Twenty-one months of silence in this age is, for me, an unnatural state. I cannot continue to voluntarily stand aside without some guilt of complicity with social and political trends that represent heartbreaking losses in the small gains in democracy and civility we made in our country since World War II.
I have never meant to use this space to make a lot of noise or to become an “influencer”. Few people even know that it is here. For me, sotlj.com is simply a place to say my piece without calling attention to myself or those who share this life-space with me. That is, I know, a contradiction but it has always been my way. And I had nothing much to add to the national conversation. Professional journalists and commentators were doing a much better job of it.
So why did I start writing again?
Nineteen days of illness and hospitalization have provided me time to think about things and people so dear to me that I could no longer hide my solitary inner self from them. But the thoughts expressed here are mine alone. The people I love most dearly speak for themselves much more powerfully in the work they do every day. Things I write here are my responsibility alone. I simply hope not to embarrass them.
Readers of this journal will notice some changes in my voice since my flirtation with mortality began almost three weeks ago on May 9, 2024. I have come to be more openly accepting of the religious tradition of my United Methodist Church. This was a gift from my mother that I have often thought of as being somewhere between a simple nuisance and the promotion of unscientific nonsense.
Before this experience I could not hear anything but mumbo-jumbo in a phrase like this: the healing power of the love of Christ.
I have spent many hours discussing things like this in Sunday school classes and I have nit-picked until I felt I had demolished the idea because of its clear disconnect from the reality I could see in science and, more specifically, in the science of modern medicine. There is another way to read it, though.
Ideas and expressions like that are rooted in traditions passed down by pre-scientific people who were able to see in any recovery a miracle. And the healing tools of the man they followed were simple acts of loving, touching and offering of something we call grace.
He was a revolutionary figure in our history for demonstrating the healing power of love for individuals and whole human societies. As the generations progressed, people have been motivated by the love he expressed to enter healing professions that rely on science and not prayer alone. It is what Jesus would have done. He might have been a doctor or nurse on the medical staff of a life-saving institution — maybe even a social worker, physical therapist, hospital administrator, dietitian or housekeeper. There would be teams of people working with him toward the goal of healing, all of them educated in a solid science and motivated by his unremitting love.
I have seen it clearly expressed by everyone who provided care for me during my long hospitalization. The single exception, I believe, was a result of the hardness of her own life and, perhaps, an unawareness of the presence and meaning of grace in her life. I had to speak up about her performance but I hope she is being treated with the same kind of love that has benefited me here.
All of that is to say that you will hear more religiosity in my voice although I will respect the church’s guardrail. Although I may tend to be preachy, I am not ordained and have no license to preach. But I will let you know what this Methodist thinks. That is a totally John Wesley approach and one of the reasons I so admire his interpretation of the traditions of Christ.
You may also hear more personal reflections, but not just about politics. I may even lapse into the thought and format of poetry. I may reminisce about coming of age in the awful and glorious Mid-Twentieth Century America. I feel compelled to share my experience with anyone who has time and willingness to read.
This is not the Tom Fowler you have known. I come now touched by grace and with, I hope, more than a little love. There is in that stuff the power to heal a broken world, Don’t overthink it. Just learn to live more completely with love as your companion, guide and driving force in everything you do.
No, this is not the course correction of an octogenarian suddenly afraid of death. It is simply a clearer perception of the love that drives this Catholic hospital and the love extended to me through the prayers of my friends. Let’s not strain it all through the divisive filter of theology. Just love every person you encounter. That’s not such hard work. In fact it’s fun to share your heart more fully every day with everyone you meet.
Just love and let’s listen to each other. Use the comment section at the end of each post and I promise to respond unless you are simply selling your own blog or the long-awaited perfect air fryer. Your anonymity will always be respected.
South of Town: Notes and Scenes from Texas' Upper Gulf Coast 