The Year of the Gift

Words We Dimly Hear - Give Me Your Hand

2010-12-01T17:21:00.001-06:00

I wish that I could write like this..... poetry from Rilke's Book of Hours.

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby in the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness

Give me your hand.

It is You I Have Been Looking For

2010-10-24T15:13:00.001-05:00

Kindness

by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is

you must lose things,

feel the future dissolve in a moment

like salt in a weakened broth.

What you held in your hand,

what you counted and carefully saved,

all this must go so you know

how desolate the landscape can be

between the regions of kindness.

How you ride and ride

thinking the bus will never stop,

the passengers eating maize and chicken

will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness, you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho lies dead by the side of the road.

You must see how this could be you,

how he too was someone

who journeyed through the night with plans and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.

You must wake up with sorrow.

You must speak to it till your voice

catches the thread of all sorrows

and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore only kindness that ties your shoes and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread, only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say

It is I you have been looking for, and then goes with you everywhere like a shadow or a friend.

Heartbroken Over Oil

2010-05-28T23:36:00.004-05:00

Is it just me or is anyone else heartbroken over the BP oil spill? I can't bear to watch anymore footage of oil soaked wetlands and wildlife. I can't believe that corporate bosses may have ignored managers' safety concerns, that government watchdogs may have handed out permits without enough oversight, and that politicians and pundits use the disaster for votes or ratings.

Chicago Tribune columnist Steve Chapman compares the lack of a plan to cap an accidental blowout to sending a man to the moon without a way to get home. I agree.

Water is supposed to be clean and clear. For many it's sacramental, a symbol of life and all that is good and abundant on our earth. To me, this brown oily death symbolizes the greed and corruption and division that keeps us confused and stuck.

Why can't we use "the nation's worst oil spill" as a catalyst to unite our nation in the search for sustainable sources of energy? Why can't we come together over this disaster just as we did immediately after 9/11?

During World War II, Americans made great sacrifices for the war effort. They rationed gasoline, sugar, and all kinds of extras for the common good. Why can't we decide that yes, we have enough, that maybe we could drive less, or drive smaller cars, or even pay a little more for energy, until the technology catches up to our needs.

Why can't we trade greed for generosity and corruption for real leadership? Why can't we make sacrifices for a better world for our children and grand children?

Maybe it's not about winning an election or winning in the ratings. Maybe it's about finally coming together as stewards of the earth say "to create a sustainable future for humanity and all of life."

If the sight of the blue skies fills you with joy, if a blade of grass springing up in the fields has power to move you, if the simple things of nature have a message that you understand, rejoice, for your soul is alive. ~Eleonora Duse

Opportunities Abound

2010-05-21T21:42:00.000-05:00

There is no end to the number opportunities that we all have to connect in love with each other. Even in the midst of the worst tragedies.

I admire the two women who are the subject of the movie "Beyond Belief."

I am grateful for opportunities each day and each moment to chose forgiveness, connection, and love over anger, cynicism, and fear.

The Walking Dead

2010-04-14T09:19:00.002-05:00

My neighborhood houses a facility for people with mental illness, who shuffle up and down Main Street and annoy some of the parents because they smoke in a park near the swings and slides that the kids could use. No kids ever go there because everyone avoids the smokers.

One of my neighbors calls them "the walking dead." Recently I was given an assignment for a class that I'm taking, to go somewhere out of my comfort zone, see the people through the eyes of compassion and write a reflection. The next few paragraphs are a shortened version of that reflection.

When I arrived at the park, I sat on the bench trying to put myself in a state of prayerful silence. Immediately, one of residents whom I usually find most annoying plopped down next to me.

“Are you new here?” she shouted.

I tried not to cough on the smoke that kept drifting in my direction. I tried not to notice the huge sore on her upper lip.

Instead I asked her name and she told me that it was Laurie. I remarked that cigarettes these days must be really expensive. She agreed and informed me that because cigarettes were now $8 a pack, most of the residents smoked cigars, which were only $1.50 a pack. Her voice became less obnoxious as time went on. When silence returned I prayed that her cough would get better.

Everybody in the park was either smoking, lighting up, or bumming a cigarette from another person.
The spring chatter of the birds was punctuated by coughs from those human chimneys. I also noticed that when each person got up to walk back across the street to the nursing home, he or she would say “Good –bye” and politely explain why he was leaving. Albany Care is a community of people who need to be connected, just like me.

Soon “De BOR ah,” as she likes to be called, sat down next to me, with a great big beautiful smile on her face. “Maary!” she shouted. ‘Thanks for coming to visit me.” I know Deborah from church; she is a robust African American woman with bleached blond hair, who covers her face with gold sparkly foundation. She loves to pray, dramatically, with her hands and head held high, most often standing, occasionally after the rest of us have sat down. She always has a huge smile for me, when she asks me for a dollar. If I offer it before she asks, sometimes she turns it down.

When she’s not smiling, she’s actually looking down in a forlorn manner. Today she told me about her boyfriend who would help her find her own apartment. She also told me that she felt that it wasn’t fair that her mother treated her poorly. I listened and exchanged small talk with her and when she wasn’t talking to me. I prayed silently that her pain around her mother would be healed and that she would be protected from anyone who might try to take advantage of her.

She asked for money. I gave it to her and then we walked together to the corner store, where she used it to pay off a pair of shoes that she had put on a kind of informal layaway. She kept telling me that she wanted to pay me back. She wanted to give me something. I told her that all she needed to do was remember that she is loved and if she wants to she can pray for me.

Immediately, right there on the park bench, Deborah folded her hands like a child before bed and fervently prayed a beautiful and lengthy prayer for me. Crazy as it may have seemed, that moment felt holy, right there on that park bench. It felt just as holy as Easter Sunday in my community at St. Nicholas Church.

There were many more moments of connection in that two hours. Before I left we hugged.

I understand that I should be careful about hugging people whose illness can cause them to be unpredictable. I understand that I can’t always expect a lucid conversation from each person from that facility. But most of all, I understand that God’s love shines on them as much as it shines on me and you. I really do them too!

People with Disabilities are Not "Punishment"

2010-02-23T09:21:00.008-06:00

As I watched the Rachel Maddow show last night and learned that a Virginia lawmaker referred to children with disabilities as "God's punishment," my writer's block suddenly lifted. I usually don't write about politics but this is more than politics. To me, it's about valuable people being used and regarded as less than everyone else.

I'm also disappointed that the show did not include an interview with a spokesperson for disability rights groups, maybe Marca Bristo from Access Living of Metropolitan Chicago, or any other person representing disability rights groups (ADAPT). Maybe they could have contacted Mike Ervin, from ADAPT? He is a fantastic writer who happens to have a disability. There are countless other people with disabilities who would probably be glad to refute that Virginia lawmaker's comment.

Maybe they would have pointed out that if the lawmaker referred to children with disabilities as "punishment," he must have no friends with disabilities, and by now that lawmaker surely will get no votes from people with disabilities.

I wonder if the parents and friends of Andrea Boccelli, Itzhak Perlman, Marilee Matlyn, Stevie Wonder and the friends of all the writers, teachers, moms, dads, and other Americans who also happen to have a disability consider them a "punishment?

What if that lawmaker had referred to African Americans as "punishment," or Gays and Lesbians as "punishment?" I understand that his issue was planned parenthood and Rachel's response was to that issue. However, I find it extremely offensive to use people with disabilities in that manner and I'm surprised that Rachel didn't have a disability rights advocate on her show for a response.

Writer's Block

2010-02-22T14:27:00.001-06:00

My writer's block began when I decided to search for Grace. I was able to find her last apartment and several leads. However, I haven't been able to find any friends or relatives. A janitor from her building had no good words to say. I can't seem to continue the search. Perhaps it's best.

Now the search for Grace seems so small and insignificant in comparison to the devastation in Haiti.

The Haitian President Rene Preval says the number of people who died in the earthquake could reach 300,000. He told a meeting of Latin American and Caribbean leaders that 200,000 were collected on the streets and that doesn't include the bodies pulled from the rubble.

So what can anyone say? What can one person do? No words............

Looking for Grace-to Dignify a Life

2009-10-19T16:50:00.027-05:00

The only way that I can get rid of my writer's block is to move forward and try to search for Grace. I need to figure out how it is that a person in America can live the last years of a life alone, "warehoused" in a nursing home, with no apparent history or connections, with no possessions and no family or lifelong friends. Here's the background on the little bit that I do know about Grace Lee.

Born November 14, 1947 - Died August 9, 2009

I first met Grace in July of 2007. I can't remember exactly what it was that drew me to her. Maybe it was simply because she was the first face I saw when I got off the elevator each time I visited a friend's parents at the Lakeshore Nursing home. Grace always positioned herself right outside the door of her room, directly across from the elevator. I always greeted her with a polite "hello" as I hurried by. She always responded with a slightly crooked smile and lonesome eyes.

The first time that I stopped and knelt down next to her wheelchair to talk face-to-face, tears streamed down her face, as she made sounds that only resembled words. When I said "goodbye" she hugged me like a long lost friend. After that I felt compelled to include her in my visits. Over time my friend's parents died but I had become so attached to Grace that I felt the need to continue my regular trips to the Lakeshore.

Grace could answer yes or no. Sentences that sometimes started out with real words ended up as gobbledegook by the end of the sentence. But somehow we got to know each other and Grace even learned to pronounce my name. I also learned that Grace loved to eat. Fresh blueberries and strawberries made her really happy.

Grace must have been a religious person because listening to Psalms that I read from the bible I found next to her bed always brought her to tears. And she always wanted more. When my daughter played Christmas music on the violin Grace tried to sing along. Grace did succeed in singing "Happy Birthday" with us when we lit the candles on her birthday cake. That was unusual, because we were told that it was a stroke that had totally stolen her ability to speak. I guess singing is different.

By bringing Grace to our house for Christmas day we were able to learn much more about her life. She was able to point to her favorite foods and answer questions so much that we determined that perhaps she had two sons and eight sisters. There was no way we could know for sure because the social worker had told us that Grace had no known next of kin and her roommate said that in the two years before we started visiting, no one had ever visited Grace.

Eventually Grace became too sick and too weak to take out of the nursing home. She stopped getting dressed or leaving her bed, she even turned down strawberries. Grace was 61 years old and was dying of cancer.

By July of 2009, I felt like Grace needed visitors more than ever, so I recruited a handful of people to stop in and see her when I couldn't make it.

On August 9, 2009 I got "the call." The social worker told me to come right away, he wasn't sure how long Grace would last.

When my daughter and I arrived, Grace reached out for us with a half-hearted smile. For the next 12 hours we would sing Taize chants to comfort her. We would moisten her mouth, and unsuccessfully try to get her to allow the nurses to give her drops of pain medication. We felt like we needed to be strong for Grace, but watching her disappear before our eyes was almost unbearable. Yet at the same time, the hours felt somehow sacred. And at one point it felt almost like a birth.

The hospice nurse would check vital signs and time the "apnias," the breathless times between breaths. As the breathless times grew longer and longer, the look on Grace's face became more blank, and her eyes began to dry up because she was no longer blinking. The nurse showed us how to blink her eyes for her to keep them moist. The breathless times continued to lengthen. And as he checked his stopwatch the nurse would give us updates.

"That one was three minutes," he whispered. "These things take time. Everyone does it differently."

As it got later and later, Grace's roommate became agitated and we felt that it would be best if we headed home for a few hours of sleep. Just as I was dozing off, the phone rang. It was the hospice nurse calling to let us know that Grace had passed. I wondered why there wasn't someone, anyone, a son or a daughter, a sister or a brother who could take this heavy desolation away from me. I felt sad for Grace and perplexed by the fear that perhaps nursing homes are filled with "throw away" or "forgotten" people.

It was nearly impossible to find a way to give Grace an appropriate send off. The public gaurdian would not answer my calls and at first no one seemed to know where her body was taken. After locating the funeral home where Grace had been taken, the funeral director informed me that a memorial service would cost more than 1 thousand dollars. I explained to him that I couldn't afford that much money but was concerned that the residents and nurse assistants who had become attached to Grace wouldn't have a way to say goodbye. He agreed to give us a two hour window in which to hold a memorial service, for free, if I would go buy her a dress.

Next thing I knew, I found myself wandering around Target looking for a pretty dress for Grace to wear for the rest of eternity. I couldn't see because tears were clouding up my contact lenses. I couldn't think because I somehow felt guilty.

I wondered, "Who am I to grieve for Grace when there must have been so much more that I could have done for her."

I felt confused. "Do I buy pantyhose?" "Does she need shoes?" "What size bra and panties does she wear?"

This seemed surreal and somehow so wrong.

Somehow I managed to purchase a beautiful white sheath dress that looked like something Audrey Hepburn used to wear, simple yet elegant. Yes, I bought shoes and underwear too. When I dropped them off at the funeral home, the director warned me not to expect anyone to come to pay last respects.

My friend Paul and I put together the readings, had the time and date posted at the Lakeshore nursing home, and when the day of the funeral came, we were pleasantly surprised to find a dozen people attending.

Grace looked terrific! They had fixed her hair and make-up and, except for the fact that she was emaciated, she looked perfect and peaceful. Gone was the vacuous stare that had erased any hope of Grace dying romantically with a smile on her face gazing on a chorus of angels. In it's place was a stately, delicate, STRANGER.

We left Grace in that funeral home. The director told us that he had to wait for a place to open up for her in a cemetery. We would have to call back later to find out the plot number and location of her unmarked grave.

Recently as I rode my bike along the lake, I had a strange vision or feeling of Grace riding on the back like kids used to do before helmets and safety were such an issue. And she was riding no hands! Maybe a free spirit at last! Maybe my imagination. Who knows?

My daughter wants you to know that we miss you Grace, and we love you. Because we love you, we are determined to find out who you were and how you were connected.

I plan to visit Grace's last known address, the hospital, the police station, the nursing home, I'll search records and maybe, just maybe, there will be someone who will help me find Grace.

Extreme Kindness Virus Strikes Again

2009-07-07T11:54:00.006-05:00

You've heard about "extreme sports" right? I like to participate in "extreme kindness" instead. In fact, about a year ago, I wrote about how contagious "extreme kindness" can become and how my neighborhood has been looking a lot better because of all the kind people who have been picking up litter and going that extra mile for each other.

The other day the Obama administration called for a day of action for health care. So I figured that would be the perfect opportunity to spread the kindness virus a bit. Guess what? It worked.

I posted an opportunity for just 5 people to join me in visiting elders in our local nursing home. There were already 4 of us who visit the nursing home regularly, and we had discovered that there are plenty of elders who love to have visitors on a regular basis. We had already made friends with Grace, Evelyn, Eileen, and many others and we enjoy birthdays, holidays, and ordinary days with them.

Anyway, the plan was to show up at the nursing home and just talk to anyone who happens to be sitting in the hallway or sitting outside the rooms of the people whom we regularly visit. I made it clear that this was not going to be a one-day activity where a group of volunteers shows up to play bingo so that we could feel good about ourselves.

The idea was to make a real connection as a friend with one or two people and then let them know that each of us would be back to visit. It worked beautifully! All 9 of us connected.

Afterwards, all the volunteers told me that they had a lot of fun learning about the lives of their new "friends" and also that for sure they would visit regularly.

That was about a week ago. Yesterday, my daughter and I showed up with a pizza for Evelyn's birthday. Evelyn told us that one of the new volunteers had already stopped by with non alcoholic champagne to celebrate and that she had been waiting for the pizza to go along with it.

Another one of the new volunteers emailed me to let me know that she was on her way to sit with Grace, who has been living there for more than 2 years with no known friends or family.

So now 9 of us have caught the "virus." But instead of making us sick like real viruses, we have all discovered, one by one, that this "kindness virus" actually brings us joy.

We experience joy, because we realize that "others" who may need us, actually have much to offer us, and that we have much to offer them, the gift of our presence.

As I grieve over last week's death of Marjory, who I had been visiting for two years. I celebrate her gifts to me. At 87 years old she played piano for me almost every week. She played hymns from memory while she talked at the same time. She played Christmas songs even in the summer. We didn't care. She constantly reminded me to "love in many ways." And best of all, even up until the end she recited the Beatitudes from memory.

So as we pass the virus on one person at a time, I pass my gift from Marjory to you.

Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are the meek: for they shall possess the land.

Blessed are they who mourn: for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after justice: for they shall have their fill.

Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the clean of heart: for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.

Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Pretty soon if the "Extreme Kindness Virus" keeps spreading, it won't be "extreme" any more at all, it will just be "normal life."

The Gift of Time

2009-06-15T10:34:00.005-05:00

I can't believe that it's almost Father's Day. I just finished celebrating Mother's Day! For my Mother's Day gift, my daughter had bought us tickets to see the Emerson String Quartet play Dvorak at Chicago's Symphony Center and the concert was yesterday.

What a fantastic time we had! I realize that not everyone likes classical music but for me it was almost a spiritual experience.

Dvorak is known for using folk melodies as a basis for more complicated pieces. At times those melodies bathed me in a stream of warm comforting honey. Later, as the pace of the music picked up, notes galloped and chirped their way into my consciousness and lifted me to a sunrise in the Sangre De Cristo mountains. The violinists, violas, cellist, and pianist (for one of the pieces) enchanted us for more than 2 hours. To me time stood still and I wanted it never to end.

There was no place I would have rather been than listening to my favorite music with one of my best friends, my daughter. And when she draped her arms around my shoulders and rested her head on mine I took a snapshot of the moment in my memory. Now that she's an adult, such displays of affection are less common than they used to be.

I'm no music critic and I don't know all the ins and outs of classical music, but I'm sharing this moment, just so that when you think about what to get your dad for Father's Day, perhaps you might consider spending time with him doing something that he loves.

The time is so much more valuable than the stuff! It really is!

Obama at Notre Dame

2009-05-18T10:55:00.005-05:00

Rather than protest at a speech, I prefer to support life by looking to the life of Dorothy Day for my guidance. She was a devout catholic journalist who became a social activist and worked to create a better world by using the corporal works of mercy as a basis for her life.

The corporal works of mercy:

feeding the hungry
giving drink to the thirsty
clothing the naked  
offering hospitality to the homeless  
caring for the sick  
visiting the imprisoned
burying the dead

Dorothy Day did have an abortion as a young woman, just like many young women today. She later regretted it and spent the rest of her life supporting life by helping those who were poor, homeless, and hungry. She founded the Catholic Worker movement and opened a "house of hospitality" in the slums of New York City in 1933. To this day similar "houses of hospitality" exist all over the United States.

Do we work to find common ground among those with whom we disagree? Do we reach out in love to those who make us uncomfortable?

"What we would like to do is change the world. And by fighting for better conditions, by crying out unceasingly for the rights of the workers, the poor....we can to a certain extent change the world. We can throw our pebble in the pond and be confident that is ever widening circle will reach around the world. We repeat, "there is nothing that we can do but love, and, dear God, please enlarge our herarts to love each other, to love our neighbor, to love our enemy as well as our friend."

The above picture is part of an online exhibit on Dorothy Day at Marquette University.

A Buddhist Prayer

2009-05-05T08:17:00.002-05:00

Evoking the presence of the great compassion,

let us fill our hearts with our own compassion -
towards ourselves and towards all living beings.

Let us pray that all living beings realize
that they are all brothers and sisters,
all nourished from the same source of life.

Holy Week and Passover

2009-04-10T10:34:00.007-05:00

Blessings to people of all faiths. Listen and watch here.

Below are the words from the chant

Veni Creator Spiritus - Come Holy Spirit

Or here

Below are the words from the chant

In God alone my soul can find rest and peace

In God my peace and joy

Only in God my soul can find it's rest

Find it's rest and peace

My Day of Hope

2009-03-10T13:14:00.011-05:00

Hope crept in on the dreariest day of the week. Even though it had been raining all morning and the temperature was planning to hover only around freezing, I shoved my sunglasses in my pocket and headed out to the lake on my bicycle. That small flicker of hope kept nudging me to wish for just a bit of sunshine. I'll tell you about my "day of hope" after I tell you why I needed it so much.

Getting through February, the shortest month of the year, had dragged on endlessly. February pretended to be the longest month of the year. The bleak weather had been holding me hostage for way too long. Many of the times when I did get out, the bleak lives of my neighbors at the halfway house for people with mental illness had been haunting me.

I had been having a lot of trouble trying to process the sadness that stuck to me after my weekly visits. I'm talking about a place where the smell of cigarettes, and stifling heat make you want to throw open every window despite the freezing temperature outdoors.

Each week I cram myself into a tiny little elevator, virtually nose to nose with four or five of the residents, and try to make small talk with "the Pope" or "Princess Diana's relative." I visit a woman who is so paranoid that for 4 weeks in a row, she could not get out of her bed. She would lie there, flat on her back, telling me how scared and how sick she felt. Her husband told me that he couldn't get her to drink water because she was too afraid to go into the bathroom. The tiny cluttered room has barely enough space for the twin beds that she and her husband sleep on. There are no locks on the door and people wander through the halls mumbling and arguing.

I have been struggling with so many questions. Are my short weekly visits really making any difference? Why does anyone have to live that way? How can anyone get better without fresh plants, pets, sunshine, space, and fresh air?

The biggest question that haunts me is this. Why do we warehouse people?

Now, back to the day hope replenished my spirit.

Two days before "my day of hope" when I had walked along the lake, deadly silence had muffled the shoreline. The entire lake all the way to the horizon had looked like it was frozen solid. I have lived near this lake for many years and have never seen it like this. No waves lapped against the rocks, no sun even dared to peak out from behind the clouds. The cold stony ice produced nothing but cold dead silence.

The next time I ventured out, was my "hope day." Yes, it was raining like crazy. Yes, it was freezing cold. No, I didn't need my sunglasses. But yes, hope began to sneak back in on the songs of the birds who seemed to appear out of nowhere. The huge lump of ice slowly melting and floating away was somehow carrying off that huge lump of despair that had been lodged in my throat.

Then I realized it. My hope is in you! Maybe you can help me to carry hope to others. Hope is not heavy like despair. It is light and can be easy to carry if we do it together.

Could you take a look around where you live? Take fifteen minutes, a half an hour, or an hour each week to visit someone who lives in an isolated or unhealthy environment? It could be a nursing home, a prison, or a neighbor's home that needs a friendly face.

You don't really need to belong to a volunteer organization. You can walk in, talk to a social worker, or the activities director, and ask to visit someone. Or maybe when you meet someone on the street who needs a friend, make a plan to visit that person, or take her to lunch. Maybe..... just maybe....it would break up the day or help that person to understand that he or she deserves to be loved.

By the way, after my "day of hope" at the lake. My neighbor who couldn't get out of bed, got up and sat in a chair, smiled at me and asked me to bring strawberries the next time I visit. You bet I will!

Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime, Therefore, we are saved by hope. 

Nothing true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; 

Therefore, we are saved by faith. 

Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone. Therefore, we are saved by love.

No virtuous act is quite a virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as from our own; 

Therefore, we are saved by the final form of love which is forgiveness.

Reinhold Niebuhr

Longing

2009-02-12T11:27:00.024-06:00

The mundanities of life seem to be taking me further and further away from my center. Rumi's love poems to God help me to remember why I am here. How can words that were written more than 700 years ago resonate so deeply with me today?

I loaned out my "Essential Rumi" book, but fortunately found an extraordinary reading by the author Coleman Banks on you tube.

It's worth the time it takes to watch and listen here.

Below are the words.

Like This

Rumi, translated by Coleman Banks

If anyone asks you

how the perfect satisfaction

of all our sexual wanting

will look, lift your face

and say,

Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness

of the night sky, climb up on the roof

and dance and say,

Like this?

If anyone wants to know what "spirit"

or what "God's fragrance" means,

lean your head toward him or her.

Keep your face there close.

Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image

about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,

slowly loosen knot by knot the strings

of your robe.

Like this?

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,

don't try to explain the miracle.

Kiss me on the lips.

Like this. Like this.

When someone asks what it means

to "die for love," point

here.

If someone asks how tall I am, frown

and measure with your fingers the space

between the creases on your forehead.

This tall.

The soul sometimes leaves the body, then returns.

When someone doesn't believe that,

walk back into my house.

Like this.

When lovers moan,

they're telling our story.

Like this.

I am sky where spirits live.

Stare into this deepening blue,

while the breeze says a secret.

Like this.

When someone asks what there is to do,

light the candle in his hand.

Like this.

How did Joseph's scent come to Jacob?

Huuuu.

How did Jacob's sight return?

Huuu.

A little wind cleans the eyes.

Like this.

Let the Beauty We Love

Rumi, translated by Coleman Banks

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty 

and frightened.

Don’t open the door to the study

and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground’

Soul Friendship

2009-02-10T20:57:00.007-06:00

In honor of Valentine's Day I offer this poem by John O'Donohue

May the light of your soul guide you.

May the light of your soul bless the work you do with the secret love and warmth of your heart.

May you see in what you do the beauty of your own soul.

May the sacredness of your work bring healing, light and renewal to those who work with you and to those who see and receive your work.

May your work never weary you.

May it release within you wellsprings of refreshment, inspiration and excitement.

May you be present in what you do.

May you never become lost in the bland absences.

May the day never burden you.

May dawn find you awake and alert, approaching your new day with dreams, possibilities and promises.

May evening find you gracious and fulfilled.

May you go into the night blessed, sheltered and protected.

May your soul calm, console and renew you

Listen here to the Inner Landscape of Beauty, an interview with the late John O'Donohue on NPR's Speaking of Faith program.

Day of Service Update

2009-01-21T20:34:00.005-06:00

More pictures from our National Day of Service Shoveling Event

Accessibility and Much More

2009-01-19T18:02:00.022-06:00

I am so grateful for the many many shovelers who showed up and worked untiringly during our "Martin Luther King Day of Service" curbcut clearing event. I could hardly believe my eyes as the small army of volunteers began appearing in the parking lot behind my building. They kept coming and coming and coming. There were so many of them, all with huge smiles on their faces, eager to help.

What a contrast to the lonely morning two Sundays ago, when I shoveled curb cuts for two hours to prevent my daughter from getting stuck in her wheelchair during her one block trek to church. Really, those lovely kind hearted neighbors of mine had no idea how much their presence meant to me!

We all learned a lot. The volunteers learned how difficult it is to clear those huge piles of snow after the temperature drops. It was in the teens today. I learned that when we do it next year, I need to be a bit more organized.

But the most important thing I learned is that I am not alone and I live in a fantastic part of the country.

They came from my neighborhood in Evanston, IL. They came from Chicago, and they came from Wilmette. Children, young adults, older adults, all shoveled sidewalks, chipped huge mounds of ice, and cleared curbcuts. So that people with disabilities and elders could get around safely. Some even brought food donations for the Chicago Food Depository. Everybody was excited, energized and more than happy to help out.

While we drank coffee and hot chocolate afterward, some of us discovered that we had been living within just a couple of blocks of each other and we laughed at the fact that it took the internet and a community service project for us to finally connect.

What a day! I've been smiling so much that my cheek muscles hurt. No, we didn't solve the problem completely. And yes, there's still plenty of snow to shovel and we still have to figure out how to get the city to stop plowing the snow into the curbcuts. But I am absolutely certain that "yes we can" improve our community when we work together.

Each of these extremely hard workers needs to be recognized. Thanks, thanks, thanks!

Below is one of the messages that I received from volunteer Steve. It may not sound like we accomplished much, but you can't believe how long it took to clear each corner.

Wow, what a great turnout! .....I don't have to tell you how hard it was to cut thru some of the ice but we prevailed and did some pretty good work.

The only remarkable piece was at the corner of Monroe and Elmwood (NW crossing heading South). The snow was piled at least 4 feet high and the entire walkway was buried(daunting). I just couldn't tackle that one after breaking up the ice on Ridge. However, a team of really hardy souls just dove right in and opened the entire crossing.

Our entire group was terrific, no one complained, they all jumped right in and did an awesome job.

We took many more pictures which I will post soon. These are just a few of us who stopped in at the coffee shop afterward.

Some people went home and shoveled again or shoveled at their own homes if they weren't able to join the group. Believe me, it's a lot harder than it looks here!

As probably many of us did today, I shoveled two spots near my apartment this afternoon. Happy to have a greater consciousness of how I can help.

Every blessing,

Terri

National Day of Service

2009-01-13T10:17:00.011-06:00

After spending two hours chipping away and shoveling out gigantic piles of snow that city plows had pushed into the curb cuts that are supposed provide access to cross the streets, I began to feel frustrated and exhausted. So I started talking to God, kind of like Tevia in Fiddler on the Roof.

I cried out in frustration, "Why God, did you create snow?" Surprisingly I got an answer. "So that you can learn to help each other."

Of course all this was in my mind. I wasn't really talking. I didn't want anyone to think that I was delusional. But it did make sense to me. If we are on this earth to learn to love each other, than how can we do it unless we serve each other?

The next day I received the Michelle Obama invitation to sign up for the National Day of Service on January 19 in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. You can click on the website and find an event in your area or you can host your own.

So I'm hosting a snow shoveling event in my neighborhood. Our object is to clear the curb cuts and walkways for elders and for those who use wheelchairs. We will meet at noon. Everybody will bring their own shovel and we will create an accessible neighborhood.

I'm so excited. A few people have already signed up. I don't care if it's an army of volunteers or just a handful. If we can raise awareness and work on a problem at the same time it will be worth it.

If you can't join us and you live where there is snow, you can simply look around your own neighborhood and spend an hour or so shoveling out someone's car, driveway, walkway or curb cut. It's exercise too and costs less than a health club.

Click here to learn about and sign up for our event.

Click here to find an event in your neighborhood or host your own.

See Boston story here.

Skating and Christmas Update

2009-01-13T10:01:00.006-06:00

Wheelchairs are now allowed on the ice rink at Navy Pier. We had a fantastic time skating at the winterfest on Christmas Eve.

Christmas day we picked up our new friend Grace from the nursing home. She spent the day feasting and laughing at our feeble attempts to communicate through her aphasia. Because she didn't want to go back home at the end of the day we have decided that dinner with Grace will become a tradition at least once a month. Grace is now part of our extended family.

Ooops Never Mind - Wheelchairs Welcome

2008-12-18T17:07:00.004-06:00

What a difference a day makes. My daughter has just received a phone call from Joe Russo at the Mayor's Office for People with Disabilities. The people at the Winterfest have decided that it is in everybody's best interest to allow my daughter and her wheelchair on the skating rink with her wheelchair. In fact they will be building a ramp, and sending their employees to training on disability rights as well. We plan to skate to celebrate on Christmas Eve. Wanna join us? Pictures to come.

Wheelchair banned from Chicago Ice Skating Rink

2008-12-17T21:23:00.012-06:00

Because this blog is dedicated to the many people who give of themselves to others, I wish to pay tribute to a man named James. James got into a fight with his boss today because that boss put him in an extremely precarious position. Chicago's Navy Pier hosts an annual Winter Festival complete with giant lighted snowmen, Christmas trees, Ferris wheel, Santa's helpers and free ice skating. My daughter and I love to ice skate. It is one of the activities that we can do together without any special accommodation for her wheelchair.

There we were wheeling and skating to the sounds of Christmas when James motioned for my daughter to come over to the side of the rink. He told her that she had to get off the ice because his boss told him that "her wheelchair poses a safety risk to the other skaters." (See the picture? Does she look like a she's threatening the safety of the other skaters to you?) James was very apologetic. He told her that hadn't seen any problem with her skating in her own way. In fact he had been enjoying watching her having a good time.

I couldn't believe it. I was pretty sure banning her from the skating rink was illegal, a violation of the Americans with Disabilities Act. I called city hall. I called our local disability rights organization. No one was available to talk right then. I had hoped that someone in power could convince James' boss that we had as much right to have fun as anyone else.

Nothing worked. The police were called. My daughter was forced to stop skating. As we sat outside the Winterfest crying and making phone calls, James found us. He offered his phone number in case we needed anyone to support our side of the issue. He told us that he had tried his best to talk his boss out of throwing us out of the rink, and that he felt awful. I am grateful for James and his kind heart, still sad but grateful.

Banning a young woman who uses a wheelchair from ice skating at the Chicago Winterfest seems to be the very antithesis of the holiday spirit. It's not only wrong, but it also may be illegal. We will continue to work to get this ridiculous policy changed.

Boise, Idaho welcomes wheelchairs on the ice at its holiday festival.

Winter Wonderland in London also welcomes wheelchairs on its ice rink.

Home for the Holiday

2008-12-13T11:08:00.003-06:00

A couple of years ago during a personal crisis I was inspired to refocus my life. I decided that instead of coming from fear I would remember to come from love. What that means for me is that I try to pay attention to my interactions with others and when I take action, I try to make sure that my motivation is love, not fear.

That's why this economic downturn can't hurt my holiday. No, I can't shop like crazy and give tons of stuff, but I don't care. The stuff doesn't really make people happy anyway. I can however share my home, even if it is just for a day.

My daughter and I regularly visit a few people at a local nursing home. We were wishing that we could bring two of the women to our house for Christmas dinner but didn't think the facility would allow it. I'm happy to report that we have figured it out.

We contacted the social worker, who is arranging transportation and permission from their doctor and we will be able to spend the day together away from the fluorescent lights and institutional food. They'll be able to meet my two year old "across-the-hall neighbor" who stops in for a visit almost every day. They'll meet my other friends who have to work on Christmas day but will be coming over as soon as they get off. We'll turn on the Christmas music, light up the tree and remember that the economic downturn cannot steal our spirit. Maybe it's an opportunity to remember that we are here for each other.

By the way, if you do have more than enough you might consider helping Pam Koner with her holiday giving. Pam founded Family-to-Family with 17 families mailing food boxes every month to 17 poor families. Family to Family has grown to 27 chapters that provide aid to 375 families in 13 rural communities across America.

You can visit Pam's website and help here. And if you're so inclined, maybe find other ways to kick the butt of the economic downturn. I'd love to hear about it.

Thanksgiving Blessings

2008-11-27T15:02:00.006-06:00

This is a Thanksgiving day that I will keep tucked in my heart for many years. It seemed especially poignant given the attacks on the people of India. (I continue to pray for the victims and the perpetrators.) The interfaith Thanksgiving Service that I attended included two Protestant minsters, a Catholic priest, a Rabbi, a Buddhist nun, a Bahai leader, and a lot of people who believe in reaching across differences to find our oneness. We sang "This is My Song' from "Finlandia." This one is a really good version. The words are pasted below. Click here to watch and sing along if you're sentimental like me.

This is my song, o God of all the nations, a song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;
But other hearts in other lands are beating, with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

My country's skies are bluer than the ocean, and sunlight beams on clover leaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine;
O hear my song, thouh God of all the nations,
a song of peace for their land and for mine.

May truth and freedom come to every nation!
May peace about where strife has raged so long;
that each may seek to love and build together,
A world united, righting every wrong;
A world united it its love for freedom,
proclaiming peace together in one song.

My daughter and I also visited a local nursing home, where we regularly visit a friend with Alzheiemer's and two women who have had strokes. One woman, Grace, has been living there for a couple of years. She has no relatives to visit her and has not recovered her ability to speak. A few days ago, when I brought a birthday cake to Grace, I was surprised to find out that even though she has not been able to speak, she was able to sing every single word of Happy Birthday, perfectly! So today, when we went over there, my daughter brought her violin and played Amazing Grace and some familiar Christmas songs. Once again Grace was able to sing along with some of the songs. We all sang, held hands, laughed and had a fantastic time. Maybe our musical notes were not all in tune but our spirits were.

Blessings to you on this Thanksgiving. Below is the prayer from Interfaith Action's 10th annual Thanksgiving service.

For the laughter of the children,
For my own life breath,
For the abundance of food on our table,
For the ones who prepare our sumptuous feast,
For the roof over our heads,
The clothes on our backs,
For our health,
And our wealth of blessings,
For this opportunity to celebrate with family and friends,
For the freedom to pray these words
Without fear,
In any language,
In any faith,
In this great country,
Whose landscape is as vast and beautiful as her inhabitants,
Thank You, God, for giving us all these. Amen

This is my song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCjuxePRyCo

Wisdom

2008-11-19T14:53:00.004-06:00

I opened an email from a friend from Dallas and was inspired by the video it contained. Please watch here. I'm pretty sure you'll love it.

For in her is a spirit intelligent, holy, unique,

Manifold, subtle, agile, clear unstained, certain,

Not baneful, loving the good, keen, unhampered, beneficent, kindly,

Firm, secure, tranquil, all powerful, all seeing,

And pervading all spirits, though they be intelligent pure and very subtle.

Book of Wisdom 7, 23

Hope Won

2008-11-05T06:11:00.011-06:00

No matter how you voted, yes "we are all Americans" and we can work to fix our broken world. I can't stop looking at the pictures from Grant Park in Chicago. They give me hope that Americans can work together.

“Your victory has demonstrated that no person anywhere in the world should not dare to dream of wanting to change the world for a better place.” - Nelson Mandela

“Your election raises in France, in Europe, and elsewhere in the world, an immense hope." - Nicholas Sarkozy

Election 2008

2008-11-04T13:50:00.006-06:00

This is a sign that hangs on the roof of the Mennonite Church that serves as my polling place.

Come and Play with Us

2008-10-27T17:13:00.012-05:00

If you're in the Chicago area on the weekend of November 7 or November 14, then you may want to stop by the Irish American Heritage Center and watch the play Six Stories Up in Peace. It's funny, and interesting on many levels.

Six Stories Up is an annual production of six original stories woven together around a theme. This year's theme of peace is especially significant considering the vitriolic nature of the political campaign and the fear associated with the economic crisis.

In one of the lines, the Mother Teresa character says "Perhaps Dan has no peace because he forgot that we belong to each other." For some reason that line continues to unfold for me as we rehearse for the show.

Have we forgotten that we belong to each other? Are we angry because we think that the rich guys got away with something and we are bailing them out? Or are we afraid that someone will take away our comforts so that some poor person can have a better life?

I believe that we do belong to each other. I find joy in discovering the magnificence in everyone I meet, especially those who may be marginalized by disability, age, or poverty. That's why I am grateful to be a mentor in Six Stories Up.

Six Stories Up pairs up six adult mentors with six middle school children to produce an original theater production.

Each adult/child team works together for six weeks to write a 10-12 minute theater piece on an assigned theme. The entire group comes together to weave the pieces into a full-length show, which is performed for two weekends at a professional theater. We also provide apprentice opportunities for children in set design, mask making, music composition and stage management. Because of the intimacy of the group, we are able to take the time to draw out the specific abilities of each child and empower him or her to shine. Kids with disabilities get starring roles, which they rarely get in school. The adults and kids without disabilities grow in their understanding of disability.

Because this year's theme is peace, we researched Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr, Mother Teresa, Wangari Maathai, Greg Mortenson, Socrates, Confucius, and more. The result is not only hilarious, but also poignant and moving.

So if you have time and you want to remember once again that we in fact do belong to each other, please come to Six Stories Up in Peace. Get details here>>

Call 312-409-1025 for reservations. Adults and children over 5 years old will love it.

If we have no peace it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other - Mother Teresa

Truth

2008-10-08T17:33:00.006-05:00

I'm exhausted from the spin. Where is the truth?

I watch the debates. I search the newspapers, factcheck.org, votesmart.org. I refuse to watch the ads.

When I was a child, distorting the truth was considered unethical, immoral, and a sign of a flawed character.

Please stop!

I'm grateful for Maya Angelou and this breath of fresh air!

A Brave and Startling Truth

Maya Angelou

We, this people, on a small and lonely planet

Traveling through casual space

Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns

To a destination where all signs tell us

It is possible and imperative that we learn

A brave and startling truth

And when we come to it

To the day of peacemaking

When we release our fingers

From fists of hostility

And allow the pure air to cool our palms

When we come to it

When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate

And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean

When battlefields and coliseum

No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters

Up with the bruised and bloody grass

To lie in identical plots in foreign soil

When the rapacious storming of the churches

The screaming racket in the temples have ceased

When the pennants are waving gaily

When the banners of the world tremble

Stoutly in the good, clean breeze

When we come to it

When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders

And children dress their dolls in flags of truce

When land mines of death have been removed

And the aged can walk into evenings of peace

When religious ritual is not perfumed

By the incense of burning flesh

And childhood dreams are not kicked awake

By nightmares of abuse

When we come to it

Then we will confess that not the Pyramids

With their stones set in mysterious perfection

Nor the Gardens of Babylon

Hanging as eternal beauty

In our collective memory

Not the Grand Canyon

Kindled into delicious color

By Western sunsets

Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe

Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji

Stretching to the Rising Sun

Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,

Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores

These are not the only wonders of the world

When we come to it

We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe

Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger

Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace

We, this people on this mote of matter

In whose mouths abide cankerous words

Which challenge our very existence

Yet out of those same mouths

Come songs of such exquisite sweetness

That the heart falters in its labor

And the body is quieted into awe

We, this people, on this small and drifting planet

Whose hands can strike with such abandon

That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living

Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness

That the haughty neck is happy to bow

And the proud back is glad to bend

Out of such chaos, of such contradiction

We learn that we are neither devils nor divines

When we come to it

We, this people, on this wayward, floating body

Created on this earth, of this earth

Have the power to fashion for this earth

A climate where every man and every woman

Can live freely without sanctimonious piety

Without crippling fear

When we come to it

We must confess that we are the possible

We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world

That is when, and only when

We come to it.

Published by Random House

International Day of Peace

2008-09-21T21:54:00.011-05:00

In honor of the International Day of Peace, we watched the documentary, Promises. It follows a group of Palestinian and Jewish children as they struggle to find ways to unlock themselves from the deadly tug of war over the land that is most sacred to the world's major religions.

It offers a glimmer of hope. It also left me wondering. Why is there so much praying going on from both sides, yet no peace? Could they find it in their hearts to pray for each other?

I can't begin to judge others, having not lived their lives, however in my own small life, I do find that praying for those who harm me creates amazing results.

This is a good movie to use to start a dialogue. The filmmakers are available to discuss the issues. If you purchase or rent the dvd, be sure to watch the extras and the updates on the children. You can also download an educational package for schools or community meetings at the Promises film project website.

Promises may inspire you to pray for peace, no matter how you pray.

Praying

by Mary Oliver

It doesn't have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones, just

pay attention, than patch

a few words together and don't try

to make them elaborate, this isn't

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak

(The Global Oneness Project has posted interviews from Middle East peacemakers.>>)

One Penny Buys a Pencil

2008-09-21T16:04:00.010-05:00

I met Greg Mortenson! I'm not sure who was more excited, me or Rashad (the boy who I am mentoring in this year's Six Stories Up performance). Here's how it happened. When I found out that Greg Mortenson (Three Cups of Tea) would be in Rockford for International Peace Weekend, I got on the phone to see if we could get in to see him. Every event was sold out and booked up. Everybody kept saying "No." Then serendipity stepped in and I somehow found the man who was sponsoring Greg's visit, Jim Keeling. Jim immediately arranged for Rashad to meet Greg. That's important, because Rashad and I are writing a scene in the play in which Rashad is playing Greg's character.

Wow! It turned out to be one of those days when you smile so much that your cheek muscles hurt. Greg Mortenson is one of the most gracious, generous and kind hearted people that I have ever met. He not only took time to talk to us. He also introduced Rashad to the audience as "the other Greg," told us he'd try to come and see the play, and told Rashad a fascinating story about how when Greg was held hostage for eight days he overcame his fear of his captors by trying to make friends with them and eventually winning them over to the point that they freed him and contributed money to build more schools.

The other exciting part of the day, was the power of the penny. While the politicians in Washington and the investors on Wall Street were wringing their hands over our nation's money problems. Children from Rockford were collecting Pennies for Peace. They then presented Greg with a check for $53,800. That's enough money to build a school in Pakistan or Afghanistan and run it for three years!

"A penny in America buys nothing, but over there it buys one pencil," Greg told the audience.

By the way, that was a herculean effort on the part of the kids. That check represented 5 million 3 hundred and 80 thousand pennies!

I am so thankful for Greg Mortenson who overcame unbelievable odds to make sure that girls get the education they deserve. (If you haven't read his story yet, here's more.)

I am also grateful for those who dig deep into their pockets to give no matter what their financial worries may be.

They are the people who help me remember that in giving of that which is larger than ourselves, our personal worries disappear. Yes, I still worry a little about my job, my daughter's college tuition, and my retirement fund. But really, I'm having a whole lot more fun finding Pennies for Peace, and watching Rashad blossom in his role as Greg Mortenson.

To laugh often and love much; to win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children, to earn the approbation of honest critics; to appreciate beauty; to give of one's self, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exultation; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived--that is to have succeeded. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sacred Connection

2008-09-08T11:27:00.011-05:00

I volunteer at our local Ten Thousand Villages store, because I really believe in the concept of Fair Trade. I love to buy gifts and coffee there, but I try not to buy too much for my house because I like to live simply. So what happened to me recently came as quite the surprise.

Everybody except me had been talking endlessly about the upcoming annual rug event. I had thought that they were a bit "overly enthusiastic" about someone bringing in a few piles of oriental rugs. I had never even considered buying one. I figured the sun from my southern exposure would just fade it, it would get dirty and have to be dry cleaned, and besides, I'm not much for flowery things in my house.

But as I watched the rug video on my computer to get myself ready for my shift, I began to warm up to the idea. I not only warmed up, but I got so excited about the fact that whole families got to work together in their home, schools were being built, and artisans were making a good living, that I was determined to buy a small rug before the end of the event. I had also found out on the FAQ page that these rugs last for more than 100 years, they don't fade, and they clean up with soap and water. I would be helping to change lives simply by buying a rug. You really need to see this video!

The stacks of rugs were about waist high. As customers would ask about color and size, I began to help fold over the top layers to reveal the various rugs underneath.

I was helping customers and at the same time looking to see if there was anything that I could afford.

All of a sudden I began to get that feeling I get when I walk around the art museum, kind of awestruck. The exquisite designs took my breath away. The colors captivated me.

When I folded back the third or fourth layer in one of the stacks, a particular rug came to life for me. I drank in the many shades of greens and felt as if I was standing in the middle of the most exquisite garden that I had ever seen. It's hard to explain, but something about that rug actually brought tears to my eyes!

Somehow I felt connected to the artist in Pakistan who created the design, the shepherd who collected the wool, the people who dyed the wool, and the family who spent more than one year tying tiny knots by hand to keep alive a centuries old art.

When I found out how much it cost, I realized that I had to dig in to my savings to buy it. But it seemed worth it for so many reasons that I can't even explain myself.

That magnificent rug lives in my home now. In a way it has become sacred to me, my sacred connection to another family, and another culture that I may never get to visit in my lifetime.

Oh by the way, did I tell you? On the tag attached to the rug is the name of the family that made the rug along with the name the village where they live. I'm going to write them a letter of gratitude. If I hear from them I'll let you know.

From Orphan to Soldier to Nurse

2008-08-27T15:36:00.014-05:00

So what’s stopping you from becoming the person you want to be? I know from experience that I can talk myself out of just about anything by making excuses centered around my “dysfunctional childhood” or bad breaks in life. But when I hear about people like Bayelign Mamo I am encouraged and inspired. His adoptive father, Dr. Rick Hodes is so proud of him that he has sent a letter asking for congratulation cards to be sent to Baye.

After you read his amazing story, I hope that you will find it in your heart to send a letter or card as a word of encouragement.

Baye lost his father to a war in Ethiopia and then his mother to a famine. As an orphan, his only hope of getting food was to join the army. But he was so thin from not having regular meals that the army wouldn't accept him. So Baye found another way. He borrowed a pair of long pants, filled the pockets with stones, weighed in again and finally became a soldier in hopes of getting fed.

The war did not go well. At one point Baye barely escaped alive after becoming trapped behind enemy lines. When Ethiopia eventually lost the war, he and a friend hoped to make it to safety by jumping onto an Ethiopian Navy boat and sailing out to the Red Sea.

The problem was no country would let them dock. They wound up living on a deserted island with 3000 other guys for more than 2 years. Eventually when they became repatriated, Dr. Hodes hired Baye as a house guard and then adopted him into his family.

One day when Dr. Hodes asked Baye what time it was. Baye confessed that he couldn’t tell time and in fact, he couldn’t read or write.With all this war, famine and destruction going on in his life. There had been no opportunity for school. The other kids in the family taught him the alphabet.

And then at age 20, Baye entered the third grade. It was hard to sit in classes with the little children and Dr. Hodes says that learning didn't come easily for Baye. But he persevered. Eventually Baye learned enough to get accepted to Central University Nursing School.

"I was impressed with their education: it was serious, and comprehensive," writes Dr. Hodes

"I've never seen Baye happier than when I brought him 12 pounds of standard medical and surgical nursing texts from America so he could study them."

Last Saturday Baye graduated from nursing school and is now an RN with hope for a bright future.

Wouldn't it be fun to get lots of people to send him cards and letters of congratulations? Please send yours to:

Bayelign Mamo

c/o Dr. Rick Hodes

PO Box 7600

Adis Ababa, Ethiopia

"Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world."

Nelson Mandela

"Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible: and suddenly you are doing the impossible."

St. Francis of Assisi

Michelle and Ed

2008-08-23T08:41:00.015-05:00

Ever since I found out about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, I have been working harder than ever to make sure that every plastic bottle or bag that crosses my path gets recycled. And even though I have been picking up litter every day and everywhere, it had been feeling like it's a losing battle. It continues to accumulate, especially around the train stations.

I am hopeful though thanks to Michelle, a kindred spirit who lives a few blocks from me. I liked her the first day that I met her. But now I like her even more because she has made me realize that I'm not alone.

Michelle tells me that she also picks up litter on a daily basis. And that's not all. "See those flowers over there?" She points to what used to be a raggedy patch of dirt near the alley. "My neighbor and I planted those."

I then tell her about my unofficial litter patrol. The people who ask me for money on the street work with me. I give them my spare cash if they walk a few blocks with me and help me recycle and throw away litter. I tell her about how really helpful Ed has been and that I find out a lot about him as we work.

For example, he walks on the side of his feet for a reason. They hurt. A few years ago he had to jump from a window to escape a fire in an apartment building on Chicago's west side.

He never knew his mother and rarely sees his brother. But he really likes living in our neighborhood because people help him. He's wearing new sneakers that one of the other neighbors recently bought him.

Well guess what? Michelle knows Ed pretty well too. She and her husband last winter bought him a scarf.

There are many more people like Ed who live on the fringes and there always seems to be trash thrown around by the train stations and bare patches of dirt where flowers could grow.

But I'm grateful for Ed and the others who are willing to tell me their stories and help me keep our community clean. And I'm grateful for Michelle and the guerilla gardeners and all those who practice random acts of kindness.

Acts of kindness can make you happy too. Sonja Lyubomirsky, PhD, has discovered through research that performing random acts of kindness increases our sense of well being.

I think you'll really love this video from the Global Oneness Project.

"Wherever there is a human being there is an opportunity for kindness."

Seneca

Lighten Up

2008-08-07T14:43:00.010-05:00

A few days ago during my morning contemplative prayer session, the words, "laugh more" came to me. I decided that I was supposed to lighten up a bit and ever since then I have been trying to ignore the self critic who tells me that I'm not smart enough, clever enough etc.

Then today I was sent an e-mail about a man who is working on creating peace in the world through laughter.

Even some scientists say that Dr. Matan Katari may have come up with an exercise that's really good for your health. I love these laughing quadruplets on you tube!

Happy laughing :)

Just Like Me

2008-08-05T15:35:00.011-05:00

Recently I received a huge coffee table book "Finding Grace: The Face of America's Homeless" from a friend. On each page I discovered the face of one or two people who have been gently photographed at extremely close range. Their eyes worried, hoped, questioned, smiled, accused, surrendered, sparkled, and stared.

I realized that some of the faces on those pages were life sized, not scaled down to fit the page, which is about 12" by 10." They reminded me of a little exercise (from l oveandforgive.org) that my brother and I have been practicing to remind us to treat others with care. Whenever we find ourselves talking about someone, at the end of the sentence, we tag on the phrase "just like me."

In the spirit of the "just like me" exercise, I took a page from that book, with the face of a woman about my age, and held it up to the mirror next to my face and said to myself, "just like me."

Her eyes crinkled up at the corner, just like me.

She smiles, just like me.

She looks hopeful, just like me.

She looks tired, just like me.

She looks resilient, just like me.

She looks creative, just like me.

She needs to be wanted and cared for and loved, just like me.

I bet you can find someone just like you in this book or on the streets.

The proceeds from this book go to the Finding Grace Homeless Initiative.

Thanks to Morton of Dallas for sending this poem from William Shakespeare

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself,
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice.

Born Again Bag Lady

2008-07-24T19:15:00.014-05:00

I am a born again bag lady (cloth bags, not plastic). I'll tell you why.

Today I received an email from a friend that was meant to convince everyone to use cloth bags rather than plastic when they shop. I have been using cloth bags for more than a year but still occasionally forget. I'm pretty sure that I will always remember to bring my cloth bags and recycle all plastic containers now that I've learned about how much trash is floating around in the ocean.

I'm not sure why I haven't found out about the seriousness of the situation until now. Captain Charles Moore has been trying to tell the world about it for several years. While sailing he discovered an area about 1000 miles west of San Francisco that is filled with floating trash, mainly plastic. It's been dubbed the Great Pacific Garbage Patch and is at least twice the size of Texas. All the trash seems to accumulate in that area because of the ocean currents. It washes up on shore as well.

The New York Times has covered it. Discover Magazine has covered it. It's been on the Today Show. It is a real problem. My cloth bags have taken on a new meaning for me. So has recycling and reusing.

Please follow the links in this post to learn more.

Creating Peace

2008-07-22T16:22:00.013-05:00

My efforts to reform my book buying habit have failed miserably.

I had turned over a new leaf, to borrow rather than buy. And as usual I kept my book way too long. Also, because it's been on the New York Times bestseller list and others were waiting for it, I got a gentle reminder in a letter from the library.

So to make amends I bought two more copies and donated them when I turned myself in. The librarian said she likes that policy better than fines.

It's the least I can do after all that the protagonist in the book has gone through. Three Cups of Tea is the true story of Greg Mortenson's mission to build schools in the poorest regions of Pakistan and Afghanistan. He kind of reminds me of a mountain climber guy version of Mother Theresa.

The fact that Mortenson built lots of schools is important. But what impressed me even more was how he went about building those schools. He gave of himself wholly, by immersing himself in the culture without judgment. He helped people, not in the way he wanted, but by finding out what they needed and how to provide it on their terms.

Here's what Mortenson said in the book about a man who helped save his life.

"Haji Ali taught me to share three cups of tea, to slow down and make building relationships as important as building projects. He taught me that I had more to learn from the people I work with than I could ever hope to teach them."

After a failed attempt to climb a mountain and a successful attempt by village people to save his life, Mortenson promised to build them a school. He went back to America, lived in his car, wrote hundreds of letters and got absolutely no response.

Finally after miraculously raising barely enough for one school he went all the way back to the village only to be told that he couldn't build the school because they had no bridge. So he started all over again, researching, raising money and finding experts and manpower to help him build a bridge. It was like that all through the book. He spent countless hours learning the ways of the people. He overcame unbelievable obstacles and finally built the school. But then he didn't stop at one.

Other people asked for schools and he obliged. It wasn't easy. He survived two or three death threats by those who didn't think girls should be educated. He was kidnapped at gunpoint, and on top of that became the subject of hate mail by Americans who after 9/11 thought he shouldn't be helping out anyone from that part of the world.

Greg Mortenson is unstoppable! So far he's responsible for building more than 60 schools and educating thousands of children. His organization is especially dedicated to educating girls and has connected thousands of school children in America to school children in Afghanistan and Pakistan through his Pennies for Peace program.

With Greg Mortenson as my inspiration, I will continue to look for ways to work to repair my little corner of the world, in a way that promotes understanding and connection with others, on their terms.

Hopefully, I'll get better at returning books at my local library too.

Widening the Circle of Compassion

2008-07-15T13:14:00.015-05:00

What if you received an email from your boss inviting you to an all day seminar? Suppose the only information that you receive is the name of the man conducting the seminar. So you "google" that name and can't find much information. You're pretty sure he's a Spanish historian, but that's it. Do you go?

You may have been to corporate seminars in the past, where the top boss tries to motivate everyone with team building cliches and then sequesters himself in his office for the next nine months.

Or how about one of those employee attitude training days?

I remember one in which the boss decided that we needed to have more fun, so he started a new policy of calling us all every Thursday and leaving a voice mail telling us that the next day we would be "Hawaiian Shirt Day," " Red Sweatshirt Day," or "Purple Bermuda Shorts Day." We would be expected to come to work on Fridays in the required goofy uniform to demonstrate our team spirit.

I recently received an invitation to an all day seminar with Spanish Historian Dr. Luis Martin. Because I trust the people I work for, I figured it would be different than my past corporate meetings and agreed to attend.

I am glad I did.

I entered the meeting room feeling nervous about how I would be perceived by my boss and co workers and left at the end of the day seriously in love with them all. (Not eros, more like philia or agape).

Dr. Luis Martin has the unique ability to reach that place in us that recognizes truth and desires beauty. He creates an experience in which the self-conscious silliness drops away and makes room for the profound. What was extraordinary about that seminar was the opportunity that it created for growth. I'm still unpacking it today.

Sometimes all we can do is point to truth, or beauty, or wisdom so that others can discover it themselves.

Dr. Martin invoked, Einstein, Plato, Aristotle, The Declaration of Independence, Teresa of Avila, and Ignatius of Loyola and intertwined them with the hopes and dreams of each of us in that room. He challenged us to examine our lives and our work anew.

He opened the doors. We chose whether to explore inside.

What continues to resonate with me today are these words from Albert Einstein

“A human being is part of a whole, called by us the ‘Universe’ —a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts, and feelings, as something separated from the rest—a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us.

Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”

Dr. Martin also asked us to remember the last sentence of the Declaration of Independence, which also works amazingly well today.

"... and for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each others lives our fortunes, and our sacred honor."

Wow! What if we conducted our lives and our businesses that way today.

So as I seek to widen my circle of compassion I give thanks for Dr. Luis Martin and those with whom I work.

Healing a Broken World

2008-06-25T15:27:00.006-05:00

I woke up this morning remembering that there are so many ways to repair our broken world and so many people who are doing their best to do so. I am deeply moved by Katrina Browne's documentary Traces of the Trade - A Story from the Deep North, which I watched on PBS last night. Watch Trailer

It is the compelling and honest story of nine members of a Rhode Island family who discover that their ancestors were the largest slave trading family in the history of the United States. As they revisit the sites of the trade route, they face extreme sadness, confusion, and anger. They ask many questions and look for ways to bring about reconciliation. See Katrina's letter to viewers.

While the dialogue and the healing continue. I will continue to look for ways to make sure that I am not enriching myself at the expense of others. I don't want to buy products that are produced by those who work for next to nothing and can't afford to feed their children. That's why I buy only Fair Trade coffee and gifts, and volunteer at the local fair trade store. Perhaps some of the daily choices we make might help promote the dignity of others.

And as Katrina said in a sermon in her church, if "we really show up for the conversation" and take each other's hurt to heart as much as our own, perhaps we can create a better world. See how to get involved.

The Extreme Kindness Virus

2008-06-16T16:06:00.013-05:00

Lately I've been working on my listening skills and contemplative prayer seems to help. That's why I wind up at the lake so often. I hear God's voice in the waves. Well, not exactly a voice, but you know, that still small voice that only comes when we get really centered.

The other day someone suggested that instead of extreme sports we should all practice extreme kindness. The idea took hold in my brain and wouldn't let go. I figured that I'd work on it daily.

I started by putting at the top of my prayer list anyone who may have hurt me, or who I don't like. That turned out to be harder than I thought, but it seems transformative for me as well.

Next, I decided to try extreme kindness to the earth. To cut down on greenhouse gases, I'm walking most places and only driving when it's absolutely necessary. That gives me time to stop and talk to my neighbors, and for some reason walking seems to make the day last longer. I feel less stressed than when I jump in the car for every single errand.

The best part about practicing extreme kindness is this. For some reason it helps me to notice the kindness of others. For example, when I arrived at the lake the other morning, I couldn't do any kind of centering prayer because I kept getting irritated by the fact that someone had partied there the night before and left beer bottles, cans, and trash all over the beach.

Because I had committed myself to extreme kindness I couldn't complain about why the city hadn't cleaned it up. I simply began to pick up the stuff. After a couple of trips to the trash, a very kind man who had been sitting on his beach chair reading the paper, began to help me. He introduced himself. We discovered that we both like to swim in the lake and we worked together on picking up the trash. Pretty soon a really kind couple came walking along. They thanked us for picking up the trash and began to help as well. They could have just walked on by, but they caught the extreme kindness virus. In about 20 minutes the beach was clean and we could enjoy it again.

On the way home, I passed the extreme kindness virus on to 2 more people. A woman waiting for the "walk" sign at an intersection with me saw me picking up trash. We began to talk and walk side by side.

"You're making me feel guilty," she confessed. Immediately she started picking up papers and putting them in the closest trash can.

The man who hangs out on Main street and always asks for a dollar approached. I gave him a dollar on the condition that he help pick up the trash. He did, and kindly promised to keep doing it everyday.

Don't get the wrong idea. My neighborhood is not really bad, but sometimes people do litter and sometimes it just seems like too much hassle to bend down and pick it up. But now that I've caught the extreme kindness bug, I have no choice. I must be kind to the earth.

I must also admit that I have a long way to go to become a really major extreme kindness hero.

I just received an e-mail about two extremely kind Jewish doctors. Dr. Rick Hodes who performs free surgeries in Ethiopia and is a single father who has adopted many of those he helped, and Dr. Eric Nussbaum who teamed up to remove a disfiguring facial cyst on a young Muslim woman for free.

Now that's extreme kindness. I guess I'll keep practicing.

"If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain."
-- Emily Dickinson

Memorial Day

2008-05-27T15:14:00.011-05:00

We prayed and remembered the men and women who fought for us in all the wars.

We prayed for world leaders to find a better way.

We remembered John Lennon's song Imagine.

We planted vegetables, visited at the hospital, barbecued, and then walked.

The scent of lilacs drift by on a gust of wind.

I follow it.

I bury my face in those flowers and inhale the memory of my mother,

Planting the lilacs in our backyard,

Decorating our home with lilacs every spring,

Standing outside in a thunderstorm,

Listening for the sound and the power.

Holding my head in her lap,

Gently brushing my hair,

Comforting away the loneliness.

Trembling as she tries to stand up,

As frail as a hummingbird

During our last embrace.

The best moment of the memorial day weekend was the moment I heard a "Love Poem to God" read aloud during the NPR show Speaking of Faith. The show was all about how various people from various faiths pray.

I love you gentlest of Ways,

Who ripened as we wrestled with you.

You, the great homesickness we could never shake off,

You, the forest that always surrounded us,

You, the song we sang in every silence,

You the dark net threading through us,

On the day you made us you created yourself,

and we grew sturdy in your sunlight.....

Let your hand rest on the rim of heaven now

and mutely bear the darkness we bring over you.

Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God

Love Matters

2008-05-22T13:19:00.013-05:00

Have you ever dreaded an upcoming visit to your parent or grandparent who lives in a nursing home? I usually push through any resistance that might come up and go anyway. Making genuine contact with the residents, helps me to get used to the smell, the medication carts, and the boredom on the faces of staff and residents alike.

Visiting my friend with Alzheimer's can be difficult but it always turns out to be interesting. I'm never sure where we will go together or if I will even be able to make contact. When I do, I celebrate.

My friend was the last doctor in New York City to make house calls on a regular basis. His philosophy always was to give his best to his patients even if that meant leaving home in the middle of the night. My friend is genteel, kind, and concerned about others, even in the midst of his confusion. He has a vast history behind him that most of his caregivers in the nursing home are unaware of. That makes me sad.

When some of them talk to him like he's 2 years old or when they announce out loud "It's time to change your diaper;" they are robbing him of his dignity. Don't they realize that?

Friends say to me, "when I get old, just shoot me." No one wants to get old and become irrelevant. But you know what, people don't have to become irrelevant when they get old.

People like Deb (art therapist) and Houston (filmmaker) are participating in the movement to revolutionize the way we treat elders. Both are way too young to be worrying about what will happen to them when they get old. Both are incredibly energetic, positive and both have already heard about Eden Alternative (a better way of dealing with the needs of older people). They get it! What a breath of fresh air!

Houston and Deb spent the afternoon with me and several other volunteers, teaching us how we can participate in their new project. They create short video biographies of elders who live in a Chicago suburban nursing home, the Lieberman Center, which is in the process of changing to a more resident centered model. They create these documentaries specifically for the nursing home staff members. The idea is, if you know about a person's rich history, her cares, and her interests, you are more likely to treat her with the dignity that she deserves.

What if people who need care in their old age didn't lose the right to make choices about how to spend their days? What if they were surrounded by children, animals, families, and gardens? What if the choices came from the elders themselves rather than doctors, nurses, and their children? What if they were respected for the wisdom only gained by a rich and full lifetime?

There are lots of ways to change the way we Americans treat our elders. You can find out more about the Eden Alternative in Dr.William Thomas' book, What are Old People For: How Elders will Save the World.

You can also start visiting elders in your community as we do through Senior Connections and similar organizations in the Chicago area. For sure you'll make a new friend and maybe even discover a new talent.

My friend, Marjory (pictured above) is now around 90 years old. Marjory is a published poet and natural born musician. We get together on Sunday mornings at her house, frequently she teaches me a new song. I try to sing while she plays magnificently, completely from memory. I can't think of anyplace I'd rather be at that moment!

"In long-term care, love matters. And the heart of the problem is, institutions can't love. When we rethink our mass institutionalization of elders, when we do these things, we're not just making a better life for the elderly, we're making life better for everybody in every part of society." Dr. Thomas

The Cure for Compassion Overload

2008-05-19T16:41:00.025-05:00

I'm wondering if I'm suffering from compassion overload. Sometimes I want to jump on a plane to China, find parents who lost children in the earthquake, wrap my arms around them and absorb their grief. I can't believe that officials wouldn't let parents into their children's school until two days after the earthquake. They just wanted to rescue their children or find their bodies.

Why did they have to wait?

Why did the victims of the cyclone in Myanmar have to wait until their government got good and ready to allow overseas aid in to their country?

And why, nearly three years after Hurricane Katrina, are many residents of New Orleans still waiting?

Yes, New Orleans still needs help. The French Quarter is back to normal, but people in the lower Ninth Ward, St. Bernard's Parish, and Lakeview continue to suffer. I recently received an e-mail describing the vast number of abandoned buildings still bearing the spray painted X left by the rescuers, and the large numbers of people still living in trailers waiting for help rebuilding their homes. The e-mail came from Morton of Dallas who describes meeting a resilient group of people.

"I found the people to be exhausted and yet there was a sparkle in their eyes," he writes.

He visited with a Jewish couple, not wealthy at all, "working 80 hours a week, unpaid to run a Women's shelter."

He visited with a Christian pastor who chooses to live in a trailer himself while finding houses for others. When Morton asked about whether he needed financial assistance, Pastor Davenport is quoted as saying, "if the admission price for heaven was $2, we'd have to have a lay-away plan to get in."

We really don't have to fly to China or Myanmar to help out. There are people who do that, and we can donate to them.

And we also can support the ordinary Americans who "have seen a problem, identified the challenge, stepped forth without the resources and made something happen."

The e-mail from Morton of Dallas may offer an antidote for compassion overload.

Read about the Women's Shelter and its wish list here.
Read about Pastor Davenport here.
Donate money or items through their websites.
Plan a vacation in New Orleans. Tourism dollars also help rebuild the city.

The resilient spirit of the New Orleans residents is alive and well.

The spirit of the self-gift is alive and well in people like the pastor, the couple, and Morton of Dallas.

The cure for compassion overload is love in action.

We can do no great things; only small things with great love.

Mother Theresa