A new life on this earth

My cousin, Hannah, has given birth to a girl.  A child.  A new life on this planet.

And this new life is barely breathing.

Hannah was in labor for DAYS.  We're talking DAYS of labor.  Pushing and sweating and screaming... waiting for this little bit*h (excuse me) to come OUT!

Well, she finally came out, and has been having severe breathing issues.  She's in natal intensive care.

She was due on Thanksgiving.  Ironic.

Sometimes life emerges into the world a gentle, beautiful, simple thing.  The doctor says, "it couldn't have gone better" and hands you a gorgeous child that looks just like you and makes that eye contact that says, "Thanks, Mom and Dad, for your sacrifice."  That kind of life is easy to be thankful for.  More often, life limps into the world broken, ugly, and barely breathing.  That kind of life is easy to get angry about.  "Why my child, God?"  It's easy to wonder.  "What did I do wrong?"

But that's not the real issue, is it?  The issue is: God can give and God can take away.  How can I love what God has given?

But if I'm honest, I will say this: I get pissed off at God when he messes with my family.  When a family member hits a hard patch I quickly lock eyes on Him, demanding an explanation.  I know he doesn't owe me one, but dammit, I still want one.  "Come on, you all-knowing, all-loving God.  Tell me what's going on here, cuz it looks like you're just being lazy."

Sometimes I'm glad God doesn't answer my questions in the same manner that they are phrased.

Either way.

God, please be near my cousin and my family as we wait with bated breath as to your will for her child.

We will miss you, Miguel!

Last night, my bosses and coworkers threw Miguel a little party (attached to our monthly store meeting) including a cake and some pizza.  Poor Miguel was planning on skipping the store meeting since this is his last month but my boss was not going to let him not attend his own party!  They made a cake with the inscription, "We will miss you."  And, in Mexican tradition, we smashed Miguel's face into the cake before we ate it.  The cake, that is.

Miguel has been with the company for 9 years.  From what I hear it's been a rocky, bittersweet 9 years.  He was hired because he knew somebody who knew somebody.  He didn't have any coffee experience, he had serious tardiness issues, and didn't fully speak English.  But he was charming and had a great sense of humor and extremely hardworking and able to keep up with a fastpaced store.  By and by he was promoted and was eventually given the title, "Manager."  The customers love him, his employees love him, and his bosses love him.  He has been a great friend to me, and has helped me learn how to run the store when he is gone.

But there's some things that people don't know about Miguel.  His family lives in Mexico, just outside of Acupulco.  There, in a modest house filled with many pets live his Mom and brothers and sisters and most importantly, his son.  I believe he is about 8 or so.  A young boy- separated from his father by thousands of miles.

All of Miguel's success in the business world of North Carolina- really means nothing except giving him a way to send money back to Mexico for his family.  Anytime Miguel sees a sale at a store he will buy whatever he can and ship it to his family.  Even if the family cannot use it, they will go to friends and neighbor's houses and give it to those who need it.  Miguel's life has not been his own- it has been lived to sustain the lives of his loved ones.

I don't think I need to try and "moralize" his life here.  I can't think of anything more Christlike (and lonely) than living for such a noble cause and yet being so far away from it.  It is with joy in my heart that I can say "God bless you, Miguel"- the angel from Acupulco- and may God bless your reuniting with your family.

Thanksgiving Lessons from the Farm

I love my grandpa's stories.  Some I've heard five or six times (they get embellished a little more each time) and I get a little impatient for him to just get to the punch line... but on this Thanksgiving break, I heard a few new ones...

We were on our way up to "The Ol' Saw Mill" a working mill that my Grandpa bought 30 years ago for about $3,000.  The story goes that back before he had his mill, when one of the trees on his property would fall (due to rot or lightning or age) he would haul it to the local sawyer for him to cut it up into useful boards of lumber.  Well, when Hurricane Hugo came 'round this sawyer had so much work that Grandpa's logs just sat there at his shop.  Grandpa Harry would call every now and then and this Sawyer said, "I'll get to it when I can."  Two years later, Grandpa drove to the shop himself and the logs were still sitting there, only now they were unusable due to old age.  That's when my Grandpa decided to get his own.  He found a spot out on his property that was mostly level and he built a shelter and then customized the mill to fit his needs (tractor driven, not diesel engine driven).

[The long-haired gentleman is my Uncle John, the dude with the beanie is my cousin, Joe]

That's the Morris way.  When we come up against something that's too expensive or too much trouble, we start thinking and plotting to do it "on our own."  Grandpa chuckled and said, "there isn't much a Morris is afraid to tackle."  

After making some repairs to the sawdust excavating mechanism, we fired her up and sliced up a 2 ton log into 2x4's that my uncle John will use in his next project.  It was so much fun, and I worked up quite a sweat trying to keep up with how fast my Grandpa was cutting them.

"You know, my daddy was a sawyer," he said.  We had shut off the mill and were sitting there, enjoying the crisp air and sunshine.  "He owned 3 mills, and had 7 teams of lumberjacks working for him."  I sensed some pride and perhaps a little sadness in my Grandpa's voice.  "He also owned a general store, a cafe, and a handful of other shops in town."  He paused.  His eyes twinkled.  "But I don't know what he did in his spare time."

"I visited the town I grew up in (a small town in Alabama) not too long ago, just to see if it was just as I remembered it," he said.  "After walking around for a bit, memories flooding back, I stopped at a malt shop for a cold drink.  A man walked up to me who I had never seen before, and looked me deep in the eyes and said, 'are you little Henry?'  (aside)  Henry was my Daddy's name.  I told the man that yes, Henry was my father, and he sat right down next to me and said, "That's what I thought!  Son, my name is _____, and I've been the town mayor for 20 years now.  Let me tell you a story about yer daddy."

"I came to this town 30 years ago, hungry, broken, separated from my wife and child, and with not a dollar to my name.  I couldn't find a job or even a drop of kindness to help me get back on my feet.  Then I met yer daddy.  He heard my story and felt pity.  He gave me a steady job, a warm meal, and even let me stay at his place until I could afford to move out on my own.  After a little while, I could afford to go get my wife and kid and move them here with me.  I ran for mayor and have always been active in helping this community that helped me so long ago.  Son, yer daddy saved my life, and I just thought you should know what a great man he was."

Now, at this point in the story, I have to offer a little bit of background.  You see, my Grandpa never really knew his father personally.  It's a little fuzzy, but I think it's because he passed away before my Grandpa was old enough to know him.  From what I can recall from my dad's stories, my Grandpa had to assume the role of Father for his family when he was still just a boy.  Hearing these words from the Mayor of his old town must have really meant a lot to him.

There are times when I have felt disconnected from my father.  Times when he has seemed too stubborn or too private or too perfect to approach.  I know I have felt bitterness, even anger at him for not being understandable or accessible to me.  But this trip with my Grandpa has taught me that even when you don't fully understand your father, you have his blood running in you- and you have the people around you that have been affected by him.  There's often more going on in his life than you know- there's more at stake than what makes sense to a boy- and to cut him some slack is the right thing to do.  The parts in me that I am proud of- the "entrepreneur spirit," a sense of determination, physical strength, a respect for the divine-- these things are in my dad and in my Grandfather and in my Great-Grandfather.  

These things will not easily fade.  They make us who we are.