Monthly Archives: December 2023

Did you know there are angels right here among us? At this time last year, angels appeared and I, Doug, my husband, and a very unsuspecting family were blessed. Now some of you reading this may remember that Doug had been diagnosed with bladder cancer last December but what you didn’t know was that there was a back story unfolding that couldn’t be told until the right time. So, before we all settle down for a long winter’s nap, enjoy this beautiful story of awe and wonder.

On November 19, 2022, I received an email from an angel in the Tree of Life community, someone I hadn’t seen or heard from in a while, simply saying, “I have something for you,” and asked for my address. “What a lovely thing,” I thought. The next day, Doug and I read on his My Chart, “Unidentified mass on bladder.” He’d had some symptoms and had gone for tests. It was our 40^th wedding anniversary.

In a few days, my gift arrived. It was a beautiful stone with an image of a sparrow and the saying, “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.” (Matthew 6:26) I knew now why this angel had been drawn to send it to me. She’d also known it was one of my favorite sayings. It’s so beautiful and sits on my alter to this day.

Not long after, Doug underwent a procedure, was told it was cancer, and surgery was scheduled for January 19^th. Though it wasn’t considered urgent, the doctor said she couldn’t know for sure what the full extent of the cancer was until surgery. For the next several weeks, I couldn’t stop crying. Every time Doug would look at me or say anything sweet, I’d cry. Such is the way of love.

Meanwhile, shortly before all this had happened, we’d decided to really splurge and buy tickets for the Nutcracker at the Boston Ballet. Our granddaughter had been taking ballet for a while and it felt like a good year to offer her and our grandson such a treat. So, we got tickets for our two grandkids, daughter and son-in-law, and Doug and me. This was really a big deal as the tickets were just over $500. But we were so excited about it! We just knew it was going to be a night to remember.   

Then, the doctor said she didn’t think it was a good idea for Doug to go, being in such close proximity to so many people. Not knowing the full extent of the cancer, she didn’t want him taking any chances. It was heartbreaking for all of us. But by that time, it was less than two weeks before the show. Now we had no idea what to do with our tickets.

Then, suddenly, we knew exactly what to do. We went down to talk to our resident manager and told her we had 6 tickets we’d like to gift to a family who’d most likely never get to go to the Nutcracker in Boston. Right away her face lit up. “I know just the family!” But then her expression dropped as she said, “But they’d never be able to afford the parking down there.” “We’ll throw in some cash for that!” And with that, it was done. And the best part, they wouldn’t know who’d gifted them and we’d not know who was gifted. I so love God!

Each day after, Doug and I would look at each other and smile. It was the absolute best gift ever for us! And for me, just the thought could instantly turn all my tears to joy.

But the angels weren’t done yet. At almost the exact same time, I got another note from an angel saying she was gifting us with $500 for Doug and me to use however we may choose, maybe take a few days away together. I remember feeling so stunned. I could hardly believe this was happening.

A couple of weeks after Christmas, our resident manager delivered a two-page handwritten letter from the family thanking us. The woman shared that she was a single mom and that times had been especially hard, and she’d been so happy to be able to take her eight-year-old daughter, niece, sister, mother and Godmother to see the Nutcracker. She went on and on about how much it had meant to all of them.

The angel who’d gifted the $500 had reminded us that all things do work for good to them who love God. (Romans 8:28) And throughout the whole season and journey with Doug, my other angel had made sure I’d feel watched over by my beautiful stone.   

I mean, really? Does it get any better? I don’t think so. 

Today, my Doug is well, due in large part to all of you angels who prayed for him. And at any time throughout the year if my soul starts to feel weary, all I need to do is gaze at my beautiful stone and close my eyes to picture an eight-year-old girl, her cousin and family getting all dressed up to go to the Nutcracker.

Ummmm . . . O Holy Night . . .

And Merry Christmas to All You Angels . . . and to All a Good Night!

I’ll never know her name. Yet, she’ll live in my heart until my last breath. It started with one of those warnings from a newscaster, “The images are disturbing.” Then, amid the overwhelming devastation, I saw a little girl, maybe three or four years old, lying on a makeshift stretcher. Over her small body her dress lay limp, covered with blood and filth spewed from the ravages of war. But it was the blindfold tied around her matted hair that I could imagine left her feeling the most scared: viciously trapped, panicking, frantically groping for any escape out of the dark, crying out, pleading, again and again, “Mama. Mama.”

It was an image from Gaza but to ask where, whom or even why, is to have already lost the moral compass. Perhaps better a question would be, “What if it were my child? My daughter. My son. And what if I remembered that, just a short time ago, she or he was roaming free from concern, likely being messy, clothes soiled from fun due to all kinds of imaginary shenanigans.  

Pause. Feel. What if it were my child?

I know many of us are grateful each night, regardless of our particular challenges and circumstances, that we, at least for now, live in a country that’s not being decimated by war. Most of us have a warm bed out of the cold. We’re spending an unprecedented amount for gifts this Christmas and will have to do some serious dieting come January due to our holiday feasting. We can’t even imagine losing water, food, sanitation, safety, with no back-on date posted on our smart phones. We can’t. Or maybe we can so we quickly offer our passing, “That’s so sad,” and escape into the holiday classic, “It’s a Wonderful Life.” I’m no different most of the time.

Until, I heard, “Mama. Mama,” and something in me stirred, deep.

And as I’ve sat with it, it’s made me hold more closely the teachings of the one called Jesus, this Holy Week in particular, as we anticipate the celebration of his birth on Christmas Day. Yes, I’m an Interfaith minister but I also have a long, endearing, familial relationship with Christianity through a small country Methodist Church in the deep south. And I sense that, if Jesus were here, he’d be quite dismayed with how those who call themselves the faithful have come to practice his teachings.

It might serve us all well to remember that Jesus was not a Christian. He was a Jew. The religion of Christianity was founded generations after Jesus’ death by those who could still hear, across time, the ecstatic cry that just his simple presence could elicit. They did, however, manage to record many of his teachings which, by any standard looking at events today, should give us all pause.

For example, Jesus was one who preferred to live on the fringes of society and hang out with those people others would not. Judging from his words, I believe today he’d be at our boarders tearing down walls and welcoming all who yearned for safety and comfort. I can imagine he’d be washing their feet and making sure they were properly clothed and fed for, as we read in Matthew 25:40, “I tell you whenever you did these things [fed, clothed and invited in the stranger] for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did them for me.”

Similarly, I don’t believe in the middle east today he’d stop to see any distinction between Jews, Muslim, Arabs, Palestinians, before serving any and all who were in need. He’d certainly not be concerned with whether or not they’d found him or loved his Holy Father through the proper religion. Today, he’d most likely look with bewilderment at those who’ve claimed him as their own such as those Christians who say God revealed to them that they should care predominately for Israeli Jews. No such hierarchy of worthiness is revealed in Jesus’ teachings, in fact, quite the opposite. “Just as I have loved you, you must also love one another. (John 13:34)

Perhaps, as expressed in the beautiful hymn, “Oh Holy Night,” this Christmas we should all hope to experience the unconditional love Jesus taught, to better live as he did so we too could feel, “A thrill of hope,” as our, “weary world rejoices,” remembering, “He taught us to love one another,” and that, “His law is love and his gospel is peace.”

Most of all, I pray we all may have just a moment when we too find ourselves consumed by that ecstatic cry, so when we sing, “Fall on your knees, O hear the Angels voices,” we can do nothing else.  

Maybe then, we could hear, a world away, a small voice crying, “Mama. Mama,” and know the true meaning of Christmas.

With so much division, manipulation, finger-pointing, and downright ugliness masquerading as civil discourse these days, it’s easy to lose site of the good. And then something happens, quite unexpectedly, that brings a ray of hope to where there was such challenge and despair. It was a simple thing really. Usually is. I’m fortunate to live in a large mill building with people of many ethnicities and it’s not unusual to hear multiple languages in the hallways.

A few days ago, I was walking up the ramp to our main entrance and passed a middle-aged woman and, what looked to be, her grandmother, both Muslim. The grandmother was walking behind slowly, hunched over, and seemed to have some visual impairment. I stopped at the door and held it open. When the grandmother got up to me, she paused, stared softly, and slowly bowed her head. I bowed back. Then, being shorter than me, she reached up and suddenly hugged me saying, “As-salamu alaykum,” a Muslim greeting that means, “Peace be upon you.” She held on for a few seconds as I was feeling oh-my-gosh, and then was finally able to whisper back, “And As-salamu alaykum to you.” Then, they went in and disappeared into our building. But as I write this, I know that somewhere in one of our 300+ apartments there’s a dear elderly Muslim woman who offered me peace that day, and for that I am surely blessed.

I know, like many, my heart breaks for the tragic war now consuming the Middle East. As I expressed in my 11/1/2023 article, “Middle East Peace,” I could respond in kind to the woman because I’ve spent time praying with both my Muslim and Jewish friends. I know that had the elderly woman I met at the door been Jewish, I’m sure she’d have blessed me with, “Shalom aleichem,” generally translated, “Peace unto you.” I could have responded in kind, “Aleichem shalom,” and there would have been no difference in the gift offered or received.

Funny how such a simple act of kindness can ripple and instantly soothe a heart overcome with turbulent fear for the future. We forget how powerful kindness is, too easily discounted, worthy perhaps only of a fleeting smile before getting back to more serious business. That is until an elderly Muslim woman spontaneously hugs you or you, again unexpectedly, have an opportunity to offer something in kind.

A number of years ago, at this time of year, I was standing in line at one of the quick checkout lanes in a grocery store in Milford. It was early evening, and the store was packed. The couple ahead of me had an infant who was becoming more and more fussy. Both parents looked completely frazzled and had that I-can’t-remember-the-last-time-I-slept look. As mom tried to calm the infant, dad was desperately counting out his last penny. He came up short and the cashier, regretfully, said he’d have to put something back.

Without thinking, I jumped in and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll cover the bill.” I’ll never forget the surprise, almost disbelief, mixed with deep gratitude, in their eyes as they left the store. But the good news is I’m absolutely certain that many of you reading this would have done the exact same thing.

But the story doesn’t end there. About a week later, I was in line again at the same store. This time, as I started to empty my cart, the woman in front of me said, “I’m paying for your groceries today. I was behind you last week and saw what you did for that couple with the baby. Now I’d like to do something for you.”

Who knows? Maybe this article will find her and she’ll remember that day and know that her kindness still makes me smile all these years later.   

Kindness doesn’t need to know what political party you belong to. It doesn’t care what religion you are or how much money you make. No application is required. We offer kindness because something bigger than us, in the moment, compels us. It sparks an ember, long smothered, awakening an innate sense of our shared humanity, and ignites the fire of neighborly love even before we know what’s happening.   

And it changes everyone and everything in its wake. Giver. Receiver. Witness. One and the same now. For the moment, it frees all from the shackles of drudgery, oppression and hatred to find hope and joy where no one would have thought to look. And even years later, just the memory can rekindle the ember again. Such is the power of kindness.

As-salamu alaykum . . .  

(This article ran in the NH Concord Monitor 11/30/2023. To read more published newsprint, please visit my website at https://www.stephanierutt.com/)