SIDETRACKED

A funny thing happened while I was away from the Quingdom.

Yes, dear Reader, I missed you!

I missed you for seven long and eventful weeks.

Kindly accept my apology, and assurance that I shall not leave you in the lurch again - without fair warning. 

I ditched you, and the Quingdom, because I was metamorphosing.

Into a far more magnificent - and worthy - Quing of the World.

A phone call in late June catapulted me into my cocoon: "Hello, Darling. I so hope you can help me."

Write a puppet show.

FACT: Most of my unsolicited calls concern low rates on credit cards, or pleas from 396,212 charities who have me on their DO NOT CALL list.

So when an elderly woman - speaking oh-so-calmly in a lilting British accent - calls out of the blue to solicit my help writing a puppet show, I pay attention.

An actor/director of our mutual acquaintance had suggested she call me. Can I help? Will I help?

I suggest that she send me the script she has written. Returning phone to receiver, I resume my nutty life. 

48 hours later, a manuscript is delivered to my home. I google the author, Dr. A. The lady who calls me 'Darling" is a world renowned pediatrician, professor, lecturer and researcher, a pioneer in the field of Maternal and Child Health, a former consultant for the World Health Organization, Medical Director for the US Department of Health Education and Welfare, and the recipient of a World Peace Prize. For more than half a century she has worked with children who have perpetrated, or been the victims of unspeakable violence and neglect. 

The Dalai Lama has penned the preface to one of her books. 

Charles (aka The Man Who Will Be King) just happens to be a great fan of her work and philosophy.

As he is a fan of mine.

Yes, the esteemed doctor's Puppet Show script reads like a PhD dissertation, but I don't care. She is impressive! I have to meet this woman. I want to know her story. I want to acquire her calm demeanor - and fabulous accent! 

During our first meeting, Dr. A. notices that my arms and legs are sporting unsightly rashes and sores from an unfortunate encounter with poison oak. "Make a paste of baking soda and water, darling," she says, "and slather it all over your skin. Don't you dare accept the poisons that doctors so over-prescribe these days.”

I had already dared. Thus I was absolutely certain that a baking soda paste would not contain what four weeks of steroid treatments and expensive creams could not cure.

Desperate, I concocted and slathered the goop. I meandered around the house for three days looking like the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man, minus the red tie. Sure enough, the miserable rash that had spread so far, itched so incessantly, and boiled and oozed so disgustingly, disappeared. I gratefully suggested that my new doctor friend add "Angel of Mercy" to her resume.

Throughout July and mid-August, I drove the hour to and from Dr. A's country home, imagining all the possibilities that might result from our new friendship. Dr. A. could share all her baking-soda secrets, wisdom and experience with me. I, in turn, would share them with others.  

Instead, Dr. A. changed the way I view our World, and all of its citizens.

FACT: Unlike many rulers, dear Reader, I am a huge fan of Love and Compassion. I've been singing their praises all of my life.

But then I met, conversed with, and was challenged by a woman who lives and breathes love and compassion. The lessons she taught me about them are far more important, and curative, than a baking-soda paste will ever be.

REWIND to July 20, 2012. 

The morning I last wrote - but never published - a post for you.

The morning after the horrific shootings in Aurora, Colorado. 

I was writing about the senseless violence perpetuated in a movie theater by James Holmes, a gunman who "looked like an assassin ready to go to war". I was writing about the insanity of living in a society where people like Holmes can order an arsenal of assault weapons on-line; a society where Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 - a video game that requires players to collect floating dog tags from the corpses of downed enemies before the kill can be registered - has the biggest entertainment launch of all time. Within 24 hours of going on sale, Call of Duty sold 6.5 million copies in the U.S. and UK alone, grossing $400 million.

Like many of you, I was distraught over the shootings- imagining what it must be like to be seated  in a movie theater with my kids, eagerly awaiting Batman - and his super cool everything - to ignite on the screen.

The movie begins. An emergency exit door opens. A guy dressed in camo - wearing a gas mask,  carrying an assault rifle, a shotgun and two pistols - enters the theater, implementing chaos and death. 

I was writing that post as a parent imagining the loss of a beloved child to the violent, evil actions of a madman. As I reread the text, and prepared to click 'publish', the phone rang. Dr. A. was calling to wish me safe travels, knowing I'd soon be en route to Cleveland for a baseball tournament. 

We spoke only a moment, and Dr. A asked, "Darling, whatever is wrong? You are troubled. I hear it in your voice."

I mumbled something about Aurora. The randomness. The victims. The heartbreak of parents and families.

Dr. A. listened, then calmly said, "You haven't considered the gunman, darling. He, too, is a Child of God, worthy and in desperate need of our compassion. Imagine what might have happened in his life that resulted in his acting out with such violence."

Rattled, humbled, I turned off my computer and left town, grateful that boys and baseball would soon force images of Aurora from my mind.

Days later, I watched live courtroom proceedings featuring a shackled James Holmes, his hair dyed Joker-red, his expression, bewildered. I was astonished by my reaction to Holmes. Rather than having a predictable knee-jerk response to a cold-blooded killer who should be reviled and punished, I actually looked at him and saw a Child of God in need of compassion.

A funny thing happened while I was away from the Quingdom.

I was Sidetracked. 

Upended. 

Shaken right out of my stylish, Quingly boots.

A puppet show led me to an extraordinary woman who, through her wisdom, grace, and experience challenged me to view our World, and all of her people through the lens of compassion.

Mistakenly, I had believed that I was already doing that. 

It's going to be a very helpful skill to cultivate as Election Season 2012 begins to sizzle. 

QUING Hereby Decrees:  Compassion is not meant to not be reserved for some. It must be gifted to all.