Another tasty treat

...in the form of free things:

Like jewelry...

http://helenesdreams.blogspot.com/2009/11/helenes-dreams-etsy-christmas-blog.html#links

and snarky cookbooks...

http://www.thefashionslinger.com/home/2009/11/23/holiday-bazaar-giveaway-eat-your-feelings-will-ya.html?lastPage=true#comment6413077

with the snarky blogger...

http://eatyourfeelingsrecipesforselfloathing.blogspot.com/

and the sweet online bookstore that is NOT amazon...

http://us.penguingroup.com/

Free things!

Delightful giveaway. How have I not been aware of things like this?

http://kendrajkphotography.wordpress.com/2009/11/19/get-journalin-give-away/

Family Fun Day

What do you think of when you get an email entitled 'Family Fun Day'? If paintbrushes and nail guns automatically come to mind, well, then, you win.

Recently our base director, Stan, penciled in a work day for the missionaries at the IDT base. May is an ideal time for something like this because we don't get any groups. We don't have any in November, either, but that would just be cold and miserable, and I, for one, wouldn't come.

I came to this one, however. And, true to form, I got all painty. Not that I mind. The biggest project was repainting the dorms. We have fourteen of them, all the size of an old single housebuild (um... 12x12? I don't actually know). Some years ago, one of the leadership guys (who will continue unnamed...) voted that IDT paint all the buildings a wonderful, sky blue. Bright. Sky. Blue. Since the aforementioned unnamed had clout (and, lets face it, everyone agreed with him), the buildings (dorms, school, bathrooms, workshops) all got painted blue. And it was kind of good, because you could see them from miles away. And giving directions was easy, because all you had to say was 'the one with all the blue buildings' and everybody knew what you were talking about.

No more, friends. The colors now are olive and, um, dark olive. Very soothing. As you can see. And we got twelve of them painted. And we would have gotten all fourteen, except we ran out of paint. You know, the olive one. Of course, there was more done than just that. Like the trim around the dining hall and church. And some sort of thing over the front door. What are those called? The top of a front porch. One of those. Very pretty.

I liked this whole shindig, because it seems to me that the more work you put into something, the more inclined you will be to take care of it. Hopefully, that will be the case with us.

Though I don't think I would like to get all painty too often. Getting it out of your hair is such a pain.

Changes and stuff

I'm sitting alone in the dining hall, over an hour early for church. This is, it seems, the only way that I can write for this blog relatively undisturbed. Actually, though, I have an office, which effectively hides me from the world, but I get too lonely in there, so I content myself with conducting my business in the dining hall. This works pretty well for everything except meetings.

Upon further reflection, I suppose I am a glutton for disturbances. Or maybe it is an echo of my time in the Junior High ministry, where I knew everything that was going on at every moment. Does this make me a busybody? Probably. The missionaries seem pretty good-natured about my quirks.

There are changes in the air. The weather is finally getting warm (excepting the afternoon winds that bring in all the dust), I am enmeshed in preparations for the Summer of Service, and several of my friends are leaving-some forever.

I didn't used to take goodbye's too badly. Maybe I was more easygoing then. Now, though, I am finding goodbye's to be rather difficult. Or maybe it is the continual hope that the goodbye won't be for always that is so tough. Either way, I just don't like it.

My friend Jen (of the faithful blogging which always seems to evade me) is departing for the States. She's been here for a year and a half, like she promised. She's been the housemom for La Paloma for a year and a half, which is no small feat. Don't misunderstand me. The Manzano family is stellar. I love being an honorary Manzano. But some of the girls that come into the house are damaged, and for many of them the only consolation they get from life is to damage in return. It is not an easy job to love them. Jen, however, has managed to do it, and most of the time she's done it quite gracefully.

And Carol-and her family, at whose house I have practically lived for the past year- is leaving for Canada. There is consolation in this, however, because they're coming back. Then they're leaving again. Then, hopefully, they're coming back. Again. Its all very complicated. Something to do with school, and M.A.'s, and stuff. At any rate, I hope fervently for their return. Carol is my workout buddy. Without her I would never exercise. What I am going to do without her to prod me, I don't know. Maybe learn self-discipline, or something.

Time Management

...does not include waking up at 5:30 for prayer and going back to bed at 8 for a two hour nap.

"So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom."

Sometimes all it takes is Canasta

Contrary to popular belief, this has not been a bad week. That is, some bad things have happened, but the general tone has been mild, or even upbeat.

Except for that day I found my car vandalized and tires punctured and battery and stereo stolen (I think they made a mistake with the stereo. It was breaking anyway).

And except for that time I almost punched an angry teenage girl with serious temper issues.

And maybe except for that time that same girl decided that the best way to punish me was to ignore me completely.

Actually, that last one isn't so bad. At least, I don't mind.

The bright side of things are as follows:

I am surrounded with little children who love to cuddle and are full of refreshingly innocent observations.

I get to hang out with Jen.

I have rediscovered my penchant for maintaining a sort of controlled chaos.

I have realized once again that I actually do like children.

I also like adolescents, but I like them better when they like me.

And I get to play canasta from time to time with random visitors.

Also, I have discovered that waking up at five thirty for prayer is not as detrimental to my health as I had previously imagined.

And Tani comes back tomorrow. Which relieves me of at least the pressure of being the coolest one in the house.

Re-entering the chaos

As I began typing my heading, the letter 'c' on my keyboard came loose, so I will have to avoid using it until I can find someone to put it back on for me. Except that I just fixed it myself. I am so self-reliant! They say necessity is the mother of invention, but I will add to that and say that it is also the mother-or close relative- of productivity.

I am going to tell you about my day. And any of you who know me will know that I spent nine truly fabulous (and hard and interesting and loving) months living with the Manzanos. And, if the choice were mine, I would have no qualms about coming back to live and work with them. I kind of look like them anyway, and I have no problems considering myself one of the family. So everything I am about to say is said out of the abundance of the love that I bear for them.

So, the Manzano patriarchs have flown the coop for the next ten days with one of their children, leaving the other eighteen or so to the tender mercies of Jen, Tani and myself. And Tani leaves on Sunday, as well. There is a sister graduating in Nevada, a brother graduating in Texas, and general birthdays to attend in California. So I have returned to my former life for the time being, cooking and cleaning and homeworking and making sure the kids don't kill each other. I also try to fit in a game or two of Scrabble.

Today was my first day back, and I am- who am well acquainted with Manzanos and the inner workings of this house- found, to my shock, that I have misplaced that easygoing grace that characterized my former time here! Let me explain.

I have signed up to make dinner tonight for a woman in the community who is expecting her eighth child (tomorrow), and that has been hanging over my head a bit today. I skipped working out this morning because sleep is just too sweet to pass up sometimes, and when I think of what today held for me, I consider it a wise move. At eleven I came over to the M's, and played some Scrabble whilst the kidlets who didn't have school today (the Mexican school system is a study in fickleness) made tortillas and lunch (which was mole, which was DELICIOUS). Then Karen came over, much to my delight, and entertained us with the story of how she went to pick up her son from the Catholic school today, and the boy had randomly decided to attend Mass at the church eight blocks away without notifying anyone(they're not Catholic, and when I consider the length of the Mass compared to the attention span of the boy-he's eight- I think he might have learned his lesson, or at least received a punishment worthy of the crime). Then Tani left to get the kiddies who WERE at school, and I watched the others trickle in from their respective schools (they attend several different ones, depending on their level of education, language, and ability). Chaos reigned. Then it was time for Homework. Do you realize, Reader, that I haven't done sixth grade math since, well, sixth grade? And do you also realize that the teachers hadn't actually explained how to solve the problems to the child? Karen, still waiting for her spiritually-minded son to make an appearance, undertook to help Luis with his math, God bless her, while I observed and made an occasional helpful comment.

Then Tani took the older kids to play soccer and I took the younger ones to the kitchen, to clean. That was two and a half hours ago. I think Luis and Elvira just finished washing the dishes. They were in a 'resturaunt' and they were putting on a show for Maribel, whose attitude had caused her to be relagated to her bed. Also, Yadira had to go to a friends house for a school project, and Lydia hadn't actually put the bag of flour in the cupboard. Or on it. Or even near it. And I didn't have enough spaghetti sauce for the spaghetti for the family that is expecting the baby, so I opened lots of random unmarked cans (go donations!) that happened to be enchilada sauce, and some tomato paste, and mixed it together with sugar and various spices until it tasted something slightly resembling spaghetti sauce, all the while voicing 'encouragement' over my shoulder to the two unfortunates (see above) who had been put to doing the dishes.

Thus ends Act II of Day I. Once the kids return from soccer, we will begin Act III, which invoves dinner and church and cleanup and bedtime.

And you have to believe me when I say that I love this chaos. I just need to remember how much fun it is. And I think most people will agree with me who have experienced it. I also need to start wearing an apron, because I think I irrevocably stained my shirt with tomato sauce and that black stuff that the fire makes on the bottom of the pans.*

While it's quiet, I am taking the chance to tell you all about my adventures, and the crazy, lovely disorder that reigns supreme and makes being here just that much greater.

* A funny side note to this: I had taken off my top shirt in order to salvage it from other unbecoming stains (I had a fairly decent undershirt on, of the spaghetti-strap variety), because I couldn't find an available apron when who should walk in the door but my friend Kim and two STRANGE MEN (of the Mexican pastor variety), to observe me in all my glory! There was nothing to do for it but pretend that I wasn't in an awkward state of near-undress, shake their hands and ignore them till Kim took them away.

An unexpected trip with unexpected surprises (previously known as "Let Me Tell You a Story")

8:00pm (last night)- Impulsively decide to join group headed north next morning for a weekend prophecy conference in San Diego. Have difficult time explaining to friends (who know quite well how studiously I avoid prophecy and prophecy related subjects) why sudden change of heart. Have realized that previous commitment to write regularly for a prophecy blog might require some knowledge on the subject. Go home to pack.

3:30am- Am awake for unknown reason. Slightly surprised at how light the sky looks considering how early it is. Toss and turn, forget that am going to San Diego in a few hours.

5:30am- Remember. Get up.

6:30am- Despite rising earlier than most roosters, am still late to ladies' study, due to suddenly deciding to paint my toenails. Like the results. Wonder a little at my sudden burst of impulsiveness (impulsivity?).

8:00am- Have spent the previous hour and a half discussing with God my total lack of spiritually. Relieved that He seems to like me anyway. Leave to board BIG WHITE VAN (BWV) for northbound trip.

8:30am- Supposed to be on road. Last minute making of tea slows things down. Begin to pick up passengers.

9:00am- Have decided that makers of twelve passenger BWV forgot that most humans are bigger than your average supermodel. Glad to at least be sitting next to people I like.

12:00pm- Stop for lunch in Ensenada Costco. Eat hot dog. Still can't figure out why.

1:30pm- Requested potty stop. Am waiting impatiently for the next gas station to appear when loud noise makes me cover my ears and look for shooters of Big Guns. Realize is only tire. Begin to hop up and down in effort to forget my extreme need for restroom. Forlornly watch coolant drain from BWV onto pavement whilst scoping out terrain for a decent bush to pee on.

2:00pm- Climb aboard ambulance with ten of twelve passengers whilst paramedic angels who happened to be at scene of van disaster obligingly drive us to nearest tollbooth. Try not to laugh as my companions crack jokes at my expense. Try not to think of water.

2:15pm- Dropped of by ambulance. Begin to walk toward tollbooth when met by slightly suspicious police officer. Explain situation with BWV (tire issues, radiator issues, stuck on the side of the road issues). Am told that nearest public restroom is one km away. Stifle need to say bad things. Almost kiss police officer when he directs me to their private offices/bathrooms.

2:25pm- Arrive at offices. Pretend not to notice security guard and secretary smirking as they let me in. Meekly hurry into bathroom. Broken toilet seat presents slight dilemma. Don't care.

2:45pm- Back with group. Begins to sprinkle. Kick myself for leaving behind warmer sweater because it didn't match.

3:00pm- BWV arrives on back of tow truck. Slight celebration. Glad that public servants in Mexico are nice enough to phone mechanics on our behalf.

3:15pm- Mechanic arrives. Fixes things. Mostly. Good enough.

3:45pm- Pile back into BWV. Continue journey toward border crossing/San Diego. Fervently hope for no more memory-making occurances.

4:30pm- Arrive at border. Watch children juggling. Watch the beginnings of potential drug bust. Weigh pros/cons of sleeping at present. Decide against it.

6:00pm- To lodgings. Group splits with plans to meet in the morning.

6:05pm- Decide to go out in search of food. Find Chinese. Find frozen yogurt. Find Trader Joes. Spend lots of money.

9:00pm- Back to lodgings. Am slightly confused by time change. Shower.

10:00pm- Blog.

Thus ends day number one of what was not supposed to be an eventful journey. Tomorrow begins the prophecy conference. I'm hoping that I can still sleep afterward. Maybe I will blog about that, too.

The art of train-riding

When I was a little kid, my entire comprehension of trains consisted of a mental picture of a well-dressed man hanging down for one last kiss from his girlfriend as the train puffs slowly out of the station. Or that one scene in Young Frankenstein where Fredrick Fronkenstein and his frigid fiancee are taking their goodbyes, and, due to her overly be-frocked and be-lipsticked self, they shake elbows as he boards the train.

This was the extent of my train awareness (with the exception of one train ride when I was ten, but I spent most of that so afflicted with motion sickness, that I don't like to remember it), until I rode the train as an adult for the first time when I was twenty.

Now, due to my lack of drivable vehicles, if ever I wish to visit the family, I must needs take the train. It is much cheaper than driving, or flying. Also, it takes me ten hours to make a six-hour trip. So, add that into my drive up from Mexico (made needlessly long by the ridiculous border wait) and it takes me from 5am to 11pm to get where I am going. And that is on a good day.

Train riding is one of those things that I enjoy simply because it is what it is. There isn't a whole lot of romance in the conductors rushing you up the stairs whilst you are trying not to drop your luggage on the tracks; nor in the potentiality that you will have to share your space with an unknown occupant. However, my favorite part of train riding is gazing out the window at the coastline breezing by. If I pay close attention I can spot things that I think maybe nobody else saw, and, looking down from my perch, I can see things in a way that I don't normally get to see them. Like the tops of people's heads. Or the oil rigs in the ocean. My especial favorite is the tops of buildings. Who really thinks about those? But some people do. I do.

I'm going home tomorrow for my mom and my brother's birthday. I haven't gotten them anything yet. What do you get for people who have money to buy things that they want? Especially when I'm much more poor than they are. This is where sentimental gifts are useful. Too bad I'm not very sentimental. Then again, I don't think my mom and my brother are either. I come from a very practical family.

Also, I have been wanting to use the word miasma in a sentence for a long time. But I haven't been able to manage it:

mi⋅as⋅ma

1.	noxious exhalations from putrescent organic matter; poisonous effluvia or germs polluting the atmosphere.

2.	a dangerous, foreboding, or deathlike influence or atmosphere.

See why?

Tuesdays in Toyland

I have often said that teaching is to me what eternal damnation is to mankind: An event to be avoided at all costs.

How is it then that I find myself enmeshed once again in the academics of teenagers? I'll tell you what it is. I'm a sucker. And not in the bad 'lets fleece her for all she's got' sucker way. Just the 'I like people and making their lives easier' sucker way. Some people call it a hero complex. That's probably what it is.

As it is, I am writing 'tween classes, whilst the adorable little monsters (with whom I spend regular time, since the social pool down here is quite small and we all end up going to everything together) plan and plot ways to ditch (which I don't mind, not really) or make my time otherwise miserable.

I had somebody 'talk vehemently' at me yesterday because I happened to mention "Dia de la mujer" which is Women's Day (which, incidentally, we never celebrate in the States, and I think we should). Said individual was male, and told me that I had no right to expect special things, because I wasn't a mom. I reminded said male of the harrowing experience I like to call La Paloma, and the crazy children that came along with it. He wouldn't relent, but we both knew I had made a good point. In my heart of hearts I carried the day, and bore no ill-will toward opinionated individuals. Also, I think he was messing with me.

So to return to my first paragraph. A little perspective never hurt anyone, and, thinking back upon the 'LP crucible', I think I can handle a group of teenagers.


I just finished reading Dune. I have two brothers who were raised on Isaac Asimov and other sci-fi writers, and, being the only girl, I fought my entire childhood against their collection of books and sci-fi parapheneila. Okay, that's not entirely true. I could tell you the entire history of Star Wars, the motives and thoughts of the characters. I am a Star Wars nerd. But I fought against Dune. Until last week. I opened it, and then I couldn't stop reading it. And now I'm hooked, and I blame my brothers, even though they are hundreds of miles away. Because I want more. Except I'm told that the post-Dune books are mediocre at best, and I don't know if I can in good conscience spend my life reading 800 pages of mediocre.

(I'm writing this whilst the kidlets are working on grammar. I'm half hoping they don't notice, but I think they do.)

I'm globosing after class. For those of you who do not live in Mexico, this is the wonderful weekly occurrance in which vendors come out of the woodwork to sell their wares (new and otherwise) and produce (which is cheap and delightful). There is a wonderful beverage that I love to get, and which I can only find on globos days, which is essentially limeade. But you don't understand. These guys have a special touch. Their lime-water is magical and refreshingly delicious. I look forward to it every week. Other places sell it, but I think there's something about the dust and the Mexican ranchero music and the smells of carne asada and churros wafting through the air that make this particular cup of limeade special.

I just gave David detention. He is the one who does all the brotherly things that my real brothers are too far away to do. Like change my flat tires, or lift heavy garafones of water, or give me hugs. He also throws things at me. Which gets him detention. Sorry David.

Synopses

There is only one way that I can think of to inform the world of my doings faithfully. And here it is: a long, mind-numbing, brain melting post. Read at your own risk.

I have a friend, a fellow missionary down here, who blogs faithfully, and who sums up her multitude of experiences in a weekly post that, even though I either witness them, or hear the stories directly from her mouth, I still enjoy reading. So, go Jen.

So many things happen that I would love to tell the world, but I forget to remember to post them. Also, sometimes I talk to much, and most times I write too much. When I have a captive audience (in this case, my computer... and you), I find it difficult to turn my literary genius off. So, captive audience, welcome to my gong show.

1. I've lived with my friend Kim for the past year, and she has been really great. I drew the short straw in the way of bedrooms, so I have been sharing a room with her this whole time. Actually, let me clarify that. I do a whole lot of house sitting. Missionaries travel, and houses down here get robbed. I am the solution to this problem. That is, I and my other singlette friends with no place to call their own.
Anyway, Kim has been inspired to finish the loft which will give me my long awaited bedroom. This has become a road paved with good intentions, and opportunities to exercise godly behavior patterns. Because, you see, there has not been one full day of work put into said loft. A five day job has stretched into four weeks. Such is the way of Mexico, sometimes. This is the land where everything shuts down when it rains. And with good reason. The mud here is killer. And slimy.
2. V-day has passed. Another singlette here has called that the 'black holiday', and with good reason. Though I must say, we do not get attacked with it here as much as we do in the States. I think, in general, we are less exposed to the media and to the pressure to be beautiful and to feel bad if we're not. Also, my roommate Danielle was inspired to have a singlette's 'love cakes' brunch. Love cakes, for those of you who don't know, are chocolate eclair pancakes, which are delicious and guarenteed to send you into a sugar coma. After brunch, we watched 1900 (good movie) and Ella Enchanted (bad movie, but one that I find myself inclined to watch again. Why is this?). Then we talked into the evening, as only girls can do. So, V-day was not a black holiday. It was just a holiday, with pancakes. I got a rose, too.
3. I'm writing this whilst I am subbing for my friend Johanne, who manages to run a household of 25 people, a ministry in the Triqui village, and teach a sixth grade class, all at once. Amazing woman. Also, it's a good thing that I know these kids and they like me and are a little scared of me. Because I have no idea what I am doing.
4. I've spent the past three weeks helping out at the Manzanos (matriarch mentioned above. See note 3) while Johanne was in Nevada helping out her daughter in law and taking care of her newest grandbaby. I had forgotten how exhausting it can be, managing that many children. But I had also forgotten just how much I loved being a part of that family. Now I remember, and I am going to spend a whole lot more time over there. Also, after being on my own for so long, and here in Mexico (though I do have family down here), its still nice to feel like an elemental part of a family whenever I want.
5. Are you tired of reading yet? I'm not done writing. I don't know how much I have ahead of me, but you might want to stop and take a deep breath before you continue.
6. I have been attending the local Calvary Chapel for the past year with some of the other young adults. Our IDT service is on Sunday nights, and I dreaded the idea of giving up my Sunday mornings for yet another church service, but I have really loved going. Also, I feel like it has drawn us young adults together a little more. The CC is taught in English, and translated into Spanish, and I have picked up quite a bit of Spanish from this method. Lately, though, we have begun alternating weeks with another church in town, La Mision, or La Puerta Abierta. I have never gotten a clear answer as to which name it is. La Mision is a big Mexican church attached to the big orphanage here in town. Their worship is boisterous and jolly, and they have guest speakers almost every Sunday. This service is all in Spanish, and some of the speakers are almost impossible to understand. This one feels more connected to the heartbeat of the Mexican community, while the CC is almost entirely Triqui indians. So each church provides differrent opportunities to build relationships.
7. Summer of Service is underway. Kind of. I have a couple of interested attendees, and lots of people asking questions. I know that it is a God thing, no matter what it ends up looking like. I feel a little more prepared than I did last year, but I am also a little more aware of what it takes, and what it takes out of you. I am learning that being 'poured out' is Christlike. Not personal space, not personal time, not my own agenda. I want to be Christlike, but I am hoping that God will 'draw me with gentle cords'.
8. I was planning a trip to Guerrero Negro, for my friend Jen's b-day, which is close to mine (the 26th of February, in case you were wondering...), but it soon became clear that it was not going to work out. So Jen is going on a bus with another friend, and they are going to spend next weekend in Guerrero Negro, whale watching and sunbathing on the beach. Good for them. I am still hoping to go south sometime soon. I might go in the spring to Loreto with some of the missionaries for a mission trip. Then again, I might go visit my parents. Who really knows, at this juncture.

*big sigh*. I am done. Bless you readers. Bless you.

The guilt hath caught up with me

I attended a workshop today at this sweet missions conference that I've been attending since Monday. Well, first let me say that thus far things have been pretty sweet. I mean, sweet worship, nice people, and guys talking about their crazy experiences in war-torn countries.

And the food is good.

But the workshop was about maintaining the connection with the home church and friends and stuff, and I began to squirm a little as I remembered just how long it's been since I've sent out an actual newsletter or some sort of informative email. And I feel bad, because there is a whole lot of stuff I couldn't have done without all of you who love and like me. Like go to the mission field. So thanks. And you have my solomn promise that I will try to be better at communicating with all of you. I know that there are some who are just waiting eagerly evey moment for some sort of news from me. I will work to satisfy your anticipation.

So, coming soon, a good and proper email chock full of information that you may or may not find interesting.

Kipling's wisdom

I have lately begun to wonder what the Church would look like if we weren't so fraught with our own agenda's. The leaders at the mission I work at, IDT, are always talking about unity, and love, and all those beautiful ideals that make our present reality that much more dim. I have hope for the Church at large, that one day she will understand how not important her feelings are. How many relationships do I destroy, or even strain, because somebody has hurt my feelings? How often do I analyze the words and expressions and tone and body language of somebody, to discover if I have a 'right' to be offended with them?

I am coming to the realization, slowly, that, in the broad spectrum, how I am treated doesn't matter. And also that how I am treated is not nearly as bad as I sometimes think. I don't think I'm alone when I say, in complete honesty, that being 'mad' is a great deal of fun. It gets my blood pumping, and my mind racing, and gives me that oh-so-lovely feeling of self righteousness. I don't like to admit to myself (or to you) that I often look for offensive behaviour in completely innocent people. Poor friends of mine. Now you know the truth.

My friend Gord posted something on behaviour today which set me thinking. His point was that we could be a lot nicer than we are, and I agree. However, on the flip side, we could probably give people credit for being as nice as they intend to be, and leave our sensitive feelings at the door. So, all that to say that I found a poem a few years ago that set me to thinking, and I wanted you to read it too.Sometimes the words that have already been spoken are enough to express the idea of the moment. The author is unknown, but it is most often attributed to Rudyard Kipling (whom I love).

Read it slowly.

Could we but draw back the curtain
That surrounds each other's lives,
See the naked heart and spirit,
Know what spur the action drives,
Often we would find it clearer,
Purer than we judge we would--
We would love each other better
If we only understood.

Could we judge all deeds by motives,
See the good and bad within,
Often we would love the sinner
All the while we loathed the sin.
Could we know the powers working
To o'erthrow integrity,
We would judge each other's errors
With more patient charity.

If we knew the care and trials,
Knew the efforts all in vain,
All the bitter disappointment,
Understood the loss and gain.
Would the grim external roughness
Seem, I wonder, just the same?
Would we help where now we hinder?
Would we pity where now we blame?

Ah! we judge each other harshly,
Knowing not life's hidden force;
Knowing not the fount of action
Is less turbid at its source;
Seeing not amid the evil
All the golden strains of good--
Oh, we'd love each other better,
If we only understood.