Daily Dose (November 25 – 28)
TUESDAY NOVEMBER 25 — A young seminary student (studying to become a Rabbi) found himself distraught, and sought the advice of his mentor.
“Rabbi,” he said, “I try to pray and study. I give it my full attention. But I feel constrained and stuck. In the end I am in pain, and all I can do is cry. Is there a way out of my predicament?”
“I am wondering,” the Rabbi responded. “What makes you think that God is interested only in your study and your prayers? What if God is interested in your pain and your tears?”
Here’s the deal: I have a choice. Brokenness can undo me. Or I can see an invitation to a bigger self, creating spaces for healing and spiritual hydration and renewal.
Let us remember the good news; My wholeness is, in fact, a hidden wholeness, and it comes only as I embrace my brokenness. My messiness. My confusion.
That my identity, my value, my worth, is not predicated on answers or resolutions or tidiness. My identity, my value, my worth, comes from Grace.
That’s not easy to embrace, because we live in a world that is afraid of blemishes. (And thank God, I’m just a surefire face cream away from perfection. If only choosing from the 11,000 options didn’t create so much anxiety.)
For whatever reason, we are not comfortable in our own skin. So, we edit who we are. Which means that I am at odds with certain parts of me—the unkempt, the untidy, the pain and the tears, the wild dogs (“To become wise you must learn to listen to the wild dogs barking in your cellar.” Nietzsche). (And yes, it takes a good deal of energy to keep the wild dogs out of sight.) So (like the seminary student), it is not surprising that this internal scuffle spills over into our relationship with God.
Because some little voice in our head tells us that anything less than perfect is suspect. One woman told me she had difficulty saying the rosary, because she wasn’t sure she said it with enough conviction. She was sure it (the imperfection) tainted her relationship with God. In the end we find ourselves in the predicament of the theology student.
And it is a predicament. The irony of course, is that the more I focus on what needs to be added (or changed or hidden or fixed), the less I am actually present.
So long as I buy into this notion that I am what I collect
or possess
or perform
or achieve,
I don’t know what I want, but I am sure I haven’t got it.
The result? I seek more information, more speed, more stuff, more belief.
(It reminds me of drivers who are lost… they drive faster.)
But what if? What if being at home (or being present, or being authentic) is not about adding anything, or tidying up?
What if this is not about homework stars on my refrigerator?
What if being at home is about making space and receiving?
What if being at home is about emptying, entering into, letting it be—allowing ourselves to be embraced and held in the arms of Grace.
“There is a peace that comes when we deeply lean into the ache.
I wish you that courage, that peace.”
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 26 — Some of us… no, all of us… break. And we wish it weren’t so.
But here’s the deal: I have a choice. Brokenness (disruption and destruction) can undo me. Or I can see an invitation to a bigger self, creating spaces for healing and spiritual hydration and renewal.
On our last day in Lisbon, we spent a good bit of time in The Convent of Our Lady of Mount Carmel (Portuguese: Convento da Ordem do Carmo). On one life-altering day in 1755, the great Lisbon earthquake ruined this medieval convent, and destroyed the Gothic Church of Our Lady of Mount Carmel (Portuguese: Igreja do Carmo). The southern facade of the convent—still standing—is the main trace of the great earthquake still visible in the old city.
Now, the broken and “ruined” Carmo Church is used as an archaeological museum (Carmo Archaeological Museum). The nave and apse of the Carmo Church are the setting for a small archaeological museum, with pieces from all periods of Portuguese history. The nave has a series of tombs, fountains, windows and other architectural relics from different places and styles. All life-giving and healing stories, allowing us to remember and re-tell.
And walking through, I feel embraced by the reminder; when we see brokenness as insufficiency (or inadequacy, failure and deficiency), we miss the gift of wholeness at the center.
A man who took great pride in his lawn found himself with a large crop of dandelions. He tried every method he knew to get rid of them.
Still, they plagued him.
Finally, he wrote the department of agriculture. He enumerated all the things he had tried and closed his letter with the question: “What shall I do now?”
In due course the reply came: “We suggest you learn to love them.”
(Thank you Anthony de Mello)
A long time ago, someone looked me in the eyes and said, “Terry, you need to learn to be gentle with yourself.”
Ahh yes. The gift of grace. The gift of embracing wholeness, even in the brokenness. And the permission to be at home in my own skin.
Let us learn from Sally, Charlie Brown’s sister, who went to Summer camp. She was supposed to be gone a week. Peppermint Patty asked her why she returned home the day after she went. “They said if I went to camp it would be good for me. They said if I went to camp, I would find myself,” Sally told her. “Well, I got off the bus, and there I was. So, I came home.”
What if being at home (or being present, or being authentic, or being unafraid of blemishes) is not about adding anything?
What if being at home is about making space and receiving?
What if being at home is about emptying, entering into, letting it be?
THURSDAY NOVEMBER 27 — I write this after a full day of flying. Crossing the Atlantic Ocean, and then cross-country. That’s a chunk of hours in a confined space, in seats designed for the undernourished. I’m just sayin’.
But whenever I’m on a very time-consuming flight, I have a memory that does my heart good. On one flight some years ago, across the aisle sit three women, one holding an infant. I catch myself saying a silent prayer, “Please!” It was a short prayer.
The young woman reaches over and hands me a small plastic bag. “Hope this makes your flight easier,” she says to me. In the bag, a small notebook and pen and munchies and chocolate and earplugs. And a note, “Hello! My name is Levi! I am 5 months old and very excited to meet my baby cousin! I’ll try to be on my best behavior, but I apologize in advance if I get scared or my ears hurt. My mom and grandma are more nervous than I am, so they made this goodie bag for you. Hope you have a great flight!”
I had planned to work on my Sabbath Moment, and realized, with gratitude, that Levi wrote it for me. Levi’s note is an invitation, in this time of division and suspicion and discord, to remember that we can live (each day) fully human and fully alive.
To remember that we can live unafraid of vulnerability.
To remember that we can live with gratitude.
Yes, Levi’s note is the perfect Thanksgiving Reminder Note.
I do confess that these days it is easy to be lulled into shut down or numb mode, fueled by apprehension or fear. Each week someone tells me they’ve started a news fast, and I get it.
It is no surprise that we, more often than not, live asleep.
Let’s just say, Levi softened my heart.
So. Today I am glad for any reminder that no one of us is on this journey alone.
Today, I am glad for any reminder of the capacity to be fully human, tender, vulnerable and kindhearted.
Today, I am glad for any reminder that we are connected to something larger than our fear or anxiety or our ego.
A blessed Thanksgiving to all. And for Thanksgiving Day, let us take to heart this prayer from O. Eugene Pickett.
“For the expanding grandeur of creation, worlds known and unknown, galaxies beyond galaxies, filling us with awe and challenging our imaginations:
We give thanks this day.
For this fragile planet earth, its times and tides, its sunsets and seasons:
We give thanks this day.
For the joy of human life, its wonders and surprises, its hopes and achievements:
We give thanks this day.
For our human community, our common past and future hope, our oneness transcending all separation, our capacity to work for peace and justice in the midst of hostility and oppression:
We give thanks this day.
For high hopes and noble causes, for faith without fanaticism, for understanding of views not shared:
We give thanks this day.
For all who have labored and suffered for a fairer world, who have lived so that others might live in dignity and freedom:
We give thanks this day.
For human liberty and sacred rites; for opportunities to change and grow, to affirm and choose:
We give thanks this day.
We pray that we may live not by our fears but by our hopes, not by our words but by our deeds.
We give thanks this day.”
FRIDAY NOVEMBER 28 — I hope you found nourishment, and reconnection, and replenishment, during your Thanksgiving buffet gatherings (large or small).
Why? Because “Gratitude turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order, confusion into clarity… it makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.” (Thank you Melody Beattie)
The gift of enough. And speaking of buffets… we have the Buddhist Proverb reminder that “‘Enough’ is a feast.”
Here’s a story that did my heart good today. It’s from Elizabeth Gilbert. Savor it. And pass it on…
Some years ago, I was stuck on a crosstown bus in New York City during rush hour. Traffic was barely moving. The bus was filled with cold, tired people who were deeply irritated with one another, with the world itself. Two men barked at each other about a shove that might or might not have been intentional. A pregnant woman got on, and nobody offered her a seat. Rage was in the air; no mercy would be found here.
But as the bus approached Seventh Avenue, the driver got on the intercom. “Folks,” he said, “I know you have had a rough day and you are frustrated. I can’t do anything about the weather or traffic, but here is what I can do. As each one of you gets off the bus, I will reach out my hand to you. As you walk by, drop your troubles into the palm of my hand, okay? Don’t take your problems home to your families tonight, just leave them with me. My route goes right by the Hudson River, and when I drive by there later, I will open the window and throw your troubles in the water.”
It was as if a spell had lifted. Everyone burst out laughing. Faces gleamed with surprised delight. People who had been pretending for the past hour not to notice each other’s existence were suddenly grinning at each other like, is this guy serious?
Oh, he was serious.
At the next stop, just as promised, the driver reached out his hand, palm up, and waited. One by one, all the exiting commuters placed their hand just above his and mimed the gesture of dropping something into his palm. Some people laughed as they did this, some teared up but everyone did it. The driver repeated the same lovely ritual at the next stop, too. And the next. All the way to the river.
We live in a hard world, my friends. Sometimes it is extra difficult to be a human being. Sometimes you have a bad day. Sometimes you have a bad day that lasts for several years. You struggle and fail. You lose jobs, money, friends, faith, and love. You witness horrible events unfolding in the news, and you become fearful and withdrawn. There are times when everything seems cloaked in darkness. You long for the light but don’t know where to find it.
But what if you are the light? What if you are the very agent of illumination that a dark situation begs for?. That’s what this bus driver taught me, that anyone can be the light, at any moment. This guy wasn’t some big power player. He wasn’t a spiritual leader. He wasn’t some media-savvy influencer. He was a bus driver, one of society’s most invisible workers. But he possessed real power, and he used it beautifully for our benefit.
When life feels especially grim, or when I feel particularly powerless in the face of the world’s troubles, I think of this man and ask myself, What can I do, right now, to be the light? Of course, I can’t personally end all wars, or solve global warming, or transform vexing people into entirely different creatures. I definitely can’t control traffic. But I do have some influence on everyone I brush up against, even if we never speak or learn each other’s name.
“No matter who you are, or where you are, or how mundane or tough your situation may seem, I believe you can illuminate your world. In fact, I believe this is the only way the world will ever be illuminated, one bright act of grace at a time, all the way to the river.” (Thank you Elizabeth Gilbert)
Camino Prayer for our week…
May I be a guard for those who need protection
A guide for those on the path
A boat, a raft, a bridge for those who wish to cross the flood
May I be a lamp in the darkness
A resting place for the weary
A healing medicine for all who are sick
A vase of plenty, a tree of miracles
And for the boundless multitudes of living beings
May I bring sustenance and awakening
Enduring like the earth and sky
until all beings are freed from sorrow
And all are awakened.
Bodhisattva Prayer for Humanity
Photo… “Hello Terry, The Ginkgo trees in Richmond (VA) have peaked and the leaves have mostly fallen. Many, like myself, are fascinated by the fan-shaped leaves and beautiful golden
blanket they leave behind when the leaves quickly fall. It is yet another example of God’s many gifts–a reminder of His love for us. A gift of something we can all share in, as we stop in our tracks, pause, and either verbally or silently within think “Wow!”
Many thanks for all you share with us and the valuable lessons you teach us.” Lori Plumley… Thank you Lori… And thank you for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com
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I am so very grateful.
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