Daily Dose (August 11 – 14)

TUESDAY AUGUST 11 —

“We live like ill-taught piano students. We are so afraid of the flub that will get us in dutch, we don’t hear the music, we only play the right notes.” Thank you, Robert Capon.
And in yesterday’s Sabbath Moment we met Ellen. Who made a tapestry for her church—from her heart. A tapestry rejected because the dimensions were “not quite correct,” according to the church committee.

And we took to heart Ellen’s poignant wisdom, “I’m going to be okay. Do you know why? Because I didn’t make the tapestry for them.”
Yes. “Tapestry making” is about living the moment—this present moment—wholehearted, and without any need for “approval”.
Ellen’s story is not about who “won” or “lost.” It is about being at home in your skin and living from your heart.

Which brings me to this life-giving story Dewitt Jones tells about visiting Marion Campbell, considered the finest weaver in all of Scotland. She lived in the Outer Hebrides. Jones visited to photograph Marion for The National Geographic. When she answered the door, she seemed surprised (no wonder considering that the Hebrides are a remote island chain, the whole string of 65 islands with fewer than 27,000 inhabitants. I expect she didn’t see a stranger very often.) Marion told Dewitt, “I’m sorry, but now I am taking care of my brother who is sick and near death.” Dewitt felt an understandable embarrassment.
“No wait,” she told him. “Give me an hour. I’ll join you then.”
After the hour, he found her at the loom. She talked about her creations, and stories about scraping lichen from rocks for dye. Dewitt took a few photos. Still nervous that he had interrupted Marion, he started to leave. “Oh no,” she told him. She escorted him into her dining room where she had put out biscuits and tea. Dewitt wondered if he was in the presence of a great sage, and waited for pearls of wisdom. “What do you think about when you weave?” he asked.
“I wonder if I’ll run out of thread,” she answered.
She must have seen the puzzlement on his face, and added, “When I weave, I weave.”
There it is.
When I read, I read.
When I celebrate, I celebrate.
When I pay attention, I pay attention.
Living the moment—this present moment—wholehearted.
Embracing the sacrament of the sacred present.

It seems that the nagging question, “But what if this—the life we chose, or the life we are living—is the wrong life?” Or, “What if I have the wrong dimensions for my tapestry?” are not that important after all.
Have I done bone-headed things with my life? To be sure.
Have I miscalculated and misused talent or opportunity? Assuredly.
Have I wrestled with depression and the weight of life gone awry? Yes, I have.
Does it benefit me to wish that I were elsewhere and otherwise? I don’t think so.
What I know for certain is that starting down that path of determining “right or wrong” life, assures the fact that we will avoid (and definitely miss) this life.

This week, let us hear the invitation—embrace the freedom to be awake and invested, in this life, in this moment… the very one we are living today.
As Dewitt Jones puts it, “To not only be the best in the world, but to be the best for the world.”
I love this. Not only is this the life to live…
In doing so, you bring your whole heart.
In doing so, you make a difference.
Thank you, to every one of you, for the difference you make. “This little light of mine…”

So… “Let us not darken the joy of resurrection,” Thomas Merton reminds us, “by remaining in captivity and darkness, but let us live as free men and women who have been called out of the darkness and into the light.”

WEDNESDAY AUGUST 12 —

“We live like ill-taught piano students. We are so afraid of the flub that will get us in dutch, we don’t hear the music, we only play the right notes.” Thank you, Robert Capon.
And if that’s our focus (playing the right notes), we are fixated and easily worried with the nagging question, “Are we there yet?”
(“Did we get enough points?” “Did we play enough right notes yet?”)

This is not so easily accomplished in a world that dotes on vicarious lives, where the mission of the article (including the ads—in the magazine I perused recently), was to make me feel in some way inadequate, or insufficient. (And whoever is responsible for this magazine, must be very good at what they do, because they accomplished their goal. Just sayin’)
Some years ago, on a visit to a friend’s house in Paso Robles, hanging on a wall with very remarkable art, I see a hand drawn crayon picture of a dragon (drawn “in the hand” of a young child). The dragon is pink and purple and lavender.
I really liked the dragon, and mentioned it to my host.
“My daughter did that drawing when she was very young,” the friend told me. “And her teacher was not pleased, and told her that she did it all wrong. Everyone knows that ‘dragons are not That Color!’”
“It hangs there today,” the mother tells me, “as a reminder to my daughter, to be one of a kind.”

One of a kind. Yes. Remember Mother Teresa’s reminder to a roomful of lepers, of how much God loved each one of them. She told them that they are “a gift to the rest of us.”
Interrupting her, an old leper raises his hand, and she calls on him. “Could you repeat that again?” he asks. “It did me good. So, would you mind; just saying it again.”
Yes please. Just say it again.
We easily forget, don’t we… the cathartic power of grace?

And on the days when public opinion pesters, I keep this Parker Palmer quote close by. “It is a strange gift, this birthright gift of self. Discovering vocation does not mean scrambling toward some prize just beyond my reach but accepting the treasure of true self I already possess. Vocation does not come from a voice ‘out there’ calling me to become something I am not. It comes from a voice ‘in here’ calling me to be the person I was born to be, fulfill the original selfhood given me at birth by God.”
And in my heart, I know that vocation is not just my job, or calling, but the mark I leave, and the place I take, in this world, by being “purple dragon” Terry.

It starts early, doesn’t it?
Don’t be different.
What will people think?
What makes you think you have an opinion?
Do you really feel that way?
That person is strange, isn’t he?
This I do know: Just like purple dragons, labels never help. They limit us and tempt us to compare ourselves to others with similar labels. Which exacerbates the temptation to play to public opinion. But here’s the deal: Playing to public opinion I too easily sacrifice; my emotions, my feelings, my passion, my gifts, my heart, and my humanity. Because there will always be some voice telling me that whoever I am today, is not enough.

True, living into this authentic—purple dragon—self is neither easy, nor managed by a checklist. But this much is certain: living into our authentic self begins with a whole heart.
I read this once, “she was reclaiming herself, alive in her own skin.” Yes, that’s it. At home in our own skin… Unabashed in a skin (a self) that feels, values, honors, esteems, loves, fears, desires, hopes for, believes in, and commits to. With nothing to earn or prove, because life isn’t a race or contest or beauty pageant.
At home in my skin, I have a self to give.
I can dance, and savor life.
I can choose to be an anchor and a listening ear.
I can be a hand to hold, and a hug to keep the heart alive.

“This is the categorical imperative of the Christian Faith: You shall lovingly accept the humanity entrusted to you. You shall accept yourself.” Johannes Metz

Speaking of purple, it’s the color on your fingertips while (and after) picking blackberries. Do you have them in your neck of the woods? Blackberry cobbler and pie is the perfect recipe for slowing down, and savoring the gift of today. 

THURSDAY AUGUST 13 —

Did you see the movie “Benny and Joon”?
Johnny Deep plays Sam, a quirky and eccentric young man who spends time at the home of Benny and Joon (Benny the older brother who cares for his mentally challenged, and artistically brilliant, younger sister).
And this we know from the beginning of the movie; Sam is at home in his skin, at home with his “uniqueness”.
In one scene, in a local park, Sam begins to entertain Benny and Joon with a Buster Keatensque routine using his hat and cane. Soon, a crowd gathers, fully entertained and appreciative. Benny (skeptical of Sam up to this point) see’s Sam’s genius, and the unique treasure within.
“That was great,” he enthused. “Did you learn that in school?”
“No,” said Sam. “I was kicked out of school for that.”

“This is the categorical imperative of the Christian Faith: You shall lovingly accept the humanity entrusted to you. You shall accept yourself.” Johannes Metz

A great Rabbi died. He had been revered and loved by his congregation. After his death, it was decided that the Rabbi’s son, himself a Rabbi, would take his father’s place.
This pleased the congregation, for the son would be “just like his father”.
But after some time, there was surprise and grumbling. The son gave himself fully, heart and soul, to the synagogue, and began to make changes that displeased some of the people.
“You are not at all like your father,” they told him, obviously disappointed.
“Oh, but I am,” he replied. “For my father was one of a kind. He imitated no one. Neither do I.”
One of a kind.
You are able to give your self—your heart and your soul—when you lovingly accept the humanity entrusted to you.
What an invitation: the gift to be at home in my own skin.
Whole and undivided.
So, yes. And Amen.

Not easy to do in a world where our identity is adjudicated by measurements. You know, by what we “achieve”, or impressing the right audience (even when it’s an audience of one), even putting others down in order to “get ahead”.
I confess that this conversation, “Where do I tether my identity? How do I make a difference?” has been quite prescient and real for me of late.
In a recent conversation with someone I’d just met, who asked, “So, what do you do?”
“I travel and give talks about self-care,” I tell him, and then amend it, “But at my age—71—I’m slowing down, so I’m not sure who I am right now.” I tell him with a big smile, not sure if I was trying to be funny, or truthful.
So, I’ve talked about it with the geese, here in Port Ludlow, admiring the way they always seem at home in their skin (and feathers). I tell them I’ve always been triggered by the societal estimation that our identity is defined solely by what we do. Meaning, how we make money.
And they, gratefully, tell me that it’s paradigm shift time.
We need to change the questions.
Instead of, “What do you do, or what did you accomplish and achieve?”
Ask this, “Where, and in what ways, does your heart come alive?”
Taking to heart Frederick Buechner’s reminder, “Vocation is the place where our deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.”

FRIDAY AUGUST 14 —

“This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.”
In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus tells the disciples, “You are the light of the world.”
And then adds, “Let your light shine.”
Let. As is, allow. As in, the light is already there.
Jesus never said, “Create the light.”
He never said, “Make the light.”
He never even said, “Be good at light shining.”
He simply told us to get out of the way, and let the light that is already there, spill.
So. Instead of light shining classes, let us give ourselves the gift of embracing the light that is alive and well inside… the light of compassion, kindness, empathy, inclusion, hope, and authenticity.
Granted, much of that light may be “under a bushel”, but it is still there, nonetheless. And this is the power: when we know that the light is here, now, we embrace (and are fueled by) the permission to be present. Yes.
Because when we don’t see (or miss seeing) because our light is “under a bushel”, we shut down or find ways to compensate. And we project strength through clout, or cynicism, or callousness.

“This is the categorical imperative of the Christian Faith: You shall lovingly accept the humanity entrusted to you. You shall accept yourself.” Thank you, Johannes Metz.
And let us add, you shall lovingly accept the light entrusted to you. “This little light of mine.”
Yes, that light may be obscured by tragedy and stress, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and cannot spill to the world around us. Yes. In this life.

At my age, it’s common to be asked about retirement (well, to be honest, first you’re asked about aches and pains), and whether or not I can afford to grow old. “What have you invested in?” I am asked.
Granted, my portfolio may be undistinguished, but I’ll save my worry for later. I have other investments in mind.
Today, I want to invest in being present and wholehearted.
Today, I want to invest in being unafraid.
Today, I want to invest in bringing the better angels of this self, to a world that needs people who care about making it a better place.
More than ever, I value being around people who live well in their own skin. Because they live unafraid.
And here’s the wonderful irony. Being fully present allows me to be present for others around me. You know, as in connected. As in face to face, eye to eye, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder. Why? Because I have nothing to prove, no one to impress and no need to manipulate or denigrate anyone.
It’s about shining a light from the candle in our spirit. “This little light of mine…”
It’s about knowing that each day we are able to continue to weave the tapestry of our lives… with a purity of spirit, and intention.
And that my friends, makes a difference in our world, where fear, and discouragement, and pessimism, are real.
Yes. It makes a difference. And I know that, with deep gratitude, for those who have spilled light on my, and in my world. Thank you, my friends, for the light you spill.

And speaking of light, we couldn’t see the solar eclipse in our neck of the woods. But I saw lots of photos, and read accounts of people watching, and marveling (and yes, awestruck), from many parts of our world.
I loved this account. “That’s what happened yesterday in parts of Europe. Millions of people looked up to see the moon devour the sun, briefly turning the star that gives us life into a hazy glowing ring in the sky. Day suddenly turned to dark. The air cooled. Crowds cheered. Birds started shrieking. Then, just a couple of minutes later, everything returned to normal.
Eclipses are special because they’re rare. The United States, for instance, won’t see a coast-to-coast eclipse until 2045. As science reporter Katrina Miller put it:
‘It offers a primal sense of what it means to be human, through shared despair and delight under a celestial rebirth. We are all so consumed by our problems on the ground. Sometimes, we need a reason to look up.’” (Thank you, New York Times)

Yes. Sometimes, we need a reason to look up.

​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​Thank you, my friends, for being a part of Sabbath Moment. I am grateful for the community. If you know anyone who would enjoy, and benefit from Sabbath Moment, please invite your friend to join us. ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Prayer (poem) for our week…
Never Give Up
No matter what is going on
Never give up
Develop the heart
Too much energy in your country
Is spent developing the mind
Instead of the heart
Be compassionate
Not just to your friends
But to everyone
Be compassionate
Work for peace
In your heart and in the world
Work for peace
And I say again
Never give up
No matter what is going on around you
Never give up
Attribute to, His Holiness the Dalai Lama 

​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​Photo… “Hi Terry. I recently went to the Chicago Botanic Garden and took some random photos–sharing with you! Here’s a bumblebee buzzing around an Allium Millenium,” Ina Strickland… Thank you Ina… And thank you all for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com

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