Daily Dose (October 6 – 9)
TUESDAY OCTOBER 6 —
Anthropologist Eleanor Leacock spent a lot of time with the Cree Indians of northern Canada. She went on a hunting trip with a Cree name Thomas.
Deep in the bush they encountered two men, strangers, who had run out of food, and were extremely hungry. Thomas gave them all his flour and lard, despite the fact that he would have to cut his own trip short as a result.
Leacock probed Thomas as to why he did this, and he finally lost patience with her.
“Suppose, now, not to give them flour, lard,” he explained, “just dead inside.”
I get the feeling dead (heart “shut down”) part.
But that’s the last thing I want, or need, to be.
Here’s what I believe: Even though we might not “see” it, or believe it, every single one of us has the resources to feed, and to nourish, one another.
To bring another back to life.
To make us all (and the world we live in) more, and not less human.
So. What is it that allows us to live from our heart, to contribute, to mend, even in a broken and wounded world?
Speaking words of courage in frightening times with her column “My Day,” Eleanor Roosevelt spilled light. And she admitted that her indefatigable service for us to be our better selves, was an antidote to loneliness, anxiety, and the periods of depression she called “Griselda moods.” (Smiling, knowing that I’ll be borrowing that expression.)
So yes. This does my heart good. Knowing that wholeheartedness flows even from our own wounded and broken places, from places where we may feel fragmented, and vulnerable.
True, my mood often tells me otherwise. My mood tells me to guard my heart.
But I’m learning that the easiest way to take care of your heart, is to give it away. The “gift of lard and flour” to someone in need. Go figure.
“Suppose, now, not to give them flour, lard,” he explained, “just dead inside.”
Today I am glad for any reminder that “It is in the shelter of each other that the people live.” (Irish Proverb).
Today, in a world where cruelty is unmistakable, 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 the human world of helping is larger than our fear, or anxiety, or our ego.
I will confess that the highs and lows of life these days—the warnings of peril, alongside signs signs of courage, and hope—do leave me feeling both shaken and steadied. And, if I don’t close my eyes (or shut down my heart) I am reminded not only how much is at stake, but how much depends on—and how much hope and healing is replenished by—the life-giving choices ordinary people make, when they give from their heart.
Oh yes, there will be days when we forget. When we lose hope. On those days, let us take this to heart: “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.
We offer hope, we extend hands, and hearts, of compassion.
We see our connection with the lives of others around us, especially those broken or grieving or lost.
We see that they need a hand to hold. They need a voice. They need a sanctuary.
Gratefully, whenever we love, we are not alone. So, we wade-in, and stand in places—even places of brokenness and woundedness, places of death and loss—and we find grace there. Amen.
My friends, if you see a hand that needs to be held today, or an opportunity to give “flour and lard”, please reach out.
WEDNESDAY OCTOBER 7 —
Always try to leave people better than you found them. Hug the hurt. Kiss the broken. Befriend the lost. Love the lonely.
I want to live in that kind of world.
But this is my confession: some days (well, too many days), I wonder if it’s possible. (I can hear my spirit say, “A tenderhearted world? Yeah, right.”)
My cynicism rears its obstinate head, hoping to take root in my heart and spirit. And despair is often not far behind. (Is it okay to admit this? Of course, I’m shaking my head as I write these words, because I’m not sure whether I am more afraid of the despair, or the fragility and vulnerability in a world where tenderness is real and can still give us hope. And why would I be afraid, and why would I see both of them as weaknesses?)
So, it comes as no surprise that I would look for ways (give time and energy) to armor (safeguard) my heart. An armor sadly, marinated in fear.
Ram Dass talked about this wrestling in his reflection: “how do you keep your heart open in hell?” You see, when I assume life is “either / or”. In other words, there can’t be tender open hearts, and brokenness—pain and suffering—too. I try to distance myself from the pain because in my mind, both cannot co-exist. But here’s the deal: when I see the world this way (as either / or), I always miss something.
I miss the strength (yes, our enoughness) in fragility and vulnerability and brokenness, and the power to embrace what is there.
I miss seeing the humanity that is alive and well (yes, hearts open in “hell”), and the capacity for compassion and redemption.
I miss the invitation to make a space to embrace what is authentic, and the gift of being beloved even in our brokenness.
I miss the capacity for regeneration.
So, it’s story time. And I take hope in a lovely story about seeing our world as “both–and”, and the emotional significance of reparation.
In “The Well Gardened Mind”, Sue Stuart-Smith tells the story of the book L’enfant et les sortilèges (The Child and the Spells) by Melanie Klein.
The plot, based on a story by Colette, starts with a little boy being sent to his room by his mother for refusing to do his homework. In his banishment, he embarks on a rampage of fury, reveling in destruction as he trashes his room and attacks his toys and pet animals. Suddenly, the room comes to life, and he feels threatened and anxious.
Two cats appear and take the boy out to the garden, where a tree is groaning in pain from a wound, he inflicted on its bark the day before. As he starts to feel pity and lays his cheek against the tree trunk, a dragonfly whose mate he recently caught and killed confronts him. It dawns on him that the insects and animals in the garden love one another. Then a fight breaks out when some of the animals he has previously hurt start to retaliate by biting him. A squirrel is injured in the fray and the boy instinctively takes off his scarf to bind its wounded paw.
With this act of care, the world around him is transformed. The garden ceases to be a hostile place and the animals sing to him of his goodness as they help him back to the house to be reunited with his mother.
As Klein described: he is restored to the human world of helping.
Children (and the child in all of us) need to see positive confirmation of themselves in the world around them and they need to believe in their capacity to love, a capacity fueled by embracing vulnerability even in pain and suffering and brokenness.
Yes, and amen. Even in cacophony, we are still connected to one another. We still make a difference. A human world of helping. No one of us is on this journey alone.
And maybe, the armor can come down.
Yesterday we wrote about Eleanor Roosevelt’s wrestling with periods of depression that she called “Griselda moods”. And I received this from Sabbath Moment friend Stephen Burger. “Eleanor Roosevelt referred to her periods of depression as ‘Griselda’ as a way to externalize and manage them. By giving her depression a name, she could think of it as a separate entity—something she could confront or control rather than an inseparable part of herself. This technique helped her cope with low moods while maintaining her sense of duty and resilience during stressful times.” Thank you, my friend.
THURSDAY OCTOBER 9 —
Prayer (poem) for our week…
An Examen in Caring for Others
What interactions with others were significant to me today?
What care and compassion did I show?
What was going on in my head during these interactions? Was I truly present?
What control do I have over the circumstances of these individuals?
Did I do all that I could in this point in time?
What can I do for tomorrow?
Prayer for Compassion
Merciful God,
Open my heart and mind to be fully present to those I interact with throughout the day.
Allow me to listen to others without passing judgement or haste to solve what I cannot change.
Give me patience and understanding and grant me grace in my shortcomings.
Be with me in times of fatigue and lift me up with the strength to carry out your compassionate love to all those I meet.
Amen.
Ashley Henkes
Photo… “Terry, Here’s a photo from the recent Nor’Easter in Maine. Powerful ocean at Schoodic Point in Acadia National Park.” Martha Resotko… Thank you Martha… And thank you all for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com
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