Right before Christmas, I posted a blog about trying to play my defective keyboard in our St. Francis Inn dining room. Several of the keys, especially the "E" about middle "C" were sticking, upsetting my perfectionist attempts to play Christmas Carols. Despite what I viewed as this significant flaw, the music had a real effect on our guests. Some sang along with the carols they knew; others smiled and tapped their feet or hands; and still others thanked me as they left the dining room that day. Even now, roughly two weeks later, some of the guests still talk to me about how much they enjoyed the music.
A number of you have communicated with Thea or me about how much this particular blog meant to you or to a friend. Several of you forwarded the blog to others. I must tell you, that all of this made me feel very blessed and contributed to a wonderful Christmas for our family. But, as Paul Harvey used to say, "Here is the rest of the story!"
The day after I posted the blog, my brother-in-law Rick sent me an e-mail saying that these stuck keys were a manufacturer's defect, and that he owned a Yamaha keyboard that had had the very same problem. He'd contacted the manufacturer and had received a new keyboard assembly, free of charge. The manufacturer's repair technician had even come to his home to make the repair! Rick encouraged me to contact Yamaha and ask for a free repair, but since my keyboard is six years old, I figured that my keyboard was long beyond any warranty. I forgot all about Rick's suggestion.
Two days later, Rick sent me another e-mail with the phone number and e-mail of the Yamaha rep in Los Angeles, and again encouraged me to request the repair. Since all I had to do was send an e-mail, I decided to go for it....well it was more like "I know this is a waste of time, and I really do not even deserve this repair, but since Rick went to the trouble of sending me this info, I might as well try." Talk about a lack of faith! And self worth! Not to mention laziness!
Despite an overwhelming sense that there was not way that this was going to work, I composed a brief e-mail saying that I had a six year old Yamaha keyboard that had periodically had a problem with stuck keys and was there any possibility of a repair, given that it was long beyond the warranty period. To my astonishment, the LA rep immediately replied, asking for the serial number of my keyboard, which I dutifully supplied. Within a day, the rep had determined that, yes, indeed, I was entitled to a complete repair of the keyboard assembly and had send me the name of a technician right here in Philly who could do the job.
Yesterday, Thea and I took the keyboard in and within 30 minutes, it was fixed and good as new. Actually, it is BETTER than new -- the keyboard has never played so smoothly. I am really excited and happy: the keyboard is a pleasure to play now, not a frustration. And I owe it all to Rick who was persistent in getting me to request the repair when I would simply have accepted the situation as beyond my control.
As January 1st approaches, I know that one of my New Year's resolutions will be to be a little more attentive to the suggestions of people who are trying to help me and to be open to possibilities for good coming out of any situation.
Happy New Year, everyone!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
2 Phone Calls
"Sister, I need to make a telephone call. Can you help me?" The elderly man held out a folded piece of paper. I opened it, reading a letter from a daughter to her father. She had not had contact with him for 10 years. Somehow she had gotten his address and gave him her phone number. He wanted to talk to her.
I dialed her number, and miraculously, she picked up on the first ring. I handed him the phone, and a big smile filled his face as he said, "This is your father." They spoke for a few minutes in Spanish, and he ended with a promise to call her again soon. As he left, I remarked that is had seemed like a happy call. He said yes, he had not wanted to tell his daughter the turns his life had taken and the hard times he had fallen on. I added that a Dad was important to a daughter and I hoped that he would call her again soon.
A bit later the second line of the Inn rang. This is the number that the guests use for outgoing calls, and when it rings, it is usually a wrong number. This time, a woman's voice asked for "Mort." I didn't know Mort, but after some questioning I discovered Mort was the woman's brother,and he must have called her from the Inn. He was recently out of prison, and was a guest at the Inn, as well as one of Br. Xavier's helpers. I tracked down Br. Xavier, he went into the yard and found Mort, who came into the office for the call. He told his sister he was in big trouble. He had been evicted by his landlady, was out on the street, and apparently had not followed some of his parole rules. He was going to turn himself in soon, he said, but had no place to stay until then. His sister did not invite him to stay with her. I knew we had given him a coat and gloves, but the night temperature was predicted to be close to 4 degrees with the windchill. He bid his sister goodbye, and sadly left the office. I asked him if he would go to a shelter tonight, but he said he could not. He didn't elaborate as to why not, and I didn't press him. I felt helpless and frustrated that there was nothing I could do but wish him a good night and offer a prayer for him.
I dialed her number, and miraculously, she picked up on the first ring. I handed him the phone, and a big smile filled his face as he said, "This is your father." They spoke for a few minutes in Spanish, and he ended with a promise to call her again soon. As he left, I remarked that is had seemed like a happy call. He said yes, he had not wanted to tell his daughter the turns his life had taken and the hard times he had fallen on. I added that a Dad was important to a daughter and I hoped that he would call her again soon.
A bit later the second line of the Inn rang. This is the number that the guests use for outgoing calls, and when it rings, it is usually a wrong number. This time, a woman's voice asked for "Mort." I didn't know Mort, but after some questioning I discovered Mort was the woman's brother,and he must have called her from the Inn. He was recently out of prison, and was a guest at the Inn, as well as one of Br. Xavier's helpers. I tracked down Br. Xavier, he went into the yard and found Mort, who came into the office for the call. He told his sister he was in big trouble. He had been evicted by his landlady, was out on the street, and apparently had not followed some of his parole rules. He was going to turn himself in soon, he said, but had no place to stay until then. His sister did not invite him to stay with her. I knew we had given him a coat and gloves, but the night temperature was predicted to be close to 4 degrees with the windchill. He bid his sister goodbye, and sadly left the office. I asked him if he would go to a shelter tonight, but he said he could not. He didn't elaborate as to why not, and I didn't press him. I felt helpless and frustrated that there was nothing I could do but wish him a good night and offer a prayer for him.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Thea and Mark's Snowy Day
On Thursday, December 17 I looked at the weather map for Philadelphia and points south. We were planning to leave after the meal on Saturday to drive to Raleigh, spend the weekend with daughter Angela and her family, then go on to Athens and spend the rest of the week with daughter Andrea and her family. I noticed that snow was to begin around midnight Friday in the Philly area, and that Maryland and Virginia were to get quite a bit of snow as well. We debated as to whether we should ask if we could leave on Friday rather than Saturday. We didn't need to as Judy, our coordinator, called us at 7:30 Friday morning and suggested we leave before the snow started. So we rushed around, got packed, served the meal, then at 2 pm left town. All was well until we got south of DC. For some inexplicable reason, the traffic slowed to 20 mph. After about an hour of slow going on I-95, we ran into snow. This snow was coming down hard and fast. We could see 3 inches already on parking lots along the highway. We figured at this rate we would reach Raleigh at 5 am, if we didn't plow into a ditch. We saw an exit at about 7:30 pm that had 6 motels, and got over to the right lane to exit. Unfortunately, the traffic didn't appear to be moving up the ramp. I could see a Quality Inn above our location, separated by a fence from the interstate. Mark suggested I get out, climb the fence and book us a room. So I donned by coat, grabbed my purse, and hiked up through the snow to the top of the berm. After several tries I was able to mount the fence, push down the barbed wire, and jump over. I then made it up to the motel and stood in line. Meanwhile, Mark was still trying to go up the ramp. He finally drove around some stopped trucks, got halfway up, and the traffic stopped again. All the drivers got out to see what was happening. It appeared that two cars had collided, but finally decided to ignore any damage and move on. At this time Mark started up the car again, but had no traction. He managed to finesse the car a little at a time up the ramp, and arrived at 8:30 at the motel. At this point we were 30 miles north of Richmond, VA
The next morning we awoke to about a foot of snow. We figured we would be spending another night at the motel. We went out to knock the snow off our car, and to our amazement, the interstate was plowed and traffic moving normally. A man came by and told us there was a two hour break in the snow, and if we wanted to go, now was the time. We grabbed our bags, left without getting food, and drove south. Within a mile we saw that things were still pretty bad on the interstate. We saw lots of cars stranded, some even in the main lanes. There were cars in the median, some turned upside down, and others pointing in the wrong direction,having done a 360. Ramps were closed due to disabled vehicles on the ramp. We felt so blessed that we had gotten off when we did, had gotten a room, and had been safe in our travels. We made it to Raleigh safely, and look forward to spending Christmas with our children and grandchildren. We don't even feel guilty about leaving early from the Inn, because they had 2 feet of snow on Saturday, and probably had less than 100 guests at the meal.
The next morning we awoke to about a foot of snow. We figured we would be spending another night at the motel. We went out to knock the snow off our car, and to our amazement, the interstate was plowed and traffic moving normally. A man came by and told us there was a two hour break in the snow, and if we wanted to go, now was the time. We grabbed our bags, left without getting food, and drove south. Within a mile we saw that things were still pretty bad on the interstate. We saw lots of cars stranded, some even in the main lanes. There were cars in the median, some turned upside down, and others pointing in the wrong direction,having done a 360. Ramps were closed due to disabled vehicles on the ramp. We felt so blessed that we had gotten off when we did, had gotten a room, and had been safe in our travels. We made it to Raleigh safely, and look forward to spending Christmas with our children and grandchildren. We don't even feel guilty about leaving early from the Inn, because they had 2 feet of snow on Saturday, and probably had less than 100 guests at the meal.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Happy Anniversary to the St. Francis Inn
Thirty years ago today, the St. Francis Inn served its first meal. After the friars made the food, they served it to five men and then sat down and ate with them. Last night we served dinner to 296. The original building was a bar converted to soup kitchen. The first structure is the current dining room and office, but in 2000 the size was doubled and a bigger kitchen area, bathrooms and storage rooms were added. Regardless of the size of the building, the mission remains the same. "We do not wish to serve the poor, but to be poor and to serve our brothers and sisters."
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Christmas Carols, Stuck Keys, and Grace
It began as Thea's idea: many of my best ideas are hers. Yesterday she suggested that I might play Christmas carols for one of our mid-day meals this week. I passed on the idea to Sister Mary who was today's meal coordinator, and Voila, I was set up in the dining room. There was one problem, however. One of the keys on my keyboard --specifically the "E" above middle "C" -- sticks. The problem began a week or so ago and has gotten steadily worse. Now, everytime I play that note, the key stays down.
Despite this problem, I was enthusiastic about playing for our guests. Sunday is our busiest day, and today was rainy, cold, and dreary. I figured that some live seasonal music would lift everyone's mood. With Thea's help, I assembled a list of 30 or so songs -- everything from "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" to "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" -- and began to play. Almost immediately, I ran into serious problems: not only did the "E" above middle "C" stick every time I played the note, but its cousin "E" below middle "C" also was sluggish. It is amazing how often you need these notes, especially for songs in the keys of "C" and "G", two of my favorite keys. Furiously, I transposed every carol that I could into other keys ("F", "D", even "Bflat"), which required me to use the stuck keys as little as possible. When I had to play the "E", I would continue playing but reach up with a spare finger and flick the key up -- a neat trick when you're used to pushing down to play. The results were predictable: my "performance" was bad, and it was really upsetting! Imagine a tune such as "Deck, the (no sound, stuck key) with bows of (blank)-ley, fa- (blank) la, (blank),la,la la, la." Horrible! I was so frustrated, but there was nothing to do but press on for the 90 minute lunch.
Then a funny thing happened. I started focusing on the guests instead of my malfunctioning instrument, and I began noticing positive things. A little old lady, normally quite nasty (we call her the French lady) humming along contentedly...an older African American man tapping his foot...another lady nodding her head to the music. As people left, many of them stopped to say how much they enjoyed the music. One guy, a big burly man, said that he used to sing in a gospel choir and that this really made him feel great. Another guy said "We are so blessed to have you here." But the apex was when an older, short lady, clearly very down on her luck, came up to the keyboard and began singing "Silent Night". Her voice was terrible -- ragged, vocal chords scarred from tobacco and drug use -- but she knew all the verses. People at the neighboring tables joined in, and I realized that stuck key or not, this music was lifting people. I saw, as each of us occasionally does, that God was using me, at that very moment, to brighten the lives of others. His Grace was flowing through my fingers to people who needed it. My eyes welled up, my chest constricted, and I gave thanks that I could, in some small way, be part of God's plan for the St. Frances Inn on this Sunday.
As I reflect on this now (5 PM on Sunday), I wonder how often each of us misses God's Grace in our lives because we are so worried about trying to do tasks to perfection rather than just living for the moment and doing them as we are able. For me this is certainly true. Today I was closer to God when I was not so worried about how I was playing my music and more open to how He was working through the music to further His kingdom.
Despite this problem, I was enthusiastic about playing for our guests. Sunday is our busiest day, and today was rainy, cold, and dreary. I figured that some live seasonal music would lift everyone's mood. With Thea's help, I assembled a list of 30 or so songs -- everything from "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" to "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" -- and began to play. Almost immediately, I ran into serious problems: not only did the "E" above middle "C" stick every time I played the note, but its cousin "E" below middle "C" also was sluggish. It is amazing how often you need these notes, especially for songs in the keys of "C" and "G", two of my favorite keys. Furiously, I transposed every carol that I could into other keys ("F", "D", even "Bflat"), which required me to use the stuck keys as little as possible. When I had to play the "E", I would continue playing but reach up with a spare finger and flick the key up -- a neat trick when you're used to pushing down to play. The results were predictable: my "performance" was bad, and it was really upsetting! Imagine a tune such as "Deck, the (no sound, stuck key) with bows of (blank)-ley, fa- (blank) la, (blank),la,la la, la." Horrible! I was so frustrated, but there was nothing to do but press on for the 90 minute lunch.
Then a funny thing happened. I started focusing on the guests instead of my malfunctioning instrument, and I began noticing positive things. A little old lady, normally quite nasty (we call her the French lady) humming along contentedly...an older African American man tapping his foot...another lady nodding her head to the music. As people left, many of them stopped to say how much they enjoyed the music. One guy, a big burly man, said that he used to sing in a gospel choir and that this really made him feel great. Another guy said "We are so blessed to have you here." But the apex was when an older, short lady, clearly very down on her luck, came up to the keyboard and began singing "Silent Night". Her voice was terrible -- ragged, vocal chords scarred from tobacco and drug use -- but she knew all the verses. People at the neighboring tables joined in, and I realized that stuck key or not, this music was lifting people. I saw, as each of us occasionally does, that God was using me, at that very moment, to brighten the lives of others. His Grace was flowing through my fingers to people who needed it. My eyes welled up, my chest constricted, and I gave thanks that I could, in some small way, be part of God's plan for the St. Frances Inn on this Sunday.
As I reflect on this now (5 PM on Sunday), I wonder how often each of us misses God's Grace in our lives because we are so worried about trying to do tasks to perfection rather than just living for the moment and doing them as we are able. For me this is certainly true. Today I was closer to God when I was not so worried about how I was playing my music and more open to how He was working through the music to further His kingdom.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Christmastime in Philadelphia
Steve, one of the guests and our Philadelphia expert, told us that "Philadelphia has her best face at the holidays." He is so right! We have taken advantage of some of the tradtional holiday treats, such as the light and music show at Macy's, formerly Wanamakers Department store. We also toured the Dickens Village in Macy's, which was originally in another now defunct store. These events go back at least to postwar days. A more recent arrival is the holiday show in the lobby of the Comcast building, the tallest building in Philadelphia. This year was a real treat, complete with fiberoptic panels and 3-D effects. But the very best show of all was at Longwood Gardens, a fabulous botanical garden that belonged to Pierre Dupont. The 20 room conservatory was decorated with giant Christmas trees and carpets of poinsettias. There were huge wreaths made of orchids, bromeliads and palm fronds. Outside, there were thousands of lights on tall trees, as well as a dancing fountain that rose and fell to holiday music. We even saw a choral concert by a 100 year old choral group that specializes in Gilbert and Sullivan. Since there are no yards in our neighborhood, people make the most of their windows and doors, with the occasional sidewalk tree festooned with lights. Since it has turned really cold (felt like 12 degrees last night), it is easy to get into the Christmas spirit.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Bathroom Duty and God
Every Monday morning, our St. Frances Inn staff "team" gets together for a sharing. We begin with psalms, have a spiritual reading, review one of the seven guidelines of the Franciscan ministry, and then share how we feel about what we've heard. Last Monday, the guideline was "We seek not simply to serve the physical needs of those we minister to but to build relationship with those whom we meet." As I (Mark) reflected on the guideline, I realized that for most of my time here I have been focusing on the tasks at hand and not so much on the people we serve. As a former administrator, I certainly was coming down on the side of "doing" rather that "being present". As I left the sharing session, I resolved to be open to allowing the Spirit to work through me to form relationships with our guests.
Later that week, I had bathroom duty. The job is basically to line people up and send them in an orderly way into our two public restrooms. I was half way into my 90 minute shift when I remembered the guideline about forming relationships, and so I decided to give it a try. The first two attempts were perfunctory: "How are you doing today? "Fine, how are you." "Nice Day, isn't it? "Yeah, real nice!", etc. Then a short guy with a pale blue hat moved to the front of the line.
I tried again: "How are you today?" He looked me right in the eye and with a tired, defeated face simply shook his head side to side. I said, "Tough day?" He replied, "Tough week!" I asked "Why?" He replied, "Too many drugs, got really drunk, and now I am $240 behind on my rent." Without even thinking about what I was saying, I asked, "So, what drugs are you doing?" He replied: "Crack". I felt my stomach contract: crack cocaine is a common street drug here, but this was the very first person that I personally had met who was a crack user. I said to him, "That is a really bad drug. You need to try to get off of it." He replied, "That is easy to say, hard to do." I said, "Yes, but you need to try." He looked at me and said "Why? I lost my child; I lost my wife; now what the f*** do I have to look forward to for Christmas?" I felt a flood of sympathy -- I wondered how I would react if one of my daughters and wife had died. It was easy to see how someone might turn to alcohol or drugs to ease the pain.
By this time, one of the bathrooms was open and the man went in. I wondered if there was anything at all that I could do to help. When he emerged a minute later, I asked him his name. "Steve" he replied. I said, "My name is Mark, and I know that it is not much, but I will pray for you. And if you ever want to talk, I would be happy to talk with you about all of this." He smiled briefly and walked away.
I don't know what will happen with Steve and me. Probably nothing, but I have noticed him coming to morning mass a couple of times since then and each time during the "Sign of Peace", our eyes meet and we exchange smiles and an embrace. If nothing else, at least he knows that another person is concerned about him and his suffering.
Later that week, I had bathroom duty. The job is basically to line people up and send them in an orderly way into our two public restrooms. I was half way into my 90 minute shift when I remembered the guideline about forming relationships, and so I decided to give it a try. The first two attempts were perfunctory: "How are you doing today? "Fine, how are you." "Nice Day, isn't it? "Yeah, real nice!", etc. Then a short guy with a pale blue hat moved to the front of the line.
I tried again: "How are you today?" He looked me right in the eye and with a tired, defeated face simply shook his head side to side. I said, "Tough day?" He replied, "Tough week!" I asked "Why?" He replied, "Too many drugs, got really drunk, and now I am $240 behind on my rent." Without even thinking about what I was saying, I asked, "So, what drugs are you doing?" He replied: "Crack". I felt my stomach contract: crack cocaine is a common street drug here, but this was the very first person that I personally had met who was a crack user. I said to him, "That is a really bad drug. You need to try to get off of it." He replied, "That is easy to say, hard to do." I said, "Yes, but you need to try." He looked at me and said "Why? I lost my child; I lost my wife; now what the f*** do I have to look forward to for Christmas?" I felt a flood of sympathy -- I wondered how I would react if one of my daughters and wife had died. It was easy to see how someone might turn to alcohol or drugs to ease the pain.
By this time, one of the bathrooms was open and the man went in. I wondered if there was anything at all that I could do to help. When he emerged a minute later, I asked him his name. "Steve" he replied. I said, "My name is Mark, and I know that it is not much, but I will pray for you. And if you ever want to talk, I would be happy to talk with you about all of this." He smiled briefly and walked away.
I don't know what will happen with Steve and me. Probably nothing, but I have noticed him coming to morning mass a couple of times since then and each time during the "Sign of Peace", our eyes meet and we exchange smiles and an embrace. If nothing else, at least he knows that another person is concerned about him and his suffering.
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