Daily Dose (September 1 – 4)
TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 1 —
“What is Real?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but Really loves you, then you become Real.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
(The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams)
It is easy to say. And easy to read.
And it is most certainly true.
But saying and doing are two different things.
I do know this: Some days I do “mind” being hurt.
And I want to run away.
Or I want someone to fix it.
Or I want to tell whoever or whatever to “go away.”
And on those days, I need the reminder and the invitation and affirmation that self-love is a radical act of healing, resilience and well-being.
There is no doubt, uncertainty and “broken things” are very real. But here’s the deal: I don’t want to shut down. An essential reminder that care of any kind—engagement, service, kindness, generosity, ministry, teaching, compassion, gentleness, encouragement, healing—is predicated on, and fueled by, self-care.
And so I’m grateful for those in my life who have said, “Take my hand, we’ll find our way together.”
“Take my hand” is a way of saying, “I see you. You are Real. And you matter.”
Presence does not distinguish.
Or judge.
Presence just is.
Meaning that presence makes space. For healing, and restoration, and grounding, and recovery.
Because in the touch, we can be present.
In the touch, we create heart space.
In the touch, we’re in the mending business.
Thank you, my friends, for being a part of Sabbath Moment. I am grateful for the community. If you know anyone who would enjoy, and benefit from Sabbath Moment, please invite your friend to join us.
WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 2 —
Today, Wendell Berry died at his home in Port Royal, Kentucky at the age of 92. Wendell was one of my favorite writers.
He was a writer, yes; and a farmer, environmentalist, scholar and poet. I connected with him, and his profound love of gardening, and his commitment to care for the planet we call home.
It is the gift of awareness and connection to “this place”—this sacred place, the sacred ground on which we stand, and the invitation to care, encourage, nurture, and “rest in its grace”.
The poems of Wendell Berry invite us to stop, to think, to see the world around us, and to savor what is good.
Rest in Peace, Wendell.
And one of my favorite poems—which I’ve quoted in a Sabbath Moment in the past—is “The Peace of Wild Things”.
“When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”
Wendell Berry – The Peace of Wild Things.
“The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry”
Connection to “this place” links us back to our theme this week, because of the reminder that we are on this journey together.
And so I’m grateful for those in my life who have said, “Take my hand, we’ll find our way together.”
“Take my hand” is a way of saying, “I see you. You are Real. And you matter.”
Presence does not distinguish. Or judge. Presence just is.
Meaning that presence makes space. For healing, and restoration, and grounding, and recovery.
Because in the touch, we can be present.
In the touch, we create heart space.
In the touch, we’re in the mending business.
Earlier today, my mind wandered while fretting about news headlines, and the music of Sara Bareilles with John Legend, offered the invitation, “Take my hand,” with her song, A Safe Place to Land.
“The ocean is wild and over your head
And the boat beneath you is sinking
Don’t need room for your bags
Hope is all that you have
So say the Lord’s prayer twice, hold your babies tight
Surely someone will reach out a hand
And show you a safe place to land
Be the hand of a hopeful stranger
Little scared but you’re strong enough
Be the light in the dark of this danger
‘Til the sun comes up”
Sara Bareilles, A Safe Place to Land
THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 3 —
Have you ever heard of Buddy Ball?
Beth Campbell started the program in 1994, in Bellevue, Washington. Because of his disabilities, Beth’s son Stevie, age 7, was unable to play in the regular t-ball program. So, Beth started a baseball league that mixes children with disabilities and able-bodied children.
Every player has a buddy.
Each team has 18 players.
If you can’t hit, a buddy hits for you.
If you can’t throw, a buddy throws for you.
If you can’t run, a buddy runs for you.
If you can’t catch, a buddy catches for you.
A child with cerebral palsy (confined to a wheelchair but allowed to hit for themselves) is pushed around the bases by a buddy.
You’ve got to go to a Buddy Ball game. Just to see the unmitigated joy on the face of a child, who may never be able to catch a fly ball, but who knows that he or she is playing baseball; know that he or she, is in the game.
Oh, by the way. I need to let you know one of the “rules.” In Buddy Ball it is against the rules to “strike out”. Once you get six strikes–you get six tries–you get to go to first base. (Yes, you are rewarded for trying. Some of you are thinking, “Well, I could have played with those rules!”)
But here’s the deal: Six strikes and you go to first base is about grace, and such grace unnerves people. At a conference for professionals, I told the Buddy Ball story. After my lecture, a therapist literally was “in my face,” letting me know where I went amiss, “Six strikes and you still get to go to first. How dare you teach that kind of freedom to children!” his face puffed and red.
“Sir,” I said, “with all due respect, you could use more roughage in your diet.”
I’m quoting now (from memory) from an article in the Seattle Times, “When Beth’s son gets to first base he doesn’t stop there. But he doesn’t go to second either. He runs out into the crowd and hugs everybody.”
The reporter continued, “It is what sports can be, children running and jumping and playing because nobody is keeping score, because nobody cares.”
It’s a perfect story for our theme this week: “Take my hand, we’ll find our way together.”
“Take my hand” is a way of saying, “I see you. You are Real. And you matter.”
Presence does not distinguish. Or judge. Presence just is.
Meaning that presence makes space. For healing, and restoration, and grounding, recovery, and yes, celebration.
Because in the touch, we can be present.
In the touch, we create heart space.
In the touch, we are in the life-giving business.
In the touch, we are in the Grace business.
I hope each of us can hear that affirmation of Grace today.
“The baby was staring intently at other people, and as soon as he recognized a human face, no matter whose it was, he would respond with absolute delight. I realized that this is how God looks at us, staring into our face in order to be delighted, I suspect that only God, and well-loved infants, can see this way. Even when we try to run away from our troubles, as Jacob did, God will find us, and bless us, even when we feel most alone, unsure if we’ll survive the night. God will find a way to let us know that [God] is with us in this place, wherever we are, however far we think we’ve run.” Thank you, Kathleen Norris
FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 4 —
During a rock-climbing lesson, Dan Clark stops on the vertical incline, as if paralyzed.
He writes, “I could see an outcrop for my right foot, but no place where I could place my hands or left foot.”
Yes, he felt stuck. Hopeless perhaps.
The instructor, not far from Dan on the face of the incline, tells him, “Take the step.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Once you lift yourself up you may find something you can’t see from where you stand.”
“Well what happens if I don’t find anything?” Dan is incredulous.
“If you don’t find anything,” the instructor says calmly, “fall back on the harness, and try it again.”
Fall back… as in… let go, and let the harness catch, and hold you.
Let the harness give the permission, and freedom, to take a step.
That at any given moment, we have the power to say: This is not how the story is going to end.
Maybe, just maybe, we need to embrace that gift today.
Just like Dan Clark on the mountain, when you don’t give up, when you know you have a future (even if that future is only the next step), you become less reactive, less anxious, less blaming, more imaginative, and more responsible.
“Take the step.”
We all know the feeling. Whether we call it stuck, or hopeless.
We know we feel disconnected, whether triggered by the weight of disheartenment with life, or circumstances unfriendly, or grief all-encompassing.
It is real.
And it is easy to focus only there, on the hopeless part. Forgetting that because we are on this journey—this climb—together, we can lend a “helping hand”, and we can encourage one another to take the next step.
But what if it looks unnerving or overwhelming?
What’s our theme this week? “Take my hand, and we will find our way together.”
“I’ve got you.”
“Surely someone will reach out a hand
And show you a safe place to land
Be the hand of a hopeful stranger
Little scared but you’re strong enough
Be the light in the dark of this danger
‘Til the sun comes up”
Sara Bareilles, “Safe Place to Land”
A fire rages in a two-story house. A young boy’s head is visible leaning out a second-floor window. His voice is piercing and plaintive, “Daddy, help me! Daddy, where are you?”
Smoke (from first-floor-flames) billows from shattered ground floor windows, now obscuring visibility. From the window, the boy cannot see the ground below, and he is literally shaking with fright. The boy hears a familiar voice, as if coming from inside the great cloud of smoke. His father, shouts, implores, “Son, I am right here. I can hear you. I am right here on the ground beneath your window. I need to you to listen to me. Listen to my voice. I need you to jump. Now. Jump and I will catch you.”
“But Daddy, I can’t jump because I can’t see you.”
“That’s okay son. I will catch you, because I can still see you.”
Here’s the deal: the power of Grace allows us to give in to the moment.
Whatever it holds. To choose to receive, or walk, or “take a step”, or jump.
To choose to apologize, or forgive, or love, or set right, or grant mercy, or receive mercy.
“You are the God who sees me.” Hagar’s response to God, after her cry of desperation. (The Book of Genesis)
Prayer (poem) for our week…
Great Spirit God,
we give you thanks for another day on this earth.
We give you thanks for this day
to enjoy the compassionate goodness of you, our Creator.
We acknowledge with one mind
our respect and gratefulness to all the sacred cycle of life.
Bind us together in the circle of compassion
to embrace all living creatures and one another.
Ojibwe Evening Prayer
Photo… “Terry, Yesterday while distributing food, etc. to the homeless in Reno, they used to be in large encampments, but now it is illegal to be homeless, so they are scattered. I had just met four who were sleeping behind pillars for the freeway overpass. As I was walking back to the car, I saw this rock alongside the sidewalk. There were no other rocks in the area. Was it homeless art or a message? Blessings, Keep the light shinning.” Dave Jennings and Monica Armanino (Lake Tahoe)… Thank you Monica and Dave… And thank you all for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com
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