Auntie and the Letters

You are looking at one of my favorite people in the world: Auntie.

When I was growing up, it was this house--her's and Uncle's--that we came to when we were on furlough in the United States. Through my career years in parochial education I have often traveled to the denominational headquarters in Maryland for some meeting or committee. It just so happens that Auntie's house is a mile away, as the crow flies, from that building, so I stay with Auntie instead of in a hotel. I look forward to it.

I noticed early on that Auntie was not like my mom, although they had two great things in common: the love of my mom's brother, and a love of music. But there otherwise there were many differences.  My mom was a doctor and Auntie was trained to be a secretary. My mom worked at the hospital and Auntie was a stay-at-home mom. My mom got her meals on a haphazard schedule due to delivering babies, while Auntie had made-from-scratch meals on the table for her family at the same times every day. My mom came home to us at whatever hour worked out, while my cousins came home to their mom in the view in the picture above: Auntie standing at the door looking out, waiting to welcome them.

My mom and my auntie have loved each other dearly through the years. My mom is the one who suggested that her brother get acquainted with Auntie, whom Mama had met in a choir. And then my mom heaved a sigh of relief--she has said this many times--when Uncle and Auntie's marriage revealed that they were indeed a good match and Mama wouldn't have to feel responsible for messing up her brother's life with her matchmaking.

I've just returned from Auntie's house yet again, where I left and returned from work each day to this heartwarming view of Auntie in the doorway. I rested in her love and warm conversation, laughed and hugged, and picked up a new story or two about the family history before me.

Auntie has been going through some boxes downstairs and had come across some letters that Mama had written back to the family "in the States" when I was 9-13 years old. I'd seen other letters, but these were new, and I stayed up until 1:30 one morning reading them. There were several surprises in the letters, but one of the biggest surprises for me, was seeing how much our happy existence in the mission field was actually a result of the support that Uncle and Auntie provided to us from Stateside. I'd had no clue. They sent medical instruments that my parents asked for in the letters, sent money for special projects, and regularly sent gifts to us for birthdays and Christmases. That last one I knew about, of course, but this time I read it through the eyes of an Auntie who did the work of finding gifts for 4 people twice a year, packaging them up, addressing them, and paying costly postage to send them halfway around the world to a country she had never visited.

Another surprise for me was reading my dad's letters to my uncle, which were included in this bunch of letters. I had never known that my dad relied on my uncle so much for answering questions about urology (Uncle's specialty), nor that my dad had been such good friends with my uncle and confided in him to the extent that I saw in those letters. The tone was warm and trusting, true friendship.

I also read in one of the letters that when Uncle heard my mom had her eye and heart on a Yamaha grand piano, he had sent Mama a huge check which bought us that piano. It resides now in my home; we got it when I was in 5th grade, I practiced on it for my British piano exams, the talent I developed on it became part of my personal identity, and I have loved that piano always. I hadn't realized--maybe I'd been told, but it didn't stick--that my uncle and auntie had provided us with that piano. My uncle passed away 6 years ago, and I wish I could go back and talk that over with him with more focus and gratitude.

Realizing the constancy and breadth of the care and support from my uncle and aunt has brought me some new thoughts. As I told Auntie over the breakfast the morning after reading the letters, I never knew the strength of their partnership with us as my parents gave their lives in mission service. I had thought we were on our own, this little insular foursome over there. But Auntie and Uncle were quiet missionaries right alongside us, all the way from their unassuming brick house in Maryland. Their support made my parents more effective in their medical work, gave my brother and me a connection to the U.S. that we needed in order to eventually transition to this country, and provided the books and music that enriched us immeasurably, growing up. I am so very grateful as I realize how these dear folk that I thought were "occasional," were in essence there right with us.

And I'm thankful that I got to share these thoughts with my 86-year old Auntie, with tears in my eyes, early one morning this week over oatmeal and toast in her little kitchen in that red brick house in Maryland.

The Cringe Factor, Part 3

Despite my slowly accumulated appreciation for the strengths of the American people, there are certain events and situations that have shook me along the way and made me want to, again, hide under a rock or throw someone off the bus or go claim my Thai or Dutch passport rights.

I remember exactly where I was, the first time such an event happened. I was in our college cafeteria in 1983 when someone announced that President Reagan had sent troops to invade Grenada. Hello!!! What gave my country the right to go in like a big bully and invade a little island to the south with only 91,000 people on it? It doesn't matter if we don't like Grenada's leader. Who anointed us the policeman of the western hemisphere? 

Later I was embarrassed, as a U.S. citizen, by the whole Iraq war. It just seemed to me like we were behaving like impulsive cowboys, dashing in to shoot up a country we didn't understand, for reasons that were oversimplified, and in ways that would alienate the rest of the world. Learning that the reasons given to the American people were fabricated stories, and then seeing the pictures of the Abu Ghraib fiasco, just deepened my sense of shame. 

These were things my government did that embarrassed me because they smacked of the same bullying entitlement qualities I'd perceived in Americans when I was growing up. The American people were still good people even if their government went nuts now and then, right?

Until now. This is what I started this series of posts to write about: How my faith in the American people has been shaken to its core by the current presidential election. First of all, a question: can we not--out of ALL the people with experience in the culture of government--find someone with some wisdom, some dignity, and no continual shadow of "where there's smoke, there's fire" hanging over him or her? Is there NO one with any shred of integrity available to stand up and be willing to lead? 

Second, what is this insanity going on in all the people who would vote for Donald Trump? The guy is a liar, a bully, a misogynist, a cheat, a narcissist, and pretty much all the other names he's been called in the press and in your social media feed. I simply don't understand anyone who thinks that he could even just "be" in the presidency, let alone bring deadly harm to our nation and to its reputation with other nations in the world. What is wrong with your eyes and ears, People? The man in front of you is plumb crazy, and offensive and threatening, to boot! 

Then I see people making even more incomprehensible arguments, like the Republican lady who said that she was going to continue to vote for her conservative party's candidate, even if he was a jackass. (Yes, she used that word.) WHAAA???? Since when are we lining up like sheep with such strong allegiance to a group, that we refuse to leave that group in face of their committed allegiance to a crazy, incompetent leader? I could understand putting up with a crazy, incompetent leader in an organization such as--for example--a denomination where leaders come and go without affecting your local church, but I don't understand it in a political party. This has effects on our daily life and the ability of our nation to interact constructively with the rest of the world even into the future.

It is important, if our country is to keep its place and influence in the international milieu, that the leader have at least some shred of dignity and cultural awareness, let alone appreciation for other cultures. America has survived leaders who are crooks before, and other nations can still work with a crook who at least generally plays by international rules. Not a great feeling, and I'm not happy with the alternative, but voting in Hillary Clinton is a sight better than having a self-centered, completely culturally incompetent megalomaniac despot at the helm.

I see what my friends in other countries are saying. They're not dumb. The people of other nations are looking at the United States right now, looking at the fact that Donald Trump is even an option, and they're in shock at how such a large number of Americans seem to have completely lost their marbles. So am I, ...in shock. It feels to me like a large number of my compatriots have given up their brains, cashed in their integrity. They've traded in on group-think rather than preserving their individuality, dignity and right to demand a leader with at least some measure of wisdom and moral stature. By lining up with Donald Trump (and I shake my head at even using that phrase), they've cast their lot in with racism, misogyny, narcissism, fear, hate-mongering, low-class put-downs, the lack of a moral compass ...and Trump's complete inability to articulate ideas in any educated manner whatsoever. They've lined up behind a moral midget.

It's bankrupt. All bankrupt.

And I keep wondering, with some sense of desperation: Why? When did we sell out without noticing it? How has this nation and the good people in it devolved to this point? Where did it go--that strong American backbone, the insistence on people's rights, the belief that all were created with equal value? Furthermore, how can people who call themselves Christians even get close to Donald Trump's camp, let alone board his bus? His behavior is so completely antithetical to all the characteristics of Jesus. 

It feels like I have spent years building up respect for this nation and its people, only to seriously question it now. Because even if we have a President Clinton next January--and I hope with all my heart that we do--the fact will remain that I have lost all confidence in those friends and relatives and fellow citizens who will have voted for Donald Trump. "Benedict Arnold" is back, and I don't quite know how to handle all of this.

The Cringe Factor, Part 2

That's it right there: the console on the right and the pipes behind the screens,
the organ with 5000+ pipes that I practiced on daily during my college years.

Once I landed in the U.S. and showed up in small-town America for college, I started doing what every Third Culture Kid does when they enter a new culture: observing. For four years I watched what Americans did, how they talked, and what they valued. 

To be frank, there wasn’t a lot that was cringe-worthy. Citizens in small-town United States knew and cared very little about any other countries or peoples of the world, I noticed, but it wasn’t because they were self-centered. It was because this country is too big for small-town America to have opportunity to rub shoulders with a lot of cultures, languages, religions, races and perspectives. Unlike most countries in Europe, for example, you could drive all day and never leave some of the states. And unless you lived on one coast or the other, you didn’t typically cross paths with immigrants. It was pretty vanilla. My female college classmates tended to talk about boys and clothes and cars, and my male college classmates tended to talk about sports and cars and girls. I was interested in travel, the arts, and world events. Did I say I just listened for a long time?

If I said I was from Malaysia, my schoolmates had no clue where that was; “So that’s in Africa, right?” 

“No. You’re thinking of Malawi, which is in Africa. Malaysia the peninsula between Thailand in Singapore.”

And they would nod sagely and knowingly … with a blank look in their eyes.

“South of China, northwest of Australia,” I would try, feeling both affronted and desperate. It’s my home. It’s important. Don’t assume I am a nothing from nowhere.

But it was clear that China and Australia didn’t matter either.

Still, as I said, people in small-town America were good people. They weren't much like the larger-than-life, strangely self-centered and entitled tourists I'd seen too many of while growing up elsewhere. They were ordinary. They talked about the wheat harvest at church, brought good dishes to potluck, invited me over with other dorm students for an evening home-cooked meal, and sang and prayed like I did. Slowly but surely, I started seeing some great things about the United States. Truly great things. I’ve not researched how anyone else perceives this, but I've continued to observe in the three decades since I graduated from college, and I have thoughts about what I've seen.

Here are the observations of a slowly-converted Benedict Arnold:

By and large, the people of the United States of America are generous. I have never seen people dig so deeply into their pockets to help others when they are in crisis, as I have seen in this country. Over the years it has seemed to me that people here generally have HUGE hearts for helping, for doing good, for taking personal and corporate action to make someone's difficult life circumstance a little easier. Whether that comes from a historically Christian belief system or whether it comes from a family history of ancestors who came here fleeing difficult circumstances, I don't know. But it is this quality of generosity that makes me the proudest to possess my U.S. passport today.

People in the U.S. live from a creationist perspective; in other words, they believe in outsmarting the survival of the fittest. It's mighty comforting to think that the bully doesn't win in the end. Underdog-to-glory tales are rampant in our folklore, our movies, and our pulled-up-by-the-bootstraps stories about our own families. It’s in our DNA to cheer the struggler all the way to a triumphal win.

People in the U.S. are some of the most creative people on the planet. Inventive people can be found all over the world, but I have not yet seen quite the pervasive strength of drive to accomplish problem-solving and invention anywhere else. There is in both the history and present a brain trust in this country that is incredibly creative. Immigrants come here seeking the opportunity to create—create success, create solutions, create a brighter future, create knowledge. We’ve set up an environment specifically to incubate creativity here. We are dreamers.

And finally: People in the U.S. seem to adhere to an undying belief that every person can achieve and become remarkable. This belief in the individual drives an educational system that is generally resistant to stratification and comes close to considering itself a right rather than a privilege. The downside of it is that the current generation has been weaned on the mother’s milk of “I am special; I am award-winning; I am entitled to recognition and fame.” Nevertheless, there is still that openness to achievement that enables the individual to go further and dream bigger than people do in most other countries. And we know that a belief in one’s own ability is half the battle to achieving one’s goals.

There are, in my opinion, other qualities that may be found in greater quantities in some other countries—sturdiness, persistence, quality of workmanship, ability to create efficient systems, precision, tribal loyalty, respect, appreciation for history, attunement to nature, dignity and so on. But my point is that, after coming to the United States of America seeking access to pipe organs, I came to appreciate to see and appreciate these great American qualities that fill a room as surely as the sounds of my great instrument at the front of our 3000-seat college church.

(to be continued)