Maintaining Control

It's been anything but a quiet week in Lake Wobegon since Garrison Keillor left us out on the Prairie for the last time this past week. Two sudden, vicious, and senseless murders of individuals going peacefully about their business, targeted for no defensible reason by people who have been entrusted with the responsibility of helping preserve the peace. The subsequent retaliation murder of five other individuals actively engaged in protecting people's right to peaceably assemble to petition redress of grievances. The resulting shock level throughout the country seemed greater with this accumulation of killing than it has for months, even years, though heaven knows that killings of this nature are no strange event to life in these United States. Churches and caring communities have come together to mourn and try to hope, social media is flooded with reactions and admonitions, and even the broadcast media is still devoting full time to video replays and analysis, since nothing else has yet taken place to fill up the airwaves.

And yet, we keep on keeping on. We have to, perhaps, in order to maintain some control over lives that we fool ourselves into thinking that we have some control over. This week I did a positive thing by meeting with my family members to jointly sign and validate State of Ohio Advance Directives: the Health Care Power of Attorney and the Living Will Declaration. A task that we have been  meaning to do for months, and for which we have all, by this stage of our lives, received several reminders in the form of sad and tragic brushes with death and ending of life of various family and friends. We are so lucky that all in our family have similar ideas about how to approach end of life decisions in the event of diagnosed terminal conditions or sudden catastrophe, so it was not too hard to select the agents who will have control over my medical treatment if I myself have lost control.

Two days this week my plans for the day were disrupted by unexpected events, other than those in the national news. On Friday I had scheduled a luncheon meeting with a friend, and I was really looking forward to seeing her and going to this particular restaurant. But the day before, the oil light had come on in my car, or so I thought, and when my favorite mechanic told me that the oil repository was full and the light was a "check the engine" light and that we should go to the dealer immediately, we did. So that luncheon engagement was cancelled. I found out in due course that the engine light signified only that I needed a new gas cap. The visit to the dealer solved that problem and allowed the opportunity to get the factory recall airbag replaced, a potentially dangerous situation that I had been neglecting for no good reason.

The other day with unexpected events was the day I had been scheduled to observe English language classes at a refugee center. In this case, I still showed up at the center, but there was a surprise celebration of Eid, the end of Ramadan. We had an unexpected free and interesting lunch, but there were only a few minutes available for observing classes. It was extraordinary and humbling to meet several refugees one-on-one, who each introduced themselves, saying "My name is ... " [something I could not repeat, nor distinguish first name from surname], "I am from ... " [a far-away country I have never been to, most Bhutan, some Gambia, one Syria], and "I have been in the United States for ... " [a ridiculously short period of time, ranging from five days to two months].  The composure of the individuals I met was astounding for someone who had been uprooted from their own country, living in a refugee camp for years, and then suddenly dropped into a mid-sized Midwestern U.S. city.

Since we were there, with a car, we were asked to take two clients to an appointment they had at a  health clinic. Although we have been here for two years, we did not recognize the name of the health clinic, nor have any idea of how to get there. And though we were introduced to the young man and young woman who we were to transport, we could not communicate with them beyond hand signals and "thank you." It was a long 20-minute drive down Reading Road and into the university health center area, with only the mechanical voice of the GPS lady to tell us where to go. I sat and enjoyed the feeling of having some recognition of the area we were driving in, though I never could have found it myself and would not have been comfortable driving alone. And I marveled at the trust of our passengers who had willingly and politely allowed themselves to be deposited in the automobile of a couple they had never seen before, to go to a place they presumably did not know how to get to, when I am uneasy about getting into a taxi cab alone in a city I do not know. I think they must have learned something about the illusion of control and real control from their experiences. They certainly had learned something about grace.

We all want to control the big things like where we live, and for how long, and under what conditions, and we can make plans for some eventualities. But war, or hate, God, or fate--life--can intervene at a moment's notice, and the unexpected will happen. The only control we have is the way we meet it. Each day. Each minute.