Human world of helping

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?” Urging us to do our best to keep our hearts open, under any circumstances.
You see, when I assume life is “either–or” (in other words, there can’t be tender open hearts, and 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 the power to embrace what is there.
I miss seeing the humanity that is alive and well (yes, hearts open in “hell”), and our 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 and restoration.

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.
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.

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 closed) part.
But that’s the last thing I want, or need to be.
Here’s what I believe: Like the little boy with the animals, 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 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. Wholeheartedness flows even from the 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 what I’m learning is that the easiest way to take care of your heart, is to give it away. Taking off my scarf, to bind wounded paws. 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.

It helps my spirit knowing that I write this on National Ice Cream Day. But don’t worry, the celebration continues, thanks to a proclamation signed by President Ronald Reagan nearly 40 years ago declaring July as National Ice Cream Month.
And my golf addiction had me single minded for much of the weekend. The Open Championship played at Royal Portrush in Northern Ireland.
Onward together. And please, don’t forget to pass Sabbath Moment along…

Quote for our week…
“When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive, to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.” Marcus Aurelius

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Today’s Photo Credit: “All these pictures were taken from one spot after a torrential rain and thunder storm at Rocky Mountain National Park. I almost didn’t go because of the weather but what beautiful colors came from the storm.” Ceci Horne… Thank you Ceci… And thank you to all, I love your photos… please, keep sending them… send to terryhershey.com 

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Letters that do my heart good…
–Thank you, Terry, for the reminder about the power of a gentle touch or a kind word. It’s all too easy to forget. Or to not feel like it when my own worries or discomforts derail me. Here’s to the kind of self-care that creates the space within that allows me to become more present to those around me. I also wanted to say how beautiful the retreat weekend in Auburn was.  Such an extraordinary group of people.  Just recalling them fills my heart and lifts me up.  Your stories, the laughter, the tears… I carry them with me. Mary
–Hi Terry just loved the story about John Lewis ministering to the chickens. What a spiritual gift of grace. Thanks for your daily stories they continue to feed us all. Great picture. Donna in Cincinnati. God bless.
–Terry I am sitting on the dock in Maine, more like an autumn morning than summer. Watching the sunlight dance and glisten on the lake. I am so happy I know what you bring us every morning- “Gratitude and Pause and Sanctuary and Compassion”. Yes, they all help me be a better person, more kind and forgiving and yet I often forget what they do to heal me; the self-love and self-compassion. Life is really hard these days. We are fatigued with worry and compassion. Spending a day with sacred now moments focusing on me brings me to a go forth tomorrow. Terry, “I will never forget that you fed me” Deb
–Hey, Terry, I love the story about making sandwiches. In my work as a hospice chaplain, I think back to those who might have fit the image of that woman, but I can’t think that too many did fit that image. But I treasured knowing those who did. I’d like to be one of them! Regards, Bob
–Amen, Terry. A timely and much-needed message. I am reminded of a quote by the Dalai Lama: “My religion is kindness.” Peace. Don
–Terry, if you don’t know this book, find a copy. The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse by Charlie Mackesy. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The mole asks the boy. “Kind” said the boy. Thank you Terry. For this great story, may we all be god’s desperados. Stephen