Living an Authentic Life.

My Dementia Diary 46 – Caring for the Caregiver

I used to pride myself on my independence, my self-reliance. I’d been brought up believing that real men dealt with their own problems, asking for help was a sign of weakness. Yes, I’ve learned that such prideful small mindedness is foolish. Blindness humbled me.

Still, it’s hard to let go of old habits, such as the notion that I can be the sole caregiver for a wife whose dementia continues to deteriorate. Being blind has certainly lowered my resistance to ask for assistance. I have no qualms about asking a passerby in the grocery store if we’ve grabbed the right kind of cheese or tea. But, when we’re home alone and help is not readily available, I push myself to either find a solution to the problem at hand or just let it pass by as something that doesn’t really matter anymore. Who cares if my wife has matching socks as long as she has one on each foot?

But the daily challenges are increasing. A few weeks ago, I could count on my wife sitting at her desk and coloring happily away for an hour or more. Something has changed inside her brain and now such activity might last only fifteen minutes. The hour I used to have to let my mind get lost in creative writing has disappeared. Now, just when I’m beginning to get into a clear thought, I’m interrupted by my wife hovering over me. She wants attention. She wants to hear that her drawings are beautiful.

Of course they are.

I knew this was coming. I knew when she stopped painting and doing her own abstract designs and moved on to coloring books that her mind was slipping away. I knew that, in time, even the coloring books would be too complicated.

I knew the time would come when the demands of caring for her would overwhelm me.

That time is near.

I’ve begun seeking someone who will visit us for a few hours and help care for my wife, give her the attention she needs so that I can take a break. Someone with a big heart who  connects with my wife’s inner joy and who will free me to seek the quiet peace needed to renew my own spirit. There are no adult day care programs in our town, so I’ll need to build our own.

It is time to take care of the caregiver.

tio stib

You might also enjoy: This Child Who Once Was Woman, My Dementia Diary

My Dementia Diary 44 – Yours to Count On

Over the years, I’ve made hundreds of acquaintances, but precious few friends. The difference between one group and the other is four words.

Yours to count on.

Those are the words inscribed in a book given to me by a man I’d spent an intimate and intense week with during a workshop in Alabama. He gave me the gift as a tribute to what we’d gone through together, including a fire walk.

I remember opening the book and seeing the words, saying them out loud,

“Yours to count on.”

I looked at him. He smiled, and shook my hand. 

I’ve never seen him since, haven’t communicated in any way. But, if I reached out to him today and asked for his help, I know he’d be there.

He was that kind of guy. he was a real friend.

Some time back, faced with a seemingly impossible situation where I was caring for a dying family member while needing to complete a construction project before a bank loan was due, I reached out to three guys who were friends.

They didn’t ask why, but jumped in a car and drove for hours to show up at my front door. they spent several days completing the project for me, shook my hand, and returned to their lives.

They were mine to count on.

There have been others. The kind souls who spent hours comforting my dying relative, giving me a break to renew my soul. 

Good human beings. 

As I stop and pause to consider the blessings of true friendship, I’m reminded that I, too, want to be someone who can say,

“Yours to count on.”

tio stib

You might also enjoy: Flavors of Friends, My Dementia Diary

My Dementia Diary 43 – The Last Christmas

I’ve struggled with this post, started and stopped it many times, unable to create any sort of writing momentum. I sense this is the result of a month in Mexico, spending the Christmas holidays with my wife’s family in a world that is quite foreign to me.

I took my wife to her home town because I felt it might be the last Christmas she would be able to remember who her family was. It was a trip that had to be made. It was a trip I’ve avoided since I lost my sight as the world there is a blind person’s nightmare. It is not only a never ending physical obstacle course for the disabled, but it is also noisy, dirty, and unsafe. I spend the entire time there in survival mode, just trying to stay sane.

Needless to say, any urge I might have had for creative writing quickly disappeared. 

And so it went for a very long month. yes, the family was glad to reconnect with my wife, especially our two oldest kids. It was interesting to note how different family members interacted with her. I was impressed that her mother, normally quite loud and outspoken, simply listened as her daughter babbled on and on, repeating questions, often making no sense. Mom was simply happy to have her daughter with her. Our daughter, though, kept telling her mom to speak Spanish instead of gibberish. That wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t accept her mom’s dementia. 

After days of dragging us around doing errands and my wife getting upset with the continuing chaos, our son realized he was going to have to change his attitude and behavior with her. He’d finally grasped that his mom was no longer a rational, intelligent adult but a loving, open hearted four year old. Instead of trying to make his mom fit into his world, he would need to fit into hers.

And so, he just played with her.

That was the high point of our visit.

It has been several days since our return to the States. I didn’t realize how exhausting the journey had been until we returned home. I now have an even deeper appreciation of our simple, ordered life here.

I’m hoping the urge to write will reawaken again.

tio stib

You might also enjoy: My Dementia Diary 10 – Where’s the Spatula?, My Dementia Diary