I’ve got something on the horizon that scares me. It’s unavoidable, so the only way out is through. But sometimes to keep from spinning out of control, I find a song that grounds me in the moment. Feet firm, breath in and out, listening to the music and reengaging with the beat of life. For me, right now, this song comforts me. I hope it brings you comfort, too.
Sometimes I feel everything in life comes down to the question, ‘Who is my neighbor?’
We are always asking, ‘This one, too?’ And the answer is always, ‘Yes’.
The felon, the refugee, the homeless person, the enemy, the one who hurt you, the one you disagree with, the one who makes your life hard? Yes, always yes.
Love your neighbor. This one, too.
Standing up to fear changes a person. It helps you to put matters in perspective. Where once fear loomed over you, insurmountable, now you can honor the courage it took to move past it into unfamiliar territory.
Eleanor Roosevelt was a courageous woman. Despite her husband’s attempts to placate the South, she regularly bucked segregation and was a vocal proponent of civil rights. She was able to call out racism and force others to see it for what it was:
By 1939, ER decided to attack the hypocritical way in which the nation dealt with racial injustice. She wanted her fellow citizens to understand how their guilt in “writing and speaking about democracy and the American way without consideration of the imperfections within our system with regard to its treatment . . . of the Negro” encouraged racism. Americans, she told Ralph Bunche in an interview for Gunnar Myrdal’s American Dilemma, wanted to talk “only about the good features of American life and to hide our problems like skeletons in the closet.” Such withdrawal only fueled violent responses; Americans must therefore recognize “the real intensity of feeling” and “the amount of intimidation and terrorization” racism promotes and act against such “ridiculous” behavior.
You can’t clearly see a problem before you if you are too scared to look at it and call it out for what it is. Where are the injustices in your immediate orbit? Are there people being treated unfairly? How can you add your voice to help identify the problem and move toward healing? These problems are right here, close to home.
As Eleanor Roosevelt said:
Where after do human rights begin? In small places, close to home– so close and so small that they cannot be seen on any map of the world. Yet they are the world of the individual person: The neighborhood he lives in; the school or college he attends; the factory, farm or office where he works. Such are the places where every man, woman, and child seeks equal justice, equal opportunity, equal dignity without discrimination. Unless these rights have meaning there, they have little meaning anywhere. Without concerted citizen action to uphold them close to home, we shall look in vain for progress in the larger world.
-“Remarks at the United Nations,” March 27, 1958
https://erpapers.columbian.gwu.edu/quotations-eleanor-roosevelt
Fear is a crippler. It keeps you rooted in a course of action you know to be wrong. Focusing on the fear helps it to loom even larger before you. Instead, focus on the better world you are trying to help build. Spreading love and justice is exciting and uplifting. Being part of something bigger than yourself, working for a common goal, in an effort to improve people’s circumstance is rewarding.
You don’t have to see the whole path in front of you. Take, and keep taking, that next step forward.
People have always told stories. Plopped down on this earth with so much beyond our understanding, we struggle to make sense of things, to find cohesion and purpose, and to fit. We long for meaning outside of our circumstance and kinship beyond our borders.
Stories help. They comfort and guide us, inspire and warn, and make us feel less alone. Others feel the way you feel. And, at the root of story, is a turning away from ourselves toward something greater.
My book GERTIE, THE DARLING DUCK OF WWII, was just released. It tells the non-fiction story of a time during WWII when things were bleak, hopes worn raw, when a little duck built her nest on a high pole above a foul river. A hopeless place, really, for keeping the ducklings alive. Yet, the city of Milwaukee rallied around this little duck and saved her brood. Stories about Gertie’s struggles captured the attention of the entire world, comforted soldiers overseas, and gave everyone a glimpse of a better day. Stories about Gertie shared the front page with stories about Hitler, kamikaze pilots, and concentration camps.
For me, Gertie’s story will always be an embodiment of Psalm 91:4, “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.” To me, her story feels like a message of hope in the darkest of times, a prayer and response.
At heart, most stories are a prayer—a way of reaching for something more, a hope, a yearning, a plea. Stories help connect us and give us peeks behind the curtain.
Before his crucifixion, Jesus told his disciples: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” (John 14:27.)
Today, as we celebrate Easter, remember his words and his sacrifice. For a lovely story and song in the Easter spirit, go here:
Grace is upon us
Open your heart
It is doneGrace is upon us
Open your heart
This is love,The Lord is here
This is loveCome to the highest point of the mountain
At the earliest possible moment
With appreciation to MovedByLove.com, consider this beautiful parable of a saint:
The story of the Holy Shadow
Osho
There once lived a saint so good that the angels came from heaven to see how a man could be so godly. This saint went about his daily life diffusing virtue as the stars diffuse light and the flowers scent, without being aware of it. His day could be summed up by two words — he gave, he forgave — yet these words never passed his lips. They were expressed in his ready smile, his kindness, forbearance, and charity.
The angels said to God, “Lord, grant him the gift of miracles.”
God replied, “Ask what it is that he wishes.”
They said to the saint, “Would you like the touch of your hands to heal the sick?”
“No,” answered the saint. “I would rather God do that.”
“Would you like to convert guilty souls and bring back wandering hearts to the right path?”
“No, that is the angels’ mission. It is not for me to convert.”
“Would you like to become a model of patience, attracting men by the luster of your virtues, and thus glorifying God?”
“No,” replied the saint. “If men should be attracted to me, they would become estranged from God.” “What is it that you desire, then?” asked the angels.
“What can I wish for?” asked the saint smiling. “That God gives me his grace; with that would I not have everything?”
The angels said, “You must ask for a miracle, or one will be forced upon you.”
“Very well,” said the saint. “That I may do a great deal of good without ever knowing it.”
The angels were perplexed. They took counsel and resolved upon the following plan: every time the saint’s shadow fell behind him or to either side, so that he could not see it, it would have the power to cure disease, soothe pain, and comfort sorrow.
When the saint walked along, his shadow, thrown on the ground on either side or behind him, made arid paths green, caused withered plants to bloom, gave clear water to dried-up brooks, fresh color to pale children, and joy to unhappy men and women.
The saint simply went about his daily life diffusing virtue as the stars diffuse light and the flowers scent, without being aware of it. The people, respecting his humility, followed him silently, never speaking to him about his miracles. Soon they even forgot his name, and called him “The Holy Shadow.”
This is the ultimate: one has to become the holy shadow, just a shadow of God. This is the greatest revolution that can happen to a human being: the transfer of the center. You are no longer your own center; God becomes your center. You live like his shadow. You are not powerful, because you don’t have any center to be powerful. You are not virtuous; you don’t have any center to be virtuous. You are not even religious; you don’t have any center to be religious. You are simply not, a tremendous emptiness, with no barriers and blocks, so the divine can flow through you unhindered, uninterpreted, untouched — so the divine can flow through you as he is, not as you would like him to be. He does not pass through your center — there is none. The center is lost.
This is the meaning of this sutra: that finally you have to sacrifice your center so you cannot think in terms of the ego again, you cannot utter “I,” to annihilate yourself utterly, to erase yourself utterly. Nothing belongs to you; on the contrary, you belong to God. You become a holy shadow.
Happy Easter!
There are some poems that reach so deep, they become part of us that we can call up by heart. This is one for me, ‘I thank you God for most this amazing day’ is a phrase never far from my mind. Something about the inverted syntax seems to sum up that overwhelm, spilling over feeling of joy at creation, at being here in it, at the amazing miracle of it all.
Enjoy the whole poem. It’s spectacular.
i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes(i who have died am alive again today
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings;and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any—lifted from the no
of all nothing—human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?(now the ears of my ears awake and
e.e. cummings
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
And for a real treat, here it is sung:
Happy spring!
Sometimes we see the extraordinary in the ordinary. This poem perfectly captures the blessing in such a day:
Lord, here I am.
How strange it is,
That some days feel like hurricanes
And others like glassy seas
And others like nothing much at all,
Today is a cosmic shrug.
My day planner says,
Rather conveniently,
That I will not need you,
Cry for you, reach for you.
Ordinarily, I might not think of you at all.
Except, if you don’t mind,
Let me notice you.
Show up in the small necessities
And everyday graces.
God, be bread.
Be water.
Be laundry.
Be the coffee cup in my hands
And the reason to calm down in traffic.
Be the gentler tone in my insistence today
That people pick up after themselves for once.
When I catch my own reflection
Or feel my own self-loathing
Fluttering in my stomach.
Calm my mind,
Lift my spirit,
Make this dumb, ordinary day
My prayer of thanks.
Be the reason I feel loved.
The Lives We Actually Have, by Kate Bowler and Jessica Richie
Faith is not a contest. It’s not praying louder or more eloquently for all to see. It’s not giving or fasting for show.
It’s an internal, deeply personal thing between you and God. It’s a dark of the night hope, and a bright green day joy. It the bulb pushing its way stubbornly through the soil with the promise of spring. It’s holding on to the values you know to be right even in the face of temptation, or expedience, or doubt.
Lent is a time for us to dig deep into our souls, to reconnect with God and each other, to remind ourselves of who and whose we are, and then live out that truth.
With the news this week that former President Jimmy Carter has entered home hospice care, many people have been sharing stories about his accomplishments in office—his efforts for peace, his push for environmental stewardship, and his efforts toward energy independence, among others.
But his most striking accomplishments perhaps are what he has done since he lost his re-election bid. Rather than retreat to Georgia and exit the public arena, he began building houses for the poor, and working for democracy—a principle he firmly believed in—around the world, and standing up for women’s rights, even when that stand conflicted with his religion, and working to eradicate disease and so on. He has never stopped showing up to make a difference.
In a world that has grown more cynical and jaded since his entry into the public spotlight, he continues to show us what it means to walk the walk, quietly, humbly, and without fanfare. Here, surely, is a good and faithful servant of God.
Many trees these days looks dead. And yet spring will come. Bulbs planted long ago under frigid ground are even now pushing out sprouts working their way to the surface. Spring will come.
Believing in spring is a bit like an act of faith. Things look bleak and dead, yet we hope for new life and regeneration. Renewal. what was broken can be mended. What was lost can be found. Those who have given up can find hope.
As we hear news that former President Carter is receiving hospice care, I pray his faith sustains and comforts him and his family, and that they find peace. In his words:
God is not my personal valet. God does not build a protective fence around my life, keep me from trouble, fulfill my personal desires, or guarantee my success. However, through prayer God offers me comfort, reassurance, satisfaction, courage, hope, and peace.”
Jimmy Carter
QuotableCreek.com 