I’m Different, Deal With It!

Sister Paula Bingert, OSF, a long-time mentor, came
to celebrate my Mother Alfred Moes award
presented by the Joliet Franciscans last fall.

This Sunday, Mothers’ Day, I will spend time with a dozen women who influenced me at least as much as my beloved Mother who passed away 3 years ago May 9.

I’m back in Illinois for a few weeks, and that puts me in proximity of Joliet, where I spent my early - mid adult years. People often ask how the heck I landed in Joliet from Pompano Beach, FL, where I lived for most of my childhood. Their eyes want to roll when I say I was going to be a nun, specifically a Joliet Franciscan. You can read all about that and more in my book, Crossing the Line: Taking Steps to End Homelessness.

From the time I was in 3rd grade until I eked my way out of the College (now University) of St. Francis, the Joliet Franciscans were there to lend a hand in shaping my values. I guess they did a pretty good job considering they were working with a contrarian from early on who didn’t get too excited about academics.

Amazing to me, the Joliet Franciscans I’ll be hanging with on Mothers’ Day are all 80+, the oldest at 98, Sister Marie, my dreaded/respected high school principal. And I’m amazed they're excited about getting together with me.

I’ll share a bit of what I’ve been doing, maybe show them a couple of my short videos, the same ones I showed students at Cardinal Gibbons High School, my alma mater, a few weeks ago. And I’m pretty sure they’ll be proud of my HEAR US efforts, unique in the world of mainstream careers. Yeah, I’m different.

Differences seem to be an underlying theme in the news these days. Without rehashing the already hashed and smashed, I’d like to point out a few things that might cause some of you to squirm, and some of you to jump up and yell YES!

Anyone who knows me will agree that I’m not the paragon of fashion. Never have been. My wardrobe favors denim, cotton t-shirts and shoes that can tromp through mud with little damage. A few years ago, I figured out that my cell phone and wallet needed deeper pockets, so I explored men’s jeans. Viola! They look the same, and fit better, so that improved my simple life. 

Not one for frills, the unisex sweatshirts, tees, and mocs fit my preferences. With my big feet, size 11, I sometimes need to opt for innocuously styled men’s shoes. Whatever. 

It has a nothing to do with me wanting to be a man, but if it did, that’s my business. I’m sure people look at me and think I’m different. I am. And if that’s what people need to fret about, go ahead. I’ll try not to look at you and think you need to get a life. 

If nothing else, the HB 2 bathroom hoopla will edge us closer to the time we will not spend so much time focused on things we should have fixed decades ago when so many of our sisters and brothers are struggling to survive. 

My sister Sass, Mom in the middle, and me,
when the University of St. Francis bestowed an
award on me in 2006.

The underlying lesson my Mom and my many mentors have engraved in me: be yourself and use your gifts for good. They also encouraged me to not fear the naysayers in my quest for making a positive impact on our world. And woven through their influence, when you need to be a fierce warrior, don’t hold back.

I’m sure I’ll enjoy my visit with my mentors Sunday. They’re continuing to influence me, inspiring this missive and making me realize that I’ve been gifted more than I realize—a challenge to continually reflect on my journey to be my best self for the good of creation. I’m grateful for all who continue to touch my life, and hope that the next generations continues to sprout and nurture contrarians concerned with justice. We need you now more than ever!

Profound Disappointment, aka Funk

Coming off a wonderful vacation (except for the last morning when a terrible truck collision occurred right at our campground, causing 1 fatality and several serious injuries), I was happy. 

I even was happy after speaking at Cardinal Gibbons HS in Ft. Lauderdale, where I had graduated almost 50 years (gulp!) previously. And I maintained my balanced and peaceful state of mind despite having to buy 2 new tires and get TillieToo TheTurtle’s alignment fixed--again--another story.

What set me off, gradually, was my pal Pat LaMarche’s post about her funk. It’s contagious, I guess:

so i spent the better part of my week off with Chad, relaxing and except for a little work via email and phone, letting my mind wander. yesterday, when our little five day run-away-from-home ended, chad asked me if i was happy.

i told him that i have a wonderful life and i'm the most fortunate person i know, but at times i'm profoundly sad. the difference between my life and the lives of the people i work with is such a stark one, it's hard to be as happy as i should be.

i grieve daily for one tragedy or another. and i stare at them all the time at work, and think of them when i'm not working.

my buddist therapist of yore would have told me to shed the sadness, it's not every enlightened of me. oh anurag, i miss talking to you. i guess i'll go buy his book. http://www.rebelsatoripress.com/awakening-anurag-shantam/

Well, that just added to my discontent. I had been driving around the richest county in Florida, Palm Beach. I bounced between ultra-rich and ultra-poor. I shook my head at the Martin Luther King Jr. memorial where homeless people slept under “his” gaze. 

I drove along the famed A1A, by estates hidden by hedges and fences. I bristled at the mega mansions and high-end high-rises that blocked my view of the ocean. 

I wove through narrow streets on the other side of the tracks that reflected the polar opposite of the beach drive. I saw despair on the faces of workers waiting for the bus. I saw exhausted defiance in the eyes of those holding signs on the street corner across from Trump’s colossal establishment.

The clincher, though, was going to Our Lord’s Place UMC. John, the director of St. Ann’s Place, suggested I stop by OLP because they were holding their homelessness Sleep Out. I’d suspect this church is one of the wealthiest UMC I’ve seen. 

And they’re into this event. I wandered around, noticing that they at least seemed to have invited a few homeless adults. But the event had the feeling of a carnival on steroids. Card tricks, entertainment, auction...all the things that will raise money. And I suspect the money will be well used. But...

But this county has no emergency shelter. So, weather being what it is, other perils being what they are, hundreds? thousands? of homeless people have no place to sleep in one of the wealthiest counties in America. 

It’s not tricky to explain my funk. It reflects Pat’s. My life is wonderful. Comfortable. And I know so many more who have nothing. 

I’m grateful for those who do what they can do to alleviate the sufferings of kids and adults without homes. I just wish the contrast wasn’t skyrocketing so much. 

And that those who have so much would join those of us who are trying to ease the abject discomfort of homelessness. And that Congress would buy a clue and get HUD to revamp their policies...and...yeah...funk.

Me, One of Al’s Gals? No Way!!

St. Coleman School, Pompano Beach, FL

I’ve always held the Joliet Franciscan Sisters (Order of St. Francis, OSF) in deep regard, even when I was in trouble with a good Sister, a frequent event from 3rd grade on. 

They ran, and still oversee, my grade school (St. Coleman’s, Pompano Beach, FL), high school (Cardinal Gibbons, Ft. Lauderdale, FL) and college (now University of St. Francis, Joliet, IL). Impressively, they just celebrated 150 years as a religious community. Their foundress, Mother Alfred Moes, got things started back then in ways she wouldn’t have been able to predict, I’m sure. 

Yes, I had considered joining their ranks, and went through several years of what I’ll call apprenticeship, but eventually I decided I’d be best not staying, so in 1973 we parted ways. I’ve kept in contact, and have several Joliet Franciscans who are my Facebook friends. I’ve participated in a few USF/OSF events. And, I’m humbled to admit, USF has twice honored me for my work with homeless persons. 

Mother Alfred Moes statue

So when I got word that DZ, aka Sister Dolores Zemont, the congregation president, wanted to speak with me this Spring, I had no idea what she’d want. Astoundingly enough, in my mind anyhow, she said they wanted to present me with their esteemed Mother Alfred Moes award. No way! (Event details)

DZ told me that they hadn’t made a mistake in choosing me. They wanted to recognize my decades of efforts working with homeless kids and adults. Sometimes, not often, I’m speechless.

I remember a bit about Mother Alfred. She was quite a gal. In fact, the Sisters are still fondly called “Al’s Gals,” indicating high regard people had for her and her followers. Besides countless accomplishments from her work in Joliet, she was also instrumental in starting what is now known as Mayo Clinic. (Legacy)

I don’t underestimate how my life changed back in the 1980s when I became involved with homelessness. As much sweat and blood as I’ve put into this unforeseen vocation, I’ve received much more from those I’ve met along the way who fall into the category of “homeless.” 

My talents and education have been put to use in ways I never imagined. My penchant for fighting for justice has been put to good use on more occasions than I would have ever imagined. My heart, while it’s been saddened and angered by the horrors of homelessness, has been happier than I could ever explain to those who don't get it. And I've received incalculable amounts of support of all kinds to help me pursue my unconventional HEAR US mission of giving voice and visibility to homeless children and youth. (My latest film, Worn Out Welcome Mat - Kansas, was just released!)

The only thing I can point to that I share in common with Mother Alfred is that we both taught at St. John’s School in Joliet, me way back in 1969-70. Ironically I taught under Sister Thelma, who endured a bruising year as my 8th grade teacher years before. I was shocked she hired me as gym teacher for her school.

I’m not going to argue with DZ. But I’m in search of ways that I can receive this honor in conjunction with all “Diane’s Pals,” my homies big and small who’ve taught me so much about what’s important in life…you’ve given my life more meaning than I could ever imagine.  May I have the strength and focus to continue working to make things at least a little bit right for you.

If you're so inclined and able, I'd encourage you to make a tax-deductible donation to HEAR US Inc. to support my ongoing work with homeless families and youth. You can do a one-time donation or become one of our treasured monthly donors. I run a frugal operation, and all our support is well used! Thanks!