Earthquakes, Cyclones, and Wars

Yesterday I read of an aftershock hitting a poor, mountainous region of Sichuan province in central China that toppled thousands of buildings and injured hundreds of people. This follows on the heels of the worst earthquake in three decades with a death toll of over 62,000 people. While everything associated with the situation is tragic, the tiny orphans are the most heartbreaking. Then there’s the Myanmar cyclone and the ongoing loss of life there; at least now it seems that a turning point has been reached that will allow foreign aid workers entry into the area. We’ll see. Closer to home, today’s The State reports that a guardsman from SC was killed in Afghanistan when his unit was attacked.

 

All that is sad, bad stuff and it makes me think of a conversation I had with some of my lunch buddies last week. We were discussing religion, God, His purposes, the Old Testament vs. the New Testament, whether Job really lived, and so forth. Towards the end of our hour, someone wondered how God could allow such tragedies as those in China and Myanmar to occur…not to mention the thousands on a smaller scale. No one had any answers that day, and I don’t have any today either.

 

However, yesterday I came across a quote by Howard W. Hunter that I had jotted down on one of my little writing pads. “God knows what we do not know and sees what we cannot see.” It’s about the same as the verse from Isaiah that assures us that “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Isaiah 55:9

 

No, that really doesn’t satisfy all of our questioning and seeking, but it does remind us that perhaps our minds are too small to comprehend the events of the world in the same way that God does. After all, He’s God, and I’m Jayne, a mortal who breathes, walks, talks, and enjoys chocolate because it’s His will that I do so.  

 

I have to remind myself that I “see through a glass darkly.” At the same time, not believing in God because surely He could have stopped such catastrophes and loss of life doesn’t change the situation. In fact, what else is there to believe in? Does not believing in an omnipotent being aid in understanding or grant peace? To me, the answer is no. In fact, not believing is a little scary, and for now I’m content to follow Heber J. Grant’s advice to let the mysteries of heaven wait until I get to heaven.

Congratulations Grads!

 

A week or so ago I blogged about three recent graduates in our family, but I didn’t write very much about them, mainly because I was waiting for some pictures. My son who just graduated from Coastal Carolina University with a degree in psychology refused to march with his fellow graduates. I tried guilt, bribery, shame (look at your little nephew who’s actually walking in a 4 year old kindergarten ceremony!), and indignation…to no avail. I even solicited the assistance of his bride Amanda. No go. He and his brother-in-law Bryan had decided not to do it and that was that.

 

Amanda and Rebecca, Bryan’s wife, decided that their husbands deserved a little fanfare, so yesterday my husband and I cruised to Myrtle Beach for a surprise shindig honoring Paul and Bryan (see the happy foursome in above pictures). It was well worth the trip, especially when DH later told me that he thought he saw Paul’s eyes light up when he saw us. Thanks Hon. I’d like to think so.

 

Anyway, I’m exceedingly proud of Paul and his accomplishments. As I was reading The State newspaper one day this week, I came across an article about Chick-fil-A adding some new food products to its already great selections. Yum. I’m looking forward to the chunkier chicken salad sandwich on wheatberry bread. It’s going to be nice to have a choice of a small coleslaw or carrot and raisin salad instead of waffle fries too…although I must say that I LOVE those waffle fries.

 

But I digress.

 

The purpose of this post is to say that while reading this article, I was overcome with a feeling of just how much Paul has accomplished in the past five years: completed a mission in another country, learned to speak another language fluently, graduated magna cum laude from college while working full-time at Chick-fil-A and handling church assignments, and married a beautiful young woman who is perfect for him. It’s pretty astounding really. I thought of how “easy” in some ways it must seem to him to currently work a regular day shift with no worries of studying, attending classes, doing research projects, or writing papers. As I was thinking of that, it hit me again how hard he’s worked and what he’s accomplished.

 

Right now Paul is waiting anxiously to hear some positive news from the graduate school he wants to attend. He’s trying to chill, realizing that since CCU had a record number of graduates, it takes a while for final grades to be sent to the various graduate schools.  I’m not sure what’s going to happen for him, but whatever it is will be good.  I hope he enjoys this “in-between” place and realizes that it’s necessary in order to get to what’s ahead. Being in-between isn’t permanent, but it is necessary.

 

I’m so proud of Paul and the man he’s become. Does it show? I’m including one of his favorite quotes to the blog, one that I recently sent to him. Enjoy.

 

“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a little better; whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is the meaning of success.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

 

 

Walking on Water

Maybe it’s because I just recently re-read the 14^th chapter of Matthew. I’m not sure what it was. But this morning when Shawna showed the picture of Peter falling in the water as he walked towards Christ and I heard the usual “he lost his faith” comments from class members, something in me snapped. I just had to stand up for Peter because, after all, he’s the only one of the disciples who actually had the faith to get out of the ship. The rest were afraid, thinking that they’d seen a spirit walking towards them in the midst of a storm. I can well understand their trepidation. Still, give Peter a break unless you’re one of the ones who’s willing to step out and take a chance.

 

Let’s revisit the story briefly. Picture this. The disciples saw Jesus walking on the sea and were afraid until he called out, “Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.” After Christ invites him to come towards Him, Peter gets out of the ship and begins walking towards Him…on water. All is well until Peter, noticing the boisterous sea, becomes afraid and begins to sink. We all know how the story ends; Christ extends his hand, catches Peter, and says, “O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?”

 

Ever since I was a child, I’ve heard teachers and commentators discuss Peter’s lack of faith. After all, Christ was right in front of him. How could he doubt? Lately I’ve been thinking more about how Peter actually got out of the boat when all of the others preferred the relative safely of the ship. Yes, there was a storm and boisterous winds, but at least the ship was familiar. But to walk on water? That was unheard of. How could they even consider such a thing? But Peter did. He stepped right out of the boat and started walking.

 

It takes courage and faith to get out of the ship and start walking. It’s easier to stay in a comfort zone and never take a chance. One of my brothers has been teasing me about my website lately. I’ll admit that it does take a lot of what my mother would call “unmitigated gall” to put your ideas and work out there for the WWW to see. But then, what should a person do if she (or he) has a product to sell, an idea to share, or a service to offer? Should a person hide his talent like the man in the New Testament?

 

I’m thinking of some people I know who’ve lately been getting their toes wet by stepping out of the ship. There’s Bryan who’s off for Florida to pursue a degree in film, Christy who’s developing an adorable clothing line for little girls, Mark who’s begun his own online pottery business, Martha who submitted her book in a contest, and Kametria who walked out of a successful business career to study nursing.

 

If we lose our faith and/or fall, there are those who are there to help. Although Christ himself might not appear and remind us to be of good cheer, there are other ways in which He will communicate this message to us. During this morning’s great lesson, Connie mentioned that whenever she felt down, overwhelmed, or anxious, invariably someone would just happen to call, drop by, or send a card. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I think Connie is one of the ones who’s heeding the call to step out of the ship and walk towards her destiny.

 

Until the rest of you of you are ready to join us, please don’t tear down our dreams, make deriding comments, or criticize our lack of faith. At least we’re leaving the safety of the ship to test the waters. We wish you’d join us. The sea’s a big place, and that “comfortable” boat can get a littlecramped.  

Happy Birthday Braden!

My oldest grandchild is 5 years old today…almost to the minute. What joy he has brought into our family. On that warm spring day five years ago, I had left Carrie in the capable hands of her husband and father to scoot out to Wal-Mart for a few goodies, including some beautiful flowers for the soon-to-be little mother. Upon my return to the hospital, I stepped off the elevator to the sound of Carrie’s screams and the sure knowledge that her little boy had decided to make his entry before any of us were really prepared. That’s a post for another day. This post is for Braden.

His Grandfather Crolley and I stood outside of the hospital room listening to the cries of our daughter and the murmuring of the doctor and Rich. What was taking so long? How much longer could Carrie endure this? I was so uptight and anxious that I couldn’t even speak, a rare occurrence for me. AT LAST, we heard Braden cry, low and soft at first and then loud and vigorous. I cried right along with him, tears of joy, relief, and happiness. Finally, we were admitted into the room, and there they were: a family of three, Carrie holding her baby boy and Rich with his arms around them both. The rest of the day is a blur. I know that she (they) had several visitors and that I had to keep looking at Braden to make sure he was breathing and REALLY HERE.

Now he’s 5 and what a grown-up boy he is, a big brother to his little sisters, a recent preschool graduate, a future rock and roll star, and a blue-eyed hamburger lover who’s won all of our hearts. He likes to draw (quite the little artist), to read and write, to play games, and to run and swim and just in general to enjoy life to the max.

 

The Fourth Watch

 

I’m back to Matthew 14 today. That chapter is a virtual treasure trove of scriptures that apply to my life right now, especially verse 25:  “And in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea.” The fourth watch, the last one of the night right before daybreak, is when Jesus finally appeared. On this particular occasion the disciples were in the midst of a wind and wave tossed ship, probably afraid and wondering when rescue would come.

 

While I haven’t been on a storm-tossed sea, I have been wondering when and if rescue would come. A year and ½ ago, we put our house on the market, confident that it would sell right away. Right downtown in the historic district, the house had a history of its own in that it was built as the parsonage for First Baptist Church in the 1920’s. I’ve often thought of how many weddings have taken place right there in the living room and how many people have been counseled in the pastor’s study, our guest bedroom. Sometimes I could almost feel the spirits of those who’d passed through those rooms. But I digress.

 

Wanting to downsize as we transitioned towards retirement, DH and I went ahead and bought another home, a medium sized ranch style in a hilly, wooded subdivision outside of town. Things went according to plan because within a month, we had a contract, and the buyer was agreeable to our asking price. Alas, she changed her mind as she began to realize the upkeep involved in an older home, and she opted for a more modern residence. No problem…or so we thought.

 

Over a year has passed since then, and although we’ve had many, many prospective buyers, something always happens to prevent the deal from sealing. One couple backed off when the man realized that he couldn’t get his boat in and out of the small back yard. More than one family has been unable to come up with the money. One woman’s Persian rugs were too large. Others have issues with the small closets and bathrooms. Make no mistake. This is a gorgeous home with lots of charm and character. The wood floors, high ceilings, transoms above the windows, and heavy doors are but a few of the pluses. It’s just that until now nothing has seemed to work out.

 

Have you ever tried to make two house payments? It’s no “walk in the park,” and these past several months have stretched our resources. Both of us have taken on extra work projects to cover the expenses including taxes and insurance on both homes. I just could not figure out what was taking so long. After all, this wasn’t a decision we had entered into lightly. After much prayer and the “green light” feeling, we moved forward…only to come to a dead stop.

 

Our fourth watch, the one right before daybreak, is coming to an end.  We’re working out the details now, and although we’re not completely happy with the contract, we can live with it. With the housing market like it is, we’re hesitant to wait any longer, especially since there are four houses for sale on our small block. I could write more the pros and cons of selling for less than we are asking, but there’s no point in that. The buyers are going to rent for six months until the money that they have for a down payment is available without a penalty. This isn’t a “rent with an option to buy” but rather a rent until buying one.

 

The long night is over, and we’ve run the gamut of emotions including anxiety, frustration, excitement, disappointment, frustration, bewilderment, and confusion (why isn’t something happening???). We’ve learned lessons in patience, faith, endurance, frugality, and humility. We hope this is the fourth watch and that rescue is at hand.

Morning Always Comes Revisited

I’m sure I’ve blogged about this before so I won’t go on and on about it this evening. I’ll just remind everyone that it’s one of my favorite quotes, one that my son got from a video game. It became so popular in our family that one of my daughters uses it as a tag phrase for her hotmail messages. The message is simple yet powerful. No matter how dark and dreary things are, the sun is going to come up in the morning. No matter how much rain, snow, sleet, hail, or gale force winds there are, all storms eventually cease. That’s a law of nature. True, there be some mud or uprooted trees to deal with, but the storm will pass.

I had a decal constructed of the three little words and have been trying to decide for weeks just where to put them. The bedrooms were too obvious a place. Besides, if a person is tossing and turning with insomnia, can he or she read in the dark? The living room and “library” had the wrong feng shui for platitudes on the wall, and the dining room already has “Love is Spoken Here” above the archway leading into the living room. Upstairs in the room above the garage? No one could see it there. What about the breezeway or the foyer? No, too contrived looking. Maybe the hall or the backporch?  Uh-uh. No way. The lovely decal would look disharmonious in either setting.

This morning the light bulb came on, and I decided to put “Morning always comes” above the door frame in the caramel colored half-bath. That way lots of people can see and be inspired by it. Plus, I must add that it looks great there from a decorative standpoint.

I’m not making light of serious pain, heartache, or disappointment. My heart is heavy when I think of the tragedies in China and Burma, the scary diagnosis of brain cancer that Ted Kennedy just received, the abuse and neglect of children around the world. I’m just saying that how things are now is not the way they are always going to be. I personally need that reminder from time to time, and I’m delighted that I’ve found a way to visually remind myself of that.

 

 

You Go, Girl!!

Upon re-reading the “three graduates” post, I’ve decided that the tone is a little too preachy for me. The post has that know-it-all tone that’s just not indicative of how I am…or at least not of how I want to come across. At the same time, working in education over three decades (my, how time flies) has taught me tons of lessons, one of which is that unless you have some incredible talent, family money, or some other exceptional attribute (think Anna Nicole)  that provides the lifestyle you aspire too, then education is (I’ll say it again) the ticket.  Semester after semester, year after year, I hear life stories to confirm this, and this morning I want to share one.

It’s of a young woman who wrote a beautiful yet heart wrenching essay about the seemingly never ending series of dead-end jobs she had held. Her conclusion: “Education is the only answer that can prevent disrespect, encourage self value and allow our families to survive beyond paycheck to paycheck.” Before writing the conclusion, Rene told of a couple of job situations that tore at my heart, not only because I know this outstanding young woman and hate to know that she was mistreated but also because her essay awoke my consciousness to the fact that there are untold numbers of women who are experiencing exactly what she did.

Why don’t I just stop yakking and insert one of her stories? The only thing I’ve changed is the name of her employer.

 

 “One of my first minimum wage jobs was at the age of 18, working as a third shift convenience store clerk. I had a son about a year and a half old. I worked from 11 p.m. until 7 a.m.  because I figured if I worked while he slept, I could spend more time with him during the day. One night my son got sick and I had to go to work. I called my manager, John, when I got there to tell him of the possibility of having to leave if my son got worse. Around 2 a.m. my son’s temperature spiked up to 102.5 and my mom couldn’t get it to go down. I called John and he refused to come to the store and allow me to leave. He said my first responsibility was to the store and if I left, he would fire me. I tried everything I could to make him understand that I had to take care of my son, but he believed that I had no choice if I wanted to keep my job. He believed my duty to the job and my need for it would outweigh the duty to my son; therefore, I would keep the store open.

That night I had to make a decision that could possibly cost me my job. After John hung up the phone on me, the decision seemed much clearer. I decided I could find another minimum wage job. I locked up the store and left a note on the door. I had only been in the emergency room about an hour when I was called to the pay phone. John asked if I was going back to open the store when I finished at the hospital. I think it was that very minute that I realized that this man had no respect for me as a parent or even as person. I hung up the phone and went back to my son. Later that afternoon, once I had gotten my son home and in bed, I took the keys back to the store and I told John I wouldn’t work for someone who thinks very little of me or my family.

Needless to say, I found another minimum wage job a couple of days later. I did something some people can’t do. I walked out and took a chance on finding another job. Some people would have stayed because they really didn’t feel like they had a choice.”

 

Rene wrote of a couple of other situations and of her feelings that eventually led her to pursue an education. This young woman is now a police officer who is pursuing a four-year degree “in her spare time” and who is one of the biggest advocates around for higher education. She talks daily to people, especially women, encouraging them to take the first step towards a better life for their families. Rene thus describes the plight of minimum wage mothers: “Our main concern is to survive another week. As we struggle to survive another week, it is a persistent fight against no respect, no self value and no education.”

 

I have other stories, but I’ll save them for another day. This morning I just wanted to get another pitch in for education. Whether it’s one course that will improve job skills, or a certificate, diploma, or degree, it’s the way to a life with more choices and more respect.

 

 

Three Graduates

Three of the men in my life are recent graduates, one from 4-year-old preschool, one from high school, and one from college. As I watched my little grandson Braden march across the stage in his blue cap and gown last night, I couldn’t help but think that that was just the first of many rites of passage he will experience. I also thought about how even though he was graduating, he was also participating in a commencement ceremony; he’s just beginning his educational experiences.

 

Then my mind wondered a bit as I thought of something I’ve read many times:  All low-income countries have one trait in common when it comes to schooling, that being that there isn’t much of it. In the poorest nations only half of the kids ever get to school, and for the world as a whole, only half of all children ever get to the secondary grades. As a result, about one third of people round the globe can’t read or write. Aren’t we fortunate? Here in America, education is considered a right. It’s too bad that more people don’t take advantage of it.

 

Can anyone deny the value of education? For starters, post secondary education is linked to a better job and more satisfying career, better health and a longer life, and a certain amount of social mobility. Schooling affects both occupation and income because most (but not all) of the better-paying, white-collar jobs require a college degree or other advanced study. And get this, only three percent of adults who have a college education live below the poverty line whereas high school drop outs are ten times more likely to be living in poverty. In addition to higher earnings, people who continue their education past high school are more likely to hold jobs that have a lower accident risk.

 

The number of years of education is one of the best predictors of health. Compared to less educated adults, those who spend more years in school have lower death rates, lower disease rates, and lower disability. This association remains even after age, sex, race, and marital status are taken into account. I’m not sure why this is the case, but it could be because people with some postsecondary education have more fulfilling work, a sense of personal control, and a healthier lifestyle. Actually, I’ve got lots of ideas about this, but that’s a post for another day.

 

A sociology professor of years past told his class that two variables went into a person’s social status: the family he or she was born into and the person’s education. An individual doesn’t have much control over her parents, but she can sure choose whether or not she pursues her education or not. That’s the ticket, according to my old professor, and I believed him then…still do. 

 

I’m proud of Braden, Chris, and Paul, and I hope they realize that they’re fortunate to be living in a country which permits, even encourages, its citizens to get an education. Keep it up, Guys, if you want to have better jobs, live healthier and longer lives, be more financially secure, and experience a bit of social mobility.

 

 

Unsung Heroes

While I had a great Mother’s Day, I’m becoming increasingly aware that there are thousands of mothers out there who did not. I’m not talking about mothers who abuse, berate, or abandon their offspring. I’m talking about deserving mothers who are up before dawn to get breakfast ready (even if it means getting the cereal out of the pantry), find matching shoes and socks, wash that special pair of jeans, look over homework, listen to woes and worries, attend sporting events despite utter fatigue, sacrifice time and money for her children’s needs, and on and on and on. Really, I know many mothers like this who remain “unsung heroes” even on the one day set aside to honor them.

I know that some children are too young to even know what’s going on, but in this case, dads could step in to shop for Mom.  Truthfully, however, it’s not the little kids that I have an issue with. It’s the older ones, the ones who are old enough to be aware of all their mothers do and to show appreciation…even if It’s just a hug, a sappy card, or one little prepared meal…including buying the ingredients and washing the dishes. The meal doesn’t  have to be spectacular; the only criteria is that it’s something SHE likes. After all, SHE is always buying and preparing things you like; if not, you’re whiny and pouty and complaining.

I also have a beef with the fathers of these kids who not only fall short in helping to make it a special day but who also join in the criticism. “Hey, Hon, these mashed potatoes are a little lumpy.” To add insult to injury, they might say, “Why should I give something to you? You’re not my mother.”  Hmmm. Maybe not, but she’s the woman who carried and delivered YOUR children and who is currently nurturing and raising them while you watch sporting events, play golf, read, spend time with your buds, or go hunting or fishing.

This post isn’t intended to bash all fathers and children, just the ones who abuse, ignore, take advantage of the women in their lives. The next time you take a pair of socks out of the drawer, ask yourself how they got there. When you moan about the fact that your mother or wife doesn’t  experiment with new recipes, take a look in the refrigerator and ask yourself who shopped for the goodies. Oh, and you might want to remind yourself that since she’s often working a full-time job outside of the home, she doesn’t always feel like whipping up culinary delights on her “second shift.” She’ s too busy washing your clothes, Kiddo.

Fried Wonton and Sesame Chicken

I can be funny sometimes…although not as funny as my sister. Maybe I should rephrase my opening statement and say that I like to have fun, to laugh. I can see humor in lots of situations and have been known to leave a room rather than embarrass myself by laughing at inappropriate times or events. That said, I promised Connie and some other book club friends to write something silly. I’m not sure whether I can do that or not (at least not tonight), but I would like to share a humorous situation that Elizabeth and I experienced Saturday evening.

After an afternoon of shopping, she and I decided that we wanted Chinese food for dinner. In fact, we were craving it! My hubby had his heart set on Zaxby’s so she and I decided to dine at the only Chinese restaurant I knew about in town. The first sign of impending trouble was when we saw a hand-written sign letting us know that the credit card machine was broken. No problem. We zoomed off in search of an ATM and returned ten minutes later. When we walked in and looked around, we saw one diner. Yes, only one. It was around 7:00 p.m.  We sauntered over to the buffet and made a quick decision to order from the menu after looking at the numerous brown fried dishes.

The menu actually looked pretty good and offered dozens of choices. “Let’s order fried wonton for an appetizer,” Elizabeth suggested. “It’s so good and has cream cheese and crab meat.” Sounded good to me. After perusing the menu, she decided on Sesame Chicken, and I can’t remember the name of my dish, something “ordinary” like chicken and broccoli.  I like both of those dishes and figured I couldn’t go wrong with a combination of the two; plus there was pork fried rice and an egg roll thrown in. Yum. I began to get hungry in anticipation of the forthcoming culinary taste treats.

The server brought some soup and crispy fried noodles. “What’s this?” I asked Elizabeth. She said she thought it was wonton soup and knew that it was NOT fried wonton. I tasted a fried noodle and can even now taste the coated residue it left on my tongue. When we called the server over and told her of our dilemma, she muttered something a tad disparaging about “Chinese people” and took the dishes back to the kitchen. She returned ten minutes later with ten fried wonton filled with some sort of mystery meat. It was greenish gray and so rubbery that chewing was a challenge. Elizabeth and I split one and left the rest on the plate. Our lips were coated with grease.

Another fifteen minutes passed, and our huge plates arrived. Yay! At last we’d get to sample some “real food.” Wrong! Elizabeth’s fried rice had onions in it although she’d emphatically requested NO ONIONS. The served whisked Lib’s plate away, and the two of us stared at mine and wondered how and what I could eat. The chicken was weird looking, the egg roll was hard and greasy, the rice was greasy (wish I could think of a good synonym), and the broccoli was pretty and green but swimming in this stuff that looked like, well, let’s just say nasal discharge.

Elizabeth’s food re-arrived, and her mound of rice was brown and, you guessed it, greasy. We saw no sign of sesame on the chicken, just a thick, syrupy red gook. We sat there scraping away the yucky coatings from various food items and then both began laughing. Elizabeth and I have had hundreds, maybe thousands, of shared dining experiences, but nothing was as horrible as this. The food was inedible, and the service was barely adequate. At some point, a cute young woman attired in shorts and a tank top replaced the earlier server, and Elizabeth and I both thought it interesting that a Caucasian female would be working in this restaurant.

We asked for take out boxes, and when they arrived, we began fastidiously choosing certain items to take home with us, using our forks and napkins to remove the slimy coatings. Elizabeth looked at me and asked why were taking food home when  we knew we weren’t going to eat it. If we couldn’t eat it then and there, then why would we eat it the next day? I looked at the Chinese woman sitting behind the cash register looking at us dolefully. We had been the only patrons in the “establishment” in nearly two hours. How could this person and her staff survive?

Elizabeth and I began laughing at our predicament as we wondered what to do. We COULD NOT eat the food, and we didn’t see any point in taking it home with us. With the Chinese cashier’s eyes upon us, we decided to leave the food right on the table, that on our plates and in the take out boxes. Next dilemma: Should we pay for such awful, awful cuisine? Should we pay for it and tell the owner how horrible it was? Should we walk out the door without saying a word or paying a dime?

Sitting there in the colorful vinyl booth, I remembered an incident that happened that morning. My former mother-in-law had told me about the postal service picking up food for a local food drive on their mail routes. When I said I didn’t know about it, she indicated that perhaps it wasn’t too late to put some canned goods out by my mailbox. I didn’t make it home in time to do that. However, I rationalized that perhaps paying for our inferior meal might help a Chinese family stay afloat.

We didn’t leave a tip, but we did pay for the “meal,” a $16 contribution. As we sat giggling and chatting about the situation, we honestly didn’t know what the best solution was. Paying for a terrible (not even mediocre) meal might be construed as positive reinforcement, hence encouraging more of the same. Not paying…well, I just couldn’t see that as I looked at the face of the lady at the cash register.  My last vision is of the server’s boyfriend clearing the table. Lib and I couldn’t help laughing as we watched him and wondered what in the world he must be thinking.

Tell me honestly. What would you have done? I’ve always heard that if you like a business, tell your friends; if you don’t like it, then tell the owners. Yet in this case, I just can’t see doing that. Maybe it’s a cultural thing. Were we wrong to have paid for food that we left on the table? What would you have done?