It's about the heart...

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day

live in a nation where they will not be judged

by the color of their skin but by the

content of their character.”

King, ML - I have a dream…

It is easy to talk about people for whom we have affection.  It is interesting the way it plays out...we seldom talk about their height, weight, color of eyes, but rather about the things that make us feel good in the way they touch us.

I have written before about my friend Joanna…she is special, and thoughtful and smart and…well, so many things could be said.  She ‘is’ a part of our small family…an ‘adopted daughter’ really.  Talking (writing) about her, however, doesn’t really give a sense of her essence.  I wanted a little more...to let her express a little of her mind with yours, so that you might have a sense of the thoughtfulness of this remarkable young woman. I asked her if I might share this...

The cycle started…

The presidential race had just begun.  Most of the horses had declared their candidacy.  Barack Obama was 'in the game,' when I received this from my friend Joanna.  Neither of us would know how the following years would continue to be blessed with one another’s company.

The email was pleasant and contained this attachment.

"I'm here because of Ashley."

Barack, at the end of his speech, tells the story of a 23-year old woman, Ashley in South Carolina at a round table discussion, who as a child, convinced her cancer stricken mother—who lost her job, health care, and semblance for financial security—that all she wanted most in the world was to eat a mustard and relish sandwich.  She did this for an entire year until her mother got better.  She was nine years old.  The young woman worked relentlessly for the Obama campaign, organizing African-American supporters since the beginning in Florence, South Caroline so that she could “help the millions of other children in the country who want and need to help their parents too.”  And that indeed is a noble cause.  But there was an old man, a black man, at the same discussion, who found himself last on the list of people to share their story that night.  Everyone had a unique story, like Ashley; some were circumstance specific, and others were more general feelings and beliefs.  But this man, this old black man, said that his reason for being there was because of this young white woman, it was because of Ashley.

Yesterday, my pastor employed me to come up with discussion topics from Barack’s speech, as he plans to show it to all those interested at church this upcoming Saturday.  I have watched the speech in its entirety two times, and read it thoroughly.  Each time I go back to it, I find something new within the stories that he tells, and the truths that he fearlessly addresses.  But this story of Ashley and the old black man speaks in such volumes.  It is more than just a story of a young white girl, and an old black man, it is the story of how that actions of one can affect so many, it is the story of how in spite of social conditioning, one woman refused to limit her experiences by the color of the skin, it is the story about how a man, who has been touched and whose life has been changed by someone who, in outward appearance was the least likely candidate, but in spirit the most desired participant.  It is, in its greatness, and in its simplicity, the story of a white American in the sixth decade of his life and a young black woman from the inner city who is just trying to find her way.  It is the story of Joanna and Ted.

As simple as those names are, it is the inability to express the experience in words that make it all the more cherished.  It poses the question about how something so seemingly awkward, unusual and incomprehensible, can be the essence of what is so simple, pure, and needed in this country.  This is not the first time I have read something that has made me feel this way, because Tuesday’s With Morrie sparked this thought, but at the time, my inability to fully process it filed it away until it was finished.  But reading the story of Ashley, and this old black man in Florence, South Carolina touched me in a place that only another’s spirit can reach. 

Although, we have known each other for such a short time, that time seems as a constricting characteristic of the connection that has been developed.  So, my dear friend, because I am getting a little emotional, I will conclude with this final thought: Who would have ever thought that the least likely bond would be one of my greatest and most cherished assets?  My mind before this point could have never conceived how Saturday mornings on the corner of Crooks and Big Beaver, in front of half an egg and bacon Panini, with a regular cup of coffee and hot raspberry tea, for two hours could mean so much.  Who would have thought Joanna and Ted?

My Affections,

Joanna C. Cooper”

What more could I write on this day…indeed, what more…

- ted