Zippig the lips

This morning, on one of the writers’ listservs I follow, a writer with recent stunning successes,  was sort of philosophically complaining about a man in her critique group who said really ugly things to her at the end of the meeting, like ‘That was the worst thing you’ve ever read. I’m never coming back, going to find a critique group with good writers.” It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the problem is with the man and not with what my friend had written. All of us on the list rushed to extend sympathy, advice, and all that. I said she was wise to take the high road and walk away without retorting, but I was surprised at the vitriol of some of the posts, calling him a jerk, a scumbag, suggesting she kill him off in her next mystery (a standard joke among mystery writers). All sorts of anger boiled over. In truth, the woman who wrote originally finally added that her critic was seventy and perhaps on medications that altered his personality; others suggested the personality changes some experience with early Alzheimers. But I am for forgiveness, understanding, and looking the other way.

A close friend of mine had an unpleasant encounter with a woman she of necessity sees often. She did not respond, though she was boiling with anger and wanted to say, “Don’t ever talk to me that way again.” Once more, I was proud of someone for taking the high road. But it’s sure a rocky one. I suggested she should have said, “I’m sorry something has made you so miserable and unhappy but I will hold you in my thoughts and hope you find peace and happiness.”  Truth is, I stole that line from this morning’s exchange, but it seems just right to me. My friend laughed and said she thinks she would have been slapped if she said that.

For some reason all this reminds me of my good friend who told me once when one of her five grown children comes to her with a problem, she says, “Gosh, I’m so sorry that’s happened. I hope it works out for you,” and then zips her lips. And when one comes with good news, she shares their joy, says, “I am so happy for you,” and zips her lips. Oh, to have her wisdom!

All this has gotten me thinking that we so often respond in anger and look for revenge, when maybe we should respond to ugliness with compassion and look for its cause, reach out to the difficult person. Or maybe we should just learn to zip our lips.

How far does your Chrismtas spirit go?

We've had a lovely, family Christmas with all the trimmings--"out" presents and stockings for excited kids,and thoughtful stocking gifts for adults, a lazy big breakfast, and then an attack on the mountain of gifts undere the tree. Seven-year-old Morgan told me tonight it's the best Christmas she's ever had. Dinner was early--turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, a new version of green bean cassereole--nobody wanted apple pie. Now, at eight, it feels like midnight and the house is quiet.
I kow there are many who did not share these blessings of Christmas, many for whom this day was just like to many others or worse--perhaps they were lonely, hungry, cold, frightened. A disturbing incident that happened to my daughter and her family has set me thinking about those less fortunate--and how you know who is real and who is a scammer. It's a cycnical attitude but symptomatic, I fear, of the times in which we live.
They were coming home from midnight services, delayed first by the need to wait while ambulance attendants cared for a woman who fainted toward the end of the service (it's always crowded and it gets hot in there--easy to faint at this season of too much stress and fatigue), then by a wreck. I'm not sure I have the story straight but a tow truck followed them home--perhaps from the wreck?--and into their driveway. A woman got out and asked for money. They had their six-year-old with them and reacted as any parents would I think--with fright and concern for the child, and for themselves. They closed the electric gate and the garage doors, bolted all the doors and turned on the alarm system (what a world we live in!). Sorry to say I think I would have called the police--my neighborhood association has trained me well that it's better to be suspicious than a victim (again, what a world!).
But for some reason, hearing this tale today, I thought of Halloween and the trick-or-treaters who came to my front porch. I was touched and delighted by the mothers who said to children who grabbed, "No, no, only one piece." And I was slightly outraged by the mothers--and a couple of grandmothers--who grabbed handfuls for themselves. Until someone said to me, "Judy, perhaps that is all they had to eat that day" and anger turned to curiosity, open to the possibility that compassion was called for.
I live across the street from an elementary school and occasionally harried parents block my driveay. It's rude and inconsiderate, and it makes me angry. I expressed that to the crossing guard one day when I went to pick up Jacob and he said, "She's handicapped. I told her it was okay. Told her you don't ever go anywhere this time of day." Of course I don't--I'm doing first-grade homework. I felt humble--and a bit humiliated.
So how do you know, especially with all the horrific tragedies of the last few weeks, when the need is real and compassion is the answer and when caution is the prudent expedient. Remember when the initials WWJD were popular--what would Jesus do? What would he have said to the woman in the tow truck? I'm afraid I'd have reacted just as my kids did and probably also called the police...and then I'd have spent a sleepless night worrying about whether or not I had done the right thing. Maybe she had hungry kids at home or she wanted money to buy at least one small Christmas surprise. We'll never know.