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Doing good in the world never gets old
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By Dave Nimmer
Several months ago I got to work on videos about three people around the world whose goal is to improve the human condition: a priest who runs a treatment program for addicts in Brazil, a nun who cares for disabled children in Colombia, and a Muslim woman who supports single mothers in Morocco.
Their stories tell me something about what it takes for a life well-lived, and it doesn’t have much to do with fame or fortune; it’s more about passion, compassion and courage.
All three were winners of the OPUS Foundation Prize, a partnership with the University of St. Thomas honoring social entrepreneurs who do “faith-based humanitarian work.” Aicha Ech Channa received $1 million for her Association Solidarite Feminine in Casablanca; Sister Valeriana Garcia-Martin got $100,000 for Luz Y Vida in Bogota; and Father Hans Stapel won $100,000 for his Fazenda da Esperanca, more than 60 communities for people addicted to drugs and alcohol.
I got to meet and talk with Ech Channa personally in Casablanca and watched hours of video of the work of Garcia Martin and Father Stapel. I identified some guiding principles to their action: They all desire to change the status quo. They were not willing to leave well enough alone. They believe — and they are not afraid to tell others — that just because this is the way things are, this is not the way things must stay. For decades, single mothers in Casablanca were routinely made to give up their babies to orphanages or for adoption. They were frequently branded as no better than prostitutes, forced from their families.
Ech Channa remembers her epiphany moment. She was a social worker for the Moroccan government, just back from maternity leave, and witnessed a baby being taken from the breast of a nursing mother who was literally forced to give up her child. It was 5:30 p.m., she recalls, and she could not sleep that night, vowing to change things. She did — by educating and training the mothers while providing daycare for their babies. And she did it in spite of criticism and threats from conservative Muslim clerics.
Each of the prize winners has hope, for themselves and the afflicted. Sister Valeriana cares for 145 physically and mentally disabled children and educates or provides day care for 850 children from the neighborhoods of Bogota. She hopes for a community where the disabled and the able bodied are together — in a classroom, flying a kite, playing in the gym. She’s got a lot of kids, a lot of mouths to feed, but not a lot of worry. She tells God, “You’re in charge of feeding the children. I will work on the other things.” That’s worked for more than 20 years.
For all those Friends of Bill, you’ll recognize this philosophy: We have to learn to let go and trust that a power greater than us will take care of us — and free us from the burden of self will run riot.
They all believe in love, the abiding ethic in their work. In the end, everything they do — Sister Valeriana, Ech Channa, and Father Stapel — is done with love, especially the treatment for the young drug and alcohol addicts.
“I felt when these teenagers arrived her for the first time,” says Father Stapel, “they were full of needs and problems — problems with love, family, rejection, hate and all these human things. It was obvious for me that only love can recover these people. Consequently, all our work strategy was an excuse to love — to concretely love.”
Now that’s a mission statement that appeals to me more and more as I get older and older. Aicha Ech Channa, who runs the program for single mothers in Morocco, says it another way: “Put your hand over your heart and ask, ‘What if it were me? What if it were me?’”
What I love most about this trio, their stories and their work, is that they’re all old farts, senior citizens. The youngest, Father Stapel, is 64. The other two are 68, and Ech Channa is a leukemia survivor. They show no sign of slowing down, giving up, losing faith, or turning around. The good work, for them, is still ahead. What I take from that is it ain’t over ‘til it’s over.
I’m still in the race.
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Macular Degeneration
By Michael Spilane, MD
Few parts of our body are as small and vital as the eye’s macula. This organ is the size of a tiny button, but is responsible for 90 percent of our vision. It is the workhorse part of the much larger retina, the image-capturing membrane at the back of the eye. Degeneration of the macula is the chief cause of severe and irreversible loss of vision in persons living in developed countries, and is almost exclusively a problem of older adults. Prevalence of visual symptoms caused by macular degeneration increases with advancing age, with about 10 percent of the older population having significant symptoms by age 85. Its cause is unknown, and treatment is often frustratingly unsuccessful. Recent scientific advances do allow help for some. There are two types of macular
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Ode to the great American supper club
By Carol Hall
Wisconsin is known for its beer, cheese, and supper clubs. The beer and cheese, of course, are part of the supper club experience: the part that comes before consuming the signature Friday night fish fry or Saturday prime rib of beef. Supper clubs are a Wisconsin institution. For reasons no one can explain, they abound throughout the state. Most sprang up in the 1930s and ’40s, but some date back to the 1920s, and are reputed to have been prohibition roadhouses, frequented by the likes of Al Capone and John Dillinger. Today, they have a reputation for good food at a reasonable price. Often located on the outskirts of a town, they have an unfailing ambiance: dark, cool, and slightly masculine. You don’t expect to see a gathering of Red Hat ladies at a suppe
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Lessons from a grand generation
By Dave Nimmer
When I was a kid growing up, I could have learned some of my best life lessons from my grandparents, each of whom modeled a trait or trademark to make the journey easier, richer, sweeter. As it turns out, I went two for four — not a bad batting average in baseball, but a little less impressive in real life. From my Grandpa Nimmer, I learned the joy of hard work, as in manual labor: getting your hands dirty, working up a sweat, mopping your brow, taking a break and looking at what you did. The old boy worked as a brakeman on the railroad, survived the depression and provided for his family. He was thin as a rail, maybe about 135 pounds, 5'7", usually wearing overalls and carrying a corncob pipe in the breast pocket. As far as I can remember, he never took
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