Daily Dose (Dec 30 – Jan 2)

This week, making a difference. One gentle step at a time.
And for reinforcement and affirmation, we will carry with us the words of President Jimmy Carter, “I have one life and one chance to make it count for something. I’m free to choose what that something is, and the something I’ve chosen is my faith. Now, my faith goes beyond theology and religion and requires considerable work and effort. My faith demands—this is not optional—my faith demands that I do whatever I can, wherever I am, whenever I can, for as long as I can with whatever I have to try to make a difference.”

In the Holocaust Museum there is a story about an exchange in a concentration camp on the Day of Liberation (1945). The prisoners still alive in concentration camps, were being set free. A young American Lieutenant, extraordinarily moved by the bleak and foreboding nature of the setting, asked one prisoner to show him the camp. As they approached a building, the lieutenant opened a door for the young woman, and she collapsed in tears. Certain he had offended, he did his best to comfort her.
After some time, she told him, “I am weeping because it is the first time in years that someone has done anything kind for me. Thank you.”
I don’t this story as some kind of motivational tool. As if there is an obligation to “be kind.” I tell it as an affirmation. And a reminder—mostly to myself—that within each of us there is a light. And that this light—of hope or dignity or delight or passion or justice or beauty or wonder or grace—still shines, regardless of the dirt that may cover it. Yes, there are times we forget. However, there are also times when a simple act of kindness, or gift of compassion, rekindles the light in our own spirit. This gift we give to another, becomes a gift we gratefully receive. In the story, both—the giver and the receiver—are liberated.

And for those of you ready to make New Year resolutions, in my mind, Archbishop Desmond Tutu offers us a petty good start, “We are made for goodness. We are made for love. We are made for friendliness. We are made for togetherness. We are made for all of the beautiful things that you and I know. We are made to tell the world that there are no outsiders. All are welcome: black, white, red, yellow, rich, poor, educated, not educated, male, female, gay, straight, all, all, all. We all belong to this family, this human family, God’s family.”

WEDNESDAY JAN 1 —

One day, talking with a friend in the grocery store, we shook our heads about our world’s fragile nature, as if to say, “Where do we find sanity and sanctuary? And where do find hope?”
“It helps when I distinguish between big world and small world,” he said to me.
With that, a light bulb came on. You see, with big world, news is in your face and stoked with annoyance. And often, anger. No wonder we feel as if our control is demoted. And we ask, how can I ever make a difference in a broken world?
Well, that’s just it, we make a difference in the small world. The small world is the place where we stand. Today. Where we care and give a damn. And hug and give, and try and love, and fall down and get up, and repent and cry, and embrace and challenge, and reconcile and heal.
As our New Year begins, I hope for you moments of reflection. Moments to acknowledge and give thanks. Be gentle with yourself.
On a podcast yesterday, my friend Charlie Hedges asked if I had any New Year resolutions. And I said, I want to honor the “small world” places where living with a soft heart matters. To honor, means literally “to make space”. Yes. I want to make space, for places of sanctuary, empathy, inclusion, compassion and kindness.
One of the extraordinary gifts I receive from people in the Sabbath Moment community is the reminder that we all have the capacity to care—“this little ight of mine”. So. Let us raise a glass and tell stories in grateful awe, for ordinary people who in ordinary ways, make our world kinder and more caring, one heart and one life at a time.

And to carry with us into the New Year, John O’Donohue’s “At The End Of The Year.”
The particular mind of the ocean
Filling the coastline’s longing
With such brief harvest
Of elegant, vanishing waves
Is like the mind of time
Opening us shapes of days.
As this year draws to its end,
We give thanks for the gifts it brought
And how they became inlaid within
Where neither time nor tide can touch them.
The days when the veil lifted
And the soul could see delight;
When a quiver caressed the heart
In the sheer exuberance of being here.
Surprises that came awake
In forgotten corners of old fields
Where expectation seemed to have quenched.
The slow, brooding times
When all was awkward
And the wave in the mind
Pierced every sore with salt.
The darkened days that stopped
The confidence of the dawn.
Days when beloved faces shone brighter
With light from beyond themselves;
And from the granite of some secret sorrow
A stream of buried tears loosened.
We bless this year for all we learned,
For all we loved and lost
And for the quiet way it brought us
Nearer to our invisible destination.
(John O’Donohue from Benedictus)

THURSDAY JAN 2 —

Greetings from the New Year. I suppose it could have been last week, but I’m guessing that today is not too late to get out pen and paper, and make resolutions for the New Year. (Of course, many of us are of the age where we first need to remember where we put our pen. And the paper. So, first things first. Although, while looking for the pen, I picked up a book I had been wanting to read. I guess the list can wait.)
Reading the book, this sentence made me stop, and say, Amen. “For just that instant I paid attention with every shard and iota of my being. Maybe we couldn’t survive if we were like that all the time, I don’t know, but when it happens we see that which none of us can find the words for. Sometimes we are starving to see every bit of what is right in front of us.” (Thank you Brian Doyle)
Okay. That will make it on my list. The permission and gift of paying attention. To be here now. Putting a spin on Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, “the whole of life lies in seeing the world sacramentally.”
Although, trust me, this is not sheer sentimentality. When we live sacramentally, there is a “price” to pay (investing every shard and iota). But this we know now, in our spirit; we are connected. Yes, the ordinary is the hiding place for the holy. And there, we come alive. The Christian mystical tradition describes the relationship with God in terms of growing toward union. “This encounter with the divine may be characterized by feelings of desire, arousal, passion, and union” in prayer. (Thank you Janet Ruffing)
My oh my… And well… truth be told, I do feel more alive and alert, as if “the rust had been knocked off my nerves. The armor of self dissolves, ego relaxes its grip, and I am simply there, on the breeze of the moment.”

And I’ve paused throughout my day, carrying President Jimmy Carter’s memory with gratitude, remembering his gift to us, and how, with his life, he reminded us that kindness and gentle acts of goodness really do matter. And they make a difference.
While still looking for my pen, I found this from David Brooks, “Most healing that I see is smaller and unobtrusive. It is seen in one person’s simple countenance, that individual’s way of paying attention to the world, marked by patience, peace, kindness, joy and love. It is seen in other as they do small things with great love. Serving dinner is a material act, but hospitality is a spiritual gift. It is seen too in those who are able to love the people what are hard to love—the criminals, the outcasts, the strangers.” (My Decade-Long Journey to Belief, NYT)

Oh, and I learned a new song that did my heart good. We Toast the Days by Linda Kachelmeier.
“When the clock strikes twelve
And another year has gone,
I give a kiss to you
As remembrance of the past we have shared
And the future yet to come.
We toast the days, both good and bad,
The old friends and the new.
When the clock strikes twelve
And another year has gone,
I give a kiss to you.
While the night is long
And the bitter cold has come,
We lengthen our embrace
To sustain us as we mourn our regrets
And the fear of days unknown.
We toast the days…
As we stand on the edge
Of another bright new year,
I take your hand in mine
With assurance of
The courage we will find
And the hope that leads us on.
We toast the days…”

FRIDAY JAN 3 —

Here’s the deal: we get to choose the kind of world we want to live in.
Let’s begin with Helen Keller’s reminder, “I am one, but still I am one; I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; And just because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.”
Taking Mother Teresa’s words to heart, “If you can’t feed a hundred people, then feed just one.”
Amen. Changing the big world may not be possible, but changing the small world around us is conceivable. And doable.
I do know this: gratefully, indifference is not an option.
So. I can choose to be kind. One person—one encounter, one word, one gesture—at a time.
I can choose to be generous. To be inclusive. To not demean or shame. This is not because we get points, or rewards in heaven. We can choose because this is a reflection of who we are, at our core. “This little light of mine.”
We’ve lost the empowerment that comes from knowing that what is at our core (compassion, generosity, kind-heartedness, our capacity for connection) is greater than whatever change confronts or challenges us.
In other words, we have forgotten our best selves.
We have forgotten that we were made for this, one soul helping another.

I do love the work I do; talking, teaching, entertaining. But, if I’m honest, there are times when I wonder why I still do “what” I do. I know that I have choices. But on my darker days I wonder, what difference can I really make?
We know we have choices. What does it matter what I do?
On those days, I return to one of my favorite old stories…
As the old man walks the beach at dawn, he notices a young man picking up starfish and flinging them into the sea. Catching up to the youth, he asks a simple question, “Why are you doing this?’
The boy answers that the stranded starfish would die if left until the morning sun.
“But the beach goes on for miles, and there are millions of starfish. How can your efforts make any difference?”
The young man looked at the starfish in his hand and threw it to safety–into the ocean past the breaking waves. “It makes a difference to this one,” he said.

This week, still holding the memory of President Jimmy Carter, let’s carry his word with us into our weekend. “I have one life and one chance to make it count for something. I’m free to choose what that something is, and the something I’ve chosen is my faith. Now, my faith goes beyond theology and religion and requires considerable work and effort. My faith demands—this is not optional—my faith demands that I do whatever I can, wherever I am, whenever I can, for as long as I can with whatever I have to try to make a difference.”

Prayer for our week…
As this year draws to its end,
We give thanks for the gifts it brought
And how they became inlaid within
Where neither time nor tide can touch them…
Days when beloved faces shone brighter
With light from beyond themselves;
And from the granite of some secret sorrow
A stream of buried tears loosened.
We bless this year for all we learned,
For all we loved and lost
And for the quiet way it brought us
Nearer to our invisible destination.
John O’Donohue

Photo… “Terry, Thank you for sharing your Camino walk with us. Your Sabbath Moments during this time have felt like windows into your journal and made me feel as though I were walking with you. I believe those of us who read Sabbath Moments have all been walking you home this whole time. Happy Thanksgiving and have a safe trip back to the PNW. Here’s a ‘Pause’ picture from Shrinemont to help you ease back into what we call life.” Mary Dail… Thank you Mary… I’m so grateful for your photos, please send them to [email protected]