Sand Castles
We have this odd assumption that we will
fall in love with ourselves only when we have
become totally efficient organized beings,
and left all our bumbling ineptness behind.
Yet, the opposite is true; in our
vulnerability, our awkwardness of not
knowing, of not being in charge. In
vulnerability we are open to the world.
David Whyte
There's a crack in everything.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
Anthem, Leonard Cohen
I need something to believe in
Breathe in, sanctuary in the
Easy silence that you make for me.
The Dixie Chicks
On the beach near the ocean, two very young children spend their afternoon enthusiastically building a sand castle. They work eager, unabashed and wholehearted. After they finish, giggling and laughing they admire their handiwork. Focused, they do not notice the rising tide. In an instant, a wave flattens their castle. Joy drains from their faces, tears run freely, and delight turns to disbelief and sadness. All their effort. Gone.
If we had been watching, we would certainly feel their pain, and wonder, no doubt, how they would handle the disappointment. Surely, their day is over. To the surprise of one bystander, after a few minutes of tears and distress, the children grab one another's hand and run up the beach, where they begin to build another sand castle.
We all have high tides, and waves that take out sand castles in our lives (be it dreams or plans or expectations or even hope). Watching the children run up the beach, it occurs to the bystander that the people who do make it (who do endure and carry on), are those with a hand to hold.
The children found solace or renewal or confidence in the sanctuary of connection--a place where they knew they were embraced.
I would still be (I am certain), sitting in the sand near what used to be, asking how it happened. For whatever reason, before I can move on, I want to make sense of the waves. As if. . .
But I do know this:
It is easy to focus on the misfortune and inconvenience.
It is easy to be undone.
It is easy to feel deficient or inept.
It is easy to want someone to tell me what to believe or what to pray.
It is easy to want to be rescued.
And yet. The children, even in their vulnerability and awkwardness, built a new sand castle.
Last week I read from The Power of Pause, to an audience of 12. Had planned for 60. Discouraging yes, but certainly not a collapsed sand castle. Even so, it's a disconcerting enough way to turn any occasion catawampus. The dispirited card -- you know, "how unfair is this?" -- doesn't help a whole lot.
Sitting on a airplane (a couple of years ago), the woman sitting next to me asked about our recent windstorm. The storm was a doozy. Great Douglas Firs were rendered to piles of pick-up sticks. We lost a dozen 100-year-old trees on our property. You stand and stare and try not to cry. And then, after twenty minutes or so, you pick up your chain saw and make firewood. I told her about my trees and how it took the wind out of my sails and made me sad for a very long time. She listened. And told me her story. About how she is still looking for a place to settle, because 100% of her belongings were in her house (now former house) in New Orleans, during Katrina.
Okay. Katrina 1. Pacific Northwest windstorm 0.
But then, that's the point. In our culture we have a very odd way of keeping score. And as long as my focus is on the score (the circumstances), then my mind is not quite all here. (If I spend my energy talking to the 60 people who should have been there, I'm not available to the 12 people who showed up.) Remember when churches used to boast about being the fastest growing in America? It seems like I saw that sign on one church or another in every city I visited. Still makes me laugh, because I never saw a reader board that boasted we're the 83rd fastest growing church, and proud of it! I've come to realize that you never know. Sometimes, what I see as my best may be just me, propping up my ego. And sometimes, what I see as a failure (my imperfect offering) may be the place where the spirit is alive and well.
For the children on the beach, it isn't about tidy. Or reasons. Or explanations.
It is the freedom (or permission?) to embrace the life they find in the moment, even in the mess. They don't know Leonard Cohen, but they lived his song, Anthem.
There's a crack in everything.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
I do not know about your sand castles, but I do wish for you sanctuary this week.
I spent Friday night at Cafe Luna, here on Vashon. Island musicians played to a to faithful group of 15 or so. An islander in the audience goes to his car to get his harmonica, and joins in the set for Glen Campbell's Gentle on my mind. I enjoyed the music, and realized, that when we are present, even for a few, we are re-building sand castles.
So how do I measure?
Did I show up (all of me)?
Did I speak and act from my heart?
If so, then I would call that a good day.
(Note: the sand castle story is attributed to Norman Cousins.)
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How would it be,
If just for today,
We thought less about contests and rivalries
Profits and politics,
Winners and sinners,
And more about
Helping and giving,
Mending and blending,
Reaching out,
And pitching in?
How would it be?
Hold on to what is good
even if it is a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe
even if it is a tree that stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do
even if it is a long way from here.
Hold on to life
even when it is easier letting go.
Hold on to my hand
even when I have gone away from you.
Pueblo Prayer
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Heart-warming scene from Glee (Hairography), singing John Lennon's Imagine with a deaf Glee choir.
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