Daily Dose (May 13 – 16)

TUESDAY MAY 13 —

In a world where cruelty unsettles and unnerves, in a world that calls out for a response, and for restoration, we need to bring our grounded and replenished, heart and self.
“Unconditional love for self, heals and nurtures every aspect of our beings,” Karen Lee White reminds us. “It helps us face fear and hopelessness and refocus on hope, gratitude, and beauty. We may not have been prepared for these unprecedented times, but neither do we need to fall victim to them.”

I’m in favor of finding sanctuary—to be replenished and refueled—especially in craziness. If we let craziness (noise) grip us, it gets dizzying, and we lose track of the music—of heart and soul, and of compassion and goodness.
Can you tell me, where are your sanctuaries?
And this I know; our sanctuary is sustained by hearing the music, regardless of our circumstances. Why? Because the music is still there. Buried maybe, but still there.
It’s tempting to give instructions. And suggestions are okay, as long as they don’t become constraints. That being said… if a check list would be helpful for you, let’s start with these five:
Rule #1 – Be gentle with yourself. Give voice to your soul.
Rule #2 – Pay attention. Even if only for five minutes. What do you see, hear, taste, smell and touch? Be here.
Robin Wall Kimmerer’s reminder, “I choose joy over despair. Not because I have my head in the sand, but because joy is what the earth gives me daily and I must return the gift.” (Braiding Sweetgrass)
Rule #3 – Take a deep breath. Let it out and say, “thank you.” Literally.
Rule #4 – Don’t be afraid to let your heart out.
And just like breathing, we will inhale grace, and in our exhaling, we pour ourselves out, a spillage fueled by grace.
Rule #5 – Try it again tomorrow.
Yes. Let us take with us Clarissa Pinkola Estes’ reminder, “Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely.”

Today, we got to have a good chat with the six new goslings. Irv and Dottie (the couple that nests on the pond near the house) brought them by. And that made me smile real big. We were gone when they were born, so they’re good sized now, with teenage appetites.

WEDNESDAY MAY 14 —

In church, in our prayer of confession (still using words Thomas Cranmer wrote in 1549), we say, “We have done those things we ought not to have done. And we have left undone those things which we ought to have done.” They still resonate.
In other words, there are choices.
Choices we make, every single day.
I don’t always get it right. So, I’m grateful for Krista Tippet’s take (in Becoming Wise) on this. I make ordinary everyday bungles that impoverish me on the inside.
I confess to…
A failure to take in beauty and let it put things in their place.
A failure to be grateful, as a habit.
A failure to take the time to attend to the hurting stranger.
A failure to be my best self with those I share life and work with.
A failure to forgive others for not being their best selves with me.
And, with gratitude, I hear the words of absolution from the God of Mercies, “May God give you pardon and peace.” Yes, the grace and mercy and unconditional love that heals and nurtures every aspect of our being.
And in a world where cruelty unsettles and unnerves, in a world that calls out for a response, and for restoration, we need to bring our grounded and replenished, heart and self.
Here’s the good news: Grace and mercy spill to the world around us. Even when we are not at “our best”. Even when we fall short.
When Jesus said, “Let your light shine,” it was not an assignment or project. “Let”—as in allow—meaning the light already there, so get out of the way and let it spill.
And blessed are you for spilling your light in a world that is wounded and distressed, a world in need of grace and mercy and healing.
Let your light shine…
“Honor the dignity of every human being
Speak the truth to one another in love
Walk humbly with each other and our God”
Thank you, Bishop Marianne Budde.

And thank you to the light shiners in our world today…
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness,
for they shall be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.
Blessed are those who suffer persecution for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

THURSDAY MAY 15 — Once, the great Hassidic leader, Zusya, came to his followers. His eyes were red with tears, and his face was pale with fear. “Zusya, what’s the matter? You look frightened!”
“The other day, I had a vision. In it, I learned the question that the angels will one day ask me about my life.”
The followers were puzzled. “Zusya, you are pious. You are scholarly and humble. You have helped so many of us. What question about your life could be so terrifying that you would be frightened to answer it?”
Zusya turned his gaze to heaven. “I have learned that the angels will not ask me, ‘Why weren’t you a Moses, leading your people out of slavery?’  They will not ask me, ‘Why weren’t you a Joshua, leading your people into the Promised Land?'”
Looking him in the eyes, one follower demanded, “But what will they ask you?”
“They will say, ‘Zusya, there was only one thing that no power of heaven or earth could have prevented you from becoming.’ They will say, ‘Zusya, Zusya, why were you not Zusya?'”
It’s an old story. It’s a famous story. It’s an inspiring story. And whenever I read it, I nod my head, hearing the angel ask me, “Terry, Terry, why were you not Terry?”

In a world where cruelty unsettles and unnerves, in a world that calls out for a response, and for restoration, we need to bring our grounded and replenished, heart and self. At home in my own skin, not succumbing to perpetual reactive self, or captive to annoyance, or preferring detachment triggered by mess and uncertainty.
I can bring “this Terry” to the table… to this present moment.
American poet, May Sarton was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up.
“To be human,” she answered, simply.
To be human is about regaining what has been lost in the shuffle when life has been relegated to keeping score and making waves.
Thankfully, not every one of us wants the limelight.
But every one of us wants to be human. To be at home in our own skin.
There is one taste, deep down, that seems unsatisfied. And sometimes, I can’t even name it. But I know it is there. However, in order to be human—in order to be my “self”—I must move past this insistence on arrival or closure.  It seems that no matter what it is—whether our identity, our faith, our calling—we feel compelled to nail it down.
There’s the rub. Maybe it’s not authenticity I want. It’s certainty, or some kind of security that I’m after.
Fred Rogers—from Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood—once said that his version of graciousness and meeting the deeper needs of others is “loving someone into existence.” Yes and Amen.
“Unconditional love for self, heals and nurtures every aspect of our beings. It helps us face fear and hopelessness and refocus on hope, gratitude, and beauty. We may not have been prepared for these unprecedented times, but neither do we need to fall victim to them.” (Karen Lee White)
And here’s the deal: that “someone” you love into existence, may be yourself.

What makes this journey (process) messy or confusing or derailing is this: it is not easy to trust a place of not knowing.
A place of uncertainty.
A place without closure.
A place of risk and discomfort.
(“I do so want to be my authentic self, but can we get on with it!!”)
Perhaps we could all benefit from Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s reminder, “To live is to be slooowly born.”

FRIDAY MAY 16 —

Mr. Rogers stepped out of a Manhattan subway train onto the platform. A group of people recognized him, including a young mother with her 6-year-old son. The boy brandished a Star Wars light saber, and was intent on whacking everything—and everyone—in his path. This included Mr. Rogers.
The mother stood mortified, “Honey, please don’t hit Mr. Rogers! I think it’s illegal. And it’s not polite.” Oblivious, Fred Rogers drops to his knees, next to the boy, now eye-to-eye. He whispered to the boy. The boy whispered back and put away his light saber. Goodbyes were exchanged.
One hour later, the people traveling with Mr. Rogers had enough suspense. “You have got to tell us what you said to the boy!”
Mr. Rogers smiled, “I told him, we are a lot alike. I have a sword too. Not as nice as yours. Mine is wood. I keep it inside me, for all the times I don’t feel strong. When I think I need to impress people, I take my sword out, and I believe that when people see the sword they will think I’m strong. But when I feel strong inside, I know I don’t need my sword, and I put it away. Looking in your eyes right now, I know you are a loved little boy, and I see you are very strong on the inside.”
The little boy said, “I guess I don’t need my sword today.”
I can relate.
I know what it is like to not feel strong on the inside.
I know what it is like to take out my sword, and do my best to impress everyone around me.
I also know that life’s pace exacerbates the conundrum.

We assume our identity is predicated on the sum of consumption (more) plus velocity (hurry). And our mantra becomes, “This is not enough.” (Meaning this relationship or job or circumstance or new toy or prayer or faith or conversation or moment, or whatever.) As a result, I am not present. Given my need to impress—or consume or use or add or rush—I end up whacking everything around me. This is when my life becomes “garbled.”
I need Mr. Roger’s reminder: There is a word spoken about me. It tells me that I am strong on the inside. And not because of anything I have done or failed to do.

“Every child has known God,
Not the God of names,
Not the God of don’ts,
Not the God who ever does anything weird,
But the God who knows only 4 words.
And keeps repeating them, saying:
‘Come Dance with Me, come dance.’”
Hafiz

Yes, and Amen. Embraced by the unconditional love for our self, a love that heals and nurtures every aspect of our being.
And here’s the deal: This is not just about self-esteem, as if there’s some club to join with a secret instruction manual. As if there is something else we need to add to our life to make it successful, or meaningful, or palatable. It’s much more fundamental: Am I willing to be loved for being this me?

Prayer for our week…
Riverbank
“I give you a new commandment,
that you love one another
just as I have loved you.”
—John 13.34
Look at the river.
It has no water of its own.
It receives from upstream,
and passes on what it receives.
You are not the spring,
but the riverbank.
You don’t have to have love,
you only have to pass it on.
Imagine loving as you have been loved,
rivering through your heart.
The only means to fuller love
is to receive more fully.
Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Photo… “Dear Terry, Thanks for the ‘Contagious Courage’ stories this morning. We just arrived back from our annual pilgrimage to Cape May, NJ. With the lighthouse and setting sun in the distance, the American Oystercatcher graced our closing moments of daylight and thoughts of miraculous cycles of God’s good earth. Thanks for inviting us to listen with courage to our heart’s nudgings. Encouraged,” Bob Keener… Thank you Bob… and thank you for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com