Daily Dose (December 2 – 5)
TUESDAY DECEMBER 2 — “Do you have any idea who I am?” The man, a passenger, apoplectic with flushed cheeks, pounding the counter, shouting at the airline agent. Everyone in the departure lounge can hear, and is on edge. (Although, a few take out their phones poised for a YouTube worthy video.)
“This will not do,” he harangued. “Do you know who I am? Get your boss down here. I’m going to have your job, and I’m going to have their job. Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”
The young woman behind the counter didn’t flinch or shout back. Remarkable really. She was, indeed, a non-anxious presence. Instead, she got on the public address system and said, “Ladies and gentlemen in the departure lounge, I need your help. There’s a man at the counter who apparently doesn’t know who he is.”
Lord have mercy, I still laugh every time I remember the young attendant’s wisdom.
And I shake my head, because I know that in different ways, I have “pounded my share of counters.” In other words, I give my identity over (become a prisoner to) an identity not my own. Where did Terry go?
This is not surprising in a world where we are encouraged to look for our identity in all the wrong places—the human ego enamored by roles, titles, status, and concocted self-images. They are not objectively “real,” nor are they our true and deepest self. Bottom line; I hide the best me.
And in that light, Jesus’ caution makes sense. “Anyone who wants to save his life must lose it. Anyone who loses her life will find it.” (Matthew’s Gospel)
So. It’s time to come home. Or, in the words of this week’s Sabbath Moment invitation: it’s time to be awake.
Rabbi Ted Falcon’s reminder, “‘Surely Eternal Being is in this place; and I did not know’… Awakening is always the intrusion of the greater meaning into the present moment.”
Awake, we find—and we embrace, and we give from—our real and true self.
Do you have any idea who I am?
Well, I’ll tell you. I’m a broken man, and unashamed to say so. But you see, that’s how the light gets in. The Sufi saying affirms, while stuck and lost, “I was a hidden treasure.”
So, here’s the deal: I am no longer afraid to broken, and humble, because I know that I am a child of God, imbued with dignity. It is in these broken places that joy and gratitude and commitment and loving kindness and gentleness and courage come alive. No longer self-absorbed or afraid, I give way to radical openness, curiosity and reverence.
“To have a reverence always for the immensity that is inside of you,” John O’Donohue said in an interview, “The wild flow of energy in the well of the soul. It is impossible to stop the well of energy and the well of light and the well of life that is inside of you. You might calm it and quell it, but it will still rise up within you.”
Yes. In this moment, this Terry is enough. I need to let you know that I may get scared (afraid of being misunderstood, or unseen, or unheard, or of being dispensable), but that will not stop me from bringing my whole soft heart to this day.
And in the New Year I’ll be on the road again, my first event will be in Northern California. A retreat you don’t want to miss. And if you’re not in the neighborhood, let a friend know about it. January 23 – 25 at Mercy Center in Auburn, California. I’ll see some of you there.
WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 3 — Our invitation this week: it’s time to be awake.
Rabbi Ted Falcon’s reminder, “‘Surely Eternal Being is in this place; and I did not know’… Awakening is always the intrusion of the greater meaning into the present moment.”
Awake, we find—and we embrace, and we give from—our real and true self.
Ahhh, the real and true self. Easy to misplace, isn’t it? Or it gets stuck? When we give in to confinements (public opinion, need to impress, shame) of all sorts.
One year, during Passover, Rabbi Ted Falcon reminded me that Jewish tradition translates Mitzrayim, Hebrew for Egypt, as mi tzarim, “from out of the tight places.” Yes. We all meet tight places in our lives, where we find ourselves stuck. But the deeper kind of enslavement is stuckness in an “untruthful” ego identity—you know, trying to be someone we are not.
Here’s my confession. I’ve been on a journey to find my way home. Many can relate. And our reasons for being lost vary; fear from uncertainty, life turns left, the shine of public opinion beckons, when a need for approval (or fear of disapproval) rules the roost.
So. I know it’s not Passover, but how do we live out this Passover invitation to “pass over” this identity limitation (our captivity to a limiting self), and embrace the vastly greater wisdom, love, and compassion that is at our very core?
This is not easy, because I tend to see only what is “broken”. And in our world, brokenness never presents well. And I give way to fear; I run and hide, or like the man in yesterday’s SM, I pound counters.
Although, I guess it does help to know where to look.
A man loses his keys and is on hands and knees searching.
A passerby stops. “I’ll help you,” he says, “Where’d you lose them?”
“Over there,” the man points.
“But why are you looking over here?” the passerby asks. “The light is better over here,” he says.
I don’t know if you enjoy superhero movies, but I can tell you I really liked Avengers: Endgame. It’s perfect with a big bucket of popcorn.
Each of the superheroes is dealing with disillusionment and sense of failure or resignation. Thor is clearly not himself. He goes back in time to retrieve the reality stone (red matter) from Jane in Asgard. And he runs into Frigga, his mother. And she gives some comforting advice. “Everyone fails at who they’re supposed to be. A measure of a person, of a hero, is how well they succeed at being who they are.”
Yes. And amen. So, let me affirm: I am no longer afraid to be broken, and humble, because I know that I am a child of God, imbued with dignity.
It is in these broken places that joy and gratitude and commitment and loving kindness and gentleness and courage come alive.
No longer self-absorbed or afraid, I give way to being “awake”—to a radical openness, curiosity and reverence.
Yesterday I posted a photo, and couldn’t find the email that sent it my way. Sounds like my days when I walk into the kitchen, and then realize I can’t remember what it was I was looking for. Where was I? Oh yes. SM reader Mary Duffy wrote to let me know yesterday’s photo was hers. Thank you. She wrote, “Blessing as you finish your second Camino journey. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving and joyous Christmas. Here’s a photo of glorious sunshine on early snow going over Stevens Pass last week on our way to Leavenworth. God is good!”
THURSDAY DECEMBER 4 — It’s not easy to live “awake” when we feel like we’re at the mercy of, or feel that our value (identity) is being weighed and measured.
I miss Mr. Rogers. And I love re-watching the video when Fred Rogers testifies before the Senate (in 1969) to defend funding for Public Broadcasting. The committee is chaired by Senator John Pastore (a man most reluctant to allocate any funding). And in just 6 minutes Fred changes the heart of Senator Pastore, as he recites the words to one of his songs,
“What do you do with the mad that you feel
When you feel so mad you could bite?
When the whole wide world seems oh, so wrong…
And nothing you do seems very right?
What do you do? Do you punch a bag?
Do you pound some clay or some dough?
Do you round up friends for a game of tag?
Or see how fast you go?
It’s great to be able to stop
When you’ve planned a thing that’s wrong,
And be able to do something else instead
And think this song:
I can stop when I want to
Can stop when I wish
I can stop, stop, stop any time.
And what a good feeling to feel like this
And know that the feeling is really mine.
Know that there’s something deep inside
That helps us become what we can.
For a girl can be someday a woman
And a boy can be someday a man.”
Here’s the video.
And yes. There’s something deep inside that helps us become what we can. These stories do my heart good. And sometimes stories are more important than food to stay alive. Because they are reminders of the sufficiency that lives inside of us, and of the sacrament of the present, and help us not give way to any restrictive narrative of fear.
I marvel at stories about people with fortitude or stamina. My friend Jinks tells me that it is our place of “bright shadow.” Those places of beauty, creativity, resilience, imagination, courage and humor. Those places of unrecognized beauty. Places of healing. And inspiration.
There’s something deep inside: We are fueled by our inherent value. Remembering our endowment, by our Creator, with good.
Can we hear that today?
I hope so.
Hearing—and embracing—the good news of affirmation and grace is literally “waking up”. Because awake, we find—and we honor, and we give from—our real and true self.
Rabbi Ted Falcon’s reminder, “‘Surely Eternal Being is in this place; and I did not know’… Awakening is always the intrusion of the greater meaning into the present moment.”
It takes me back to my pilgrimage time. We are walking not only to disconnect from the rapid pace of life, but to make space for presence and healing and connectedness on many levels—with others, with our world, and with ourselves.
Sadly, when life feels catawampus, we forget where we tether our well-being.
So, I will carry these words with me into this week…
What sustains me, and carries me gently through my days?
What heals and inspires?
What calls me to be awake?
FRIDAY DECEMBER 5 — Yesterday I wrote about Fred Rogers testifying before the Senate (in 1969). He was talking about the value and importance of his TV show, Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood.
And I rewatched the video. Listening to Mr. Rogers does my heart good.
He told the chairman, Senator John Pastore, “I give an expression of care each day, to each child. To help him realize that he is unique. I end the program by saying, ‘you’ve made this day a special day by just you, being you. There’s no person in the whole world like you. And I like you just the way you are.’”
It’s fun when someone asks, “What did you do today (meaning get done)?” And I get to tell them, “I enjoyed watching Mr. Rogers videos.”
I do know this; it is what I needed today.
And I can tell you that those words—words of affirmation and compassion and grace—are not easy to hear. Especially for those of us who’ve been known to lose track of our heart.
To be lost. And sadly, we assume lost is the whole story. Ahh the power of labels.
You see, when we measure ourselves—dignity, value, identity—with a script that requires performance or perfection or accomplishment (arrival), we’ve forgotten our identity is still there, still intact, even though imperfect—yes, “just the way you are.”
I read recently, “We’ve evolved to not be kind to ourselves. Our ancestors who kicked back and relaxed were more likely to be eaten by lions, while the ones who dwelled on where the lions might be tomorrow were more likely to survive.
‘It’s not that it’s hard to do, but we have to overcome the natural tendency of the brain to always be looking for problems as a way of staying safe,’ writes psychologist Kristin Neff…
(So), Teaching kids this skill early matters. Research links low self-esteem in children and teens to risky behaviors—including alcohol use, drunk driving and self-harm.
As Maryanna Klatt (director of the Center for Integrative Health) said, ‘If people spent five minutes a day looking at themselves with compassion, their days would be different.’” (Thank you to Axios)
And I know why what Mr. Rogers said, did my heart good. Because we—each and every one of us—have the capacity and invitation to give a gift of kindness and compassion and encouragement (not only the child within), but to those around us. A life-giving gift, because we never know what someone is going through, or what they’re struggling with.
“Because whenever people come together to help either another person or another creature, something has happened, and everyone wants to know about it – because we all want to know that there’s a graciousness at the heart of creation.” Fred Rogers told Tom Junod.
I do love that phrase—“graciousness at the heart of creation”. I know what he means. The beauty of humanity, of doing good when we can, of loving our neighbors, of treating one another openhearted, with dignity and respect, welcoming and reconciling.
Here’s the deal: We easily forget that this graciousness is alive and well in each of us; for as Rogers so frequently pointed out, everybody was a child once.
I wonder why we forget. Why do we give way to our lesser selves—to small-mindedness and intolerance? I know that whenever our words demean, humiliate or shame, we cut off the oxygen of hope.
“The more we bump into the folks who are so-called ‘other,’ the more we are stretched and the more we are pulled out of bias. We have new truths, because we have tangible evidence of the beautiful, powerful creativity of our God who made all of this diversity for us to enjoy.” (Thank you, Jacqui Lewis)
“You become freer to be yourself, not because you finally found a place where you are protected from feeling what you don’t want to feel, but because you welcomed those unwanted feelings and lived to tell the tale. Maybe your idealized image of yourself didn’t survive, but you did.” Kim Rosen
May we hear—and embracing—the good news of affirmation and grace. May we “wake up”. Because awake, we find—and we honor, and we give from—our real and true self.
Rabbi Ted Falcon’s reminder, “‘Surely Eternal Being is in this place; and I did not know’… Awakening is always the intrusion of the greater meaning into the present moment.”
The weather report here is not one for outdoor picnics. We’re expecting a series of rainstorms and multiple atmospheric rivers. For the next ten days.
And for many of you, that sentence changes from rainstorm to snowstorm. Stay safe, and find moments to savor the day, and be on the lookout for those who need help and care.
Prayer for our week…
Advent Calendar
He will come like last leaf’s fall.
One night when the November wind
has flayed the trees to the bone, and earth
wakes choking on the mould,
the soft shroud’s folding.
He will come like frost.
One morning when the shrinking earth
opens on mist, to find itself
arrested in the net
of alien, sword-set beauty.
He will come like dark.
One evening when the bursting red
December sun draws up the sheet
and penny-masks its eye to yield
the star-snowed fields of sky.
He will come, will come,
will come like crying in the night,
like blood, like breaking,
as the earth writhes to toss him free.
He will come like child.
Rowan Williams
Photo… Don’t know if any of you can relate to memory lapses. Or misplacing things? Well, I received an email with this photo. And I don’t know where I put the email, or the name of the reader who sent it to me… Through one of the mountain passes going into Eastern Washington… I am grateful, and know you’ll let me know. Grateful… And thank you for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com
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