Like many people, last Saturday evening I gathered around a radio, computer, iPad or device of choice to listen to Garrison Keillor’s final “A Prairie Home Companion” broadcast. He became a Saturday evening staple when I first moved from Shreveport. His stories were like keepsakes of childhood family gatherings at my grandparents reminding me of my grandfather’s story-telling. I’ll miss those stories, that calm voice and music. Traveling to Lake Wobegon each week reminded us of the possibility to live a neighborly life.
My children were 3 years and 3 months old when I left behind my first adult job, a community and people I had come to love to move to Baton Rouge. With the exception of a few, Baton Rouge was slow to welcome. I haven’t been alone in that observation.
I grew up in a small North Louisiana town in the 1960’s with parents that worked to develop employment and educational opportunities and better living conditions for all people. It was not an easy task nor was it easily accepted but it was the right thing to do. I grew up believing that all people are neighbors. I still believe that.
Alton Sterling’s fatal shooting by two local policemen early Tuesday rocked our community creating division and discord as events such as this have created in so many other communities. Sorrow in families. Grief in the community at large. Anger for some. Fear in others. Emotions run high.
Yesterday I wasn’t fearful but wanted to hear a calm voice, a balm. There was little here in this city I’ve called home for most of my adult life. The last thought before I went to sleep last night were these words from Psalm 30: At nightfall, weeping enters in, but with the dawn, rejoicing. The rejoicing will be slow for families or communities who have suffered tragic losses until we’re able to look into a person’s soul find common ground then ask who is my neighbor.
Over the decades I’ve witnessed this city’s citizens’ indifference and intolerance as well as an immense capacity for compassion and mercy . Unity. Calm. Compassion.
Hear that old piano….
My mother, my grandmothers, great-grandmothers faced an uncertain world with faith, finding common ground and love. A long line of women who were not always so big into labeling, meeting their neighbors and the time in which they lived with arms open, often with a casserole and flowers.
BethSings 