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!

Heat and Warmth, Tragedy and Kindness

I'm obsessing about electricity this week, mostly because I'm doing without. It's not a self-sacrificing ploy. I'm in the wintery part of the country where campgrounds, at least reasonably priced ones, are scarce, and friends with flat driveways are even scarcer. So "Tillie," my motorhome and I are "parking lot rats," meaning no heat unless I give in and run my noisy, gas-consuming, big carbon footprint (in my mind) generator, so I seek public establishments with heat (and wifi), or park in lots where I can at least get a signal, swaddled in a ridiculous amount of clothing.

My heat deprivation is balanced by knowing how many people don't have electricity or heat--many because of that blustery super storm Sandy that chewed up large swaths of NJ, NY and CT a month ago. Some still lack heat/electricity, the most vulnerable--seniors, disabled persons, and little people. Forgotten in the hurricane's rubble, millions homeless because of the storm of injustice and poverty afflicting our nation.

Among the horrendous by-products of heat-deprived households (and even non-households--those squatting in the plethora of abandoned buildings, or those sheltered in tents or crappy trailers) are deaths by house fires or carbon monoxide poisoning. When desperate for warmth, people do many ill-advised things in search of heat.

A couple years ago I got morbidly obsessed with a fire in Starkville, MS that snuffed the lives of 3 women and 3 little children under the age of 6. I figured, correctly, that their overcrowding was caused by homelessness, aka "hard times." Traveling through that part of the country on my HEAR US journey, I took a chance and stopped, and got to speak with the Mayor about this sad incident. He honestly admitted not knowing about his town's safety net. It didn't exist. It probably isn't much better now.

Google HOUSE FIRES and CARBON MONOXIDE deaths and you'll get tons of stories. None of them pleasant. I tracked house fires for a couple of years, until it got too gruesome. State after state reported house trailers, apartments, and houses turned to embers, taking adults and children in the process. Most of those deaths were probably preventable. Certainly poverty--inability to pay for home heat, faulty wiring, overcrowding, etc.--plays a significant role.

Fires and carbon monoxide have an equally common and lethal cousin--hypothermia. Increased deaths from this affliction are being reported in the Sandy-ravaged area. It freezes your brain, causing you to react sluggishly, erratically, and often leads people to self-medicate, using alcohol or drugs to ward off the cold. No matter that this technique is erroneous; it makes sense at the time.

In my book, Crossing the Line: Taking Steps to End Homelessness, I share fire stories from my shelter running days. What a tragic and common reality: death and injury by fires among the homeless population. Many of our beloved guys (it seemed to be all guys) hung out by fires in the bitter cold. Yeah, they passed the bottle, thinking it would keep them warm. Too many of our friends ended up dead or injured.

Fires kill thousands of people in this country every year (not to mention fires across the globe, like the recent Bangladesh factory fire that killed over 120 workers who make our cheap clothing).

My hopes--and you can help:

• Increased safety practices to prevent fires.
• Increased home heating resources so households don't resort to unsafe alternatives.
• Increased options for homeless persons to keep them from becoming desperate for warmth.

Providing warmth--donating blankets, volunteering at a shelter, contributing to home heating funds, or sharing a cup of hot coffee with a bone-chilled stranger--will warm your heart. What a great payoff!