There are causes that I believe in, and I'll pull out my checkbook to support them when I can.  But, writing a check is not as satisfying as digging in and using your hands to actually make a difference.  And, thankfully, I had the chance to physically get my hands involved in a worthy cause.  The opportunity came my way to do something to help the people of Ukraine. 

The country has been in the news for weeks and months.  Millions of people have been forced to flee their homes and nobody can place a number on how many people have been killed.  Usually, I ask myself, what can I do? How can I make a difference? And, I'm not the only one who feels this way.  Very fortunately, my pastor had the same questions going on in his mind, but he knew who to contact.  Pastor Frank called up a friend, Lyle Mullins from Heaven Sent Ministries.  He asked Mullins, "Are you doing anything for Ukraine?  Can my church be of assistance?"

"Yes! Yes!"

Heaven Sent Ministries has worked in twenty countries around the world.  They know what to do, how to do it, and they have local connections.  They provided a well-oiled operation when they came to my church for a weekend. And when the call went out for volunteers, over 1000 people raised their hands.  Yep, half of the church signed up for the chance to help the people of Ukraine. 

There were four two-hour shifts on Friday as well as Saturday.  Groups of 12 people were assigned to individual tables.  Everyone had a job to do.  There were scoops for soy powder, vitamins, dried vegetables and rice.  The bags were weighed, sealed, labeled, counted and boxed.  I worked both days, and before my first shift was over, I was very thankful that I never had to work on an assembly line as a permanent job.

There were a lot of old farts present who knew very well about Lucille Ball's experience on an assembly line in the television show I Love Lucy.  She and her friend, Ethel, worked at a chocolate factory.  When they fell behind, they ate chocolate and stuffed even more every place they could in their clothing.  My job in the assembly line was weighing each bag of food to see that it ranged between 398 and 402 grams.  It was rare if any bag arrived at my scale between those numbers.  Bags piled up as two of us weighed the contents and then added or scooped out rice as needed.  If it was chocolate bonbons, I might have kept up better than Lucy did.  But, nobody was tempted to eat uncooked rice with dried vegetables.

Each bag held enough food to feed five people.  Every box held 36 packages of the rice and dried vegetables. Over the course of two days, the volunteers from my church packed up over 1000 boxes with enough food for 215,000 meals.  The shipment would head out to Poland to help some of the three million refugees there and then go on into Ukraine as well.

It was a wonderful experience for all involved, but there were some special moments.  On the very first shift on Friday, local television news crews showed up.  And, at one point, someone tapped my pastor on the should to tell him something extraordinary.  A volunteer for that shift was a woman from Ukraine who had only arrived in the US a few days previously.  Valeria spoke through a translator to the reporter, “I am very happy to be with these wonderful people. Thank God that I am with you and can help Ukraine. I am grateful to all Americans for caring and helping my country. Many thanks from all Ukrainians. You are the best!  We will definitely win!” 

It was one of those moments when there were not so many dry eyes in the room.

On my Saturday shift, the packaging was well ahead of schedule, so my pastor called for a halt.  He wanted to talk to the volunteers.  There were two Ukrainians, who had come to the USA many years before, participating during the shift.  He wanted to introduce them.  After that, Pastor Frank moved from table to table to see if there were any other Ukrainian connections.  As it turned out, there were five other people from Ukraine in our midst.  Some may think that the pastor staged that event, but he's not a miracle worker.

The last table that the pastor came to was mine.  I don't think we had a Ukrainian connection.  If we did, I spoke up instead of them, but I had something to share.  The reason I wanted to help was because I once lived in Liberia. My best friend, Daniel, was a refugee who had to flee to a neighboring country.  I never thought I'd ever personally know someone who would be a refugee.  But, I now realize that it can happen to anyone, anywhere.  And, since I knew a refugee, I now know how personal the statistics are. Three million isn't just a number.  It's three million individual people who have friends, brothers, children, parents, sisters, neighbors, stories and lives.  Each one is special to the people who love them.  None of them ever expected to be thrown into this situation. 

I came to my church to help the people of Ukraine, but I did it because of my friend Daniel.  He is now safe, back in the village where he was born.  I hope the same for all of the people of Ukraine.

If you ever listened in Sunday School, you know about the Good Samaritan.  Some guy traveling on the road to Jericho fell among thieves who beat the snot out of him and took everything he had.  A priest and a Levite passed by and didn't lift a finger to help the guy.  They just walked on the other side of the road!  It was a Samaritan, a man from a group of people that every Jew despised, who ended up helping the guy and saving his life.  It's a real good lesson summed up with the Golden Rule.  Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.

Well, I sort of had my own Good Samaritan moment recently.  Details changed in my tale, of course.  There was no priest or Levite.  Certainly, somebody from Ohio could easily be despised by certain people in Michigan.  (Usually, I say "that state up north" instead of stating the name, but I really have to be gracious in this telling.)  If you wear an Ohio State T-shirt, you could be beaten up by the most devout Michigan fans.  Possibly.  More likely not.  But, for certain, you'll get comments which may or may not be nasty.

Anyway, there I was driving in Michigan.

I wanted to get across the border as fast as possible.  It wasn't because of anything against certain people attending university in Ann Arbor, Michigan.  No, gas was thirty cents a gallon cheaper in Ohio.  But, I didn't make it.  I really didn't make it.  I was zipping along at a very legal 70 miles per hour when I decided that I had to exit for gas in Ypsilanti, Michigan.  My tank was near empty and I couldn't take the chance.  So, I took the exit, and slowed down, but it was too fast to miss a giant pothole on the road.  My brother-in-law always says that the roads in Ohio are better than the ones in Michigan. 

I'm now a believer.

I hit the pothole so hard and fast that I knew I damaged the tire.  I'm not very mechanical at all, but I do carry an emergency kit in my car.  I pulled out the canister of "fix a flat" to see if that would work.  Not a chance.  The sealant just poured out of the gash in the tire.  I was going to have to change the tire, and I honestly can't remember the last time I ever did that.

At that moment, I really wished I was in Africa.  I had several flat tires when I drove across Zambia.  And, every time, no matter how far into the bush I drove, someone always showed up who was more than willing to change my tire for me.  How people who didn't own cars knew how to do that remains a mystery to me.  But, they knew that they would earn a few bucks from the stranded foreigner, and I considered it one of life's greatest blessings while I was in Africa.  Everyone won.

But, alas, I was in Ypsilanti.

I know that the spare tire for my car is located underneath the trunk.  You get access to it by unscrewing a bolt in the trunk.  That action lowers a chain that holds the tire securely outside and underneath the car.  I have a special kind of lug wrench that is specifically made for my car, just to serve that purpose.  I didn't reach for it.  Instead, I grabbed a four-way lug wrench, shaped like an "X", to attempt the process.  It didn't work.  There wasn't enough room in my very tiny Fiat 500 trunk for the "X" to turn that bolt.  I only struggled a few minutes though.  I think Adam, my Good Samaritan, was in the very first car to pass by.

He really shouldn't have stopped.  He was heading to see his girlfriend and this would make him late.  But, Adam was not one to pass by someone in need, even if the car has an Ohio tag.  His father was one of the local "go to" men in the area for towing vehicles to maintenance shops.  So, quite naturally, Adam had almost everything in his trunk that was needed to be a Good Samaritan in this situation.

We successfully lowered the spare tire from its hiding place.  We didn't use my four-way lug wrench, or even the appropriate lug wrench that I also had in my trunk.  No, my Samaritan had some kind of drill, that may or may not be called an impact driver, to move those bolts around in seconds.

But, all was not well yet in Ypsilanti.  The chain that holds the tire in place goes through a hole in the wheel's rim.  Once in the rim, a device turns on a hinge to form a "T" to keep the wheel locked in place.   We needed to turn that "T" on its hinge to create an "I" that could slide through the hole in the rim.  Alas, that joint was very, very rusted in place.  Adam sighed, "I need some WD40 for this situation."  I was shocked that he didn't have any in his truck BECAUSE I DID in my handy-dandy emergency kit!  We sprayed that little sucker up. 

It didn't work.

Adam was out of options.  He went for his phone to call a tow truck.  However, I had one more trick up my sleeve. In my little emergency kit, I also carry a hammer.  I keep it in case I ever need to smash a window.   I grabbed the hammer and attacked that "T" shaped joint.  Even if it didn't undo the rust, it might release some of my frustration. It did both!  The joint moved to the "I" shape, the chain was freed from the wheel rim, and my Samaritan quickly took care of the rest of the story.

Now, I'm not an ungrateful stranded victim along the roadside.  I told Adam that I would like to send him a check to pay for his next date.  I mean, it's the very least I could do.  My Samaritan said, "You just made my day.  It's such a kind gesture, but I'm not going to take your money."

That was an unexpected surprise.  Who does that?  But, I was not finished trying to express my gratitude.

I asked, "Do you have any kids in your life?  A niece or nephew?  Any kid?"  He said that his girlfriend had a seven-year-old son.  Well, that was just perfect.  I headed back to my car.  Since he wasn't going to take my money, I offered him a book for the seven-year-old.  And, of course, it wasn't just any book.  It was one of my books that I'd written and illustrated, Anansi and the Market Pig.

Everyone left happy that day.  Adam was thrilled with the book.  Hopefully, the kid was as well.  And, once again in my life, I was surprised by the kindness of strangers - even in Michigan, I mean . . . that state up north.

The phone rang.

I was in Cancun, Mexico, at the time and I didn't even know my phone worked there.  When I looked at the caller, it was a cousin who never calls me.  I knew it had to be bad news, but I just didn't know who she was going to call about.

Unfortunately, I was right.

"We've had a tragedy in the family," she said.  "Our cousin Steve was hit by a car while riding his bike in Florida.  He didn't survive the accident."

I can't say that I've attended many funerals in recent years.  When I went to the funeral home for visiting hours with the family, I expected it to be in a large room with a lot of people milling about, visiting with family members and friends, and then sitting around politely until it felt like a good time to leave.  This was nothing like that and I was just blown away.

The funeral home was in one of the large, grand homes, built over one hundred years ago, in the center of town.  It had all the charm you would expect with twelve-foot ceilings, grand arched doorways to match that height, antique furniture and elegant wall paper.  I know this because I got a tour of the place.  Everyone did, whether they wanted it or not.  This visiting session was more like the line at a wedding to congratulate the bride and groom.  The line snaked through the entire ground floor of the house and out the front door.  It took an hour and a half to slowly mosey your way through to greet the family members. 

I'd never seen anything like it.  Visiting hours were from 4 to 7 PM, but that wasn't long enough.  There were so many people who came to visit that the time extended on for an additional two hours.  Obviously, my cousin Steve had a huge impact on the local community.

How does that happen?  What did he do?  Well, for one thing, he lived in the same community his whole life.  And, his community was the farming community.  In high school, Steve was involved with Future Farmers of America.  He remained a supporter of that the rest of his life.  He was the "go to" man for the community of farmers at the county fair as well.  He was also a township trustee in the local community and active with Marion County Steam & Gas Engine Society and Mid-Ohio Antique Farm Machinery Show, Inc.  If you do these things for decades, and have an infectious smile with a good heart, people will notice.

And, they did.

His funeral was standing room only.  I don't ever remember seeing that before.  I helped haul up extra seats from the church basement, so I had a seat.  I was up close to clearly hear the man who spoke the most about my cousin.  It was his best friend.  He knew all the family stories and secrets so he shared a few.  He was in daily communication with Steve for so many years, decades, and no better speaker could have been found.  I sat through his talk thinking, "I didn't know this cousin nearly as well as I wish I did.  I had no idea that he had such an  impact on so many people."

Part of the reason for that was I was never in F.F.A. and never showed an animal at a county fair.  The only county fair I remember was when my sister won top prize for her apple pie.  (It is truly amazing.)  I don't farm, have never been to the Upper Peninsula in Michigan (one of Steve's favorite playgrounds) and don't particularly like cold weather, snowmobiles, or blazing trails on ATVs.  I never lived in the village where he was a trustee and cannot imagine a passion for Brussels Griffon dogs.  Our circles of activity didn't overlap so much.

But, one time in recent years there was an overlapping that was so very special to me.  And, it was one of the last times I ever saw my cousin.  I had a friend from Rwanda, interested in agriculture, who stopped by in Ohio for a few days.  He very much wanted to see a local farm in Ohio while in the Buckeye State.  Steve and his mother graciously welcomed Gerard to their family farm.  He got to see the farming equipment up close and personally, just like he wanted.  I got to see my cousin in a glimpse of what the local farming community had seen for so long.  He was so friendly and welcoming to this stranger, because nobody stayed a stranger for long around Steve.  His smile and laughter let Gerard know how much he enjoyed sharing with him.   I left the farm so grateful for family like this who dropped everything in their plans for one of my friends from my travels.

The speaker at the funeral ended his talk with a challenge from Steve.  I had never heard about this, but some time in recent memory, a story traveled the Internet that Facebook would ban or block you if you posted the Lord's Prayer on your site.  When I researched this, it didn't appear to be true, but some people wrote to say that the posting would be fact checked.  I haven't tried that to see.  But, my cousin took it as an opportunity to write to Facebook and tell them just how important this prayer was in his life.  The challenge we were given was to share the Lord's Prayer in memory of Steve.  So, cuz, here is it for you.

.......... Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name.
.......... Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
.......... Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.
.......... And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
.......... For yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory, forever.
.......... Amen

The Situation     My dentist in Ohio retired.  I know, I should have just immediately found a new one, but that isn't what happened. However, when a filling broke apart and I was left with a gaping hole in my mouth, the situation needed to be resolved.  So, I found a dentist almost within walking distance from my home.  Then, I mustered up the courage and went to meet the guy.

My new dentist cleaned up the hole and refilled it.  He was afraid it might need a root canal, but I missed that bullet.  And, I'm very thankful about that.  However, he said that the tooth was fragile and needed a crown.  A $1400 crown.  I said I couldn’t afford that.  The lady at the desk said they could lower it by $100.  That wouldn’t help a lick.  So, it was time to contact my other dentist . . . in Cancun.  It seems that I was destined for another trip to the Caribbean, like it or not.

The Solution     I sent a message to Cancun Dental Specialists.  The guy who checked the messages had no idea what I was talking about when I suggested dental work in exchange for a mural.  But, a few days later, he asked his boss.  “I got a very strange email.  Are you interested in trading dental work for a mural?” 

Much to his surprise, his boss said, “Absolutely!”

So, my first mural since Covid was arranged, in the Caribbean.  Including flight and accommodations, it cost me half the price of the crown in the USA. and I had to stay in the Cancun area for two weeks.

Of course, I mentioned this to my new dentist by my home.  Everyone in the office was skeptical.  Mexico?  Seriously?  However, I've been to the dentist in Mexico.  I've seen how modern the facilities are.  The operation is no back-water shanty down a dark alley with machinery dating back to the 1950s.  With dentists trained in the States, it's as modern as anything I've ever seen.  And, I traded a mural for dentistry work in these very offices the last time I needed big work done at the dentist.

This was a very welcome rerun, not the need for dental work, but an exchange of services rendered.

In Cancun     The work that I needed doing was completed over two days.  I'm not going to say that getting a crown is painless dentistry.  But, I'm really pleased with the work and the service.  I was well taken care of.  My part of the exchange was a little more complicated.  I planned two weeks in Mexico so I would have plenty of time for the mural.  I'm not sure what happened.  You know, life gets in the way sometimes.  But, I didn't connect with the dentist about the mural design until day eight.  I kind of wanted the design done well before that time.

Communication     I finally got a ride to the dentist's home to see the wall for the mural.  She wasn't there.  She just called me and said, "Make the design for the mural.  I will be home in two hours."  It usually takes me much longer than two hours to make my mural designs.  The only thing I had to go on was that she wanted elephants.

Okay, my last mural, at her old home, was a wall outside by the swimming pool.  I went outside to the new pool area and that wall was indeed very long.  It was about 18 yards long.  I could only design the first 6 yards, but it promised for future exchanges in Cancun.  Win-win!

When the dentist arrived home, I asked her if she wanted grey and brown elephants or if she wanted happy colorful elephants.  She opted for colorful.  I would have gone with that as well, so I was pleased.  The following day, her driver took me out for paint shopping.  While we were at Home Depot, she called to say she changed her mind and wanted greys.  No problemo.  It was her wall.

By the way, I learned something about elephants in this design.  In the West, elephants with trunks pointing up mean good luck.  However, in the East, a trunk pointing down was lucky.  If you have two elephants seated at the front of your house, it means protection for your home.  Well, my design had all of that so I assured the dentist that all bases were covered.  And now, you know too.

When I arrived at the dentist's home with my paints, my first step on a wall is to prepare a grid.  And, I learned something on this experience.  I use a chalk line to make the grid.  Of course, I use blue chalk because that's the color everyone always uses.  However, in preparing for this trip, I purchased some orange chalk on a whim.  I will never use blue chalk again.  Either color works fine for making the grid.  But, after the design is done, the chalk needs to be washed off.  And, the light orange color is so much easier to get rid of.  Lesson learned very well, finally.

As I was in the final stages of completing my grid, the dentist came out to ask, "Is this where you plan to paint the mural?"

"Isn't this where you wanted it?"

That would be no.  Instead of slowly decorating this wall that is 18 yards long, she had a 30 foot vaulted wall in her living room in mind.  I was so relieved when she said, "Maybe by the pool would be better." 

I readily agreed.

"And, I think it should be with the colors," she added.

Mural 61     I sketched the mural on the wall, washed away all the chalk line and touched up in white everything that needed touched up.  In case you are a novice, no amount of yellow, orange or red paint hides pencil marks below them.  You can paint them half a dozen times an still see the pencil.  So, every little error in those sections needs to be painted in white.  I completed it around five in the afternoon and called it a day.  Usually, I would have painted till dark, but I did all of this work under the blazing Mexican sun.  I was toast.  Burnt toast.

Picasso 2 and Picasso 3     In the amount of time I had to do the mural, it couldn't possibly be a solo job. My design had eight elephants, but on my own, I knew I could only do three or four of them before I had to leave Mexico.  I told the dentist I needed help.  She asked about ability levels.  I needed bodies with arms, not talent.  I'm not sure where she found them, but two men showed up for a couple of half-day shifts.  They were fast and talented.  I called them my Picassos and the wall could not have been completed without them. 

Whenever anyone starts painting, I ask them if they can count to three.  There is a three-step process for everyone to follow.  1. Dip the brush in the paint.  2. Wipe one side of the brush.  3. Wipe the other side of the brush.  If you do that, generally, you have much less of a chance to slop paint everywhere.  And, if anyone does slop paint, I threaten to beat them.  I don't know how to say that in Spanish, but I know what to do with hand gestures. 

As it turned out, you can guess who was the first person to slop paint.  Without missing a beat, Picasso 3 offered to beat me.  It was the moment when I instantly bonded with these guys.  They worked well on the mural and appreciated my sense of humor.

It's in the details.     The dentist wanted a full moon and some stars in the design.  There wasn't enough time or paint to do that in the background, so I did it on one of the blankets covering an elephant's back.  She also wanted the names of her four grandchildren somewhere in the mural.  If you look closely at the stars, you'll see the names Lukos, Lucia, Andreas and Andrea.  Abuelita (grandma) should be pleased with that.

And finally, if you look really closely, you might find the number 61 somewhere in the design.  It is Mural 61 for me.  In my recent murals, I like to celebrate the number somewhere in the design.  Hopefully, you have eagle eyes.