Daily Dose (Mar 25 – 28)

TUESDAY MAR 25 —

This week, let us take heart in the truth that, “In the shelter of each other the people live.”
My head (and my heart) find solace in this story from my memory, about connection and shelter, both present and healing, even in a sad and terrifying incident which occurred during the tragic Sarajevo war.
A reporter, covering the fighting and violence in the middle of the city, watched a little girl fatally shot by a sniper. The reporter threw down whatever he held, rushing immediately to the aid of a man who knelt on the pavement cradling the child.
As the man carried the child, the reporter guided them to his car, and sped off to a hospital. “Hurry my friend,” the man urged, “my child is still alive.”
A moment or two later he pleaded, “Hurry my friend, my child is still breathing.”
And a little later, “Please my friend, my child is still warm.”
Although the reporter drove as fast as was possible, by the time they arrived at the hospital, the little girl had died. As the two men were in the lavatory, washing the blood off their hands and their clothes, the man turned to the reporter and said, “This is a terrible task for me. I must now go tell her father that his child is dead. He will be heartbroken.”
The reporter stood speechless. He looked at the grieving man and said, “I thought she was your child.”
The man shook his head. “No. But aren’t they all our children?’
Yes. They are.
We live in a world that can be cruel and merciless. And brutalizing.
And there are a heap plenty of people and systems to blame. (Although it is always some “other” people, and some “other” system.)
But the truth is that we wound one another.
We wound with real wars, and real bullets.
And we wound with words, with hatred and resentment.
And we wound with intolerance and small-mindedness (some of it in the name of “love” and God).
So. Let us pause.
And let us take to heart Mother Teresa’s reminder, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
Well, if we do belong to one other, then “they”—the “least of these” and those without voices—are indeed, our children.
Ours to care for.
Ours to listen to.
Ours to see.

And let us carry Macrina Wiederkehr’s affirmation with us this week, “When we reach out in compassion and love to other people, we are filling the space that surrounds them—and us—with love. We are creating a space of love. We are rooting ourselves in love and hospitality.”

WEDNESDAY MAR 26 — “In the shelter of each other the people live.”
And we nod. And in your hearts, we say, “yes”.
And then wonder how to make it work. In a distrustful and cynical world.
Which takes my mind to my favorite story to tell an audience.
A little boy was having nightmares. The kind that requires a momma’s reassurance. (Dads, at least from my own experience, are typically not wired for nightmare duty.) So, to his momma’s room the boy went, “Momma, momma, I’m having nightmares.”
“It’s okay honey,” she told him, “Here’s what I want you to do. Go back to your room, kneel down by your bed, pray to Jesus, and he’ll fix it.”
Back to his room, the boy knelt by his bed, prayed to Jesus, hopped back in bed, and… more nightmares. All mommas know this story. Back and forth to momma’s room, throughout the night.
On the sixth visit, “Momma, I know, I know the drill. I’m going to go back to my room. I’m going to kneel down by my bed, and pray to Jesus, and he’ll fix it. But before I do that, can I just lay in bed with you, and have you hold me?”
“Sure honey, why?”
“Because sometimes I need Jesus with skin on it.”
The little boy knew the secret. Life is to be found in the embrace. In the presence—in the shelter—of the other. In the touch, we can be present. As our southern kin might say, “That’ll preach.”
Yes… that’ll preach regardless of your faith or creed.
That’ll preach even if you are not a member of any particular faith group.
That’ll preach even if you don’t believe.
Because in the touch, we can be present. Now. Even in a world upside down. It is the little things that make a difference.
Confession; there’s a part of me that still cannot believe I can make that difference. But gratefully, I know what it is like to have others be Jesus in skin for me. So, whatever I do, is just spillage from the gifts I have already blessedly received.

And remembering Macrina Wiederkehr’s affirmation, “When we reach out in compassion and love to other people, we are filling the space that surrounds them—and us—with love. We are creating a space of love. We are rooting ourselves in love and hospitality.” 

THURSDAY MAR 27 — “We have to stop pretending we are individuals that can go it alone,” Margaret J Wheatley reminds us. “I believe that if we turn to one another… let go of our judgments, become curious about each other, and take the risk to begin a conversation… the world will be a better place.”
A reminder that yes, “In the shelter of each other the people live.”
And one of the gifts of connection, is that it invites us (allows us) to embrace vulnerability and tenderness—we are indeed, on this journey together. And with tenderness, a soft heart.
And I get it. Really. I do. But if we’re honest, this whole soft heart routine can give us plenty of headaches. Especially in a culture that associates soft with weak or frail or compromised or wimpy. A culture where “strength” hides behind insecurity. And in that kind of world, we see only what we want to see, and we miss the profound truth: the connection between tenderness (soft heart) and courage.

Here’s the good news; this is not a project or assignment or test. A tender heart is a gift to embrace.
And a gift to spill.
A gift that changes the world.
And when we live from tenderness, we “see” one another.
There’s a wonderful NPR story about how Stephanie Disney (audiologist at the Commission for Children with Special Health Care Needs) met her (then 2-and-a-half-year-old) daughter, Rudy. Disney recalls, “my heart recognized her immediately.” In the story, Disney says, “I am the whitest of white women, and my daughter is some indefinable combination of all that is beautiful from at least three races: curly dark hair, petite features, freckles, a golden tan skin tone, one blue eye and one brown. If her race had only one name, it would be perfection. I understand that everyone wants love and acceptance. And these are such rare gifts, that when people see them freely demonstrated, they are compelled to seek the source. Recently, Rudy surprised me when a white-haired lady, standing right beside us, asked if I was her mother. Rudy threw the lady a disbelieving glance and said, ‘Well, she helps me with multiplication, fixes my hair, kisses me and we both have freckles on our noses; who else could she be?’”
Onward together my friends…

FRIDAY MAR 28 — “In the shelter of each other the people live.” Gratefully, yes. But I must say, that the uncertainty these days makes me wonder.
From the time I was a young pastor, and throughout the years, when I needed a boost to my spirit, or when I needed a reminder about what sustains and nourishes me, and of what really matters, I turned to my good friends, Frog and Toad.
This story is called “The Letter”.
Toad was sitting on his front porch. Frog came along and said, “What is the matter, Toad?
You are looking sad.”
“Yes,” said Toad. “This is my sad time of day. It is the time when I wait for the mail to come. It always makes me very unhappy.”
“Why is that?” asked Frog.
“Because I never get any mail,” said Toad.
“Not ever?” asked Frog.
“No, never,” said Toad. “No one has ever sent me a letter. Every day my mailbox is empty. That is why waiting for the mail is a sad time for me.”
Frog and Toad sat on the porch, feeling sad together.
Then Frog said, “I have to go home now, Toad. There is something that I must do.”
Frog hurried home. He found a pencil and a piece of paper. He wrote on the paper. He put the paper in an envelope. On the envelope he wrote “A LETTER FOR TOAD.”
Frog ran out of his house. He saw a snail that he knew.
“Snail,” said Frog, “please take this letter to Toad’s house and put it in his mailbox.”
“Sure,” said the snail. “Right away.”
Then Frog ran back to Toad’s house.
Toad was in bed, taking a nap.
“Toad,” said Frog, “I think you should get up and wait for the mail some more.”
“No,” said Toad, “I am tired of waiting for the mail.”
Frog looked out of the window at Toad’s mailbox. The snail was not there yet.
“Toad,” said Frog, “you never know when someone may send you a letter.”
“No, no,” said Toad. “I do not think anyone will ever send me a letter.”
Frog looked out of the window. The snail was not there yet.
“But, Toad,” said Frog, “someone may send you a letter today.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Toad. “No one has ever sent me a letter before, and no one will send me a letter today.”
Frog looked out of the window. The snail was still not there.
“Frog, why do you keep looking out of the window?” asked Toad.
“Because now I am waiting for the mail,” said Frog.
“But there will not be any,” said Toad.
“Oh, yes there will,” said Frog, “because I have sent you a letter.”
“You have?” said Toad.
“What did you write in the letter?”
Frog said, “I wrote ‘Dear Toad, I am glad that you are my best friend. Your best friend, Frog.’”
“Oh,” said Toad, “that makes a very good letter.”
Then Frog and Toad went out onto the front porch to wait for the mail. They sat there, feeling happy together.
Frog and Toad waited a long time. Four days later the snail got to Toad’s house and gave him the letter from Frog.
Toad was very pleased to have it.
(Thank you Arnold Lobel, Frog and Toad Are Friends)

I love the book Noticing, by Kobi Yamada. And I loved this, “Everyone shines and needs to be seen. Everyone wants to know that they matter, that there is a place for them, that they are needed. Sure, some may hide their brilliance, but the light is in there, always flickering, and it is a beautiful thing when we can reflect it back to them.”
(In a review about the book I read: Noticing is designed for five-to-eight-year-old readers, but of course the reminder to fill our lives with attentive wonder has no age limits. Can I get an Amen?)
Let us remember my friends, we are healers.
And today would be a good day to send someone a “letter from Frog”.
A perfect rminder that we are healers grounded by the affirmation, “We’re all just walking each other home.” (Ram Dass)

Prayer for our week…
Tuning up
Beloved, God of peace,
          I listen for your voice alone.
Amid chaos and disturbance
          I tune my heart to the silence within.
Amid the swirling, the urgency,
          I surrender to your serenity.
Despite the shouting of hate and greed
          I seek harmony with your love.
Despite the noise of force and threat
          I tune myself to your song of peace.
Even despite my fear of unworthiness,
          Beloved, bring my heart into perfect pitch.
Tune my heart to your love,
          that I may live in harmony with your grace.
Amen.
Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Photo… “Hi Terry, A desert bloom. Volunteer Park Conservatory (Seattle, WA),” Geri Hanley… Thank you Geri… I’m so grateful for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com