It’s amazing in just a moment, everything we can come to know. Sometimes the amazing thing about that, IN JUST A MOMENT it’s not what we come to it is what comes to us and teaches us what we need to know for THE MOMENT in just a moment and here’s a perfect example:
We can go from NO to SLOW to FLOW and most ultimately to GO and then we realize we’re more unlimited than we ever have imagined and in just a moment, we become even more so. . . .
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)
JUST A MOMENT: WHEN SPENT TAKES ON A NEW MEANING
In just a moment, so many things can take place; like in just a moment you can feel like you’ve really been spent or or discarded or unnoticed or actually walked over and yes, sometimes even walked on and yet you could take that same experience and you have a totally different feeling. You know what the difference is, what you take or what you receive or what you give.
The next time you feel totally spent, I mean discarded, walked on or over, flip it over make that new one just by GIVING; even if it’s giving a new perspective. . .
BE the message. Someone desperately needs to find or stumble on today. Let them find YOU where they least expect it and most need it.
YOU have that power
YOU. HAVE. THAT. POWER.
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
YOUR DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
DO YOU HAVE ONE?
Do you have a Personal
DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE ?
Would you even consider writing one especially now that the 4th of July has come and gone as we begin the race to back-to-school sales and Labor Day
in between picnics
in between family gatherings
in between the parties/the outings/
in between the FIREWORKS
Well. . .
may be it’s time
HIGH TIME
that you
Write Your Personal Declaration of Independence
“The beginning and the end reach out their hands to each other.” —Chinese proverb
I know it’s may well be past the 1/2
NEW YEAR MARK
B U T
Why Wait?
BESIDES. . .
WHO HASN’T YET WISHED 2023
A W A Y. . .
WHY NOT CLAIM A REALLY NEW YEAR AS YOU DECLARE YOUR OWN PERSONAL
DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
Here’s something to think about to really bring that spirit of freedom home to your own heart:
What will you declare YOUR independence from today?
What’s the tyrant that is holding you back from being all you can be?
Is it a not-so-healthy habit you want to let go of?
A stifling job?
A toxic relationship?
Someone who is pushing you in a direction that isn’t right for you?
Is it your need to always be right when interacting with others?
Constantly living in the past or blaming yourself for situations that aren’t totally under your control?
Or the debilitating habit of saying yes to everyone else instead of drawing boundaries and saying yes yourself?
What will you declare your independence from today?
It’s an important question that deserves some deep contemplation and, even better, a written commitment where you sign on the dotted line. Think of this as creating your own personal Independence Day—the day you vow to cut the tie, the day you declare your liberation from whatever or whomever is crushing that part of you that wants to fly.
Tips for writing your personal Declaration of Independence:
- Be honest with yourself: Name something (or someone) that is holding you back from fully being yourself.
- Write out your personal Declaration of Independence from this inner or outer tyrant with firm commitment and passion.
- In your declaration, state exactly what you are committing to be free from and why this is important to you. What will you be able to accomplish by liberating yourself from this yoke?
- You can also write that you are inviting and welcoming into your life all the support (physical, emotional, and/or spiritual) that you need to stick to your pledge of freedom.
- Then write down the specific actions you will commit to in order to see this through to the finish.
- Date and sign your declaration.
This can be the start of a new thrust for you, especially when you see this declaration as a pledge—a promise to yourself that you will choose to cut yourself free from the negative habit or toxic tie because it is dragging you down—even smothering you—rather than raising you up. Sure, it might take some work. But the commitment, in tangible form, is the essential first step.
The Scottish mountaineer W. H. Murray once wrote: “The moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way.”
Sounds like a
NEW YEAR’S DAY
or better still, a true
DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE DAY,
huh?
Commit to your freedom today from one key thing that isn’t helping you thrive. See how it feels, and see what happens next. A new beginning is waiting for you.
And truly just don’t let the
F I R E W O R K S B E G I N. . .
I N S U R E
They
will
N E V E R E N D !
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!
JUST A MOMENT: THE TRASH CAN SYNDROME
Usually, in less than just a moment, we already identify it in us, don’t we? This is trash. This is a treasure; which leads us to that classic cliché: “One person’s trash is another person’s treasure. And also, well. . .one person’s treasure may be another person’s trash, so maybe this is the question that we have to ask ourselves we so often do without verbalizing it in just a moment: What if you trashed the treasure in other people as they to treat you like trash? We all have the capacity to be talking dumpsters but that shouldn’t give us the free license to actually be that way.
We also have the capability to be these elaborate shelves. It could really be what’s on our shelf maybe does belong in a trashcan
and there’s so much of what we have trashed that maybe doesn’t belong back on the shelf but shared with others as a treasure;
the treasure of a treasure that it is
IN JUST A MOMENT
EVERYTHING THAT WAS BROKEN
Mary Jane Oliver was an American poet who won the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize. Her work is inspired by nature, rather than the human world, stemming from her lifelong passion for solitary walks in the wild. It is characterized by a sincere wonderment at the impact of natural imagery, conveyed in unadorned language. In 2007, she was declared to be the country’s best-selling poet.
Everything that was broken has
forgotten its brokenness. I live
now in a sky-house, through every
window the sun. Also your presence.
Our touching, our stories. Earthy
and holy both. How can this be, but
it is. Every day has something in it
whose name is Forever.
This poem by Mary Oliver expresses a sense of profound healing and renewal. The speaker reflects on a state where all the past brokenness has been left behind, and now they reside in a sky-house, symbolizing a higher, expansive perspective. Through every window of this sky-house, they witness the sun’s presence and feel the presence of someone dear (presumably a loved one). The poem highlights the significance of connection and touch, as well as the power of personal stories. The speaker finds both earthly and sacred qualities in these connections. Despite the wonderment and disbelief, the poem emphasizes that this state of renewal and eternity is indeed present in everyday life, in the form of moments that carry a sense of foreverness.
I have read this poem like a sacred psalm hundreds of times but I experienced it so powerfully differently when I heard it READ TO ME like this; there’s an ache in the reader’s voice that makes you feel your own brokenness but not in a rough, jagged way so much as feeling the stitches on a smooth baseball that was given to you by your favorite player as a gift more than just some souvenir to be put up on Ebay someday after your passing when no one really wants what was once special to you.
A little over a year ago, I was at conference at The Gathering Place where I was scheduled to speak last on the program that day. I was there, sitting in the back of the room listening to a speaker talk about our own grief and grieving and how it often leaves us feeling BROKEN; this poem of Mary Oliver’s came to mind as did these words right before I spoke. I used them as a conclusion to the presentation I gave: HOLDING SPACE–WALKING EACH OTHER HOME:
PROTECTED PRESENCE
I’m Broken
and I’ve lost a lot of my pieces
I don’t exactly remember when I
Humpty-Dumptied if off the wall
No recollection of all the Kings men
and all of the horses they rode in on
But I know. . .ohhh how I know
How I’ve not been put back together again
and when you dare to
provide protective presence
and choose to hold me
It’s not so much of an Embrace
as a specific piece that never existed
You’ve brought to me
A wholeness I’ve not known
but now never want to forget
or ever want to be without
BROKEN PIECES
PLAY A SYMPHONY ALL OF THEIR OWN
LISTEN
(or better still, bring your broken piece and play along)
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