When Nothing Makes Sense

Years ago, heading home from a Florida vacation, my family and I found ourselves unexpectedly in Alabama after our flight was re-routed and given this “surprise” destination due to weather. We ended up with a few free hours in Montgomery, the state’s capitol.

We parked near the first confederate White House and decided to walk the half mile to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s house (otherwise known as the Dexter Parsonage Museum), where we’d go inside and learn more about him and his important work.

Surprisingly, even though it was late afternoon on a beautiful day, the downtown Montgomery streets were *completely* empty. No one was outside. It was kind of surreal. A bit eerie, in fact, as it’s no small town. We passed an alley, and out of seemingly nowhere, a man who appeared to be unhoused, appeared RIGHT behind us. The feeling of someone being so close, no matter who he was, initially startled me. I turned and nodded, “Hello.”

He replied warmly, “Hello.” To be clear, I don’t advocate talking to strangers if your “spidey senses” warn you not to. Intuition is there for a reason. Trust it.

In this case, however, my intuition told me we had absolutely nothing to fear, although my husband was less sure. I could tell by his body language. Besides, we were already there and so was this man, so why not keep it positive? I realized my daughter was closely observing how I’d handle this stranger’s presence.

The man, who quickly proved to be kind and helpful, confirmed we were, indeed, walking the right direction towards our destination. He walked alongside us for about two blocks, making conversation and briefing us on this fascinating history in Montgomery.

Then, as quickly as he’d appeared, he veered off. He offered in his most polite southern drawl, “Y’all be blessed.”

I felt that we had been.

By the time we reached MLK’s home, the docent was shutting it down for the night. We were too late. Taking a look at us, though, she kindly allowed us to “go wander through and stay as long as you’d like.” She didn’t follow us. It was just us in the home. I’m guessing she wasn’t supposed to do that, but she did.

First, I saw MLK’s wedding picture up on the fireplace mantle. Then other family heirlooms. A single book by itself on a side table — which, much to my surprise, was a parenting book. (Of all things, why that?)

What struck me most was his office. I felt strangely calm in there; totally peaceful. I imagine it would’ve felt like that to be in his presence, had he still been there in person. 

I noticed that on one wall in his office, he had a painting of Jesus. On the other, Ghandi. He literally surrounded himself with images of peaceful role models as he sat at his wooden desk, tapping away on his typewriter. 

Gosh, how I wanted to touch that typewriter. I didn’t of course. It was enough to be near it. This was a home that saw tragedy and hardship, but it was also the source of so much peace.

My family wasn’t even “supposed” to be in this city, much less in this home, so unexpectedly. This was one of those days where nothing made sense, and yet everything did.

What’s the parenting spin on this?

Surround your children with healthy, peaceful role models. Be one, to the extent that you can while still being human (goodness knows I model how to make mistakes every day). When things are tough or scary or unpredictable, remind your children that there are good people in the world who are working very hard to ensure a healthy and safe space for them as they grow up. Get to know them. Spend time with them. 

They don’t have to be doing the level of work that MLK did; few people do. But we all know people who love well.

Safety is “felt” when we surround ourselves with enough of it. Despite what we see on the news and amidst all the other “noise,” there are SO MANY kind people out there. Teach your children to look for them and know them. You do the same. 

When we do that, no matter what’s going on around us, we realize that blessings and goodness are still very much alive and well. Don’t take your eyes off them.

With love,

Sarah, author of “Peaceful Discipline”