It is uncommon that we observe the background details of a well-produced film or notice the subtle masterpieces behind a state-of-the-art play. Aside from those that are very observant, these elements usually only come into view when production experiences a horrible mishap, perhaps if an actor’s costume is ruined or they forget their lines. The same can be said for the quiet mechanisms and systems, which our lives are dependent on, on a daily basis, namely our organs and their exceptionally complex makeup that we often take for granted. This issue aims to take a deep look at some of the processes that affect us every day that we usually do not think about.

Modern medicine is perhaps one of the greatest blessings of our time, as synthetic drugs are able to cure complex diseases in previously unknown ways. These medicines undergo intense research, testing, and scrutiny before being released to the general public. We quickly rush to the doctor’s office and pop a few pills when we feel ill, yet we rarely ponder over highly exhausting and costly process of developing these drugs.

Our hearts never rest from the moment we are born to the day we die. This organ we don’t usually think about pumps onwards multiple times per minute and allows us to perform our daily functions. In her piece in this issue, Ceyda Sablak reminds us how delicate the anatomy of this organ is and why we should maintain a healthy, balanced life of physical and spiritual activity, as many spiritual masters have seen a connection between our biological heart and our spiritual well-being.

Stem cell research has been a common point of discussion, debate, and controversy in the past few decades. Researchers argue that they possess an almost endless number of possibilities while advocates argue that they are derived in an unethical manner. The science behind them is fascinating, and the potential that they possess is undoubtedly inspiring.

Lastly, it turns out that our tears are integral to keeping our eyes healthy and itch-free. A lack of tears can result in a multitude of annoying and harmful disorders that can severely affect a person’s life. Searches have been underway to find the perfect “alternative tear” for those that suffer from tear related disorders. Who would have thought that something so simple contributes so much to our normal happiness and peace?

Think of yourself as a desert ant. You leave your nest to search for food early in the morning in the deserts of Tunisia, except you do not know where to find food. You, therefore, walk randomly in the desert in a circuitous outward path from your nest until you find food. If you would find food, how do you get it back to your home? How do you go back without having left for yourself any traces or signs in the wasteland, without knowing where you located, and most importantly, without ending up stranded in the scorching heat of the desert? Could you accomplish coming back each day with food? Well, desert ants can.

To find out how ants can do this, scientists observed their behavior, and surprisingly they have found that ants did not follow back on the same trail they randomly took after they left their nests. Instead, ants took a direct route as if they already knew where the nest exactly located. How do these ants find the closest way and shortest distance to their nest from their current locations? Former studies had found that red and forest ants secrete a chemical substance to mark their paths. They leave a trail of chemical scents or visual traces behind them—like leaving a trail of breadcrumbs to help you find your way home. However, the structure of desert sands and conditions are not consonant with containing chemicals that will carry an odor or leave visual cues. Even if such markings have made, it is hard to guarantee that they will remain intact long enough considering the harsh conditions of the desert. As in Hansel and Gretel fairy tale kids who could not return home for the breadcrumbs they had left on the trail eaten by birds. Therefore, these desert ants must be equipped with another cognitive mechanism so that they can return to their nests before succumbing to the midday heat.  

Black desert ants (Cataglyphis fortis) emerge from their nests in the heat of desert sand, which rises to 70 degrees with the rise of the morning sun, to search for the remains of other insects that were not as heat resistant as they are. They can only survive for one hour on the hot sand and under the blazing sun, which means that within an hour, they must find their food and bring it back home without getting lost. The journey is quite arduous and dangerous each day. If the slightest confusion occurs and they are not able to return to their nest in time, then it could cost them their lives.

Scientists conducted a series of research in the scorching deserts of Tunisia to find out how desert ants take their food to their nests in the shortest route possible. Researchers first determined an anthill and plotted the terrain around it to set up a coordinate plane. They observed that the ants left their nests very early in the morning to begin their daily search for food, and many of them eventually found grubs that had been planted by the scientists. However, researchers moved the ants to locations that they had not previously been to after the ant began carrying the food back to their nests. The attempt was to understand whether there was a “sign placement system” within the ants. This system would encourage the ant to find its last known location, in this instance where it had picked up, then find its way back home. However, the ant instead began heading directly to its nest. It was as if the ant determined its position concerning its nest and set off for it immediately. This experiment was repeated on many ants numerous times and with the same consistent results. The ants, as soon as they had placed on the ground, moved to the nest relative to there. With a wondrous intrinsic coding of some neurons in their nervous systems, they traveled the distance between their new location and the nest in the shortest way possible. In addition to this, the margin of error was very nominal; they found their nests with a ten percent error in the average distance of 500-meters and with an error of only two degrees in angle. Additionally, a fascinating discovery revealed that the ants could calculate errors in their navigation systems. As they approach their destination, they would make adjustments if they need to by moving back and forth in parallel lines to reach the nest with minimum error.

Scientists determined that desert ants have about a thousand lenses in their compound eyes (remember that a human eye has only one lens) and 80 lenses in each of their eyes that can detect polarized light that comes from different points in the sky. Polarized light occurs when sunlight enters the atmosphere of Earth, hits air molecules and other particles, and then scatters in all directions. This dispersion leads to polarization, and the light that starts to vibrate in many planes begins to vibrate in only one plane. Therefore, the strongest of them is a distinct polarization that always makes a 90-degree angle towards the sun. The lens system in the eyes of desert ants uses this polarization to form a kind of Sky Map. These ants will occasionally stop and robotically move their heads while returning to their nest. This brief period allows the ants to make this sky map by surveying the sky and making a mental note of its layout. Researchers believe that ants can then calculate the direction that they need to travel to return to their nest. They repeat this movement along the way to continually update their sky maps. If they cannot find their home, then they utilize a patterned search method with a set of circular motions. It means that each ant knows how far it is from their nest at every point of their journey.

Then, how do ants find their direction to the nest? Perhaps they were guided by the position of the sun in the sky is. To test this hypothesis, researchers placed a set of mirrors to make ants perceive the sun in a different state than where it ordinarily would be. It observed that the ants changed their directions according to the new state of the sun. However, this finding raised another question; researchers wondered how the time of day would affect the ants since the sun moves across the sky during the day. However, this finding raised another question; researchers wondered how the time of day would affect the ants since the sun moves across the sky during the day.

In another part of the experiment, the researchers caught the ants after they found the bait, closed a box over them, and kept them inside the box for several hours so that they could not see the sun and its movements. It expected that the ants would have trouble finding their way back after they were released since a long time had passed, and the sun was in a drastically different position in the sky. However, they once again returned home by using the shortest distance possible. It understood that the desert ants were aware that time was passing even though they could not see the sun.

We now understand that ants determine their direction home by using the sun, but we still do not know how they figure out the distance they must travel to return to their nest. Researchers have developed three hypotheses to explore this phenomenon. The first hypothesis was the energy hypothesis. According to this hypothesis, the ants were able to know how much energy they needed on the way back by calculating it they had spent until they reached their food. The depletion of their energy meant the end of their journey. An ant loaded with extra weights to test this hypothesis as soon as it reached its food. The scientists thought that if their body weight increased, then they would not be able to strike reach the nest since they would spend more energy on the return trip. However, in this case, it did not affect the ants, and they returned home in the shortest way possible regardless of their weight.

The second hypothesis was the optical-flow hypothesis. In this hypothesis, it believed that the ants had visual memory, and this was how they remembered the way back. To prove this, scientists prevented the ants from seeing their surroundings by blindfolding the ants when they found their food source. However, the blindfold did not prevent the ants from obtaining the shortest distance back home. As a follow-up to this experiment, the researchers placed an extensive television screen in front of the ants showing an endless desert on the television screen to make the ants feel as if they had crossed the entire desert in this simulation. They used various types of simulations, but the result did not change; the ants found their way.

The last test involved the pedometer hypothesis. It surmised that ants could be counting their steps to determine how far they had traveled. To test whether they were doing so, researchers attached stilts made of hair strands to the legs of one group of ants after they found the food. As their legs now extended, they could move with longer scale steps. Another group of ants had their legs cut below the knee, thus shortened to increase the number of steps needed to walk the required distance back. They then observed the return journey of both groups of ants. The results were astounding; the ants with shorter legs had concluded their course before reaching the nest, while the ants with longer legs ended up passing the nest. Thus, it understood that the ants counted their steps according to the distance they traveled.

The findings reveal that the ants are created with an internal system that keeps track of the steps they take and re-calibrates itself on the way back. People make these complex calculations with measuring instruments and by knowing the laws of trigonometry. However, these small creatures find their way directly back without using any tools or computer applications. They do not use their perception to find direction, and they do not use any other directional methods because they all remember direction and distance as they move forward. If you look at this situation, what would be your simplest explanation? You can only have one definition: These little creatures can measure distances and angles precisely by applying mathematical calculations and trigonometry within their conditions. Since the first day of their existence, these creatures show only a few of the shreds of evidence of the divine power created them out of nothing with wondrous systems and superior abilities in their bodies.

I have put my trust in God, my Lord, and your Lord. No living creature is there, but He holds it by its forelock and keeps it under His complete control. Undoubtedly, my Lord is on a straight path (He governs all that exists and carries out His decrees rightly and with absolute justice). (Surah Hud, 56)

The morning had withheld its sunlight and left only a gray hue to open its doors when the man turned aside to his wife facing him, her Cantu-scented curls waving in his face. The sunlight compliments her already perfect face even though the gray brings gloom to others, but not him. The sounds of breakfast cooking brew an ambience that acts as lenses onto her beauty while her eyes secure her innocence. The appreciation of sunlight comes natural for those who don’t have it, but alternatives are the only option with no availability. As a result, he finds the sunlight captured in her beauty while her eyes take the picture.

“Want some eggs,” she asks, her words softly layered.

“With syrup please,” he replies as his words stick to his mouth.

Her response echoes through the whole house, her laughter bounces off the walls. Her eyes close when she laughs and he wonders what she sees. The sight she sees contains an expression of her love with him at the center of her photograph. In the meanwhile, a whole dictionary was consumed in the process of describing what she feels towards what she sees.

The day passes them by in a swirl of heartfelt emotions. A haze of old music lingers in the house as she takes two steps back while he takes two steps forward.

She asks, “Where did the day go?”                                                                                      

“With you in my arms,” he responds.

“Ha-Ha-Ha,” she says sarcastically.

Her laugh gets softer and softer as he feels the heat escape her body. Her eyes flash red not with pain but with a warning. “Low Battery! Charge Now!” but a recharge isn’t possible, at least not in an electrical sense. With this he holds her memory tightly, tighter than the grip of death itself. He carries her soul in his heart as he steps to the cellar. Her brown hair now twisted with curls, rooted in the insecurities of others. The door creaks open to deliver a gust of contempt for death and a sense of resurrection. Human sized tubes litter the wall. The same face stares back at him at least a dozen times, providing twelve instances of relief. A transaction is made with his heart and mind, and one of the tubes opens. He feels elated but the air still chills around him, and an aura steps out followed by a hand reaching for him.

The morning withholds its sunlight and leaves only the gray to open its doors when the man turns aside to his wife facing him, her strawberry scented hair waving in his face.

Following a soft negotiation of price with the rickshaw driver, I finally had initiated my way back home from the Time to Help foundation. Next to a quick introduction of our names, the driver asked me where I was from. I smiled at him. It was an easy-to-answer question for the majority of people, but not for me.

I was born in Russia, but my family left the country when I was only two; so I don’t remember much to feel part of it.

Perhaps I could say India, as I had lived my childhood within its peculiar, sweet but dirty, and adaptable environment. I saw clean walls filled with images of deities adjacent to walls filled with human excrement. I made friends who were Hindu, Christian, Muslim, or Jain. My friends taught me the language that is spoken by nearly 1/3 of the world. I also sang the national anthem with pride in every assembly. “Where there is love there is life,” says Mahatma Gandhi. The colors that covered everywhere in the “Holi” celebration were the clear message of love and joy lived by the people of India. I simply had been part of the “Bollywood” of the world. The Bollywood where I lived my childhood, gained my patience from its traffic, and celebrated diversity from its people and culture.

Yet, I could not ignore what was written in my passport and I could not ignore my parents, who raised me with the language and values of Turkey. The majority of the books I read when I was a child were in Turkish. I learned about Turkey by listening to Turkish songs, reading Turkish literature, and on top of all I spent a full month every year in Turkey, which gave me a chance to observe the country with first-hand experience. I have therefore socialized within a modified and extended family. Turkey was not a place where I felt at home to the fullest, however the importance of all these past experiences were revealed following the coup attempt of 2016 since which we no longer could visit what my father used to call our “place of rehabilitation.” Thus, my visits to Turkey temporarily ended.

For a moment, I looked at the driver as he was in the middle of a phone call. The loud African music playing behind me reminded me of the fact that I have been living here in Tanzania for 6 years now. As Turkey was waning from my annual calendar, I thought to myself, “Hakuna Matata.” Tanzania had been where I had built a character and made hundreds of friends in schools, orphanages, on streets, and with rickshaw drivers such as Emmanuel sitting in front of me. The smile on the faces of little orphans when I speak to them and play soccer with them has been part of my favorite experiences in life. The day I tried to dance like those children had placed me into the rhythm of their tradition and culture. I learned the true meaning of benevolence and gratitude as I observed the joyful moments of villagers approaching their water well when it was filled with a pure water supply, or orphans who untie their gift boxes in extreme excitement. I learned that true satisfaction was found through serving others. I learned that life could be sincerely enjoyed only when one would explore himself or herself. Life was, indeed, different in the eyes of each individual. I saw many of those vulnerable people becoming only “happier” than they used to be, while many people in wealth have lots to complain about. This relation had always enhanced my curiosity over psychology. I always felt that I had to understand myself, my existence, and my own sense of being before trying to benefit others. In Tanzania, I developed an ambition; an ambition of living, so that others may live.

I suddenly regained my consciousness as the driver threw a glance at me, still waiting for a response. I looked at him and answered “Natoka Tanzania siku hizi” (I am from Tanzania these days), and watched him, as he was laughing, in satisfaction of making someone happy at least for some part of his day.

It was a long, cool February night here in the bustling streets of Manila.

Once again, I looked up at the star-filled sky above me. I noticed something that looked like a big spoon but was larger and more distinct in size and brightness despite the presence of thousands; no, millions of stars above me.

The Big Dipper stared at me like a big ladle, ready to take me along on a journey towards destinations unknown.

For reasons that I cannot comprehend up to this very day, I cannot help but smile at the beauty of the constellation at night.

Most probably, it is because I had beautiful memories in life under the light of these stars.

The year is 2006.

I was lanky and tall for my age.

In addition, I was extremely curious about the world around me.

It is the final year of primary schooling at a public elementary school in Zamboanga City, a lively commercial center with an estimated population of more than a million people, give or take, at the western tip of Southern Philippines.

At the time, I never knew what a telescope looked like or what astronomy was all about. After all, our economic status did not provide us the means to buy astronomical equipment or to even buy materials for a full-fledged experiment.

Luckily, my science teachers held a camp in September of that year and they brought their precious telescopes with them.

Under a clear, picturesque sky and with a smooth, light breeze coming in from the sea, we peered upon the telescopes and identified different constellations as our teachers relayed their positions to us.

It was a wonderful experience. I learned a lot about astronomy within that night alone, probably more than what I would have learned inside the classroom or by reading these constellations in books.

However, as with many things in this ephemeral world, life has its own way of stomping through the past and erasing it into oblivion.

As such, I forgot all of them as the years passed by, except for one.

It was the Big Dipper.

Looking at the Big Dipper gives me hope that I could chase my dreams and reach them no matter the odds that I face currently.

Yes, I do face many challenges of varying complexity and novelty, stretching my faculties to its full extent.

Sometimes, the going gets tough.

There are indeed times when I thought of lifting the white towel in order to just get away from all of it.

But as with many of the best things in life, hope is the torch that keeps me moving forward.

As far as this age is concerned, we are living in a state of a partial darkness where wars, dictatorships, deaths, and calamities have become commonplace to the point that they are turned from newsworthy phenomena into an integral part of life.

They have seeped into people’s psyches to the point that hopelessness about the prospect of having a constructive, productive, and inclusive future has become the norm instead of it being the exception.

In this age, hope is a highly-esteemed currency that is held preciously by people who know the value of it.

After all, wasn’t Hope the last thing to stay inside Pandora’s box after sickness, death, turmoil, famine and all the other evil qualities went out of it?

This shows that as long as hope is alive inside a person’s heart, the keys towards a brighter future are always open for exploration and completion.

As I look back towards the ground, I realize something.

At the end of the day, the Big Dipper reminds me about a truth regarding life.

No matter how harsh and cold the night may seem to be, sunlight always follows in its path, rising to the top and eradicating the darkness and fear that is present inside our hearts, minds, and lives.

Most importantly, even though the evenings may be dark, the stars are always there, piercing the veil of darkness and serving as a beacon of hope.

A hope which states that the best things in life always come in the best way possible, regardless of how bad it was in the past.

After having that long gaze, I continue my way home with a smile.

Because I know once again that the night is always the beginning to a brighter morning and that the stars are there to remind me of that fact.

With newly found strength, I trace my steps back home and get ready to face another day in the roads of this journey that is called “life.”

Washing our hands has become one major way to protect ourselves from Covid-19. However, ablutions have always had a central place in the practices and beliefs of many religious traditions. Christians perform baptism with water, in amounts varying from small sprinkles to larger vessels, to bring about purification, cleanliness, revival, and rebirth. Jesus’ washing the feet of his disciples as narrated in the Gospel makes the washing of feet an important practice in Christianity to promote cleanliness and is still carried out to this day. The Jewish tradition also has many instances of ablution where water is specifically used to promote cleanliness, including washing hands to reclaim or preserve purity and mikveh in which the feet or whole body is immersed in water.

The Islamic ablution, also known as “wudhu,” contains 24 washing movements to be carried out several times a day for the five daily prayers. If performed for all five prayers, it would consist of about 120 repeated actions as Muslims washed parts of their body.

A lover must undertake the required preparation to cleanse and beautify oneself before meeting with their Beloved. Likewise, a believer is required to wash specified parts of their body to stand before God in supplication, as instructed in Chapter Maidah of the Qur’an, verse 6: “O believers, when you stand for prayer, wash your faces, and your hands up to the elbows, and wipe your heads, and wash your feet up to the ankles. If you are unclean, bathe and purify your bodies fully. But if you are ill or in the middle of travelling or … you cannot find water, then take wholesome dust and wipe your faces and hands with that. For God does not wish to burden you, rather He desires to purify you and to complete His blessing and favor upon you so that, perhaps, you may be grateful” [5:6].

The spiritual cleansing that the act of wudhu provides is highlighted by the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) in numerous hadiths, or prophetic sayings, which has been collected under The Book of Purification. While water literally cleans the face and limbs, with every pure intention to do wudhu, the water droplets that meet the body also wash away the minor sins that were committed by the hands, mouth, face, ears, and feet. The famous hadith that “cleanliness is half of faith” [Sahih Muslim, 223] can be interpreted as applying primarily to doing wudhu in one translation [Wudhu: Fiqh, Rules, Purification and Blessings, Qadri]. Therefore, to perfect the faith, to be cleansed of our mistakes continuously, God has given us a simple mechanism through which to be purified and recalibrated countless times in a day.

Many of us perform this pattern of washing with little thought. It has become a routine that we seldom consider a medical protection that we apply to our body. Besides its effects on the soul, washing also has wonderful effects on the body. Over fourteen hundred years ago, the Prophet (pbuh) advised ablution before going to bed. Interestingly, yoga experts in recent years have also started to encourage the washing of the legs, hands, arms, eyes, and the mouth before sleep with cool water for a deeper undisturbed sleep. This is not surprising considering the relief that comes with the touch of water on a busy day.

Three of our principal systems benefit from wudhu; the circulatory system, the immune system, and the electrostatic balance of the body. In this way, the health benefits from the ritual of washing are threefold…

Circulatory system

The circulatory system is a magnificent circuit of blood vessels between the heart and the tissues that make up every other system of the body. The systemic circulatory system circulates oxygenated blood from the heart to the tissues around the body and back to the heart, whilst the pulmonary circulatory system transports deoxygenated blood to the lungs for detoxification and returns clean blood to the heart. The correct functioning of the blood vessels, which act as wires that connect our major organs, are essential to the efficiency of this circuit. These vessels divide into thinner branches called arterioles which in turn split into smaller capillaries which surround the cells of the body. The vascular resistance generated by blood vessels is overcome by the blood pressure generated by the heart to enable blood flow. Over time (due to ageing, or a diet high in fat), our blood vessels often harden and become constricted meaning that the heart has to work harder to overcome increased vascular resistance to maintain steady blood flow. The vessels in the limbs are the most peripheral to the heart and thus the most vulnerable to the process of hardening and narrowing over a long period.

The application of water in our daily routine “exercises” these blood vessels by alternately contracting and dilating them. Water can act as an agent of temperature gradients, thereby affecting the thermoregulatory response of the cutaneous circulation. When hot, water ensures that vessels in the limbs dilate, and when cold, that they contract. In this way, water ensures the flexibility of vessels distant from the heart, forcing nutrients deposited in tissues as a result of poor circulation back into the bloodstream through a temperature gradient.

Lymphatic system

The lymphatic system, on the other hand, is probably not the first to come to mind when we think of the body’s organ systems. Yet without this quietly working system our cardiovascular system would collapse and our immune system would be impaired. Our lymphatic vessels transport “leaked” blood fluids into our capillaries to prevent the accumulation of fluid in the interstitial spaces and eventual tissue damage. The vessels of the lymphatic system are much thinner than those of the cardiovascular system, ensuring the circulation of white blood cells which have an essential role in protecting the body against invaders and resisting disease. It is this fluid that we see oozing out when we have a cut or wound.

The optimal functioning of this system and its thin vessels, like those of the circulatory system, can be said to be closely linked with the effect of washing. The phagocytes and lymphocytes, which make up the immune system are housed by our lymphoid tissues and organs, are supported by the act of wudhu. The nasopharyngeal region behind the nose leads to the tonsils, which are small masses of lymphoid tissue that trap and remove pathogens that are entering the throat. Washing the mouth and nose three times with every wudhu therefore helps to remove the bacteria that builds up in the region of the body most exposed to the external environment. Moreover, the act of washing both sides of the neck during wudhu stimulates our cervical lymph nodes – a specialized mass of tissue which houses lymphocytes and particularly helps to protect the body by removing bacteria and tumor cells from lymphatic circulation. Our lymphocytes are arguably the most important component of our immune system, patrolling every point of the body many times a day and destroying cancer cells and pathogens along the way. Considering that the act of wudhu enhances the filtration effect of our lymphoid circulation, one can see the blessings that come with the divine command to “wash…and purify your bodies fully….”

Electrostatic balance

Our physiology is also closely related to the electrostatic balance of the body. While many psychosomatic diseases result from electrostatic imbalance, the most pronounced effect of static electricity is exerted on the subcutaneous muscles located under the skin, mitigating their function and inducing the onset of wrinkles which often start in the face. Maintaining the regular habit of washing the skin – particularly the face which is most frequently exposed to ultraviolet radiation – protects the surface and internal layer of our skin cells by constantly dampening the skin surface with clean water. It is a much simpler alternative to spending hundreds and hundreds of dollars on expensive skin care and makeup products to maintain a healthy complexion.

In regards to how wudhu can benefit our electrostatic balance, the part of the verse which sheds light to tayammum, “if you cannot find water, then take wholesome dust and wipe your faces and hands with that” highlights that the water substitute for wudhu significantly reduces static electricity, like water. This is why when wudhu is performed calmly with care, it often leaves one feeling refreshed and discharged.

The Quran is a grand source containing many prescriptions for good health. While every civilized person may wash their face and hands throughout the day, wudhu ensures that cleanliness and a sense of well-being is sustained by virtue of its association with worship. The worth and significance of wudhu is not limited to the medical benefits discussed here. However, for anyone else wondering why taking a pause on a busy day with wudhu feels so rejuvenating, I hope this humble article sheds some light to a grand prescription from among the many medicines revealed in the Qur’an.

– Hello grandma, how is everything?

– Oh, my dear Seyma, is that you? Since you are calling all the way from America I will not waste much. I am doing well, take good care of yourself and never forget to put aside your charity before Friday prayer every week.

– Sure, grandma, is there anything you ask of me?

– Tell me, if I were to come to collect donations for the orphans in my town, would President Clinton give me any?

– My dearest grandma, you ask this all the time; I am in America, but I really do not meet with President Clinton at all. I am an ordinary college student and he does not roam around the streets.

I then wondered and chuckled, “the audacity to ask the President of the States when you live far away in a rural part of Anatolia!”

***

All of our cousins, aunts, and uncles would gather in her large but simple 4-bedroom home every Eid. Sugar-loaded grandkids would look for trouble and would find money at every corner of the giant hand-woven rug, to which she anxiously warned: “This sac of money belongs to the fridge project for Ms. Aisha; the right corner belongs to the school supplies for Ms. Khadija’s daughters; and the red sack has the money for Ms. Fatima’s house project. Do not even touch, my dears, as these are sacred.”

She built dozens of houses with the funds that she collected bit by bit, day by day, cent by cent and would store it under the rug. She would never let a family go without fulfilling all of their needs and finding a sustainable source of income. A couple days a week, she would take the needy families down to the marketplace to visit businessmen and ask for help. Some of them knew of her sincere intentions while others complained when she arrived. However, she certainly did not care what others would think of her. She would be helping a family or two and they would sit around the table with all of us every Eid dinner. My uncles and aunts were the “elites” of the town, and so this notion was not something we were used to in our normal lives. I then grunted for her absurdness for squeezing us all with strangers.

***

She used to sit down on her old velvet couch with her green thousand-count prayer beads in her hands as she looked out the window and lamented why the municipality would turn on the light at 5:30 pm when it gets dark only slightly later. If she saw an unnecessarily lit area, no matter how tired she was and what time of the day it was, she would hastily run to turn them off despite her old age and swollen legs.

The most striking part of the story used to come when she turned the lights off when my grandfather was in the bathroom. It was typical in most houses to have light switches outside of the room. When he screamed for her to turn the light back on, she, with a great sense of humor and seriousness, shouted back “Get done and come out quickly, there is nothing to see there anyhow!”

The most memorable quote from her was the Qur’anic verse, “…eat and drink, but waste not by excess, for God does not love wasters” (7:31).

I thought she was exaggerating this a bit much.

***

– Granny, I have exams this week. Can you please pray for me?

– Oh, my sweetie, may God help all those in need including you. I will pray for everyone, God willing.

– No grandma, that is NOT what I want. I want you to pray for ME!

With a smile, she would embrace and kiss me on the head.

I was then heart-broken thinking that I wasn’t special to her.

***

Her first name was Ihsaniye, which means “the bestowed.” She met with her Beloved God on a Feb 14^th after a long battle with a heinous cancer. The whole town cried – and, I thought I even heard the sky cry – with chants of her nickname, “the Mother of Orphans.”

Now, I have your hand-woven blue-beige medallion-style wool rug, which was the container of your little sacks, maroon-ruby wedding ring, and your green thousand-count prayer beads in my hands to cherish your beautiful heart and soul, the giant heart to fit all of humanity, the soul that cared for the earth…

As I sip my dark and warm coffee in this light and spacious hall, in one of the country’s most sustainable buildings, Kroon Hall in New Haven, listening to professors, NGOs, and private sectors presenting their vision, solutions, and efforts on Climate Change, Sustainability, and Economic Empowerment, I sigh deeply, and remember the Mother of Orphans, my dearest grandmother.

It never occurred to me that I was prejudiced. In fact, I was inspired to leave the life I knew as a young white man to be a Christian missionary in Africa. Yet, until that time at age 22 in my little town in Colorado, I don’t remember ever meeting a black person or knowing anything about black history. I just knew I wanted to know and serve God. As I prepared to depart my country for that foreign land, I felt an inward restraint so strong that I canceled my plans with Africa Inland Mission. In the coming years, several events and relationships impacted my decision and changed my life. My desire had been admirable, but difficult circumstances revealed that I was not like I had hoped that I was. It would take 49 years before I went on my first visit to Kenya.

Watts

Amid a complicated set of circumstances, I found myself in Los Angeles—alone, far from home, and having made decisions that canceled everything that I had accomplished in college and learned from my numerous, hopeful mentors. Suddenly I needed a job. Not knowing why, I was impressed to apply for a teaching position in Watts. This was soon after the riots and fires of the mid-sixties.

When I applied to L.A. City Schools, Superintendent Baer said that in all of Los Angeles only one teaching position was open. It was in Watts! I went to Charles Drew Jr. High for an interview with the principal, Mr. Henrikson. He told me I could have the job if I wanted it, but he wanted to assure me I would be a failure. I was white, and I would be a teacher. I would face nothing but rebellion among the 1800 black students and represent authority. Having a strong conviction, I surprised him. I said “Fine, I will take the job.”

Suddenly, I was a white teacher in a black school. I was to teach plastics and other industrial subjects, of which I knew absolutely nothing. I would have as many as 44 students in my shop classes. On my second day, a riot broke out. It was chaos. My students threw my two desks into the walls and tore down some of the plaster. They were all screaming “Get outta here Whitey and don’t ever come back!” I ran out of my shop door, across the teachers’ parking lot and across the campus to hide in the Counselor’s Office under Mr. Kerr’s desk. He was a black man, the former teacher of my shop classes. He knew if I were a failure he would have to return to that impossible job.

I cried on the way to school and quit every day for three months. In the agony of my situation, I learned things about myself. I discovered that my love for God was mostly doctrinal, and my love for people mostly theoretical. In the next four years, 700 students passed through my classes. I had as many as four death threats on my life in a single week. My students sometimes started fights in class, chased others with a hack saw and chisel, threw a hammer at others, threw orange juice at me during recess, and more. In my constant distress, one day I went into my supply room during class, slammed the door and just stood there, cursing them all. I was frustrated and angry that many saw my white skin and cursed me for the same reason. I didn’t see people. I didn’t see faces. I just saw black bodies in motion. And I suddenly saw the prejudice and hatred in my own heart.

Where had that little missionary in me gone? A light dawned inside of me—something was wrong in my own heart. The situation had not made me prejudiced. It only exposed what was deep inside of me already. Perhaps my students had the same problem. I cried out to the living God and realizations began.  My hatred began to turn to a genuine love that I previously only thought I had.

Soon, I was elected Department Chairman, and my students had responded to my changing view and feelings. I brought many of them home with me on weekends. I had no “teacher’s pet.” Rather, it was a rivalry, a great honor to be invited to Mr. and Mrs. Nelson’s apartment for the weekend. In my third year, students prepared a project display for the Los Angeles Industrial Crafts Fair. Of 34 Junior High Schools, my students took First Place, a phenomenal accomplishment.

By that time, I had begun to see them as people, individuals, creations of a loving God whom everyone can relate to. I wasn’t “color blind.” I saw color as a beautiful gift, the more diverse the better. To this day, Ricky, Michael, Louis and the others remain in my heart. If there were ever a need, I knew they and the others would defend me to the death, as I also would have for them. I failed a lot, but a lot was gained—in them and in me. Watts had become my Africa.

Transition

Between my entrance into the black community and the present time, I have had countless experiences of peoples with complexions, languages, and cultures different from mine. When I discovered the depths of my own prejudice and depravity while teaching in Watts, I opened my heart deeper than I could have ever known possible. Since that time, I have grown, filled with love of God and love of all people.

Expansion

Half-way through my doctoral program 42 years after teaching at Watts, I was required to present a Forum Essay to students, faculty, and the public. My essay was on Poetry. The essay’s impact was significant. The critiquing professors were all known to be incredibly sophisticated, daunting, and tough. No critiques being offered, the chairman concluded by saying that during his 14 years at Oxford Graduate School (OGS) there had never been a student’s presentation that was so outstanding that no one thought it could be improved. The discussion was then opened up to the audience for responses. One impactful, positive comment came from a highly esteemed, black professor. Another wonderful comment in the audience came from a successful black woman, my esteemed colleague. The President of OGS later asked if I would extend my Forum Essay to a doctoral dissertation. Eventually, she also arranged for me to meet the esteemed Dr. Maya Angelou.

Dr. Maya Angelou

Through amazing circumstances, among a luncheon of 500 black women and I in Charlotte, NC, I heard Dr. Angelou speak. Weeks later, my wife and other guests were sitting at her lunch table, an exquisite affair! I had read much of her stunning life story but physically being with her vastly enlarged my views of the black community, of their suffering, struggles, and successes. On one occasion in her home, we sat with Dr. Angelou and Oprah Winfrey for a casual discussion of more than one hour. The night she invited us to stay overnight in her home, she asked me to autograph one of my books for her and then ordered eight more copies for her friends. She included us in her Annual Five-Day-Celebration of Thanksgiving in Winston-Salem among her closest biological and social friends.

From my friend Dr. Maya Angelou, I learned of her great involvement with Martin Luther King and Malcolm X. Because of her, I became acquainted with the daughter of Malcolm X as we were seated in the VIP section at the U.S. Post Office inauguration of the “Maya Angelou Stamp.” Because of her, I have great friends among the black community in America and with Africans of many countries. I even got to go on a fantastic visit to see Mama Sarah, President Obama’s grandmother in Kenya. Five weeks before she passed away in 2014, Dr. Angelou designated me to help design, build, and launch a traveling, educational museum of her life and work. Her personal assistant of more than 15 years continues to call me and stay overnight with us in Nashville occasionally as he is crisscrossing our great nation. And so much more…

Summary

The experiences and perspectives that I have shared in this discussion were pivotal adventures of my life, but there are countless other stories of impact to my own life—of concept, of sub-culture, and appreciation of the black community. The relevant enlightenment and spiritual renewal of my heart has included people of every culture, religion, and complexion whom I know from all around the world. It is through experiencing persons in their context with mine, serving and participating in mutual events in my home and theirs, that my appreciation has grown, expanded, and been shared. It may be that others have found the need to discover their own inward condition and realize a journey such as mine. The joyful overflow of my life’s adventure thus far has led me to publish more than 25 books on family, spiritual guidance, and work, relevant to all. My contribution to celebrating Black History Month here may be small, but it is personal, it is real, and it is mine.

The worst thing about cancer they don’t tell you?

The aftermath. The shock waves.

It’s surviving the quick earthquake, only to find yourself dodging falling objects and electrical lines for the next few days.

What they failed to mention was that fighting cancer was the easy part.

The real battle was learning to live again.

I got the news of my cancer diagnosis as a young mother, and after we had moved to a new city with no close friends or family. The kids were 3, 6, 11, and 13. Summer break had just begun, and to make things worse, I could not drive. We were in the wilderness and were fighting for our lives.

We went into “survival mode,” literally and figuratively, and assigned each older child to a smaller child with the plan and knowledge that we could survive if each of the “bigs” both did a load of laundry and dishes a day. At one point, I had a goal to drop off the kids at school, so I could get three uninterrupted hours of sleep after my chemo treatment. I had finally dropped off the children at their three different schools, and my head had barely hit the pillow, when I received a phone call from the school.

“Mrs. Estes? You need to come pick up your children. They all have lice!”

Trials, temptations, disease, and now pestilence were hitting our household simultaneously. I remember thinking, “At least I can’t get it since my hair is gone,” and then laughed at the absurdity that we were so low that my “silver lining statement” included the phrase “Praise the Lord I’m bald.”

But that was not the hardest part. Not by a long shot.

The hardest part was after the storm, when the casseroles stopped coming and prayers had grown weary. The hardest part of fighting a deadly battle comes afterwards when the dust has settled and the gunsmoke has cleared and you find yourself standing in total rubble and destruction.

I shouldn’t say total. We had our health and were still married. Most do not escape with that, I learned. But we both were battered and bloodied. I had a visual representation come to mind of an old battleship slowly pulling into port – disfigured and worn, riddled with bullet holes and laden with shrapnel. We were afloat, but barely.

I awoke from my six-month drunken chemo state to find my life in ruins. While the “bigs” had done a wonderful job helping with the “littles,” there were still unmet needs and unspoken questions that the youngest mind’s lips couldn’t form, which resulted in one regressing into wetting his pants again in first grade and the other becoming a hair’s breath away from becoming non-verbal, screaming “Aaaaaa!” fifty times a day. All of this in addition to the “regular” stresses of having four children about to enter high school, middle school, kindergarten and first grade – and not to mention the emotional withdrawal that naturally comes in a marriage during crisis times and having a son with extreme learning disabilities.

At one point, I was finally able to lift my leg again, and I was able to climb the stairs to our second story – after a year. When I entered the playroom, the scene rivaled the ruins of a never-ending frat party, with beer bottles exchanged for sippy cups and ankle-deep trash covering the floor. It was a sign of what the kids had silently felt during our ordeal, and it served as a visual symbol of my life: ruined and messy.

In World War II, my grandfather was part of the company that liberated prisoner of war camps. At one point, he asked one of the prisoners what the difference was between those that made it out and those that did not.

“The ones that made it found something to look forward to – they had a goal,” he replied.

I took that advice and decided that when all the chemo and radiation was over, I would celebrate with the other cancer fighters I’d met while walking through the fire.

None of them made it. It was heartbreaking.

I “made do” by celebrating with all the friends and family who had prayed and supported us through the journey, but the weight was still felt. In addition to feeling thankful, I also shouldered the burden of false guilt from having survived when my other comrades had fought just as hard, sometimes harder. Soldier syndrome had come home to roost.

So, what do you do when you get through the war only to (symbolically) return to your home to find the farm overrun with thorns and that your wife has run off?

You start from scratch. And you begin with baby steps.

God was gracious, providing me with advice from an “older brother” in the church just when I needed it. He himself had come out of a near death, eight-day coma experience. He emerged paralyzed on one side, but no one would ever guess it today. The first thing he advised when I called him in tears was, “small goals, baby steps, little sister!”

When coming through tragedy, we want our life to be like it was “before,” but the “after” contains components the “before” never had. It is an “apples to oranges” comparison and is unfair to expect them to be the same. Life “after cancer” contains side effects such as “less energy” and “Chemo Brain” that affect what and how much can be done for a while. Just as I couldn’t expect to instantly run three miles again, nor should I have expected to jump instantly back into life, either. The girl who used to pay all the bills, pop dinner into the oven, and get all four kids ready for school before breakfast was now merely able to pay the bills by the end of the day. But that was okay, because that was enough.

Second piece of advice: good enough is good enough. Lower your expectations. Gone were the days of thinking “everything has a place, and everything should be in its place.” Life was still, even now, about survival. Gone were the days of a pristine home ready for entertainment at a moment’s notice; the day of “push aside the mess and have a seat” had come. And that is okay. Because, again, you are now living in a different reality. The good news? There is no fairy that is going to come grade you on how tidy or organized your home is. Your home is there to serve you, not the other way around. Feel free to live as such.

In addition, it is imperative to “accept the new reality” and “don’t look back.” At one point in the recovery process, I placed blinder goggles and a bottle of salt beside my bed to remind myself, “Don’t look back, lest you turn to a pillar of salt!” (like Lot’s wife). I was amazed at how many Bible verses there actually were with the theme of “pressing on” and “not looking back.” The message was clear: the past is the past, and the present is the present. Make sure to live in the right one. Thinking back to how things used to be and trying to make your world look now like it did back then is a guaranteed, instant trip to Insanity Land. Accept that now will not look like then, nor is it supposed to. Celebrate every “new” baby step and make recovery a big ol’ party!

One of the hardest pieces of advice to follow is: try to humble yourself. As a natural giver, this concept was the most difficult for me until a friend helped me realize that life is not all about me, and if I do not ask for help, then I am literally robbing givers of the chance to use their spiritual gift to give. Ecclesiastes makes it clear that life is divided into seasons, and this is perhaps your season to be a receiver. Accept it as you would a blessing for it will bless others as they minister to you.

A final word of advice on the journey of learning to live again: have a creative outlet and take time to feed your soul. Anything from songwriting, to painting, to simply coloring will help balm your weary mind as you learn to do things anew again. For me, I finally completed my novel, began songwriting, and never missed a sunset at our local park for three months straight. Learning to live again is like learning to walk again – hard and tiring. You must make the time to restore and renew your mind, spirit, and soul.

Of course, this all goes with the understanding that we are constantly praying and praising God for every single blessing He brings our way. It can be big things, like climbing stairs again – or small things, like hearing the song of a robin or seeing a butterfly. Whatever the size of the blessing that comes your way that day, praise God for it! And remember: like the butterfly in the cocoon, this season, too, is temporary and will pass.

We begin with a piece about spiritual revival and what it means for a person to devote their life “so others may live.” Compassion serves as the foundation for this cause from which a love of humanity can spring forth from. The heart becomes hard in the absence of compassion and is often much less concerned with the sufferings of others.

Tushar Gandhi, Mohandas Gandhi’s great-grandson, honors his great-grandfather on his 150th birth anniversary in a thoughtful piece about his leadership style and continued emphasis on nonviolence. Mohandas Gandhi always encouraged compassion, tolerance, and love among his followers and their approach towards the oppressive British Raj. It could be argued that Gandhi’s approach could have been significantly different had he centered his movement around violence, anger, and ignorance instead of the Satyagraha movement of nonviolence and compassion.

Research by the late Japanese scientist Dr. Masaru Emoto has shown that positive or negative speech, emotions, thoughts, and energy can change the very molecular structure of Earth’s most important liquid: water. It was shown that compassionate speech caused water to form beautiful crystal, whereas hateful speech formed black, broken, and chaotic messes. The implications of this research are phenomenal considering water is the very essence of all life on our planet.

A call to action from Maisie Bennett draws attention to the fires that are still raging in the Amazon Rainforest, destroying the very lungs of our Earth that are integral for sustaining our shared ecosystem. Apathy and greed have taken hold and have seduced people into destroying our planet’s pristine natural beauty in order to claim more land for our own. We, as an international community, must bring forth our compassion and address this critical environmental crisis once and for all.

April Estes, a heroic mother and cancer survivor, shares her story in her piece “Praise the Lord, I’m Bald.” What she has been through is a reminder that challenges that come with cancer are not only about fighting it; “the real battle” is “learning to live again.” Raising awareness in this respect is important, for healing from cancer is not only a biological cure, but one that also needs psychological, social, and economic support in its aftermath.