A Day of Giving

“This country will not be a good place for any of us to live in unless we make it a good place for all of us to live in.”

Theodore Roosevelt

After Thanksgiving sales, Black Friday, Cyber Monday and all the other sales promotions overflowing my e-mail inbox, now I’m reminded that today is the “Day of Giving”

Just today? And, the giving should be a check, or better yet, a credit card payment to some charitable organization far away.

“Give today! Make a difference! Click, click, and you’re done.”

“We make it easy for you.”

“If you send us money, then your charitable obligations of the season are done. Duty fulfilled. Then back to your holiday consumerism and frivolity.”

It’s like the paying of indulgences in the Middle Ages, to buy my way into Heaven. I’m hearing Martin Luther remind me that handing over my pieces of silver isn’t where we should be going as a country.

Isn’t every day the day of giving? And the need is right in front of me. On the way to the coffee shop, I drive past the homeless person, standing in the rain, needing a meal, a job, a dry place to spend the night, maybe just someone to say that they care, that this person matters and is part of our community.

There is a line in front of the community library, waiting for it to open. People who need a warm, dry place, maybe some computer time so they can apply for a job, or connect with family, maybe just to be with others, or a good book to read, or a conversation.

There are other needs in my town, and I don’t have to look too far.

This time of year, the loneliness of jail and prison weighs heavy on many of the young men there I know.

For one young man, this month is the anniversary of his dad’s overdose and his best friend’s suicide, and his reoccurring nightmare of the aiming of the gun, the pulling of the trigger, and his own screams. His family doesn’t come to see him, and the playing of Christmas carols makes him cry.

I can’t give him much, and I can’t bring him peace. But I can sit with him and hear his story. I can praise his hard work and his rebuilding of his life. I can honor his plans to be an EMT, and thereby make the world a better place.

I have the gift of time with that young man, and our time together brings me joy. And perhaps that can give him some peace.

Each of us has the gift of time, the gift of compassion, the ability to listen with an open heart.

The Day of Giving — shouldn’t that be every day? Shouldn’t we take the time to say hi to our neighbor, to speak to someone at the grocery store or the post office, to genuinely inquire as to their well being, their soul?

The real giving doesn’t show up on my credit card bill or my tax return. The real giving is that few minutes a day we can choose to really engage with someone, to put forth some real care and concern, to love our fellow humans.

Genuine giving is so much more than some artificial “Day of Giving”.

“What are we here for? What is the value of our lives?” Those are the questions of the season.

The real giving shows up right here, right where we live, every day of the year, every day of our lives.

—Neal Lemery 11/29/2016

A Nice Review for Homegrown Tomatoes

5.0 out of 5 stars

A Homegrown Miracle of a Book—Rhonda Case

What to say about the miracle that is this little book? The author, Neal Lemery, has written a small masterpiece. This collection of short, powerful pieces moved this reader to tears again and again. “Homegrown Tomatoes” has the power to move all readers to new ways of speaking, listening and taking action in our own backyards and communities, as healers and peacemakers.

Something of a soul brother to the philosopher/writer and mystic gardener, Rudolf Steiner (founder of the Waldorf school movement and of “biodynamic” gardening) Neal Lemery believes in the inherent goodness and limitless potential of each human he meets. He believes in the power of education and sees that Nature can be our wisest, most gentle teacher and healer.

Lemery’s essays, like the parables of Jesus, are grounded in the most “ordinary” of human experiences: observations of plants and of birds, moments of kindness offered to those who have been marginalized in society, zen-like questions about what we truly value and where we show up with compassion for others.

The most powerful essays are those where Judge Lemery lets us enter his “secret garden” at the OYA. We are privileged to be there with him as he meets the young men incarcerated for juvenile offenses, some of them serving long years in prison.

We’re there as Neal cooks, listens, plays cards, gardens, laughs and cries with these young men. What obstacles they have overcome despite their failures! We are allowed to share his sorrow at how much betrayal and suffering too many children endure. We are privileged to witness how seeds of Hope are still present even in the dark, cold winter soil of these lives that have known too much pain — just waiting for the warmth of kindness and rays of compassion to bring the spirit back to life.

Lemery’s essays inspire us to believe that we too can be transformed if we “tend our garden.” His poetry and prose reminds us that we can allow Life and Beauty to grow around and through our own hands, provided we sharpen and value our “garden tools” (our unique gifts) and this book has reminded me that the time to get started is always NOW.

Highly recommended for teens, teachers, counselors, parents, social workers, gardeners, poets and judges! Would make a great Christmas gift or selection for your Book Group for Spring 2017.

A Quiet Giving

Good things happen quietly, almost without anyone noticing.

Yesterday, at Costco, I helped an elderly lady load a large box into her car trunk. She was shuffling along, pushing one of those giant Costco carts, using her cane to move towards her car, in the rain.

The box was filled with boxes and boxes of pencils. Costco sized boxes, filling a much larger box. More than a couple of lifetime supplies of pencils. Maybe all the pencils Costco had in stock.

“That’s a lot of pencils,” I said.

“Oh, they’re for my kids, the kids at the grade school in my neighborhood,” she said. “Every couple of months, I donate pencils for all the kids there. They run out of them. Everyone needs a couple of good pencils.”

She shuffled to her car door, leaning on her cane, finally getting out of the rain.

“Thanks for your donation, and for helping out your kids,” I said.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said.

Just changing lives. Just making a difference in this world, one pencil at a time.

—Neal Lemery 3/16/16

Thanksgiving, 2015

Finding Thankfulness and Gratitude in My Life

“Thankfulness is the beginning of gratitude. Gratitude is the completion of thankfulness. Thankfulness may consist merely of words. Gratitude is shown in acts.”
–Henri Frederic Amiel, Swiss philosopher

The harvest is in, the garden has been put to bed, and the weather has turned cold. The days are growing shorter; winter has arrived. It is the season of a comfortable chair, a warm blanket, a mug of tea and a good book.

It is also a time of being thankful and grateful. At Thanksgiving, we gather around the table, sharing food and companionship. It is a time of quiet celebration.

Thanksgiving is a quiet, contemplative holiday with few expectations. Simply being together and sharing a meal is all that the holiday seems to require of us. Oh, and the obligatory giving of thanks. In the rush towards the consumerism and frenzy of Christmas, it seems easy to slide right by this time of giving thanks, and plunge into the next holiday.

And, when we do that, we forget to pause and reflect, and to be truly thankful.

The real holiday, the real celebration this week is a time to go inward, to truly appreciate what we have in our lives, and how we are to live, to truly be children of God. Thanksgiving is all about love, in all of its dimensions.

This year there is much to be thankful for: the necessities of life, purposeful work, time with friends and family, health, and being able to serve, to be of service.

People in my life this year have achieved much. One friend is moving into a new home, his first, very own, this is really mine, home. A year ago, he was adrift, unemployed, unsure of himself. Today, due to his hard work and his belief in all of his possibilities, he has a rich, purposeful life.

Another friend is casting aside distractions and old misery, and healing old wounds. He’s taking charge, doing healthy things, putting his life in order.

Another friend passed a test in school. He conquered his fears, his self doubts; he has conquered his sabotage of a future of rich possibilities. He is ready to move on, and he has shown to himself that he can grow, and learn, and be successful. He has climbed his own mountain, and can believe in himself.

I am recharging my own creative energies. I am writing a serious book that gives voice to those who are less fortunate. I am immersing myself in creating music and art, and being an advocate for others. I am pausing to look at the beauty of the world, in this very moment, to appreciate who I am and where I am going.

All this is scary, terrifying work. What if I actually accomplish what I dream? Are there really no barriers, no limits to what I can accomplish, if I put my mind and my soul into the effort? I might be successful? Me? But, then I will have to take on even greater challenges, and be responsible for my effort. Really? Little old me?

Yes, me. I am the one. I am the one who can change the world, one little step at a time. Changing the world is really my job. And, I can do it.

We all have our obstacles. And we are all capable of success, and believing in our strengths, our possibilities.

I am a citizen of the world and I pay attention, I learn, and I try to apply my energies and my awareness to being an instrument of positive change.

We live in troubled times. Yet that has also been true in years past. Every generation has faced that challenge, and had to answer that question, can I really accomplish my dream?

I choose to be an agent of change, and to not retreat into silence and indifference. I believe we are called to respond and to act, to be proactive, to be God’s instruments of change.

Maybe I can’t wave my magic wand and achieve world peace. But, I can move in that direction. I can bring myself and my work into a state of constructive peacefulness. I can work to nurture that energy into my family, my neighborhood, and my community.

I can make a difference.

I can join with other like-minded people, and consistently do good works.

Each of us is a peace-maker. Peace making has to start somewhere.

“Let there be peace on Earth and let it begin with me,” the song says.

We all have our story. Be a listener, and hear someone speak their truth, perhaps for the first time. Let everyone’s story be told, and be heard.

Each of us can do an act of kindness and compassion. Pay an act of kindness forward. Buy a stranger a coffee, help an elderly person with a package, talk to a friend, visit the sick, the lonely, the imprisoned. Maybe bring a meal to a sick neighbor. Volunteer.

Strike up a conversation while waiting at the grocery store check out. Ask the clerk how they are doing and listen to their answer. Hear them, deeply and compassionately. Hug a friend who seems upset, lost, without hope.

In any of that work, there is kindness and compassion. You are giving of yourself, and you are showing others how to be human, how to be kind and loving.

“Be the change you want to see in the world,” Mahatma Gandhi said.

Our example, just something simple, can change one person’s life. And in that, we change the world. We make our planet just a little better.

Isn’t that the Golden Rule? Isn’t that what the prophets, the scions of great religions have preached? Isn’t that being an instrument of God’s love for every one of us?

Each of us is special, unique. We are here for a reason. And, isn’t that reason to show love and compassion, to be kind, generous, thoughtful of others? By our example, we show the way, we demonstrate how people should really live, how we really are the children of God.

Today, I give thanks, and I am grateful. And, in my own, small way, I am making a difference, I am changing the world, one small act of kindness at a time.
—Neal Lemery, November 24, 2015

A Man of Service

This week, we said goodbye to a good friend, a man of compassion, a man who quietly built up others, offering his hand in friendship.

Herman Gonzalez was quiet, his voice low as he spoke to the men and women who came to court. They were scared, not speaking the language, not knowing what would happen, not knowing what to do.

One by one, they came before the bench, listening to the judge, then listening to him, as he translated the strange words about law and court and traffic tickets into their own language.

He smiled, and so did they. He explained things to them, and they nodded. They told their story and the judge listened to them, asking a few questions.

It was OK to tell the truth, he’d say. That’s what court is for, to find out the truth, and figure out an answer that was fair. And, everyone gets to have their own say, to tell their side of the story.

He’d talk to the police, getting a bit more of the story, a few more ideas of making things right, and finding the answers.

It was OK, coming to court and talking to the judge, he would tell the people. The cops were just people, just doing their job. They are good people, just people like you and me. It is OK to disagree, to speak up, and tell your own truth.

Herman offered a few questions of his own, giving out information, explaining their stories and explaining the judge’s questions and ideas of how the ticket could be resolved. Some of the suggestions seemed too hard, too overwhelming, until Herman offered to help them, to find the solution. He’d go with them, showing them the way, doing the talking for them, and getting things done.

It may have been a trip to DMV, or to an insurance agent, or maybe a quick trip to the auto parts store to fix a mechanical problem with their car. Or maybe it was food for their child, or to find a job, or a place to live. He was always looking for true justice.

Nothing was impossible for Herman. He would find a way, and he would help them out.

People called him all the time. They came to his house, and knocked on the door, knowing that Herman would listen to them, help them out, show them the way. He’d make a few calls, he’d give them directions, the name of someone who could help.

He didn’t know a stranger, and he’d greet everyone with a smile, a hearty handshake.

Sometimes, people would lie to him, trying to get him to do something that wasn’t quite right. Or, they’d shade the truth, or not tell him the whole story. He’d catch on to that, and then you’d see his anger. You didn’t need some of the words translated; his red face and edgy voice told the story. And, then, he’d offer his lesson in honesty and decency, about living life with purpose and love. Father Herman, setting things right and getting people back on the right track.

It was always a good day in court when Herman was there. People’s stories were told, and all the important parts were sure to be included. People were able to resolve their problems, and move on with their lives, feeling better about themselves, and about the cops and the court. They found some resources for themselves and their families, and were able to be a better part of the community.

Respect, that’s what they really got.

Herman loved to fish. He always had a fishing story to tell. And jokes, so many jokes. He always had you laughing.

At the funeral, the priest asked us to read this prayer together:

I pray that I may live to fish

Until my dying day.

And when it comes to my last cast,

I then most humbly pray:

When in the Lord’s great landing net

And peacefully asleep

That in His mercy I be judged

Big enough to keep.

We laughed; we told Herman stories. We smiled, celebrating a life filled with love and purpose. We cried, too, at all the good memories, all the funny stories. We missed him so much.

We honored a great man, a man who made his community stronger, who made all of us more compassionate, better fishers of others in our midst.

—Neal Lemery, June 7, 2015

Gathering At The Tree Stump

He knelt down by the fresh stump, his finger counting the rings.

“Thirty seven,” he said.

The group of young men talked about the tree that had stood in the small grove of pine trees in the prison yard. I asked them to look at the tree stump, and the story it told about the life of the tree, planted when this youth correctional camp first began, the tree a witness for all the young lives that had been transformed here.

They were astonished that tree trunks had rings, that the rings could tell the story of the tree, of winters and summers, good years, and lean, of the fertility of the soil, the amount of rain. Other young men reached out, too, touching the rough wood cut by the chainsaw, feeling the sawdust, the ooze of the pine pitch.

“Smell it, taste it if you want,” I said. “You can taste the freshness of pine.”

Only one man was brave enough to take me up on my offer, touching his finger to the fresh gob of pine pitch, his eyes widening when his tongue confirmed my opinion.

“This is where turpentine comes from,” I said.

His puzzled look told me he had no idea what I was talking about.

“Turpentine. Paint thinner. It comes from pine trees.”

He nodded, taking in the new concept, gaining a new appreciation of the trees. Until now they just offered shade, where young men could gather for a conversation, maybe a visit with family on a sunny day. Three times a day, on the way to chow, they passed by these trees.

These trees were just familiar things, ordinary pine trees, until we stopped to count the rings and stick fingers into pine tar.

We talked about the pine tree’s story, how it had thrived its first five years. Then, the other trees started to shade it and compete for nutrients. We looked, seeing how the growth slowed, the rings tight in its final years. History was being told in a new way.

We had spent the morning talking about plants and gardening, how to think about designing a place of beauty in the world, a place of quiet and growth, places of new beginnings. Their questions of their teachers showed their eagerness to learn new ways of nurturing a garden, to make something more beautiful through their work.

In the greenhouse, they had repotted young seedlings, making way for tender young roots to grow bigger, helping the coming summer’s vegetable garden prosper by their early spring work on the potting bench.

With cut down cardboard boxes and potting soil, and bits of plants cut from the teacher’s garden, they fashioned their visions of what their own gardens and yards would be. Pebbles and colored stones became rock walls and paths, and tiny paper cups were ponds and pools. Their dreams came to life. Proudly, they showed the rest of us how they wanted their homes would be, how they would bring beauty and nature into their lives.

While we made labels for seedlings, and chose the plants that needed repotting, several young men and I talked about our own lives and why we were gardeners, how that job fit into our lives, of pruning and weeding, and choosing the right soil and fertilizer for our journeys.

Looking at the stumps and the remaining trees, we talked about the planters of the trees, what they envisioned, how they planted the trees, what they wanted to accomplish. We talked about why we plant trees, and how we care for them.

When someone mentioned nurturing young lives, the young men silently nodded.

As rain moved in, we left the pine tree stump, and the rest of the pines, having new answers for how the trees came to be there in the prison yard, and how the remaining trees were going to grow. One man turned back, looking at the stump, his hand rising to his mouth for one more taste of the pine.

He smiled, and stood just a little taller.

4/4/15

A Review from Tom Bender

This review is from: Mentoring Boys to Men:: Climbing Their Own Mountains (Paperback)
“Neal is amazing, and his story is a wonderful and important gift to us all. I’d never thought of jail as a safe and secure place for healing and growing, but his stories of what these young men had lived through as children – wow.

“And here is a guy – a judge – who doesn’t close the door and go home at 5pm. He goes and visits those kids in jail – giving them support, a birthday party (something they’ve NEVER had), giving them someone who believes in them and their possibilities, someone who can help heal hearts from the heart. He shows, and lives, the power of GIVING to change our world and heal the pain passed on from generation to generation.

“He shows the power of living with an open heart, willing to share, question, listen to all without reservation. What he offers in this book is simple, but incredibly powerful.”

Denise Porter, on my book

A nice review of my book from Denise Porter, photographer, writer, and a strong voice in our community. She is Ruralite Magazine’s Writer of the Year for 2014.

“What can I say about this author?
“He lives here, in our town. He strives every day to make a difference in the lives of each person he knows.
I am honored to know him, to have interviewed him, to read his first book.

“Don’t read it if you want to feel comfortable. You won’t. You’ll squirm and feel horrible about the things that happen everyday in our little town to people you know and see everyday.

“You’ll also feel empowered—by Neal’s honesty and integrity and love of his fellow human beings.

“When I sit down and am honest with myself, THIS is what I am striving for in my life. I want to positively impact people. I am not interested in status, bank account tallies or having the “right” connections, clothing or car.

“I AM interested in living a life that is beyond mine. I want to make people feel valuable and I work to capture that through my writing and photography.

“If these are your life goals, may I suggest you read this book?
And then, would you please go one step further and ACT?”

Healing, Listening, a Morning’s Task

“As healers we have to receive the story of our fellow human beings with a compassionate heart, a heart that does not judge or condemn but recognizes how the stranger’s story connects with our own…. Our most important question as healers is not, “What to say or to do?” but, “How to develop enough inner space where the story can be received?”
—Henri J. M. Nouwen

A Morning’s Task

He overflows, and I try to empty my self, making space,
opening to the geyser of his soul,
him sharing, his story, his
lifetime of pain, terror, loneliness,
now becoming words spoken,
feelings finally heard, honored
through his voice, my listening.

Listening, without judgement, without my views,
my biases, my edits, just
listening, letting him share his story,
and all its agonies, twists, and turns.

Him, finding his voice, now, sorting it out,
making some sense to it, seeing himself
the hero in this tale,
the good soul he really is
becoming.

An hour, then another, and into the third,
and he speaks on, now finding the words,
and the order in the telling, seeing his life
as his own story, of survival, achievement,
yes, even success and good coming from all that chaos and pain.

I listen, hard not to judge, not to be the commentator,
just simply being there, ears and heart
open
accepting, present in his life.

And, in that, a gift to him,
in my humanity, my soul’s journey, Everyman’s
need for someone to listen, to hear
for the very first time—
this becoming my gift to him, his first time
being heard, hearing his
truth.

—Neal Lemery, July, 2014

Gift Suggestions for Father’s Day, Gifts That Make A Difference

Father’s Day is coming, but I’ve already received my presents. And, I’ve given some, too. There’s no place in my life for ties. I’m not a golfer, and I don’t need cigars or fine whiskey. I don’t have dads around anymore to celebrate Father’s Day with, but I do have sons. Sons need gifts, too, and they need to be part of celebrating fatherhood.

“My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person, he believed in me.”
—Jim Valvano

“It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons.”

—Johann Friedrich von Schiller

There are a lot of sons in my life, young men I listen to, and talk with about their lives. My task is giving them what I hope are some good examples of how to live one’s life, and how to grow into healthy manhood.

I take time for them, listen to them, hear what is truly on their minds, their fears and their dreams.

My most important gift to them is a steady, sincere belief in all of their possibilities. If they sense my intention to completely and unconditionally support them in their struggles to be good sons, to be healthy, productive young men, then I have done my job as a friend and as a father in their lives.

I show up, and I am present in their lives. I listen, I try to understand, I am with them in a bit of their journey in life. Other men in their life, other fathers, aren’t around, and aren’t there for them, when their journey gets a bit tough, when they’re not sure of their way in the world.

I’m there. I fill up their mug of coffee, and I look into their eyes. I’m open to hear about their lives, and I care.

Sometimes, there’s awkward silence, and sometimes, there is a torrent of stories and emotions. Sometimes, we just sip coffee and play cards, or talk about the weather, or what they are doing in school. But, even then, we’re reaching out to each other, learning how to do this fathering dance, and opening up their hearts.

These sons need someone to believe in them, to give them that sense of importance they need to find their place in the world, to be confident in who they are and where they are going.

I give them my heart, and I listen to their stories. I cheer them on, and am the quiet, steady voice in their corner, urging them forward, letting them know they matter.

I receive a lot of gifts back from these young men, these sons who are going out in the world, and making a difference in their lives, and making a difference in the world.

They are taking on the tough issues, and working hard to change their lives, moving ahead, and taking on the tough jobs to reorder and reshape their lives. They are in school, working in demanding jobs, having meaningful relationships based on love, mutual respect, and self actualization.

They are reshaping their lives, and helping others change, and become the person they want to be.

They’ve learned to ask the tough questions, and to reform their attitudes and their ambitions, growing into healthy young men, and truly being productive.

They are believing in themselves, and seeing all of their possibilities. They take on their struggles, their self doubts, and they are learning to not listen to those voices in the past that told them they were failures, that they weren’t good enough. Instead, they are the believers and the preachers of love and compassion, the builders of a healthier family and a healthier community.

These are the gifts that matter. These are the gifts on my list for Fathers’ Day.

—Neal Lemery, June 10, 2014