BACK YARD

BACK YARD
Watercolor Painting of my back yard in Northern California

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

EVERYTHING IS ALL YOUR FAULT AND YOU SHOULD SUFFER FOR IT



Taking a hot air balloon ride is romantic in the minds of some, but they can be dangerous at times. They may not be as dangerous as driving the Los Angeles freeways, but accidents do happen. More than a dozen years ago, a balloon owned by a small private company met up with some unfriendly winds and dumped some tourists out of the gondola and onto the tarmac at Kirtland Air Force Base. At least one person died.

One of the people injured in that accident was a friend of mine, an elderly lady with an adventurous heart who has undergone quite a few surgeries and continues to suffer from serious chronic pain and other issues as a result of that horrible accident.

Recently, she told me that a friend of hers is blaming her for getting onto the hot air ride to begin with, and this "friend" has no sympathy for her. Evidently, according to that friend, the accident is all her fault and she deserves to undergo years and years of surgeries, pain and disability for being so stupid.

Her relatives are also loathe to help her because she tithes to her church and they continually criticize her for it! Apparently, she is expected to surrender her religious practices and values in order to earn the sympathy and help of family. They are nonbelievers and do not attend church, therefore she must be just like them. It's as if she has to make a deal with Satan in order to get her needs met. Give up your religious practices, and you can eat.

Many Americans have come to the place where their first instinct is to blame and shame people for whatever misfortune has befallen them. The poor are routinely castigated and accused of a catalog of character defects and "bad life choices" that contributed to their condition. Never mind that these social judges pretend to be Christian and that Jesus loves the poor and vulnerable above all people.

"The meek shall inherit the world," not the arrogant, self-important people who treat others with contempt for making mistakes. Choosing to experience the freedom and beauty of nature by taking a hot air balloon ride is not a sin. It may not even be an error in judgment. I wouldn't choose to get into the gondola, but my interest in risk-taking games and rides is extremely low. Other folk, however, like excitement and adventure and may not even perceive a balloon ride as something risky. Some people even jump out of airplanes with parachutes. That's not my scene, but I would still feel terribly sorry for the guy whose chute malfunctions and he ends up spread across the landscape like peanut butter on a crispy cracker. A sizeable number of people, however, feel nothing but contempt for those whose later years don't find them in a mansion stuffed with gold-leaf covered furniture.

If you are needy, due to disability, poverty, or both, you are looked down upon, blamed, shamed, and discounted.

Where does this hard heartedness COME from? How can people like this look at themselves in the mirror in the morning? Even if one is not Christian, where is the compassion that famously resides in the heart of man?

I have experienced different versions of what my friend is enduring now.  Long ago, when I first became disabled, I remember a conversation with a supposedly good friend of 30 years' duration. When I told her I had become disabled and that my Social Security was not going to be enough to get all my needs met, she asked me in a withering and overbearing tone, "If Social Security isn't enough to live on why did you decide to retire?" The word "retire" hit me like a fat, wet mackerel to the face, as I hadn't used that term at all. She had substituted it for the word "disabled" in an effort to make me sound bad and irresponsible. Her immediate response to hearing that I was disabled was to blame me, as if I had chosen to be sick and stop working.

Another odd thing that immediately started is that a number of people began calling me "kiddo," as if I am one of their children, even though we are very close in age. No one ever called me "kiddo" before I became old, sick, poor and needy. I regularly ask people not to call me this, but it continues to happen. Calling someone a child, blaming them for their illnesses and then demanding that the needy person live according to the dictates of others seems to be part of the general package that is thrust upon people like my friend and me.

Fortunately, I have several Catholic friends who walk with Jesus and whose kindness and generosity has kept me from being in much worse condition than I might be otherwise. Others are not so lucky and I do what I can to help when I can, even though my resources are puny.

Contrary to popular myth, "the government" doesn't supply every need of the poor and disabled, nor are there huge numbers of "fakers" who are "milking the system." The millions of poor people living in America today are mostly elderly and disabled people who have spent their whole lives paying taxes and paying into Social Security, doing what they were supposed to do, being upstanding citizens, only to be blamed and skewered with really mean lies at the fag end of their lives.

Grandmas and grandpas are struggling through their supposedly golden years because they had the bad taste to end up poor and/or disabled. It makes me sick, really, every time I hear one of these stories from one of my friends or neighbors, and the only thing that soothes me is the knowledge that God knows all and sees all and that the poor and vulnerable will spend eternity with Him, bouyed up with eternal kindness, eternal generosity, eternal peace and painlessness.

I do not pretend to know what will happen to the people who harass, lie about and criticize the vulnerable and sick in our society. The harassers frequently tell me they are sure they are going to heaven. We shall see.

In the meantime, I pray for my friend and all the other disabled and elderly people she represents. Please join me in those prayers.

God bless us all.

Silver Rose Parnell

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