Ohhhhhhhh the LIE
of an empty space. . .
If we just had a little bit more time. . .
if we just had an extra day. . .
give me a minute. . .
wait a second. . .
We’ve all said these things before
and guess what
if we literally
magically
were given an extra day
and extra hour
and extra minute
a moment
we most likely wouldn’t do anything differently to make a difference~~
NOW THAT IS A TRAGIC WASTE OF SPACE. . .
(one you don’t have to waste at all with no extra time needed)
LOVED INTO BEING
https://youtu.be/jmFEKCwONkg?si=rFaYlvdZZ9xdDTs
WHO HAS LOVED YOU
WHO HAS LOVED YOU INTO BEING
I truly hope you took
A MINUTE
with Mr. Rogers and Lloyd
and experienced the
WONDER OF YOU
and how you are
LOVED
TO LOVE
Is it really
JUST THIS EASY
Mr. Rogers would lie. . .
LOVED TO LOVE
(beginning with yourself)
F. E. A. R.
What’s your greatest FEAR?
What’s your greatest F. E. A. R.? (F alse E xperiences A ppearing R eal)
Is it the same Question?
Is it the same Answer?
There comes a day when you realize that the fear never really goes away,
that if you really want something,
you have to be willing to do it afraid.
And maybe this is the only way you ever get to discover your fullest potential.
Maybe you just have to dive right in and face the thing that scares you the most.
Because in the end,
it’s not the rejections and so-called failures that will haunt you.
It will be your own potential left unexplored.
So maybe you don’t need to wait until you overcome your fears to take the first step forward.
Maybe you just need to know there’s something more important than fear. Something greater.
Something worth fighting for.
And maybe overcoming your fears is the least important part of your story anyway.
Maybe what matters is that you’re scared but still determined.
Shaky but still standing.
Afraid but still willing to try.
– Zanna Keithley
Artist: Skategirl
What’s your greatest FEAR?
What’s your greatest F. E. A. R.? (F alse E xperiences A ppearing R eal)
False experiences appearing real or is it Forget everything and run or is it Face everything and rise?
WHAT SAY YOU…or are you to afraid to say?
Hmmmmmmmmmm. . .
Is it the same Question?
Is it the same Answer?
Your answer is what you SHOW
not what you SAY!
Psssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst:
When it comes to
FIGHT OR FLIGHT
no special shoes are needed. . .
JUST WALK
(it’ll eliminate being paralyzed or worse: DOING NOTHING)
IN JUST A MOMENT: HO HO HO TO HO HO HELL
MOST ASK, “WHY CAN’T IT BE LIKE CHRISTMAS EVERY DAY ?”
MOST DO LITTLE FOLLOWING DECEMBER 25 TO ANSWER THE QUESTION
ARE YOU MOST?
NEVER-ENDING-ALL-SEASONAL GREETINGS
Today
Tomorrow
Ho Ho Ho TO TO TO Ho Ho HELL
HALF OF THE WORLD AWAY
This is the story of a young girl called Lily. Looking at the moon through her family telescope one night, she is amazed at what she finds, a man on the moon. Lily watches on as our man goes about his chores, all alone up there. She becomes determined to get something to the moon, to send him a message and show him that someone down here is thinking of him.
(The music is ‘Half the World Away’ performed by Aurora, the original song was by Oasis.)
Sometimes being half of the world away is a lot closer than we allow ourselves to believe; especially if we look at it through THE LENSES of a Child. . .
Go ahead. . .BLINK. . .
Gently rub your eyes and take another look,
a long gawking and
SEE
SEEING
Christmas in July
isn’t as half of the world away as it seems and that mostly:
K I N D N E S S
IS
ALWAYS
IN SEASON
So. . .on this Monday, July 22:
SIFTER
I really love this poem by Naomi Shihab Nye for many different reasons by mainly because it makes us ask:
WHAT KIND OF KITCHEN UTENSIL (IMPLEMENT) WOULD YOU BE?
I thought of being a
DISH TOWEL
not just because I spend a lot of my professional and personal time of “Cleaning up messes” of all the ‘spills of sadnesses, dashed hopes, lost loves and unanswered prayers’ but never feeling too saturated enough to SOAK UP all the moisture that absorbs and goodnesses and peace, too.
SO. . .what kind of kitchen implement are you?
KNOW YOUR USE
and then
BE IMPLEMENTED
THE QUIET ONES–THE ART OF SHUSHING
The Quiet Ones
There are quiet saints
everywhere.
Hidden in plain sight,
they do their work
gently and slowly
and lovingly.
Repairing the world
over and over again.
Despite the pain,
despite the sadness
at the heart of it all.
Despite not even
knowing
that this is
their work.
You know them.
We all do.
The barely remembered face
on the bus that gave
a word of advice
that carried you
for a while.
The beggar who smiled
from the street corner
you rushed past,
whether you gave or didn’t.
The teacher who
took time with you
until the light finally
dawned within.
The old lady
who promised
she would light a candle
for you, and did.
The tired nurse who,
nonetheless,
held your hand.
The old man who
showed you
how to plant an acorn.
The child who
smiled at you
when you didn’t feel worthy
of such a gift.
All of them,
punctuation points
of grace
in the story of
your gradual unfolding.
Their numbers swell
the world,
silently, secretly,
and ensure the sun
comes up for
one more day.
That the moon rises
for one more night,
and that hope
is possible for
for one more hour.
Their kindness
is a tide
stronger than
the sea,
and just as
relentless
in its constant
return.
They reflect light into
the night window
of your soul
as gently as
the Moon falling
on silvered waters.
You may never know
their names.
Yet they have mended
the frayed edges
of your life
more often than
you will ever know.
They have
seen you,
and in the moment
of their seeing,
you have felt seen,
known, loved,
necessary, meaningful,
even if just
for a moment.
They may be beside you
right now.
They may be sitting
in your cafe,
or be along side you
on the bus stop bench,
or be just behind you
in the queue,
or just in front.
Here is how
you will know them:
They smile often
with their eyes,
with their souls.
They have borne
great suffering
without becoming
hard or cold.
They disappear
quickly.
Fading like Angels do,
having delivered
their good news.
Their Gospel
is kindness.
Their eyes,
no matter their age
are those of
dancing children.
Their smile true
and hard won.
They are often very old,
or seeming so,
or very young.
They speak less
about themselves
and listen more,
than you or I.
They pray
and breathe
as if they are
one thing.
They laugh and cry
deeply,
and often,
without ever
becoming
stuck in either.
They come when
needed,
though often,
at the last
minute,
but always
on time.
They twinkle as
the first and the last
star does.
They wear wisdom
as lightly
as summer rain.
They give their gift
unminding of
its value.
They let
you walk away
in peace.
They walk on
as blessing.
There are
quiet saints
everywhere.
Perhaps you
have met one?
Perhaps you
could become
one?
Richard Hendrick
S H U S H
Shhhhhhhhhhhhh…
Keep your mouth shut
Your eyes closed
Your Ears open
And your Heart unfastened
SHUSHING
is an art that needs
P R A C T I C I N G
(more)
WE ALL LIVE (IN THE SAME HOUSE)
Melanie DeMore and friends bring us a much needed reminder on the July 8th. . .no longer Independence Day holiday but. . .
Actually, it’s a much needed reminder for anybody, anytime, anywhere.
Melanie based her lyrics on these words from the late John Lewis, one of my personal heroes:
“We all live in the same house, we all must be part of the effort to hold down our little house. When you see something that is not right, not fair, not just . . . do something about it. Say something. Have the courage. Have the backbone. Get in the way. Walk with the wind. It’s all going to work out.”
And . . .
“Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.”
WE ALL LIVE IN THE SAME HOUSE Melanie DeMore We all live, we all live We all live in the same house We all live, we all live We all live in the same house Make some good, good trouble Keep on movin' ahead Make some good, good trouble Don't let anything hold you back! Good trouble, necessary trouble Hmmmm, keep goin' Good trouble, necessary trouble Don't let anything hold you back!
(My thanks to Melanie DeMore, VocalEssence Chorus, Ensemble Singers, Singers Of This Age, and Vintage Voices.)
WE ALL LIVE IN THE SAME HOUSE
BE CARING CATALYST ENOUGH
TO MAKE EVERYONE FEEL WELCOMED
JUST A MOMENT: WHAT MAKES YOUR FLAG UNFURL
It really is more than just a question, and absolutely more than just a passing phrase or thought. . .
What makes your flag unfurl, unfold, and flap in the wind? Some would say ferociously, that we have never been more apart, more divided as THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA than we are right now. But history proves that’s not true; even in the beginning when we were fighting for our independence, SHOCKER: NOT everybody was on the same page, but the best thing about not being on the same page is that seldom, I mean, so seldom do we recognize that, though we may not be on the same page, we undeniably are in the same book.
So forget about reading what was and putting down what is, let’s continue to work even in our own ways, divided as we may be, to what can be and may be so. . .EVEN ON THIS JULY 4th EVE
L E T ‘ S
LET’S
LET OUR PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE
BE A PLEDGE OF MAKING US ALL A LITTLE BIT BETTER
E S P E C I A L L Y
IF WE
AGREE
TO
DISAGREE
GETTING CARING CATALYST’D
CAN YOU REMEMBER
THE LAST TIME SOMEONE WAS
A CARING CATALYST
TO YOU. . . ?
I’ve been reading Parker Palmer since my Seminary days back in the late 70’s but never this piece:
[Before the internet, “War and Peace” was regarded as a long book at 1,200 pages. Today, many regard a 900-word story like this one as “too long to read,” especially for a blog, but I’m posting it anyway because it’s a story I’ll never forget, it’s about trusting and caring for one another, and we need a lot more of that.]
Ever have a bad dream where you’ve gone to a meeting in a strange city, and when it’s time to drive home you can’t find your car? That happened to me last week—not in a dream but in real life! To cut to the chase, I got “lost” not because I’m getting addled but because I got bad info and bad guidance about this city’s welter of parking garages. So the story begins with me looking for my car in the wrong garage…
I walked around in this massive five-story parking ramp for 15 minutes before I realized I needed help. I tried to hail the next two cars that came by, both SUVs, both driven by white men age 40 or so. They saw me, but they blew on by without slowing down. Then I saw a slight Hispanic woman in her late 20s about to get into her car.
“Excuse me,” I said from a distance, “I hate to bother you, but I need help. I can’t find my car.” Immediately she turned around and said, “I understand. This place is so confusing, and all the downtown garages look alike.” Walking toward me, she said, “Let me see your parking ticket.” She studied it for a while, then said, “I can’t figure this out. But I know some folks who work here. I’ll go upstairs and find someone who can help you. Just wait here.”
After about 15 minutes, this Angel returned with a black woman who works for the parking authority, a take-charge woman of about 35 who quickly sized up the problem: “You’re in the wrong garage,” she said. “I just got off work, and I’m going to take you where you need to be. It’s not easy to find.” I expressed my deep gratitude to Angels #1 and #2, and as the first one drove away, the second Angel said “Follow me.” We headed out, and soon found ourselves walking into the start of a sudden and ferocious storm, with rain and winds gusting up to 60 mph.
We walked for a while in a hilly part of downtown, bracing ourselves against the wind and increasingly fierce rain. After about 10 minutes of this, Angel #2 saw that this 85 year-old white guy was having some trouble catching his breath. She grabbed my arm to help steady me and said, “Let’s get to that restaurant at the top of this hill. You can shelter there while I find your car and bring it back here. All I need are your keys and your parking ticket.”
The restaurant manager, a white man age 50 or so, was out front watching the storm come in—he said I was welcome to wait inside. I thanked him, then turned to Angel #2, saying “Here are my car keys and my parking ticket. Thank you so, so much.” She went on her way and I went into the restaurant as the storm wind and the rain intensified, grateful for the rest.
I had waited maybe 20 minutes when the manager came over to me. “No sign of your car yet?” “Still waiting,” I said. He looked at me through narrowed eyes and said, “Did you give her your car keys?” “Yes,” I said, “and my parking ticket, too.” He shook his head slightly, said nothing, but the look on his face as he walked away said “Sucker.”
My wait continued while the rain came down. A very long twenty minutes later, I saw my car pull up in front of the restaurant. I ran out into the rain shouting “Thank you! Thank you!” to Angel #2, my arms wide open. She got out of the car with a big grin on her face, saying, “Have a great evening!” Then we both started laughing almost uncontrollably.
We were getting drenched, but I was not done. I told her again how deeply grateful I was and praised her generosity. Then I emptied my wallet ($80) and said, “I know you didn’t do this for money. But you’ve been so very generous, please let me thank you this way, too.” She tried to refuse the money, still laughing, saying “No, no, this was not about money!” But I persisted, and finally she took the bills I was trying to put in her hand.
Then she said words I will never forget: “Do you know what’s most meaningful to me about all this?” I looked at her expectantly… “What means the most,” she replied, “is that you trusted me.”
I don’t know if she could tell that the raindrops on my face had been joined by tears…
We parted with more laughter and a little fist-bump, then went our separate ways. Later that night, I got home not only with my car but with a story I’ll treasure for the rest of my life.
The next time some fascist fool tells me that people of color are “poisoning the blood of America,” I know what I’ll say: “You’re wrong about that. What’s poisoning this country is people like you. Feel free to live your cramped, fearful life if you’d like, but we’re not going to let you diminish life for the rest of us.”
Pass the word! And when you can, practice random acts of caring and random acts of trust. We’ll all be the richer for it.
When was the last time SomeOne was a true Caring Catalyst to you or…
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WERE A TRUE CARING CATALYST FOR ANOTHER. . .
Psssssssssssssssssssst. . .if you’ve waited another second or for just the right time, for the right person, you’ve waited much too long!
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