Sometimes the lessons come from someone gently leading you down a new path. At times, the knowledge comes from a word of warning, “Don’t touch the stove. It will burn you.” You may learn by listening, or you may need the reinforcement of experience. My lesson this week came from an application of Murphy’s Law: Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. At the end of January, I was made aware of the opportunity to volunteer to read virtually to a class of children as part of a Houston Literacy program for Houston Reads Day: 400 volunteers reading to 10,000 school children. A desire of my heart. Yes! Step 1 – be approved and vetted by HISD. I knew from previous knowledge this wouldn’t be easy. I was sucked into a loop that kept throwing me back to the begin again stage. A deadline loomed. In desperation I called the literacy office. Emma, (remember that name) actually answered an e-mail, called me at home, and told me which keys to push. I was able to read the handbook, take the test, print the certificate, and be approved for service. Whew!

In the next several weeks, Emma sent me encouraging notes, and all was on course. Then the week of deep winter descended. Schools closed and a grinding halt to various activities spread over Houston. Two days before R-Day, notice came that all instructions would be in next e-mail. Emma, surely realizing she was dealing with a needy soul, wrote at 4:30 the next day to ask if I understood what to do. Another panic mode. No instructions had come my way. They arrived in my folder at 10:30 p.m. At 5:00 a.m., coffee in hand, I called on the guardian angel of technically challenged and followed very specific instructions. Everything seemed to work. I even put on lipstick and was ready for my 8:05 welcome to a classroom slot. The short story is after 45 minutes of three-way texts about a blank screen that said the host will invite you to join, I packed up my marbles and went home.

I was not abandoned. Very faithful Emma found me a 1:50 slot. That principal was bonded to the program and would be in the classroom and make it happen. Short story: my video never connected as a small picture in the corner, and I couldn’t see the children. The pages of the book did appear on a screen, though the program was very slow on turning pages. I gave my best shot and somehow had vibes the children were following the story. At the end, a round of applause and a shouted, “Thank you,” were warmly received however they were instigated.

The obvious lesson was that plans can go awry. In the background was another lesson. This all happened on Dr Seuss’s birthday along with a news article that his books are now being banned. Can’t children learn from The Cat in the Hat that messes can be made and can be cleaned up? Do observant imaginative eyes need to be directed by a story other than And To Think I Saw That on Mulberry Street. Should inclusiveness be taught through didactic language instead of the gentle flow of The Sneetches. Each book read, each new task attempted, and each day lived has a lesson. We need to always have one request.

Teach me, Lord. Direct my understanding Psalm 119: 33,34

Of course I didn’t mean that word! This is a G-rated family friendly blog. A newspaper picture expressed my word non-verbally. A woman sits in her car with the window down, gloved hands reaching out to receive four styrofoam boxes that hold meals for her family. The giver of the boxes has his back to the camera. His hands, though, are holding the boxes steady until the transfer is complete. He has chosen to be cold himself and redirect his plans for the day to be a part of that word in a time of stress: KIND.

That image started me thinking how many times someone’s actions help ease a situation. You probably have your own story from last week of being the receiver or the giver of kindness to others. The sources could be a combination of blood relatives to the rescue or of the new term in today’s paper, “chosen families.” One Smith child took me to a warm house while my dwelling played power roulette. Another restarted water back when the thaw came and was able to put the most demanding problem on hold until, oh, maybe later this spring when plumbers have helped others with more pressing repairs. The third offspring, not on site, called to check-up and offer words of encouragement.

Between Kirby and Montrose, the drums of kindness beat on Swift Blvd. Through the week, texts went back and forth. Some were announcing that the power is on, no, off again, so I didn’t have to drive over to check. I thought I had a water problem under control until a neighbor called, “I hear a rushing sound in your back yard.” Four different families offered to share soup if I needed food. Neighbors met in the middle of the street on Monday to give thanks and report who still had open switches.

A disaster can bring out kindness. That action, though, is welcome any time from anyone. The short Asian employee at Kroger’s self-checkout recognizes that I usually make a mistake and appears at my shoulder to swipe her card. nod her head, and smile as she says, “There!” My battery died and the one-man tow truck who was taking it to the dealer banished a concerned decision of mine by saying, “You ride with me.” Kind is a word I am planning to keep at the forefront of my dealings with friend and stranger, even if that resolution requires staying focused. Yesterday I had to tell me to keep my voice calm and soft while the customer service rep in another state couldn’t get my name right and wasn’t speaking to my request. I ended the exchange feeling less stressed and, hopefully, she really meant, “Thank you for calling.” Psalm 119 is 176 verses based on being faithful to God’s decrees and commandments. One of the more important is those words we may have learned first as a child and certainly need to pass on to children who follow us.

And be kind to one another. Ephesians 4:32

Even outside my published area, readers and others know that Houston just had that go to word of at least several days of “unoprecedented” cold. As I start writing on Tuesday, I have taken the option of leaving a house that has been without power for 32 hours with the unknown of heat restored and the results of thawing still part of cloudy future. Much of my concern is consumed with what I can’t do for a vast majority in more dangerous situations than mine. That said, here are the op-ed sequences that may have been part of your story.

Evaluation. I work up Monday morning to know the power was gone because the green light was out on the printer. I padded to the living room to unplug computer and back to a warm bed. When time passed and nothing happened, I went into pioneer mode. Dress in ski clothes and be thankful that a previous moment in life had required those items to be available in a bottom drawer. Light a gas burner with a match. No electricity, no auto pilot starter. Recall making drip coffee and set up percolator to pour hot water over the grounds. Take a moment to revel in the unusual beauty of a white, unmarred front sidewalk, yard, and street. Call children to say at that moment all was well.

Realization Ten-thirty came, and I didn’t have a reassuring message form Center Point saying they knew of my problem and were working on restoring service. Instead their site had crashed from so many questions. The power grid for most of Texas and especially Houston was in difficulty. I began getting did I need help messages from various neighbors checking my one in a household status. Move to stage two and inform a son-in-law that if his four wheel Jeep could be the cavalry to the rescue, I needed to abandon the ship. I wasn’t worrying about mixed metaphors. I gathered what might be overnight supplies, locked the front door, and made it down the sidewalk without slipping.

Acceptance This morning I am in an upstairs bedroom at my daughter’s house with really not a hope of above freezing temperature outside and safe road conditions until Friday. I can’t even get my car out of the garage until power is restored. Bananas are rotting on a counter and food in the refrigerator has passed the 24 hour make it mark. I look up and facing me at the foot of the bed is the chest of drawers from a three piece set of bedroom furniture my mother ordered from New Orleans in the early 1930’s. It was shipped up Black River to Monterrey, Louisiana, by boat. The bed, mine as a child, awaits me to return to Swift Blvd. The set has survived a fire, a flood, five moves, and several hurricanes. Many feel crushed by these days, yet now some of us are survivors as was Nehemiah who came back to Jerusalem after captivity, He surveyed the mess, gathered some helpers around him, and laid out a plan.

I also told them of the gracious hand of my God…..They replied, “Let’s start rebuilding.” So they began the good work.

Nehemiah 2:18

Addendum As I wrote the final words, a text came that Swift had power, one of several on and off times. Some unknowns still exist. One river is crossed. I won’t know the next step until Friday’s thaw. Rebuilding still calls.

David used to say that I made him promise never to move more than 50 miles from the Gulf Coast. I don’t recall those exact words, and he never did put me to the test. However, those parameters have defined my life. A few stretches, yet always within the confines of Louisiana and South Texas. I taught school for three years in Shreveport. Every few weeks, I would leave in the dark of early morning to head south on black topped secondary roads. The only marker was a yellow center stripe, and the unknown depth of ditches on each side was blurred in with the edge of the road. As I passed through Elm Grove headed toward Coushetta and a coffee stop, that heading home feeling kicked in.

One defining characteristic of living near water is weather matters. Weather conditions top every newscast as if nothing can be faced responsibly without that settled first Tides are reported along with fishing comments. “Crappie are running near the mouth of the river.” Water falling varies from scattered showers to heavy rains upstream that lead to floods to hurricanes which also can have force winds. One of the most eerie is dense fog. The phenomena occurs in various seasons created by some mixture of moisture in the air and temperature conditions of the ground. One can go to bed on a clear night and wake barely able to see down the sidewalk to find the paper.

We’ve had two dense fog advisors from the weather men the last two days. Sometimes the prognosticator is brave enough to declare a clearing time, which may or may not be accurate. Driving through wispy or sometimes thick blockage of landmarks slows down movement, especially if the area is unfamiliar. On a highway, a pattern of red tail or brake lights define what is ahead.

So, for two days, I have ventured out early encased in grey swirls to clock some walking before rain comes. Exercise is one of my obsessive actions only because in the back of my mind I can easily ignore it. Yesterday required I put a reflective vest over my raincoat to make me visable crossing a street. The walks reminded me of my life since last March and the predictions of clearing are not yet. To step out and carry on calls for moments of resolve and attention to safety. I think about whether to get a vaccine or do I change choices of where I will go. Before the day was over, mist vanished and sunshine appeared. In Exodus, when a cloud, a dense fog, was over the tabernacle, staying put was the order of the day until it lifted. Yet, even in 2021, a time will come when I, we, can move on with what we consider our lives.

Throughout all their journeys, whenever the cloud was taken up from over the tabernacle, the people of Israel would go forward. Ezekiel 40:36

We learn from our mistakes. Theoretically, Advent ended with the fourth Sunday. If Thursday is my day, I should have started earlier to come out even. However, the final word is important at any time. This word can be both a foundation and a pinnacle, and its four letters makes all the difference in our lives. Sometimes we give it the casual weight of LIKE on steroids. I love ice cream. I loved that movie. Oh, I just love being with you. All we are saying is whatever gave us a transient moment of pleasure and delight will be forgotten and never returned to us in the same form. The distance is vast between a pleasant visit with an airplane seatmate and the “I love you” exclaimed when the baby we have waited for is put in our arms.

Through this life, this year, this season, love has been a foundation: rock solid and immoveable. We know it by the way God has acted toward us from the time of forming us from clay and then the spending of eons redirecting, forgiving, and sending us on our way, yet again. This verse speaks of how God shows love. “In your unfailing love you will lead the people you have redeemed. In your strength you will guide them to your holy dwelling.” Exodus 15:13. Standing firm on that statement, the rest of the verses in the Old Testament are how we show our love by what we choose to do, even in 2020.

Then at the top of the mountain is the vista of God’s love in capital letters. LOVE. Not just ordinary love, if there is such a virtue; the ultimate SO LOVED. That’s what we say when we light candle number four. Christina Rossetti’s poem leads to the white candle in the center of the wreath.

Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, love divine;
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and angels gave the sign.

Worship we the Godhead,
Love incarnate, love divine;
Worship we our Jesus:
But wherewith for sacred sign?

Love shall be our token,
Love shall be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and to all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign. 

If you read this, you probably know the verse.

For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten son. John 3:16

I have distances clocked in my mind of long blocks and half blocks , so I know how to zig-zag for 40 minutes, and that will most often total my two mile goal. Down a block, north next to a busy street, and turn left at the Lutheran church. A new noise almost wipes out the sound of traffic. The church has a day care for three and four year olds. At the time I usually go, they are running with abandonment outside, ignoring any restrictions on space. Their arms stretch out to each other, and chortles of delight fill the air as they hug, pat, and move on. Pure joy! The word itself denotes movement, swelling up, and bubbling over. The third candle has to be JOY!

Hope can be a not yet moment involving carrying on and holding your breath. When the end is almost in sight or some questions are answered, a feeling of peace of comes. With the arrival of peace and a sense of surety, a bodily change begins to take place. A small giggle at first, a tenuous smile, and with abandonment, glee is passed from one to another. This sequence makes sense to me. The time has come for joy.

A child was promised under unusual circumstances, After what must have been an arduous journey, a place was found that would do for a birthing. Heaven rang with good news and angels declared,”This is news of great joy!” Hope, then peace, and now go see and tell. It’s not a secret to be whispered behind a cupped hand. It’s a time to open your whole body with arms spread wide and in a firm, loud voice proclaim, “Let me tell you!”

Sometimes, joy gets tamped down by circumstances. This March to December has opened spaces of relief, and yet, no one has totally breathed a sigh that the storm has passed. Decorations have gone up and houses on the streets have lights. Zoom helps us smile at much loved faces we won’t get to welcome with a kiss. Even with these moments that give light around the edges of the day, we still have a feeling of cautious acceptance that all is well. We find ourselves retreating to the time of the prophets. What they foretold was the truth that some promises never fail. We stand by the flickering flames and remember words that came after exile.

The joy of the Lord is your strength. Nehemiah 8:10

Caveat: I am writing this on Monday night, November 2, 2020. That means neither you nor I know where the world will really be by the time you read this except a certain amount of reeling will still be taking place. You may not even get back to your email to see what an aging aunt had to say about this very uncertain week. I have already voted, and I hope you have or will. That action, whatever our choice, may have been the most positive action of the week. The right to even have had a say so is something to be cherished.

My hold on to statement came from a retired columnist for the Houston Chronicle. “May we not be satisfied with the new normal.” Leaving the house with a mask is an engrained habit now. The possibility of Covid spiking again still looms. Nearly all households face some economic adjustment. Working from home at least means one has a job. Mix in what my mother would call unexceptable behavior, and this strongly becomes not the life I ordered. Clinging to a positive vision of the future requires deep breathing and moving away from the cliff of only complaining.

In January I decided this was the year to read the Bible through again. By March, I was joining in the Exodus. “How appropriate,” was my casual thought. Slogging through those forty years was not pleasant or encouraging. Granted, God didn’t abandon them, yet the journey took resolve, commitment, following directions, and doing your best. Everyone over twenty years didn’t make it. Only those willing to change and carry on.

Hence my title. Whenever by whatever means we as families, neighborhoods, towns, country reach a place of recovery, only the very youngest will not have a memory of what this time was like. They need to hear how we journeyed statements. I found out that my mother had trouble with the nine’s multiplication tables. That year we camped in the back yard and had a good shower close by. . That year I had four different masks of space creatures, and my dad borrowed one to wear to a meeting. A leader was called to help Israel overcome enemies and claim a promised land. Joshua retold them what had been said from the beginning. “This is how it works. Choose to do right. Every day, for the sake of those who never knew the struggle.”

“…choose life, that both you and your descendants may live.’ Deuteronomy 30: 19