Anyone who’s paying attention knows that humanity is going bonkers. But it’s hard to know who or what to blame. The internet? Hollywood? Elon Musk? Alex Jones? Those we did or didn’t vote into office? Ourselves? I dunno. But the news can really get me down. Lately, though, I found a cushion of solace in a place I least expected it.
It all began with me reading a book I thought I should read. Should, because it was written by my great Aunt Katherine L. Read, with Christian writer Robert O. Ballou. The book is called Bamboo Hospital and was published in 1961 by J. B. Lippincott Company. It’s the story of her family, my family, in what was then Burma. Katherine, along with my grandfather and great uncle, had a pretty unusual childhood riding elephants and dining with turbaned royalty dripping with rubies. They were the children of medical missionaries, Albert and Cora Henderson, who in 1893 took off to what is now known at Myanmar to spread medical knowledge and the no doubt startling news that there is really just one true God.
In the past, I’ve had little patience with the book. In truth, I’m embarrassed by the hubris of proselytizing. What right do any of us have to foist our spiritual views on others? Also, as a child, my Aunt Kaye’s stories of Burma scared the crap out of me. One in particular terrified Little Me for years. A bedtime story about bald, yellow-robed monks who, bearing empty wooden bowls, would roam the villages knocking on doors, obliging the residents to provide them with rice. I know, I know. It doesn’t sound very scary. But I had no context for monks. Hadn’t a clue what they even were. In my ignorance, I imagined flocks of expressionless men with shiny pates and sad eyes, begging, begging, always begging. What if these bald-headed monks came knocking on our door in West Philadelphia, and what if we didn’t have any rice. What then?
I own Bamboo Hospital in hardback. It’s the only way you can get it—if you can get it. (As of this blog post there is one copy one Amazon and several others on various Rare Book sites.) But I’ve had the family copy for years, and always figured one day I’d make the time to read it. Thanks to the pandemic, that time came. I picked up the book, promising myself that this time I would finish it. And I did. And was pleasantly surprised.
The writing is solid. Descriptive. The whole bringing-Christianity-to-the-savages tone a little hard to take, that and the whole Wonderful Amazing Hendersons. I mean, nobody is wonderful all the time. But to read Katherine’s account, there was never a single misstep, never a blooper. Handsome, intelligent Albert and beautiful, kind Cora, and their three extraordinarily bright children were all perfectly perfect in every way. Despite my dislike of perfectly perfect, I had to admit as I turned page after page, that Albert and Cora really did do a lot of good. They built hospitals and orphanages, which, if my great aunt is to be believed, were sorely needed due to the current practices of trying to literally flog the devil spirits from ill people and the burying of live newborns next to their mothers who were unfortunate enough to die during childbirth. Way to go Wonderful Amazing Hendersons! Those practices certainly needed updating. And I do believe the Hendersons were as much changed by Burma as Burma was changed by them. Moreso, I’m sure. Devoted Christian that my aunt was, she still had a healthy belief in ghosts, which she told Little Me could be seen slipping through hallways in the dead of night. Eek! But it’s the setting of the book that’s the real star. The jungles of upper Burma are full of pythons and monkeys, orchids and frangipani. Everyone’s teeth, even those of the jeweled royalty, are black and rotting from chewing betel nuts. It’s all very exotic.
And this is where my story takes another turn. Because in reading the book, I learned something rather surprising that I simply did not know about my family. My great-great grandfather, George Ralph Henderson (Albert’s father), who, as a Baptist missionary in Jamaica was (bless him!) helping the newly emancipated slaves build their own villages in which they might start their new lives as free women and men, was approached by lawyers from England as being the sole survivor of Anne Boleyn.
What?
All he had to do was sign a few papers and he would receive her vast inheritance.
What?
But good old George turned the riches away, calling it “Tainted money.”
Who knew? Not me. Because I’d never read my Aunt Kaye’s book. But this revelation led me to another book I never would have read otherwise: Anne Boleyn: A King’s Obsession, by Alison Weir that leapt out at me while I was wandering through Bookshop Santa Cruz. It’s part of Weir’s historical series, Six Tudor Queens. This novel transported me to the early 1500s—and they were brutal! The chopping off of heads the least of it. They were intentionally slowly boiling people to death, drawn and quartering them, and all in the name of the one true God! Yikes! And girls, like Anne herself, were being traded like currency. Want to build an alliance with a given kingdom? Give them your daughter! The book is a great read and the last paragraph, swear to Whoever You Believe in, is worth the whole four hundred plus pages. I’m not kidding.
But what does all of this have to do with finding solace, you ask. Good question, considering how tangential this blog post is. So here’s what I got through these two books that has helped me understand the world I live in: humanity may appear to be going bonkers, but humanity has always been bonkers, and will always be bonkers. Always.
So what else can we do but Live the Love!
And read a book. You never know what gift it has in store for you.
Would love to hear your methods of finding solace.
Clifford- What a great “read” this was! It was interesting and moving… and I agree with where you ended up. Always bonkers…
Bonkers Bonkers Bonkers. Thanks for checking in, dear friend.
Wow!
Your family history!
I lived in Burma for two years!
It was already named Myanmar by the still in power brutal and ignorant military there.
When I lived there the military had been pushed out of power
It was peaceful
But the Burmese people told us about the brutality of the military coup in 1989
There is a movie called “The Lady”
I think
I watched it a long time ago about Aung San Sushe ( can’t remember how to spell her name)
She was the leader of the rebellion then
And it’s happening again with the military and people being killed
It was a most beautiful primitive country where I saw the monks lined up and walking down the street with their begging bowls
in a line about 20 monks
It was a beautiful Buddhist place.
That was over 20 years ago.
I’m not sure I could read your family books because of the violence but I am amazed at your family history!
Like many parts of the world it is not safe to travel there.
I find solacenature on solitude and being with people I love.
And in my meditation Buddhist practice
And I’m having home and health.
Grateful for health and about to lose my home…
Need all the solace I can find just now
May we become a more gentle people and may the wounds of our precious “blue thumb mail of a planet” as I heard it described once, be healed
Love
Tara
It’s so sad what’s happening in Burma/Myanmar now. It really breaks my heart. Thanks for checking in. xo
Gosh… I love this account! What a rich lineage you hail from. And I appreciate your take on missionaries and proselytizing. Oy… the damage and pain that comes from that! So deep. And so fun to read your words. Xoxo
Oh… and I take solace in making music and creating art. Just attended Songwriter Village… amazing!
And now we have nuclear, chemical and automatic weapons to go bonkers with. Thanks for the family tales!
Well, there’s that. Sigh. One day at a time. FYI: Loving Defiant Hearts! I’m about a third of the way in. Yum!
Surprise, surprise, I find solace in doing improv. It takes me out of my current reality and puts me solidly in my present mind.
A fascinating read, Clifford. As far as I know, I don’t have nearly as altruistic* a family history, *(Even if the altruism is misguided.) Thank you for sharing.
Cheers~ Heidi
Me too on the improv thing. Play is healing!
Women are still used as currency in this crazy world. Children too. Awful. We devolve, it seems. I find solace in very simple things these days. Cooking. A walk in nature. Spending time with friends. Being of service in some small way. I like to think that a whole lot of us, each doing small things, is actually no small thing.
Been having discussions with folks lately about the next generations and what a mess they are inheriting. Starting to realize that this is life.
Yep. So nice to hear from you. Glad you weren’t swept away by Ian! XOXO
The Wonderful Amazing Henderson: You.
Thank you Debra, I’ll try and let that in.
WOW! What insight. Thanks! 15 years ago I was asked to go to Kenya – I said “No way” – as I had no interest in telling those kind, poor people how to live. But through several winding river circumstances, I found myself traveling to Kenya to help build houses for families whose parents had died from AIDS. Strangely enough I found MYSELF changed in many, many deep ways. Yes the masses were poor, in regard to material things? BUT they had mountains of compassion and possessed a giving spirit I had never, ever encountered before. The average Kenyan makes around $61 a month (if lucky). Yet we would be invited to homes as they would offer us their meal for 2-3 days. They taught me that what I own is also for the community. If one’s bike was missing – they would say, “Oh, someone needed it – It will be back when they are finished”. Their love was unconditional – and their joy – overflowing. Their spirit was open each day for whatever wonder would come!
I came home and had to think several times before I bought a pair of shoes that I really didn’t need (as it would cost a full months wages in Kenya). And I found myself trying less to amass more “stuff” – and increase my effort to live with eyes open for the “magic” in every moment. Life is remarkably wonderful – even amidst tragedy. Wouldn’t it be wonderful … if we ALL could be venues of peace, affirmation and love.
Thanks, Clifford. You inspire me. Sending much love and hugs to you all!!
Brother James
I remember you going on that trip! You brought us back some beautiful items. Yes, I know for me, the times I’ve gone to “help” someone, I was helped as much as they were, and always learned so much. What you got from your time in Kenya is truly profound. I got a similar thing while working in Chowchilla Prison. There were women there who were totally enlightened, rising spiritually above a horrible situation. And they made so much with how little they had. Thanks for checking in. Love you so much.
What a great post, Clifford! Enjoyed it immensely. -Donal
Thanks, Donal!
And then there’s “Goodness and Mercy” A Tale of a Hundred Year’s” by George E Henderson. Available on eBay for $12.95. I had a copy. Can’t find it now.
I just ordered it. I didn’t even know it existed. More sleuthing. Wish more was written about your side of the family!