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Daily Dose (Jan 14 – 17)

TUESDAY JAN 14 —

Every single one of us hurts and yearns, and longs to be seen and valued.
And compassion is alive and well when we give way to the “tender gravity of kindness.” Encounters with no stain of stingy or cruel or callous or shame.
Let us never underestimate the power of kindness.
Or in the words of the Dalai Lama, “My religion is kindness.”

One of my favorite stories to tell at workshops is about a Special Olympics summer event held in Seattle. Nine contestants each with disabilities ready for the 100-yard dash. One could say that it’s not so much a dash really. More like a good paced saunter. The starting gun sounds off. One boy stumbles, falls at the start, scrapes his knee and begins to howl. No adult stepped in. The other eight have begun down the track. They all hear the wail. And they stop. Every one of them. And they turn to see. They all come back to the young man now sitting on the asphalt. They hug him and give him kisses. One says, here this will make it better. He stands. And they all link arms, all nine. And race the 100 yards together, crossing the finish line as one. Too good to be true? Well, as it turns out, it is. The other eight did not all come back.
(When I found out, it was tough to swallow. I’ve seen the story in many books.)
It is, however, real life. You know, not everyone comes back. Not everyone finds safety. (And, as storytellers, we don’t need to add fuel to a fire by misleading as a means of comfort.)
So, let’s be honest. There is real pain. There are real scraped knees. There are times when no one notices. There are times when we feel alone. And we look for hope. And I look to stories.
Because here’s the deal: Even if they all didn’t come back, I will still tell the story. But I will tell it like it is. You see, eight did not come back, but two did.
Two. So yes. This can still happen. Not everything is lost. Someone did notice. Someone did come back.
Okay, let’s make this real. Maybe this week, I can be the one to notice. I can be one that comes back.
This week? I want to try kindness and mercy and being present.
This week, “May I live this day compassionate of heart, clear in word, gracious in awareness, courageous in thought, generous in love.” (Thank you John O’Donohue)

I am so grateful for the emails with prayers and well wishes for my health. Ahhh, maybe an invitation to practice self-kindness. Thank you.
And still, we watch and find ways to hold and to help those being devastated by the ongoing California fires.

Enjoy the new podcast Your life as a pilgrimage, with my friend Charlie Hedges.

WEDNESDAY JAN 15 —

I don’t know what your emotional wellbeing thermostat reads. I do know that when I’m tired or worn down, I’m susceptible to disheartenment and discombobulation (compounded by a dose of guilt that I should know better).
And yet, watching (and reading) about places in California where tired and worn down are exacerbated by devastating loss, my heart draws life-giving inspiration while seeing embers of hope as the community gathers, and unites to offer help.
Watching the stories, I can hear Fred Rogers’ voice, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”
In an interview today with José Andrés (World Central Kitchen), “In the worst moments of humanity, the best of humanity always shows up.”

So. Let us begin here: gratefully, we are—everyone one of us in our DNA—the helpers. “This little light of mine…”
We can make choices that matter,
choices fueled by the power of care,
choices that make a difference.
To this day. This encounter. This conversation.

Rear Admiral Thornton Miller Chief was the Chaplain at Normandy in WWII. Someone asked him, “Up and down the beach, with the shells going everywhere, why did you do that?”
“Because I’m a minister.”
“But didn’t you ask if they were Catholic or Protestant or Jew?”
“If you’re a minister, the only question you ask is, ‘Can I help you?'”
Four simple words. And, in our broken world, that’s a good place to begin.
Here’s the deal: the love of God transcends and transforms what the world imposes upon us in fear, and our own sense of helplessness. That love is carried by kindness.
It’s not my desire to convert anyone. Just to remind everyone that, “Transformed people transform people.” (Richard Rohr)

“We are made for goodness and love and compassion.” Thank you, Desmond Tutu.

THURSDAY JAN 16 —

“May I live this day compassionate of heart, clear in word, gracious in awareness, courageous in thought, generous in love.” (Thank you John O’Donohue)
Amen. And yet, there are times when our kindness “immunity system” feels compromised and overwhelmed—from exhaustion, or division, or pettifoggery.
And we give way to choices that break us down (weaken us), rather than build us up. So. It is no surprise that we miss seeing, and we miss giving, and we miss receiving, kindness.
A compromised immune system has been on my mind these recent days, and I’ve been doing my best to take heart in (and practice) all the ways that immunity, and well-being, can be restored. Yes, ways to stay hydrated—physically, emotionally and spiritually.

“The greatness of a community is most accurately measured by the compassionate actions of its members, a heart of grace, and a soul generated by love.” Coretta Scott King wrote. And this is a perfect reminder about what keeps us restored. Yes, spiritual hydration.
And I love this from Fredrik Backman’s “Every day the way home gets longer” (a conversation between Noah and his Grandpa).
“We have to write essays all the time! The teacher wanted us to write what we thought the meaning of life was once.
What did you write?
Company.
Grandpa closes his eyes.
That’s the best answer I’ve heard.
My teacher said I had to write a longer answer.
So what did you do?
I wrote: Company. And ice cream.
Grandpa spends a moment or two thinking that over. Then he asks: what kind of ice cream?
Noah smiles. It’s nice to be understood.”

Yes and Amen: No one of us is on this journey alone.
Let us not forget our connection—the power of community, of company—as hydration.
When pain and suffering are real, we too easily forget that it is all the more important to remind one another that being on the journey together matters.
To care matters. “Even before the fires, I decided to change my word to “care,” as I want to be a part of building a more caring and loving country. I want to be a part of building a more caring and loving community. I want to care for others and care for myself. I’ve noticed that I like when others care for me and about me. It helps me. Care is something I feel we all need more of, and now nothing could be more true.” (Thank you Maria Shriver)

One step at a time my friends. Together.

FRIDAY JAN 17 —

Andre Dubus wrote stories about regular people, like bartenders, mechanics, waitresses and the like. In 1986, after publishing several books of short stories, Dubus stopped to help a woman and a man stranded on the side of the highway, and he was hit by a passing car.
Dubus saved the woman’s life by throwing her out of the way, but he lost one of his legs and spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair.
You know, how “disabilities” make you think this life isn’t enough.
Dubus wrote, “Some of my characters now feel more grateful about simple things—breathing, buying groceries, sunlight—because I do.”

“May I live this day compassionate of heart, clear in word, gracious in awareness, courageous in thought, generous in love.” (John O’Donohue)
Yes. This day. This life. Yes, where news can overwhelm, and the world tilts. Where we forget (or cannot see) that human connection and healing power is alive and well.
And here are the life-empowering gifts from Dubus’ story.
Spontaneous gestures of kindness are alive and well.
Empathy and compassion are alive and well.
Sanctuary is alive and well.
Ministry is alive and well.
Beauty and gladness are alive and well.
And music from the heart is alive and well.

So, this is my prayer: I want to be awake and fully alive, in this life, in this moment, the very one I am living today.
Precarious? Indeed. Which is why this life is so much more precious.
In other words, instead of struggling with helplessness or anger, where do we park our well-being. From where do we choose? And what do we honor?
What enables us to engage, or even care, to work for change or healing, and not simply turn our eyes away?
St. John of the Cross’ reminder was straightforward, “When you find no love, put love, and you will find love.”
Yes. And I will add… when you hear a story of love, let us “put” that story “out there” letting the light spill to a broken world.

Prayer for our week…
Lord, you are my island
In your bosom I rest,
You are the calm of the sea
In that peace I rest.
You are the waves on the shores glistening stones
Their sound is my hymn,
You are the song of the birds
Their tune I sing,
You are the sea breaking on rock
I praise you with the swell,
You are the ocean that laps my being,
In you I dwell.
Prayer attributed to St Columba,
quoted in A Holy Island Prayer Book by Ray Simpson

Photo… “Good evening, Terry! Thank you for your usual posts of encouragement on Facebook. In reading them, I think you may share similar feeling that I am experiencing this week. It’s been tough, but I know God is calling us to step up our game of kindness and inclusion… I have some pictures for you… Living in Connecticut, since we haven’t had needed rain in over a month, the colors lasted longer this year. I now see that as God telling us to remember that brilliance of color, even as the trees now become bare. It was his gift to us, as is our daily breath. Blessings and joy,” Sheila Flanagan… Thank you Sheila… I’m so grateful for your photos, please send them to [email protected]


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