There I was venting over the phone to an old friend and former colleague of mine dating back four decades. For the past several months, we chat over the phone each week. Most of my chatting is my attempt to explain what is going on in my head. I vent about Donald the Dumb, our fake president, a great deal. I get that no one will change him, but what about his supporters? After nearly three years, his issues about race, the place of women, xenophobia, white supremacism, Iran, Putin, tariff wars, Kim’s love letters, etc. should have caused them to wake up. I get that we have an unhinged person in the White House, but why would his supporters continue to back him? Apparently, they agree with him, which is sad about some Americans.

I didn’t vent much last Saturday about our fake president. What I talked about was my family in Myanmar (Burma). Six years ago, while traveling in what is called the tourist triangle, my tour guide was Moh Moh. She was excellent, but she had to pick up some papers about where I would stay and my new tour guide after leaving the Inle Lake area. She said that it would take just ten minutes, but I could meet Ti Ti. Ti Ti was her nine-year- old daughter. We arrived at her home and were greeted by Ti Ti. Standing in the middle of the family’s living room, Ti Ti said, “Hi. My name is Ti Ti. Do you want to play some games?” For much of an hour, she and I sat on the floor playing Scrabble and laughing.

Ti Ti became the tie which bonded her family to mine. During the week with Moh Moh, I met Ko Ko, who is her husband, and also Ti Ti’s two younger sisters. Their family has been a part of my family since then.

Two years ago, I returned to Myanmar to see them during winter break. When I attempted to explain to my readers or friends about the impact that their family has had upon me, it is difficult to fully explain the emotional changes within me. The best that I can do is to compare my happiness to a young couple who had just adopted a baby. Sheer joy. The only difference is that I have five adopted persons.

I have written hundreds of essays about this change within me. In most of those articles, I also mention the transformations in me due to my two dances with death. Being able to lead Death on the dancefloor of my life was transformative. It took me a handful of years to fully grasp my two dances. I realized what had happened to me after watching Randy Pausch’s The Last Lecture. However, it didn’t take me long at all to understand my relationship with my family in Myanmar.

I talk to everyone about my family. Imagine how much my friend has heard about them during our weekly chat time on the phone. I go on and on. Last Saturday, I mentioned getting my tickets to fly to Lahore, Pakistan where Sandy, my web administrator, grew up and where her family still lives. Sandy’s brother will take me to the Khewra Salt Mine and show me around Lahore. Then off to Yangon, Myanmar. I have several friends that I want to visit in Yangon and then fly to the Heho airport which is close to my family’s home.

I went on and on about my transformation and what their family meant to me. I was aware that I was rambling on about their meaning to me. My friend knows me well enough and patiently allowed me to express what I call my hauntings. Hauntings represent my desire to explain completely what is going on in my head and what drives me to grasp its meaning.

Finally, I paused. I just couldn’t completely explain what had happened to me. I was excited about my family while, at the same time, I was attempting to understand what Trump supporters see in him. I wish that I had a recording of this phone call.

Then there was a pause for a moment. Then my former colleague said, “It has to do with perspective…your perspective.” I knew some explanation was coming. So, I didn’t say anything, which is rare for me. But this time I listened. My friend started to talk about St. Francis of Assisi. We both admire him. I have said that he was the best example of what Christians should aspire to emulate. I’ve written over three dozen essays about St. Francis including this one.

Then my friend mentioned the time in which St. Francis lived, which we previously discussed in one of our Saturday chats. Then, out of nowhere, she said that St. Francis and Genghis Khan died within a year of each other. That comment set me back on my heals. I could have asked, “What?” But I just listened for her next comment.

She said that it all boils down to your perspective on life and the perspective that others have regarding Trump. Then she said that my perspective of life is different than others. My Weltanschauung or world view causes me to respond differently than some others. Finally, I could understand what she meant. Essentially, my friend was saying that we all have a choice in life. Who will guide us? Who will we attempt to emulate? She offered me two choices either Genghis Khan or St. Francis. My friend’s comment was for me a moment of Zen.

Genghis Khan's birth name was Temüjin, which is a compound name in the Mongol language, which means blacksmith. Essentially, Genghis Khan lived up to his name at birth by hammering those that didn’t follow him.

Genghis Khan

Historians estimate that he was responsible for the deaths of up to 40 million people as he conquered around 12 million square miles in Eurasia.

Genghis Khan’s conquests

Genghis Khan accomplished his acquisition of Eurasia in two decades in the early part of the 13th century, which is more than any other conqueror in the history of the world. Additionally, historians estimate his net worth in today’s dollar is more than $100 trillion dollars. While he shared his worth with his generals and others, no one has found his burial site, which must contain a treasure trove of wealth.

Obviously, my choice was to follow St. Francis. Those two men are polar opposites. One killed and blunder and the other gave and as a result received. St. Francis was the patron saint of Italy. Interestingly, he was born into wealth. However, he ran into a beggar, and St. Francis gave him all that he had with him at the time. That included the velvet that he was selling for his father who was a silk merchant and all the money that he had with him. For this act of concern along with several others caused his father to beat him and imprisoned him in one of his father’s storerooms.

However, St. Francis was released by his mother and became active within the Roman Catholic Church by becoming involved helping the poor. Interestingly, from my perspective as a Protestant, St. Francis is what St. Paul called Christ, Imago Dei, which is Latin for the image of God. He helped the poor and protected animals.

St. Francis

Years ago, when emails started using a signature at the end of an email, I used Bobby’s Kennedy’s, “Some men see things as they are and say, why; I dream things that never were and say, why not.” I have used that statement for two decades on all my emails. It was Bobby’s paraphrasing what George Bernard Shaw wrote in Back to Methuselah.

I also paraphrased another writer. My saying is “It is in giving that we get.” I started using that phrase nearly four years ago in a title for an essay. Actually, I used it prior to discovering where I got that comment. It sounded familiar. So, I googled it. I had adherently paraphrased St. Francis of Assisi. He said, “For it is in giving that we receive.” Regardless of which of the two versions you like the most, they essentially are both oxymorons. It seems like a logical contradiction. How is it possible that one can get something when giving something? However, let me tell you, memorize either version and live by it. You will be richer than Genghis Khan.

What my friend said to me during our chat last Saturday is being said to all my readers. We have a choice to make in each of our lives. It is between two radically different role models. We can choose between following in the steps of Genghis Khan and St. Francis. Choose wisely. It is your opportunity to help others and in return you will be helped. In addition, you will create your legacy. What you see and follow is what you will get. It is as simple as that. How do you wish to be remembered?

Do you want a theme song for your journey down your yellow brick road called life?