Daily Dose (October 20 – 23)
TUESDAY OCTOBER 20 —
What does it mean for us to embrace the invitation to participate—and invest—in this life. To bring all that I am to the table of this moment—the sacrament of the present.
To invest my heart.
To be a witness for integrity and justice.
To create space for healing and restitution.
To spill light where I can.
And a memory comes back to me, with a story from some years ago.
On Thursday I waited in a Seattle DMV to renew my driver’s license. We are always quick to grumble that we don’t have any free time. Well, stop by the DMV. You’ll be amazed how much “free time” you’ll be granted. I held ticket number R141 (R120 had just been summoned), and a good book kept me company.
My number is finally called. I stood at the counter.
“Read line two,” the clerk tells me.
“AODFPO,” I tell her, guessing about two of them.
“Good,” she says. And then; “The shootings this week, they were something weren’t they?”
I look up and realize she’s talking to me. Or maybe, like any of us when we are thunderstruck, we are just trying to find words. Or maybe, we just need someone to hear the words that we have.
“Yes,” I tell her. “They were something.”
“How do you know?” She goes on. “I mean, I could just come to work one day. And then craziness. So how do you know?”
Her comments could be rhetorical, I tell myself. Or maybe she really does want someone to reassure her.
I look at the woman helping me, early 40s I am guessing. Is she a mother? Spouse? Friend? I wonder.
“It’s easy to be afraid,” she tells me.
“Yes,” I say. “It is easy.”
“So what can we do? What can we do?”
I was going to say, “I don’t know,” because the truth is, I don’t know.
Except this. I know that on this ordinary day, when our world has been shaken and we know that chaos can be real, we do have this: A meeting place. On common ground. And I would say, on holy ground.
And while we know that we can never be perfectly safe, we know that even there we can reassure one another, and look into the eyes of one another, and remind one another that there are truths greater than fear—and that we are walking one anther home.
What I told her was this, “Well, I don’t know all the answers, but these kinds of conversation sure do help. Thank you for talking to me. Maybe it would be good for you to talk with your co-workers too. We’re better together.”
In my mind is Mother Teresa’s reminder, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
Hope. And courage. And light. Our journey to healing and wholeness does not begin with bravado. It begins with vulnerability. It begins when we know that our hearts can, and will break, and that it is in the very breaking…
that we can get up…
that we can try again…
that we can choose love instead of fear and hate…
I walked out of the office into a gray December day with a new driver’s license. And something else; an unexpected gift in my spirit. That on an ordinary day with two strangers, the light of restoration and resilience spills one conversation and one encounter at a time. Before I started my car, I sat. And said thank you to no one in particular. I realized that a stranger gave me a gift with her vulnerability. I know that whenever anything unnerving happens, we want to hide our brokenness and our vulnerability. Because we live in a world of bravado, and swagger.
Which takes me back to sanctuary. You see, the power of the sanctuary—the power of peace and nourishment and renewal—allows for, and creates the space for, wholeheartedness. Which begins with vulnerability. Whenever I am burdened with worry or disquiet or angst or fear, I am tempted to shut down my heart, to not listen to my heart, to not speak from my heart, and to not offer sanctuary to those who need it.
Henry David Thoreau talked about not wishing to live “too thickly”—barraged by noise or clamor or hype or panic.
Yes. I wish that too.
This week every one of us will walk, journey, show up for work, attend gatherings, “stand in line in the DMV”, in precarious times. That is undeniable. And to pretend otherwise is silly.
So. Here’s the deal: Today, I do not wish for my heart to be calcified.
I do not wish it, because when I give in to fear, I choose and act from cynicism and anger and resentment.
Onward together, my friends.
WEDNESDAY OCTOBER 21 —
What does it mean for us to embrace the invitation to participate—and invest—in this life?
What allows (invites) me to bring all that I am to the table of this moment—the sacrament of the present?
On my “pilgrimage” today, what have I learned, or absorbed?
Where have I found places (“treasuries”) of grace, and restitution?
What changes (and confessions) am I choosing to make?
In his book “Crossing the Unknown Sea”, David Whyte talks about exhaustion. He asked his spiritual director for help. He was told, “The antidote to exhaustion is wholeheartedness.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are so tired through and through, because a good half of what you do here has nothing to do with your true powers. You are only half here; half here will kill you after a while. You need something to which you can give your full powers.”
Well, this is good for the heart to hear. You see, wholeheartedness (compassion, service and care), and healing (restoration), are not mutually exclusive.
Yes, care begins with self-care.
In other words, we find replenishment, and, we choose to be a witness. This is not a pep talk. This is not a test to pass. Or a list I check off for God’s thumbs up. This is permission; the invitation and the affirmation to be and to live, wholeheartedly and kindheartedly, the truth of who I am.
I read that before setting out in a canoe, the Ojibwa sprinkled tobacco on the water as an offering to the spirits for a safe journey.
Why? Because the “water monster” might devour you. Yes, ‘tis easy to think of this as quite quaint. But I don’t know. It sounds sensible to me.
They believed that all of our journeys—long or short—are holy endeavors.
And because that is so, we can prepare ourselves, with song, and sacred talks, and prayers, and a little “sprinkled tobacco”.
And when you returned from a long and perilous journey, your family would ask if you had learned a new song, met a new animal, came upon a healing herb, or a source of food, or a holy place.
In other words, after this perilous journey, what vision—or gift or “treasury of grace”—had you brought back for the community?
How do we enrich one another?
How do we keep our hearts alive—and not give in to fear?
“I went into the wilderness searching for God.
A thirsty stranger asked me for water.
By the time he had finished drinking,
my pilgrimage was over.”
Inspired by Rumi
THURSDAY OCTOBER 22 —
What does it mean for us to embrace the invitation to participate—and invest—in this life?
What allows (invites) me to bring all that I am to the table of this moment—the sacrament of the present?
Where have I found places (“treasuries”) of grace—places of replenishment?
In what ways have I remembered and embraced the truth that we (every one of us, whether we recognize it or not) are on this journey together?
Rwandans understood this. Do you know the Rwandan prescription for Depression?
Sun, drum, dance, community.
“We had a lot of trouble with western mental health workers who came here immediately after the genocide, and we had to ask some of them to leave. They came and their practice did not involve being outside in the sun where you begin to feel better, there was no music or drumming to get your blood flowing again, there was no sense that everyone had taken the day off so that the entire community could come together to try to lift you up and bring you back to joy, there was no acknowledgement of the depression as something invasive and external that could actually be cast out again. Instead, they would take people one at a time into these dingy little rooms and have them sit around for an hour or so and talk about bad things that had happened to them. We had to ask them to leave.”
Okay, that makes me smile real big. And does my heart good.
(This story is from a Rwandan talking to western writer, Andrew Solomon, about his experience with western mental health and depression.)
And I received this great story from Brian, a Sabbath Moment reader…When I was serving as a Peace Corps volunteer in a small village in Thailand back in the 60s, I learned that when I visited with others in their homes, I was there to be there, and not to talk much. We would sit together and just enjoy each other’s presence. After what seemed like a long time, I would get up to leave, and they would thank me for being there. I was uncomfortable since I was a novice Thai learner until my Headmaster explained to me that just being together was the most meaningful conversation.
So. I have an idea. This week…
Be open to the gift of conversation. Even if that conversation is presence without words.
Be open to the spirit of consolation.
Be wholehearted.
This week taught me that we all need to have our spirits—and our hearts—replenished.
I write this, ready to board a flight from London to Seattle. Lifting prayers of gratitude, for all the gifts (“treasuries” of grace) and memories, from our “pilgrimage” here in England
FRIDAY OCTOBER 23 —
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.”
And this is gratifying; in a review of Kobi’s 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? This little light of mine…
Which takes us back to our questions for the week.
What does it mean for us to embrace the invitation to participate—and invest—in this life?
What allows (invites) me to bring all that I am to the table of this moment—the sacrament of the present?
Where have I found places (“treasuries”) of grace—places of replenishment?
In what ways have I remembered and embraced the truth that we (every one of us, whether recognize it or not) is on this journey together?
Let us remember my friends, we are “lights that shine”.
And, yes, there will be days when we forget. When we lose hope. On those days… “In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.” Thank you, Albert Schweitzer.
What a perfect reminder that we are lights, grounded by the affirmation, “We’re all just walking each other home.” (Ram Dass)
Sometimes we need stories more than food to stay alive. Stories to remind us, what really matters. Stories that invite and allow us, to see with our heart—to participate, and invest, in this life.
I don’t want to lose that. And if I were asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I would answer, “A soft and gentle heart.”
In a world that feels upside down, I am so grateful for all the ways—the “treasuries” of grace—that our hearts are still nurtured, and nourished. Through friendship. Kind gestures. Places of sanctuary and healing. Acts of empathy and gentleness. Affirmations of dignity, inclusion, and the power of grace.
I am writing this somewhere over Greenland or Northern Canada, mid-flight from London back to Seattle. And ready for the gift of a good long sleep once we get home. Although I may wander the garden a wee bit. I do love it when the plants welcome you home.
Prayer (poem) for our week…
“May today there be peace within.
May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May you use those gifts that you have received,
and pass on the love that has been given to you.
May you be content knowing you are a child of God.
Let this presence settle into your bones,
and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.
It is there for each and every one of us.”
St. Therese of Lisieux (“the Little Flower”)
Photo… “Dear Terry, Beautiful sky light… Cincinnati, Ohio.” Faith Lang… Thank you Faith… And thank you all for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com
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