Daily Dose (May 23 – 26)

May 23, 2023
SM Daily
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Tuesday —

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.
We all can make a difference, one choice at a time.

Wednesday —
This week we’re learning from and inspired by Ben Comen’s story. The young man with cerebral palsy who joined his high school cross-country team. A story with our invitation to make space for choices that heal, and an affirmation of what really matters: we all make a difference, one choice at a time.
If you see someone falling behind, walk beside them.
If you see someone being ignored, find a way to include them.
If someone has been knocked down, lift them up.
Always remind people of their worth. One small act—one kind word—could mean the world to them.
Speaking of kind words and choices that heal, I let the tears fall listening to Iam Tongi and James Blunt sing Blunt’s ballad about a father and son. And the power of healing space. And I thought of my father…

Oh, before they turn off all the lights
I won’t read you your wrongs or your rights
The time has gone
I’ll tell you goodnight, close the door
Tell you I love you once more
The time has gone
So here it is
I’m not your son, you’re not my father
We’re just two grown men saying goodbye
No need to forgive, no need to forget
I know your mistakes and you know mine
And while you’re sleeping I’ll try to make you proud
So, daddy, won’t you just close your eyes?
Don’t be afraid, it’s my turn
To chase the monsters away
Oh, well, I’ll read a story to you
Only difference is this one is true
The time has gone
I folded your clothes on the chair
I hope you sleep well, don’t be scared
The time has gone
So here it is
I’m not your son, you’re not my father
We’re just two grown men saying goodbye
No need to forgive, no need to forget
I know your mistakes and you know mine
And while you’re sleeping I’ll try to make you proud
So, daddy, won’t you just close your eyes?
Don’t be afraid, it’s my turn
To chase the monsters away
Sleep a lifetime
Yes, and breathe a last word
You can feel my hand on your own
I will be the last one
So I’ll leave a light on
Let there be no darkness, in your heart
(Songwriters: Jimmy Hogarth and James Blunt and Amy Victoria Wadge)

Thursday —

“BANG!” The gun fires and the race is on. The runners take off across the field. It rained the day before and the ground is still damp. The temperature is cool. It’s a perfect day for running. The line of runners quickly forms a pack. Like a school of fish they come together as one. They move as one. The pack sets a pace to maximize their energy for the whole race. As with any race, in a short period of time the stronger ones will start to pull ahead and the weaker ones will start to fall behind. But not Ben Comen. Ben was left behind as soon as the starter gun started. Ben’s not the fastest runner on the team. In fact, he’s the slowest. He has never won a single race the entire time he’s been on the Hanna High School cross-country team. Ben, you see has cerebral palsy.
What Ben teaches us is special. When you compete against everyone else, no one wants to help you. But when you compete against yourself, everyone wants to help you. Olympic athletes don’t help each other. They’re competitors.
Ben starts every race with a very clear sense of WHY he’s running. He’s not there to beat anyone but himself. Ben never loses sight of that. Hs sense of WHY he’s running gives him the strength to keep going. To keep pushing. To keep getting up. To keep going. And to do it again and again and again. And every day he runs, the only time Ben sets out to beat is his own.
We’re always competing against someone else. We’re always trying to be better than someone else. We’re always comparing ourselves to others. What if we showed up to work every day simply to be better than ourselves? What if the goal was to do better work this week than we did the week before? To make this month better than last month?
What if the next time when someone asks, “Who’s your competition?” we replied, “No idea.”
What if the next time someone pushes, “Well, what makes you better than your competition?” we replied, “We’re not better than them in all cases.”
And what if the next time someone asks, “Well why should I do business with you then?” we answer with confidence, “Because the work we’re doing now is better than the work we were doing six months ago. And the work we’ll be doing six months from now will be better than the work we’re doing today.”
Simon Sinek (Start With Why)
Ben Comen, in his own words… “Anybody can find something they can do—and do well. I like to show people you can either stop trying, or you can pick yourself up and keep going. It is just more fun to keep going.”
And RIP Tina Turner (1939-2023), “If you are unhappy with anything… whatever is bringing you down, get rid of it. Because you’ll find that when you’re free, your true creativity, your true self, comes out.”

Friday —

This week we’re learning from and inspired by Ben Comen’s story. The young man with cerebral palsy who joined his high school cross-country team. A story with our invitation to make space for choices that heal, and an affirmation of what really matters: we all make a difference, one choice at a time.
Because if this is true, we can look this day in the face, knowing that we are on this journey together, and fear does not win.
So. We can honor (literally to bless) the hands we can hold, and the hands that hold ours.
This is important; making choices that heal is not a project or an assignment, but a gift that grows in the soil of relationship and connection and community.
I remember a statement made in the Irish Times by a Connemara man after he was arrested for a car accident. “There were plenty of onlookers, but no witnesses.” Hmmm.
This is the gift: we can be witnesses in one another’s life. We can be present. When I forget this, I put a bushel over the light and my world grows dark. When I remember this, my spirit and soul is replenished by (grown and nurtured in the soil of) daily miracles. And daily choices that heal. Finding the wonder and the marvel and the healing affirmation of an ordinary life.
Yes: The ordinary, the hiding place for the holy.

And speaking of the marvel of an ordinary life, today my friend sent me this Garrison Keillor poem. Let’s take it with us into our day.
Every day is a beautiful gift,
Tender and precious and swift.
The light and the sound,
The sky and the ground,
Every hour cries out to be lived.
Though I may be over the hill,
Still I think I can and I will.
I’ve forgotten just what I can and I will,
But they remain a goal of mine still.
Every year I pass the date
When my balloon shall deflate.
My mom entered heaven
At age ninety-seven,
And I aim to reach ninety-eight.
But if the shadows should fall
Tomorrow and I get the call,
I hope to have time.
To speak one last line
Thank you, Lord. Thanks for it all.
(Serenity at 70, Gaiety at 80: Why you should keep on getting older)

Prayer for our week…
Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is the way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.
William Martin
(The Parent’s Tao Te Ching)