Matthew is Forty!

 Matthew Shaw Lewis is forty years old today.

How can that be? 

Matthew's wife, Emily asked us to share a memory of Matthew for a booklet of memories that she is compiling for him. This post is what Sheila and I sent. We could have sent more. 

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I could have added the story of Star Night. In the early 2000s Matthew helped me schedule and plan Star Night at Berry College's little observatory for our fourth students at Armuchee Elementary School. What a great series of special annual events those Star Nights became for our students and their parents. Matthew and other astronomy students and their professors helped us view the planets and stars through several telescopes, there was storytelling and refreshments and more. Great memories that would not have been without Matthew's help. So happy birthday Matthew and thanks for all the great memories you have been such an integral part of for four decades!

Talents for Low Intrigue

Donald John Trump is not a very smart man.

He is not a well educated man.

He is not a well balanced personality.

He does not, as far as I can tell, know love.

But he does have what Hamilton called "talents for low intrigue." That partly arises from the plethora of options available to a person who has none of the usual filters of propriety, morality, ethics, and patriotism.

With no restraints, he baldly claimed, without evidence, fraud where none existed and could not be bothered to cite credible evidence.

Without those restraints he had no qualms about calling state elections officials and pressuring them to "find" votes. 

Unrestrained by morality he could encourage white supremacists, American nazis, Proud Boys and Oathkeepers.

Free of appreciation of, even basic knowledge of, or respect for American principles, he scratched and clawed from before the voting, through the closing of the polls, and continuing through days of counting and recounting of the vote, through scores of failed lawsuits, through certification of that vote by a joint session of the Congress and the attack on our Capitol. 

Donald Trump's behavior over the months of the campaign, the transition period, and the January 6 rally that he called weeks in advance, clearly is impeachable, unpatriotic, criminal, and intolerable. I believe this has been but an escalation of similarly despicable behavior over the previous years of his term. On behalf of myself, my beloved family, and our posterity I demand our Senate stand up for our Republic. We must declare the bahavior of Donald Trump incompatible with American principles once and for all time.

Convict and ban this master of low intrigue from any office of trust in the United States.

Gleaning Facebook: NPR Interview

From Rebecca Odum's Facebook:

Heard you on NPR today 

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Terrell Shaw

Wow... I was interviewed a week ago, I assumed since I hadn’t heard it Was on the ‘cutting room floor’

Terrell Shaw
Was it on WABE?

Rebecca Odom
Terrell Shaw yes! I listen to NPR from our Alexa while I make dinner and they played it this evening.
https://www.npr.org/.../what-do-congresswoman-marjorie...

NPR.ORG

What Do Congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene's Georgia Constituents Think Of Her?

What Do Congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene's Georgia Constituents Think Of Her?

Terrell Shaw
Rebecca Odom thx!

Rebecca Odom
Terrell Shaw you're welcome!

Terrell Shaw
Always interesting to see what they pick to use out of several minutes of questions and answers. 

 

Gleaning Facebook: Pictures of Mother

Photos from 8 years ago, at my Mother’s 90th birthday party. Someone put together a slideshow of photos of Mother through the years. I’ve added a small sampling of the photos from the slideshow.

The one photo of Mother with Chuck was taken at the 90th birthday celebration on a Saturday. Chuck died the following Tuesday.

Old Leaves: Barack O'Bama

Fourteen years ago Barack Obama began his quest for the White House and I noted that event here on the Limb by reprinting his entire announcement speech. Here it is:

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Barack O'Bama

February 11, 2007

As Oh!Pinion and Cold Flute have noted, Barack Obama opened his campaign for President with a speech reminiscent of John or Bobby Kennedy. He may have earned an apostrophe for his name with this speech. I'm gonna go a little overboard here and just give you whole thing, taken from his campaign website. Here it is:

Full Text of Senator Barack Obama's Announcement for President

 

Springfield, IL | February 10, 2007

 

Let me begin by saying thanks to all you who've traveled, from far and wide, to brave the cold today. We all made this journey for a reason. It's humbling, but in my heart I know you didn't come here just for me, you came here because you believe in what this country can be. In the face of war, you believe there can be peace. In the face of despair, you believe there can be hope.

 

In the face of a politics that's shut you out, that's told you to settle, that's divided us for too long, you believe we can be one people, reaching for what's possible, building that more perfect union. That's the journey we're on today. But let me tell you how I came to be here. As most of you know, I am not a native of this great state. 

 

I moved to Illinois over two decades ago. I was a young man then, just a year out of college; I knew no one in Chicago, was without money or family connections. But a group of churches had offered me a job as a community organizer for $13,000 a year. And I accepted the job, sight unseen, motivated then by a single, simple, powerful idea - that I might play a small part in building a better America. My work took me to some of Chicago's poorest neighborhoods. I joined with pastors and lay-people to deal with communities that had been ravaged by plant closings. I saw that the problems people faced weren't simply local in nature - that the decision to close a steel mill was made by distant executives; that the lack of textbooks and computers in schools could be traced to the skewed priorities of politicians a thousand miles away; and that when a child turns to violence, there's a hole in his heart no government could ever fill.

 

 

It was in these neighborhoods that I received the best education I ever had, and where I learned the true meaning of my Christian faith. After three years of this work, I went to law school, because I wanted to understand how the law should work for those in need. I became a civil rights lawyer, and taught constitutional law, and after a time, I came to understand that our cherished rights of liberty and equality depend on the active participation of an awakened electorate. It was with these ideas in mind that I arrived in this capital city as a state Senator. It was here, in Springfield, where I saw all that is America converge - farmers and teachers, businessmen and laborers, all of them with a story to tell, all of them seeking a seat at the table, all of them clamoring to be heard. I made lasting friendships here - friends that I see in the audience today. It was here we learned to disagree without being disagreeable - that it's possible to compromise so long as you know those principles that can never be compromised; and that so long as we're willing to listen to each other, we can assume the best in people instead of the worst. That's why we were able to reform a death penalty system that was broken. That's why we were able to give health insurance to children in need. That's why we made the tax system more fair and just for working families, and that's why we passed ethics reforms that the cynics said could never, ever be passed.

 

It was here, in Springfield, where North, South, East and West come together that I was reminded of the essential decency of the American people - where I came to believe that through this decency, we can build a more hopeful America.

 

 

And that is why, in the shadow of the Old State Capitol, where Lincoln once called on a divided house to stand together, where common hopes and common dreams still, I stand before you today to announce my candidacy for President of the United States. I recognize there is a certain presumptuousness - a certain audacity - to this announcement. I know I haven't spent a lot of time learning the ways of Washington. But I've been there long enough to know that the ways of Washington must change.

 

The genius of our founders is that they designed a system of government that can be changed. And we should take heart, because we've changed this country before. In the face of tyranny, a band of patriots brought an Empire to its knees. In the face of secession, we unified a nation and set the captives free. In the face of Depression, we put people back to work and lifted millions out of poverty. We welcomed immigrants to our shores, we opened railroads to the west, we landed a man on the moon, and we heard a King's call to let justice roll down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream. Each and every time, a new generation has risen up and done what's needed to be done. 

 

Today we are called once more - and it is time for our generation to answer that call.

For that is our unyielding faith - that in the face of impossible odds, people who love their country can change it. That's what Abraham Lincoln understood. He had his doubts. He had his defeats. He had his setbacks. But through his will and his words, he moved a nation and helped free a people. It is because of the millions who rallied to his cause that we are no longer divided, North and South, slave and free. 

 

It is because men and women of every race, from every walk of life, continued to march for freedom long after Lincoln was laid to rest, that today we have the chance to face the challenges of this millennium together, as one people - as Americans. All of us know what those challenges are today - a war with no end, a dependence on oil that threatens our future, schools where too many children aren't learning, and families struggling paycheck to paycheck despite working as hard as they can. 

 

We know the challenges. We've heard them. We've talked about them for years. What's stopped us from meeting these challenges is not the absence of sound policies and sensible plans. What's stopped us is the failure of leadership, the smallness of our politics - the ease with which we're distracted by the petty and trivial, our chronic avoidance of tough decisions, our preference for scoring cheap political points instead of rolling up our sleeves and building a working consensus to tackle big problems.

 

 

For the last six years we've been told that our mounting debts don't matter, we've been told that the anxiety Americans feel about rising health care costs and stagnant wages are an illusion, we've been told that climate change is a hoax, and that tough talk and an ill-conceived war can replace diplomacy, and strategy, and foresight. And when all else fails, when Katrina happens, or the death toll in Iraq mounts, we've been told that our crises are somebody else's fault. We're distracted from our real failures, and told to blame the other party, or gay people, or immigrants.

 

And as people have looked away in disillusionment and frustration, we know what's filled the void. The cynics, and the lobbyists, and the special interests who've turned our government into a game only they can afford to play. They write the checks and you get stuck with the bills, they get the access while you get to write a letter, they think they own this government, but we're here today to take it back. The time for that politics is over. It's time to turn the page. We've made some progress already. I was proud to help lead the fight in Congress that led to the most sweeping ethics reform since Watergate.

 

But Washington has a long way to go. And it won't be easy. That's why we'll have to set priorities. We'll have to make hard choices. And although government will play a crucial role in bringing about the changes we need, more money and programs alone will not get us where we need to go. Each of us, in our own lives, will have to accept responsibility - for instilling an ethic of achievement in our children, for adapting to a more competitive economy, for strengthening our communities, and sharing some measure of sacrifice.

 

So let us begin. Let us begin this hard work together. Let us transform this nation.

 

Let us be the generation that reshapes our economy to compete in the digital age. Let's set high standards for our schools and give them the resources they need to succeed. Let's recruit a new army of teachers, and give them better pay and more support in exchange for more accountability. Let's make college more affordable, and let's invest in scientific research, and let's lay down broadband lines through the heart of inner cities and rural towns all across America.

 

And as our economy changes, let's be the generation that ensures our nation's workers are sharing in our prosperity. Let's protect the hard-earned benefits their companies have promised. Let's make it possible for hardworking Americans to save for retirement. And let's allow our unions and their organizers to lift up this country's middle-class again.

 

Let's be the generation that ends poverty in America. Every single person willing to work should be able to get job training that leads to a job, and earn a living wage that can pay the bills, and afford child care so their kids have a safe place to go when they work. Let's do this.

 

Let's be the generation that finally tackles our health care crisis. We can control costs by focusing on prevention, by providing better treatment to the chronically ill, and using technology to cut the bureaucracy. Let's be the generation that says right here, right now, that we will have universal health care in America by the end of the next president's first term.

 

Let's be the generation that finally frees America from the tyranny of oil. We can harness homegrown, alternative fuels like ethanol and spur the production of more fuel-efficient cars. We can set up a system for capping greenhouse gases. We can turn this crisis of global warming into a moment of opportunity for innovation, and job creation, and an incentive for businesses that will serve as a model for the world. 

 

Let's be the generation that makes future generations proud of what we did here. Most of all, let's be the generation that never forgets what happened on that September day and confront the terrorists with everything we've got. 

 

Politics doesn't have to divide us on this anymore - we can work together to keep our country safe. I've worked with Republican Senator Dick Lugar to pass a law that will secure and destroy some of the world's deadliest, unguarded weapons. We can work together to track terrorists down with a stronger military, we can tighten the net around their finances, and we can improve our intelligence capabilities. But let us also understand that ultimate victory against our enemies will come only by rebuilding our alliances and exporting those ideals that bring hope and opportunity to millions around the globe.

 

But all of this cannot come to pass until we bring an end to this war in Iraq. Most of you know I opposed this war from the start. I thought it was a tragic mistake. Today we grieve for the families who have lost loved ones, the hearts that have been broken, and the young lives that could have been. America, it's time to start bringing our troops home. It's time to admit that no amount of American lives can resolve the political disagreement that lies at the heart of someone else's civil war. That's why I have a plan that will bring our combat troops home by March of 2008. Letting the Iraqis know that we will not be there forever is our last, best hope to pressure the Sunni and Shia to come to the table and find peace.

 

 

Finally, there is one other thing that is not too late to get right about this war - and that is the homecoming of the men and women - our veterans - who have sacrificed the most. Let us honor their valor by providing the care they need and rebuilding the military they love. Let us be the generation that begins this work.

 

I know there are those who don't believe we can do all these things. I understand the skepticism. After all, every four years, candidates from both parties make similar promises, and I expect this year will be no different. All of us running for president will travel around the country offering ten-point plans and making grand speeches; all of us will trumpet those qualities we believe make us uniquely qualified to lead the country. But too many times, after the election is over, and the confetti is swept away, all those promises fade from memory, and the lobbyists and the special interests move in, and people turn away, disappointed as before, left to struggle on their own.

 

That is why this campaign can't only be about me. It must be about us - it must be about what we can do together. This campaign must be the occasion, the vehicle, of your hopes, and your dreams. It will take your time, your energy, and your advice - to push us forward when we're doing right, and to let us know when we're not. 

 

This campaign has to be about reclaiming the meaning of citizenship, restoring our sense of common purpose, and realizing that few obstacles can withstand the power of millions of voices calling for change. By ourselves, this change will not happen. Divided, we are bound to fail.

 

But the life of a tall, gangly, self-made Springfield lawyer tells us that a different future is possible. He tells us that there is power in words. He tells us that there is power in conviction.  That beneath all the differences of race and region, faith and station, we are one people. He tells us that there is power in hope. As Lincoln organized the forces arrayed against slavery, he was heard to say: "Of strange, discordant, and even hostile elements, we gathered from the four winds, and formed and fought to battle through."

 

That is our purpose here today. That's why I'm in this race. Not just to hold an office, but to gather with you to transform a nation. I want to win that next battle - for justice and opportunity. I want to win that next battle - for better schools, and better jobs, and health care for all. I want us to take up the unfinished business of perfecting our union, and building a better America.

 

And if you will join me in this improbable quest, if you feel destiny calling, and see as I see, a future of endless possibility stretching before us; if you sense, as I sense, that the time is now to shake off our slumber, and slough off our fear, and make good on the debt we owe past and future generations, then I'm ready to take up the cause, and march with you, and work with you. 

 

Together, starting today, let us finish the work that needs to be done, and usher in a new birth of freedom on this Earth. 

I am not ready to promise my vote -- like that other Springfield lawyer in 1860, Obama's national experience is thin: he's only got a couple of years in the Senate. But...

• He would represent a clear passing of the torch, like Kennedy. (Despite my admiration for several of the 50- and 60-something candidates there might be some advantage to our national unity in getting beyond my baby boom generation.)
• He can use the English language.
• He is a charismatic figure. 
• He passes my "comfort in his own skin" test.
• He has a vision.
• His is a vision I largely share.

I'm listening.

Daffodils

 Ruth Shaw loves jonquils. I love Ruth Shaw; she is my Mother. So ever since I was a little boy I have enjoyed bringing her flowers, especially jonquils -- or daffodils. There's a picture of five year-old Terrell (Terry more commonly back then) with a milk carton full of dandlions and other yard blooms gathered for Mother.  If I find that picture I'll add it to this post; no luck so far.

I planted lots of bulbs this year both at her house and mine to supplement those planted in previous years and have been hoping to have some blooms to cut for her by her 98th birthday on February 19.

I remember my Daddy planting bulbs at their home on Charles Drive in East Point in the mid eighties. After Daddy died in 1986 I was reminded of his loving efforts each succeeding spring when those tulips would bloom for Mother.

The tulips and daffodils Daddy planted at Charles Drive.

The tulips and daffodils Daddy planted at Charles Drive.

Way back in the seventies I'd look out for early daffodils. Our dietician at McHenry Elementary was Mrs. Clara Packer, a wonderful woman who could do wonders with the government commodities that landed in the larders of school cafeterias. Her cinnamon rolls made with surplus flour and sugar and real butter were to die for. Her home was a small craftsman cottage directly across McHenry Drive from the school. She had a lots of daffodils out front and some of them were always early bloomers. I learned I could usually find a bright yellow jonquil blooming there on the first day of February. If hers were a little late, I discovered I could take a drive down the Rockmart Road to Judge Harry Johnson's place. Judge Johnson and his wife had a nice ranch-style house out there with banks of daffodils. It became a tradition with me -- almost a superstition -- that I needed to go out on the first day of February each year to find that cheerful declaration that winter is on its way out. 

Presenting Mother a vase of daffodils from my yard in March 0f 2020

In recent years as I have added bulbs to our yard we have been able to reliably find those early blooms right here in our own yard. Perhaps it is global warming that has seemed to bring forth those yellow blooms earlier and earlier.

Our first jonquils of 2020 on January 12!

Our front yard February 2020

There have  been very few first days of February when I have failed at that mission; February 1, 2021 was one, however. Matter of fact I had to wait till today: February 8!

Our first daffodil of 2021 is till not quite fully filled out today February 8.

Here are some previous posts about these harbingers of spring:

2012

2009

2008

2007

A Poem about Daffodils

Another Poem about a Different Daffodil

Gleaning Facebook: Naked Truth

 I found this story by Timothy Huffman on Facebook. I use it here without permission. I don't have any information about the author. But I'd like to save it here for myself.

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It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m driving on Thurman Ave, on my way home from FedEx making copies. As I drive north, the traffic is sorta strange. Cars pulled off at weird angles or creeping very slowly. As I drive on, I see why.

There is a man standing naked in the middle of the street.

He is tall, maybe 6’4”, though he is cringing in a way that makes it hard to see what his full height is. And he isn’t completely naked. A few shirts and perhaps a jacket lay in a crumpled heap about 50 feet away. His shoes are still on, and his pants and boxers are around his ankles.

As I sit in my car at the stop sign, my brain struggles to figure out what is happening. What am I supposed to do? The man seems to be yelling, though not to anyone in particular. A car drives past him slowly, driver gawking. That doesn’t seem like what I’m supposed to do. Thankfully, my home is a left turn, so I don’t have to drive past him. I look left. I could just go home. I consider it, given that I have no idea what I would do if I tried to help.

I drive forward and park at the curb, about 40 feet away from him.

As I watch, I consider calling 911. As I have that thought, I notice a man walking a massive dog with a sweet aviator hat (the man, not the dog) on the phone about 75 feet away from the naked man. He must be calling 911.

I get out of the car. It’s cold out, though not as cold as yesterday. *Not the worst day of winter to be in the street naked,* I think. The man turns to look at me, eyes wild, and says some things I can’t understand. I wonder if I should be afraid. *Nah, I can tell he isn’t armed,* I think to myself sardonically. Also, I don’t think he can charge me with his pants around his ankles. I think I’m safe. Time for words.

“Hello, sir? Can I help you with anything?” I feel stupid saying it, but nothing better comes to mind, so I go with it.

“I’m looking for GOD and the MAN and…” I don’t understand anything else. Maybe he is muttering nonsense. Maybe he isn’t talking loud enough for the 30 feet between us. Now I have even less idea what to say. He keeps talking, sometimes at me, sometimes not. I stand there, car running, door open, just looking. For some strange reason, I’m thrown off by the hair on his butt. He is pretty hairless on the rest of his body, but his butt has curly little hairs.

“SO?!?” he yells at me. I realize I’m staring.

Now the naked man notices the caller with the dog, and starts moving sidelong away from him, past me. I have failed to engage him. He continues to talk aloud. Maybe I hear him say something about “trying to kill me.” He kicks off his shoes and pants and continues down the street in his socks, which are quickly blackened by the icy sludge melting in the street. In his hands I see a clutched lighter. The clearest thing I have thought since this began: *A lighter and a pair of socks.*

I stand next to my car. I consider walking after the naked man, but since he seems to be moving away from us intentionally, I consider that a bad idea. Maybe I should go home. A woman drives past me in her car, pulling over slightly with her window down.

“He is not ok,” she says to me in an intense voice.

“I know, we’ve called 911.”

*At least I hope we have. He could hurt himself.* The dog walker comes up to me. Let’s make sure I just told that woman the truth.

“You call?” I ask him.

“911,” he responds.

“Well, at least we know he isn’t armed,” I say, making my dry joke aloud.

“I don’t think that will make much difference,” the man responds.

I look at his face. I don’t know what he means. Does he mean, ‘He’s crazy, he could hurt someone even if he doesn’t have a weapon.’ He could also mean—my blood runs cold as I think of it—‘It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t have a weapon, he’s black, the cops might kill him anyway.’

Fuck.

Suddenly my mind is teeming. Hands up, don’t shoot. Michael Brown’s body on the concrete. Kelly Thomas, a mentally ill homeless man, beat to death by the police officers. This man is in danger.

I turn back to see where the naked man has gone. He’s made it about a block. I can’t see him, but I can see the traffic behaving oddly, so I can guess his whereabouts. I consider running after him. *Bad idea. He’ll run.* I get back in my car. *How do I keep the police from killing a raving naked black man?* I have no idea. Calm him down, maybe?

I flip my car around. Half a block away, I’m stuck in a line of traffic. Two young walkers point and laugh. As my car idles forward, the two cars in front of me moving very slowly, I struggle with what I’m going to do.

*I’m a communicator. I can talk this guy down.*

*But he’s talking crazy. How do I talk to someone who is talking crazy?*

And then I remember an experience from years ago, when a friend of mine had a stress induced seizure-related breakdown in class. She was talking incoherently, quickly, over and over. When people had tried to talk to her, she wouldn’t respond. So I had awkwardly sat with her as she talked, just listening. After about three minutes, I noticed that she had more or less started back over again on a previous topic, so as she muttered something, I muttered what she had said last time. I had done my best to keep my mutterings the same stream of consciousness from the cycle before. We went back and forth in this way for some time, mutually if only with vague coherence, articulating her thoughts and worries. Eventually, I asked her if she knew that she was in class. She had said yes. I asked her if she knew if she was having a break down. She had said yes. At that point, we talked freely about who we should call in her family and what we should do.

The experience left a profound effect on me, namely, an abiding belief that “crazy” is a matter of context, and that if you listen and participate in people’s linguistic worlds, you can have more conversations than you think you can have.

Armed with this conviction, though still an empty one, I caught up with the naked man and parked in front of a fire hydrant. The experience with the girl in school had been with a friend, this man was a stranger. How was I supposed to “meet him where he was at?” What did I know about him? Nothing. But this is St Louis. Black men have been killed in my neighborhood for not much more than this. And I don’t have a good feeling about how he is going to respond to the police.

But I know nothing. Well, almost nothing. He had mentioned God…

I got out of the car. I don’t feel much like a hero; I feel like I’m chasing this man down. He doesn’t want to talk to me. As I walk forward, he points at me and crouches with his other hand over his mouth. His white socks are thoroughly sodden at this point.

“Your FACE!” He points to where he saw me last. “You are trying to KILL ME!” he yells. “You’re coming AFTER ME!”

I stop in the street. *I’m not trying to kill you,* I think.

“I’m not trying to kill you,” I say, suspecting it isn’t the right thing to say.

“YES, YOU ARE! YOU’RE COMING AFTER ME!”

What do I say now? I don’t even disagree with him, exactly. *No, I’m not trying to kill you, but I’m worried someone might.* I feel the painful politics I cannot unembody. His black body is more at risk than my white body. Nothing I can say can ever make that untrue. And while I want nothing more than his health and wellbeing, how could he ever know that. *I was glad when I saw someone calling 911, so I am part of the system that may very well be on its way to come and kill you.*

That line of logic has no productive end. Convincing him of my motive isn’t the way through this.

“I don’t want to kill you, but I understand that I can’t convince you of that. You don’t know me,” I say.

“No, I DON’T,” he says, with emphasis. We have to speak loudly to each other, as we are about 30 feet away from each other again.

“Can I ask you a question,” I say, not fully knowing what I’m going to say next.

“I can answer your question,” he says resolutely, almost defiantly.

I stand there. Same page. Meet him where he is. Something about God.

“What’s your question?!?!” he yells. I realize I’m just standing there. “Ask it!”

I start slowly, piecing it together as I go.

“You said you were looking for God… I don’t know if I can help you find God… but, would you like to pray with me?”

His eyes are still wild, but he pushes his head forward to look at me more intently.

“Do I want to pray with you?” he repeats.

“Yes. Do you want to pray with me?” I say, with more confidence.

We just stare at each other. And his posture is suddenly different. His shoulders go back. His face goes soft.

“Yes. I’d like that,” he responds. “Pray with me.”

“Do you want me to stay here?” I ask, feeling weird about the conversation we are having at 30 feet, which requires all our interactions to be yelled.

“Yes. Stay there,” he says, “but go ahead, pray.”

Well crap. In my life, I have had many a prayerful experience. This is not one. The thought of it feels awkward. Nothing particularly comes to mind. But this is the only idea I have, so it’s by definition also the best one (and of course, also the worst).

“Father God,” I say, loudly, so he can hear me, pausing for a moment to try to come up with something.

“Father God,” he repeats.

*Entrainment!!!,* I think to myself, *if he keeps repeating me, this crisis is over. Tone, content, and rhythm are all mine if he repeats. And I’m calm. All I need is a few minutes, but it will end well.*

“I ask for peace.”

“I ask for peace.”

“I ask that you bring healing to the suffering”

“I ask that you bring healing to the suffering”

“And that all good things come to pass”

Unfortunately, I don’t get my few minutes. The distant sound of sirens is growing louder in a way that makes me know that emergency services are here. A large ambulance pulls around me. The man yells over the sound of the siren.

“I didn’t hear you, what’d you say?”

I shout at the top of my lungs. “And that all good things come to pass!”

“AND THAT ALL GOOD THINGS COME TO PASS!” he bellows back at me over the sound of the engine. I can tell he wants me to continue, but I can’t help but turn to the emergency responders who are getting out of their vehicle. One of them starts talking to the naked man. I don’t hear what the paramedic says, but the naked man’s response is vehement. He waves violently, dismissing them angrily, and points at me.

“I’m talking to HIM!” he shouts at them.

They don’t turn and look at me. *Rude,* I think at first, *can’t they see we are having a conversation?* But no, they see “crazy,” so they don’t see the context of the interaction that makes his yelling make sense. Just like I saw only “crazy” first. They say something else. He repeats his insistence in talking to me. *Us vs Them, it’ll work for now. But we need us and us by the end.*

“Do you want a blanket? Are you cold?” the female paramedic asks. Before he can respond, I echo her.

“Do you want a blanket?” I echo. He looks at me, then at them, then back at me.

“No.”

I make a decision. I am in control of this situation. They are going to start asking him questions, which he will need to respond to. So let’s get him in the question answering mode.

“What’s your name, sir?” I ask.

“Robert,” [changed for privacy]. “My name is Robert….” He says his last name, but I can’t hear it over the engine of the ambulance.

“My name is Tim Huffman,” I say, “Good to meet you, Robert.”

“Tim Hoffer,” Robert repeats. Close enough.

“Where do you live?” the male paramedic asks politely.

Robert answers him. Thank god. This might go well. The paramedic are calm, I’m calm, and Robert is calm. It is then the police officer arrives.

He comes up from behind me. He is short and he is wearing sunglasses. His shoulders are back, and he has an alpha male swagger about him. He walks directly toward Robert, stepping between Robert and me.

“Where are your clothes?” the officer demands. In my memory, he asks “Where the hell are your clothes?” Maybe he didn’t cuss, maybe he did. But his tone was unmistakably insulting.

Robert points at the cop and screams, “He’s gonna try to kill me. He’s gonna kill me!”

*Not today, Robert. We can solve this.* I speak before anyone else has a chance to talk.

“Hey Robert, can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, Tim.”

“Where are your clothes?”

“Where are my clothes?” he says, genuinely.

“They are back that way,” I point.

At this point, the female paramedic steps forward.

“Would you like to come into the ambulance so we can get you warm and take care of you?”

Everyone pauses. The police officer is standing back. The female paramedic is standing forward, arms in an open posture. Robert looks me straight in the eyes with a simple, clear, and honest question.

“What do you think?”

My heart breaks. I can hear a tinge of defiance in his voice, but I also hear fear. He is afraid for his life. He can’t trust the system designed to help him, in part, because it isn’t only designed to help him. It also harms him and fails him. I look at the two paramedics. Then at the police officer. I sound out my thought slowly.

“Robert… I don’t know these people, but I don’t think they are here to hurt you. I think they are here to help you. I think that if you get into their ambulance, they will get you a blanket and clothing and take care of you.”

Without pause, with a certainty that I don’t feel, Robert nods.

“Ok.”

He steps toward the ambulance. I feel the need to leave. Parked in front of the fire hydrant when I knew the police were coming. As he is entering the ambulance, I call out to him.

“Robert,” I catch his eye. “Bless you.”

“What?” he yells at me over its engine.

“Bless you, Robert!” I yell.

“Thank you. And bless you!” he yells back. And steps into the ambulance. The perfect, poetic end to an interaction of yelled prayers.

Kristen

tells me that I did the right thing. That me being there helped things go peacefully. But I’ve helped enough people to the door of services to know that this isn’t necessarily a happy ending. I have no idea how Robert is tonight. I have no idea how his ambulance ride went. I have no idea how the medical and legal system will treat him.

There are a lot of things I don’t know. But I do know at least one thing.

There is profound power when we meet people where they are. They might be screaming about God in the middle of the road. But sometimes, all we really need is someone to scream about God in the middle of the road with us.