Category: Motivationals

For the record, we raised our children in Lebanon, IL. Our home was a place of refuge and gathering for many of the neighborhood children from the local high school and village. We are Christians and believe in opening our hearts and home to those in need, whether physical, psychosocial or just a listening ear; in essence, giving back. One of the things we routinely did, was invited total strangers in our home. I once recalled coming home late one night and saw a hitchhiker on the highway. He was dirty, smelly, and hungry. I picked him up and brought him home without any advanced warning. Jeanne (my spouse ), never asked any questions, she just invited him in. While Jeanne prepared a hot meal for him, I showed him where to shower and clean up. After he was cleaned, he ate, then I took him back to the interstate so he could continue his journey. Bringing strangers home or feeding the needy was not unusual for our family.

I grew up in Chimborazo, and neither my mother nor my father ever turned anyone away who came to our home in need. I can still hear my father’s voice as he called out to mom. “Ena!” “Yes, Douglas,” she would reply. “What you so loud about?” He would answer, “put a plate hey fuh dis boy,” in his gruff voice. “Alright, Douglas,” she said and fixed a plate of whatever we were eating that day. Let me say that our family with eight children was not wealthy, and some days we ate stretched out breadfruit, and one can of corned beef also stretched out, probably for flavor more than nutrition. But the message and the lessons were real. If you do it unto the least of these, my brothers, you do it unto me. I sincerely hope those lessons of compassion and generosity resonated with my children. Serena, our daughter, is gone; but we know that during her short life, she championed the needy and unloved.

Over the years, however, we had had to modify our behavior when it came to helping strangers. One night, while returning from church in East St. Louis, we (my entire family in the car) stopped to help a woman who had driven her car into a deep ditch. As my wife and I were helping the woman, a young man jumped over her car and punched me in the face, knocking me out. My sons jumped out of the car, coming to my rescue. In that instant, someone reached into our now unoccupied car and robbed us. Why do I tell this story? 

Because here in America, we have been, and we are being, programmed to distrust and hate each other. We can barely worship without guards standing on the walls of the Temples. What have we become? Are we no longer our brother’s keepers? The woman in the ditched car was black; the hitchhiker in the other story was a white male. It didn’t matter to me. They were souls in need.

My question is, who is accountable then, if a father spewed hate and dislike for his neighbors, and one of his sons takes it upon himself to kill the neighbors? Is the boy accountable? Is the father liable? What if the mother remained silent, knowing what was about to happen and did nothing to stop the killing? Is she somehow accountable? Who is accountable?

My friends, I can only caution you to think about the safety of your family; however, don’t miss an opportunity to do good when a need arises. On my last trip home to Washington, some of the young neighborhood children came to the house to see Jeanne ’s library. I could see the joy in her eyes and on her face as she shared stories and books with the children. The event certainly brought back memories of those days when we felt a bit more secure inviting strangers into our home and lives.

We are accountable for what and how we teach our children. What will your legacy be?

Stan Brooks, PhD

Early one morning, I awakened from a dream that left me with more questions than answers. Dreams, I am told, reveal some aspects of our lives that may be in need of attention. As students of spiritual text, we learned about Joseph’s dream of a multicolored coat and the later interpretation and subsequent actions. In my experience, I am not sure that I could assign meaning to every dream I had, nor would I want to. However, this dream seems different:

I was invited to join a very large used car dealership, as an inexperienced salesman. The main building was poorly lit, dirty, and disorganized. The staff reflected the physical look and feel of the place; in essence, there was little difference between the ambiance of the establishment and the general demeanor and attitude of the employees. 

In this setting, at this business, I felt entirely out of character. I am structured, organized, and very conscientious about my work. Not only was I different from the culture of this organization, but I was also the only non-Latino worker. I did not speak their language, nor did I understand their culture; however, I believe that I was led to this place by providence. 

Some weeks after working at this establishment, I finally met Tony, the owner of the dealership. He was a tall man, around six feet, three inches, about 225 pounds, and nice features. Tony was soft-spoken, somewhat messy, and appeared to lack general interest in the business. He briefly spoke to the manager in the office and then disappeared as silently as he had entered the scene. I had no contact and made no connection with Tony on this one visit he made to the building. 

Over the next few weeks, Tony visited the shop more frequently. He kept everyone in his business at “arm’s length.” However, over time, he slowly started paying attention to me and engaged in light conversation. I remained patient, always careful to let Tony initiate the topics and duration spent during each encounter. During my dialogues with Tony, I learned little about the man Tony. I knew nothing about his background, why he started the business, nor anything about the people in his life. He carefully shielded that information from me; however, knowing I needed to be patient, I was also determined to learn more about Tony. 

One day, to my surprise, Tony said to me, ”come with me, I want to show you something”. The complex that housed the business was sprawling, but I hadn’t explored because I felt it wasn’t my business. Today, Tony asked me to accompany him on a walk down a path from the main building. We strolled for about five minutes without talking. On either side of the way were marshy lands with plenty of wildlife and beautiful sounds of nature. I slowed as I was distracted by the beauty, not realizing that Tony had continued walking around a bend and out of my sight.  

I hurried to catch up with Tony, but I could not find him. I kept on the path until I came to a three-way fork in the road. I was perplexed and frustrated with myself. I felt that I might have squandered this one opportunity to learn something meaningful about Tony, but I had allowed my interests to interfere with the most important thing on which I should have have been focused. Now I was at a crossroads with no idea which path to choose to reconnect physically and emotionally with Tony. 

As I stood at this new site, with wonder on my face and disappointment in my shoulders, one of the workers approached me and asked if I were supposed to meet Tony. I nodded, but in a somewhat disappointing tone, he informed me that Tony left. The worker continued to share how disappointed Tony was that I did not show up. He said I don’t ever recall seeing him this sad. I knew I had to find Tony and try to make it right, but I realized I most likely missed that one opportunity to minister to Tony. After all, he only asked me to walk with him, and I couldn’t even do that one little thing for him. 

Stan Brooks, PhD

Several days went by before I encountered Tony again. I tried several times to apologize, but he simply kept quiet each time and walked away. Months went by until I stopped trying. Rather, I diverted my energy into transforming this rundown poorly performing garage to mirror the other garage by the water. Tony noticed the changes and slowly began to engage with me again. I was careful this time to pay attention and not let my personal interests distract from my purpose. 

As time marched on, Tony became less apprehensive to engage me, but he still remained guarded. I also observed he had a familiar spot in the yard where he sat alone and just stared at the water. For my entire employment, I never saw anyone approach him at that spot. I wanted to know the secret behind the stare, so I silently slipped onto the bench next to Tony and stared at the water, and sat silently. Tony barely acknowledge and continued to stare as though transfixed by some mystical power. I sat silently just looking straight ahead. 

It seemed like an eternity had passed before Tony reached into his pocket, removed an old, wrinkled two by three-inch photo, and without making eye contact, he handed me the photo. Tony kept staring straight ahead, but I noticed tears streaming down his cheeks. I dared not utter a single word. I chose to let the moment decide what happened next.  

After some time had elapsed, without altering his gaze, he said: ” I truly miss them.” I remained silent to allow the conversation to flow from Tony. I studied the photo more carefully now and it was an image of two boys in tattered shorts and open shirts, barefoot carrying baskets on their heads in what looked like some kind of mining operations. ”It’s been 20 years since I last saw them.” Tony said. I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt the moment, so I just waited and listened. 

Twenty years ago back in my country, I made some terrible mistakes that cost me, my family, he said. I was involved and indebted to some very bad people and to repay my debt they took my two sons to work the mines. Tony went on and shared how he finally escaped from his country with the rest of his family and settled in the United States. He shared how he regretted every day not having the courage to fight for his boys. This story, he told me, he has never shared with anyone else, other than his wife, until this moment. 

I don’t know how this dream ends, because like most dreams they remain unfinished. But I do believe, in this dream, I was used as an instrument to help Tony. My regret is, I did not understand the importance of being available when I am placed on someone else’s path. The good news, however, is that I was able to see the two contrasting sides of Tony. Finally, by being patient and genuinely engaged, I was able to share in Tony’s story and developed a deep empathy for his pain and suffering. 

Dreams I am told have a way of waking us up before the full purposes are revealed. Joseph did not sleep through the end of his dream and had no idea of the interpretation. Likewise, I did not sleep through the end of my dream and have no idea how it would have turned out. But I have learned from the dream that when I am placed on someone else’s path, I am there for a reason.

Stay on the path. Be present.

Stan Brooks, PhD