Charity!
Day 5 - Charity!
Charity! begins at home. And,
what better place? Let it begin with me.
A charitable heart is giving,
kind, open, pleasing, generous and, always. People who embrace this virtue are
happy; they are satisfied with life and bring a sense of solitude to others.
Many profess that they would like to be more charitable; some claim they are.
I am a Traditionalist. Do not
make the mistake of labeling me to a political party, a church denomination,
or calling me a mere “conservative”;
none of those are either good enough, nor accurate. It took years to hone this
mind, what there may be of it, at least, into the logical constraint it has
become. Not the sixty-four chronological years I have been given here, but probably
about seven, those first impressionable, tender years.
Too much Catholic school
learning math and English, diagramming sentences, verb tense, daily mass, bible
history, religious instruction. Oh! Yeah!
Then, from my family, also.
Literally acres of garden for a young boy to work; the produce then given away
to relatives, friends, neighbors, even strangers. No one ever left our house
thirsty or hungry, or unwelcome; my grandparent’s homes, either. Generosity!
We have divided the holidays
among Candy and our daughters, Beth and Becky, for party celebrations.
Christmas is at our house; Becky does Easter; Beth entertains 4th of
July. The others, we share. There are many; this family needs little
encouragement to party.
One Independence Day, several
years ago, a friend and I were discussing the welfare system in our country. A
flaming liberal guest, an acquaintance of Beth’s, interrupted the intense
conversation with what she must have thought to be a Curare-tipped barb: Why
don’t you take care of someone, then? Her insulting snaky query was aimed at
the cold, cruel heart of what she considered to be just another rich
Republican. I was neither.
Looking her directly in the
eye, to castigate her for the rude interruption and to make sure she saw those
intense, piercing blues, I replied calmly, “We do!” Her mouth fell open.
Spluttering, she stammered, “You
do?” The astonishment was most evident.
“Yes,” I continued, letting
her know that Superman was impervious to poison arrows.
“We have someone we give
food, clothes and money. And time, for celebrations.”
Like any liberal
worth---nothing…she stormed from the room without another word. That, in and of
itself, must have been her first miracle. I never saw her again. Charity!
It has to begin with me, or
it never begins, at all. Amen!
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