The Cow Beside the Road

Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future.~ Lewis B. Smedes, Christian author, ethicist, and theologian

I wasn’t here yesterday because I went to see Marc. So this post will be my Friday and Sunday post for this week. Wednesday got away from me completely. On Wednesdays you can always go to my PMDD blog, or Marc’s blog to see what’s new if there’s nothing here. Just because I’m not here doesn’t mean I’m not somewhere :).

Anyway, yesterday I went to see Marc for the first time in three months. The weather cooperated nicely, with a crisp blue sky and colorful leaves. Unfortunately, my mind or heart wasn’t in the view. I spent most of the trip down there trying to sort some things out in my mind. The trees could have been gorgeous and I probably would have missed noticing them.

But when I got there, I did notice that every staff member I encountered was new, and—across the board--seemed to be at least ten years younger than the person they replaced. I mentioned it to Marc and he said a lot of people retired. Now they’ve apparently replaced them with a lot of fresh-faced twentysomethings which, frankly, doesn’t make me feel all that safe or confident in going there.

I mentioned this to Marc and he said the DOC ran out of money two months ago. Like everywhere else, they are cutting costs. The older staff no longer want to deal with the newer inmates, mostly twentysomethings who arrive with nothing but a sense of entitlement and no respect for authority. So the solution, apparently, is to hire twentysomethings to deal with twentysomethings. Don’t see how that would foster any respect for authority, but hey, that’s just me. A crisply pressed uniform does not an authority figure make. You have to be able to have the presence and experience and wisdom to carry it off. The DOC, in its cost-cutting mindset, seems to have ignored this basic precept.

At 31, Marc is one of the older inmates in the jail. He can’t wait to get away from the new crowd, either. They’re loud, obnoxious, and don’t give a rat’s a** about rules and regulations—or even simple manners in the visiting room. Seriously. I’ve never seen so many rude or socially clueless people as I did yesterday. Is this part of the social disconnect scientists are saying we have because of our electronic devices? No one knows how to relate to other people in social situations any more?

Something else to think about.

The drive home was different. While I usually listen to motivational tapes on the way down there, I usually listen to silence on the way home. All prison visits drain me, and I need the quiet time to process the thoughts, feelings, and emotions they engender.

So I’m driving along in silence, processing, when I notice a cluster of cars ahead of me tapping on their brakes somewhat in unison. I look ahead for the source of the tapping—is it a state trooper with a radar detector or road construction or some kind of road debris or accident up ahead? I see nothing unusual up ahead as I fly past a huge black and white blur on the side of the road.

Wait a second…black and white? My gaze shoots to the rear view mirror, for one look, and then a double take. There is indeed some huge, black and white beast calmly standing near the side of the road doing whatever it is huge calm black and white beasts do. It had to be a cow, since I just looked it up and there are no black and white buffalo.

Now I realize why people were tapping their brakes. They had spotted the cow. But me, I looked at it dead on as I passed, and didn’t even realize what I was seeing. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that I frowned and looked in the rear view mirror to double check what my distracted mind was telling me—I’d just seen a big black and white cow dangerously close to the interstate.

Who do you call in a situation like that? 911? I couldn’t because my cell phone had gone dead and I didn’t realize the car charger wasn’t working until I arrived at the prison. So there was barely a gasp of life in my phone when I saw the cow and I know 911 operators like to keep you on the line until they send help or get all the information they need. Besides, I wasn’t even sure it really WAS a cow. Maybe it was just a poster of one.

But that got my mind to thinking about how could I have not seen something as big as a black and white cow standing by the side of the road.

The answer is because it isn’t what I expected to see. I expected to see ditches and bushes and trees and leaves--bright, colorful leaves. If the cow had been brown, I probably wouldn’t have seen it at all.

So my train of thought switches to: How often do we not see things that are right in front of us, simply because we don’t expect them to be there?

I mean, just because I didn’t expect the cow to be there, didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

Or, better yet: How often do we see what’s standing right in front of us, and refuse to accept it?

Consider this: You’re thinking about a situation, and looking for an answer—suddenly an answer or even a complication you didn’t expect shows up--something totally different than anything you would have expected or could have planned for.

What do you do, now?

Well, you have three choices.

Denial - I couldn’t possibly have seen a cow. Cows don’t hang out on the interstate.
Acceptance and Dismissal -- Wow, a cow on the interstate. How interesting, but that doesn’t have anything to do with me.
Acceptance and Action -- How unusual…a cow on the interstate…I never considered that before. What am I going to do about it?
Or -- Holy Cow! A cow on the interstate. What am I going to do now?

Marc has a similar dilemma in his life. His crime is against his mother, who says she has forgiven him, yet maintains minimal contact and refuses to do anything to help ease his time in prison or obtain his parole. His father has been to see him 7 times in nearly 13 years and not at all in the past several years. Marc has seen his sister once. His mother not at all. They don’t know about all the programs he has completed, classes he has taken (Valedictorian of his GED class, for starters), or work details he has participated in to improve his job-finding skills upon his release. If they do, it doesn’t appear to matter to them. What matters is repeatedly reminding Marc of his crime and how he can’t be trusted and will need to prove himself beyond a shadow of a doubt to his family once he is released.

His mother has written him twice in the past 2 and a half years. A few months ago he wrote to his parents, letting them know his pre-parole hearing was coming up, and if they were sincere in wanting to reunite as a family when he got out, he would need their help and support with the parole board.

Dead silence. But a week after his hearing, in which he told the parole hearing officers that his relationship with his family has been severed he will have no more contact with them, his mother sends him a breezy letter telling him the family is moving back into the area and his father has been up here for three weeks looking for work.

Three weeks, and yet he hasn’t come to see his son, who specifically asked for help and support for his pre-parole hearing.

So what does this have to do with the cow?

This is a cow that Marc didn’t expect to see by the side of the road. A cow, that if it steps forward, onto the highway, could cause a lot of damage to those who encounter it, or even swerve to avoid it.

He has three choices.

Denial that the family has returned and to proceed as usual
Acceptance and Dismissal - So they have returned, but it has nothing to do with me
Acceptance and Action - So they have returned and do I make another effort to reconcile?
Or Holy Cow! They’re back and what does this mean for me?

Are there any cows beside the road in your life?