Daily Dose (January 20 – 23)

TUESDAY JANUARY 20 — Have you read Old Turtle and the Broken Truth, by Douglas Wood?
The children’s book tells an imaginary story of how the world came to be so fragmented when it is meant to be whole, and how we might put it back together again.
In a far-away land that “is somehow not so far away,” one night a truth falls from the stars. And as it falls, it breaks into two pieces—one piece blazes off through the sky and the other falls straight to the ground.
One day a “truth” falls from the sky and breaks.
One day a man stumbles upon the gravity-drawn truth, and finds carved on it the words, “You are loved.”
It makes him feel good, so he keeps it and shares it with the people in his tribe. The thing sparkles and makes the people who have it feel warm and happy. It becomes their most prized possession, and they call it “The Truth.” Those who have the truth grow afraid of those who don’t have it, who are different than they are. And those who don’t have it covet it. Soon people are fighting wars over the small truth, trying to capture it for themselves.
A little girl who is troubled by the growing violence, greed, and destruction in her once peaceful world goes on a journey-through the Mountains of Imagining, the River of Wondering Why, and the Forest of Finding Out—to speak with Old Turtle, the wise counselor. Old Turtle tells her that the Truth is broken and missing a piece, a piece that shot off in the night sky so long ago.
Together they search for it, and when they find it, the little girl puts the jagged piece in her pocket and returns to her people. She tries to explain, but no one will listen or understand. Finally, a raven flies the broken truth to the top of a tower where the other piece has been ensconced for safety, and the rejoined pieces shine their full message: “You are loved / and so are they.”
And the people begin to comprehend. And the earth begins to heal.
How is this possible? “Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts.” (from Paul’s Letter to the Romans)
There is in every one of us an inherent dignity that no one can give you, and that no one can take away.
And this I know: forgetting (or not embracing) the love that has been “poured in our hearts”, we give way to fear. It is no surprise that we clutch “our narrative” as a kind of protection, and we live distrustful and guarded. Sadly, with time, becoming callous (cold-hearted) and resentful.

So. Here’s the deal: once we see our connectedness, we have to let go of the narrative that divorces us. The voice of Mr. Rogers helps us, “We live in a world in which we need to share responsibility. It’s easy to say, ‘It’s not my child, not my community, not my world, not my problem.’ Then there are those who see the need and respond. I consider those people my heroes.”

Still daily following the Buddhist monks in their Walk for Peace. They are walking—and the thousands who join them each day—to help us disconnect from a narrative of division.
I send a thank you to them, for reminding us to choose peace. Please enjoy this song for the heart and spirit.
​​​​​​​“Where The World Learns To Walk Again”.
​​​​​​​It does my heart good.
“If love still breathes in human hearts, then peace is not so far to know.”

My email tdh@terryhershey.com is still being adapted and reset, and my deep apologies to all who emailed me and had it returned, and I’m sorry I missed your email. For the next wee bit, please email me at tdhersheyster@gmail.com and I will respond. 

WEDNESDAY JANUARY 21 — ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​Tommy was his parent’s pride and joy. A very bright, creative and contented little boy, he began kindergarten with his parent’s certainty that he would flourish.  At the end of the first week, Tommy brought home pictures he had colored. His mother and father beamed at their son’s obvious talent. Although, they were a little curious as to why every single one of Tommy’s drawings were done in black crayon. Even so, they said nothing.
Another week passed. Tommy brought home more pictures, technically correct and endearing. But each of them still in black.
“Perhaps he is color blind,” his father said. “We should get his eyes checked.”
“No,” his mother responded. “Tommy could name all the colors by the time he was two. But I will take him for a checkup.”
The pediatrician said, “There’s no need to worry. Tommy is healthy in every way.”
As the weeks passed, and the pictures continued to come home in black crayon, Tommy’s mother felt unglued by anxiety. She made an appointment with a child psychologist, who conducted numerous tests, referred Tommy for brain scans, but in the end, finally, resigned baffled. “Your son is a precocious learner. Perhaps he needs more challenging activities.”
By Thanksgiving the refrigerator displayed Tommy’s black pictures, black dogs chasing a black ball in a black field, black houses, black suns, black airplanes and a black turkey. Everything black.
Tommy’s grandmother, visiting for the Thanksgiving holiday, noticed (of course) all of her grandson’s black drawings. She immediately asked Tommy, “Honey, why are all of your drawings done in black crayon?”
“That’s easy Grandma,” the boy answered. “My chair is at the end of the table, and by the time the box of crayons gets to me, the only ones left are black.”

Yes, this story is cute, but I like it because it makes me laugh out loud. And I am always grateful for the gift of laughing out loud. It is a wonderful reset button.
A reminder about what really matters.
A reminder of how easily we can be derailed, and victims of our presuppositions—and the narratives we create. (A kind of Scotoma, or selective blindness. In other words, we see only what we want to see.) And, maybe, in the laughter, is the permission to let go of whatever keeps our “blinders” in place.
“Whatever is honored will be cultivated.” Plato reminded us.
And for whatever reason… We honor—or prefer—“life” in a box.
We find comfort in diagnosis (or soundbites).
We find disquiet in uncertainty.
We hope for refuge in a destination.
We grow impatient with the journey. (“Are we there yet?”)
And we carry these expectations (more often than not, unknowingly) about people or life, into our relationships, encounters and endeavors. These expectations become our paradigm for life. Our lens, by which we determine “reality.” In the case of the story: where I see “only” the black crayons, then pictures with black crayons are abnormal, and therefore a sign of a troubled child. (And speaking of crayons, Lord have mercy if you are caught coloring outside the lines, regardless of the Crayola you choose.)
When life needs to be “in a box” (of expectations or belief), it is easy to miss the joy of anything outside the box. And the gifts of surprise, wonder, gladness, joy, delight, grace and the sacrament of the present moment.
(I think the lesson is this: if you want to get the bottom of any story, ask Grandma.)

​​​​​​​Still daily following the Buddhist monks in their Walk for Peace. They are walking—and the thousands who join them each day—to help us disconnect from a narrative of division.
I send a thank you to them, for reminding us to choose peace.

THURSDAY JANUARY 22 — “Whatever is honored will be cultivated.” Plato reminded us.
Say, “If love still breathes in human hearts, then peace is not so far to know.”
But that’s not always easy in a world that feels upside down. And yet. Very ordinary people have taken on “the impossible” time and time again.
The good news? This isn’t a ploy. It comes from who we are. It spills from the inside out. Because here’s the deal: This capacity—for love, compassion, kindness, truth, forgiveness, justice, restoration—is within. Every one of us. These are the weapons of the Spirit.
Nelson Mandela reminded us that “No one is born hating another person… People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.” Let’s digest that: We are hardwired to not hurt each other. Which means that if we hate, we have to dehumanize one another.
What I do know, is that an act of gentle courage has my name on it.
Maybe even today.

And speaking of gentle courage, I’m taking inspiration and reassurance from the Buddhist monks on their Walk for Peace. They are walking—and the thousands who join them each day—to help us disconnect from a narrative of division. And wanted pass along their reflection about Sadhu. It’ll do your heart good.
“Everyone may have heard the word “sadhu” (pronounced SAH-too) spoken along the path of our journey.
This is a traditional word used to praise someone when they do good merits, perform good deeds, or engage in wholesome actions. It’s a way of saying ‘well done,’ ‘how wonderful,’ or ‘may this goodness continue’—but it carries something deeper than simple approval.
When we say ‘sadhu,’ we are not just acknowledging someone else’s goodness. Something beautiful happens within us as well. The good deeds of peace bloom in our own minds because we feel genuine happiness and joy witnessing something good and beautiful in the world.
This is the power of appreciation—it multiplies goodness. When we recognize kindness, when we celebrate compassion, when we honor wholesome actions with our words, we are not passive observers. We become participants in that goodness. We water the seeds of peace in our own hearts by rejoicing in the peace we see in others.
So when you hear ‘sadhu’ spoken, know that it is more than praise—it is a shared joy, a mutual celebration, a recognition that goodness exists and deserves to be honored. And when you say ‘sadhu’ yourself, whether aloud or silently in your heart, you are planting seeds of happiness within yourself, strengthening your own connection to what is good and true.
Sadhu to all who practice kindness. Sadhu to all who choose peace. Sadhu to you, for being part of this journey in whatever way you can.”
Thank you, Walk for Peace.

FRIDAY JANUARY 23 — A fire rages in a two-story house. A young boy’s head is visible leaning out a second-floor window. His voice is piercing and plaintive, “Daddy, help me! Daddy, where are you?”
Smoke (from first-floor-flames) billows from shattered ground floor windows, now obscuring visibility. From the window, the boy cannot see the ground below, and he is literally shaking with fright. The boy hears a familiar voice, as if coming from inside the great cloud of smoke. His father, shouts, implores, “Son, I am right here. I can hear you. I am right here on the ground beneath your window. I need to you to listen to me. Listen to my voice. I need you to jump. Now. Jump and I will catch you.”
“But Daddy, I can’t jump because I can’t see you.”
“That’s okay son. I will catch you because I can still see you.”
It may not be a fire. But each of us knows what it is like to be afraid. To “look outside a window” in our life, and know that something is out of kilter. Or, (maybe typically) because we can’t see, we make stuff up (and it’s never very good is it?).
It’s as if we allow the uncertainty—and the fear—to be the judge and jury for reality. To determine the “narrative”. I get it. We don’t believe we have any control. So, like the little boy, we feel powerless. And invisible. To those around us. Even to God. And we don’t see a way out.

In some recent conversations, I learned of a friend’s grandson, who has lived with the fear from being abused by people sworn to love and protect him.
I learned of a friend’s relational breakup, and the sorrow and second-guessing that comes with any significant loss.
I learned that some friends lost jobs, and others were given bad news about their health.
I talked with another friend who is at one of life’s crossroads, not knowing which way to go.
And a conversation with another friend rattled by the madness from polarization, both in our culture and in our churches…
There have been times when I have looked out of the window of my life, and have seen only smoke. And I want to trust that there is someone or something to catch me.
The truth is: Most often, I really am afraid to jump. (I once read where Fr. Andrew Greeley said that how we live depends upon whether we see the universe as capricious or benign. If we jump, will someone catch us?)

Here’s the deal: the power of Grace allows us to give in to the moment. Whatever it holds. To choose to receive, or walk, or jump. To choose to apologize, or forgive, or love, or set right, or grant mercy, or receive mercy.
In other words, smoke is not the only “narrative” here.
And with the gift of Grace, I know that my choice is empowered by the gentle sovereignty in that voice, “Trust me Terry. You may not be able to see me, but I can still see you. Jump.”

“You are the God who sees me.”  Hagar’s response to God, after her cry of desperation. (The Book of Genesis)
​​​​​​​I send a thank you to them, for reminding us to choose peace. 

I’m on my way to Auburn, CA to Mercy Retreat Center for a weekend retreat. Our topic: Soul Gardening.

Prayer for our week…
“Today is going to be our peaceful day. This is the beginning—a fresh start, a new opportunity to live with awareness and care.
May we be mindful of our breath as it flows in and out, anchoring us to this present moment. May we be mindful of our daily actions, bringing intention and gentleness to everything we do—the words we speak, the way we listen, the kindness we offer, even in the smallest gestures.
May peace shine brightly in our hearts, and from that inner light, may compassion flow naturally to those who are struggling. May loving-kindness soften our responses and warm our connections. May unity remind us that we are all walking this path together, bound by our shared longing for a more peaceful world.
Let us walk together in spirit today—wherever you are, whatever you’re doing. With each mindful breath you take, with each compassionate choice you make, you are helping peace bloom more beautifully in this world.
We are not separate. We are not alone. We are walking together, each of us contributing to the garden of peace that grows when we tend to our own hearts and extend that care outward to everyone around us.
Today is our peaceful day. Let us live it with awareness, with love, with the understanding that every moment we choose peace, we help create more peace in the world.
May you and all beings be well, happy, and at peace.”
Walk for Peace is a long-distance pilgrimage in the United States initiated by Buddhist monks from the Huong Dao Vipassana Bhavana Center in Fort Worth, Texas, to promote peace, compassion, and nonviolence. The walk began on October 26, 2025, and is planned to span approximately 2,300 miles (3,700 km), concluding in Washington, D.C. in February 2026. The monks have been documenting their travels on social media and are accompanied by a rescue dog named Aloka, who has become a symbolic figure in the journey.

​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​Photo… “Happy New Year, Terry. In the ocean of negativity in the world I rely on islands of hope, like Sabbath Moment, to buoy up my soul. Thanks. Here is a picture of sunset, New Year’s Eve 2025 from the Oregon Coast. The lights out on the water are crab boats. Grace and Peace,” Bill Howden… Thank you Bill… And thank you for your photos, please send them to tdhersheyster@gmail.com
​​​​​​​Donation = Love… Your gifts make Sabbath Moment possible.
I am so very grateful.

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