Doing What You Can: Thursday's Reflection

Grandson Peter, age 10, and I shared writing time one morning this week. We brought our journals and other writing materials to a bakery/coffee shop and spent a chunk of the morning together. First, he wrote a letter to his sister at camp (my suggestion) and then I offered a writing prompt, "If I owned a bakery...." He filled a page of his notebook with a description of his bakery, "Peter's Fruit Bread Bakery," and with a list of all the baked goods for sale.

I started a long overdue letter to a friend, but, I confess, mainly I sat and watched Peter. We conversed some, too, about the dog who was waiting for his owner to come out of the bakery, but also about some of the activities at the sleep-away camp he is going to next week. He's a bit nervous about going, he says, and I acknowledged that and said I admired him for doing something new.

He's a great companion, and it is always a joy to be with him.

Spending time with Peter and with Maren, age 15, when she is available or at least in need of a ride, is something I can do. I can be a source of love and understanding for them. I can be a safe place for them. 

How easy it is to be overwhelmed by the surging needs and scariness all around us. I vacillate between reading and listening to as much news as possible and then declaring a major time-out. I ask myself and hear others asking, "What can I do? How can I possibly make a difference?" No doubt you've been having this conversation with yourself and with others, too 

Here's what Kwame Anthony Appiah who teaches philosophy at N.Y.U. and responds to ethics questions in a weekly feature in the NYT Sunday Magazine says, "Our obligations to make the world better are limited by a simple principle: What we owe is only our fair share of the burden of securing for others what they are owed."

All week long I have been sitting with my version of those words.

              Bear one's share of the burden.

Here's what I can do, using the gifts and resources I have, along with the time and energy I have.
      * I can spend time with my grandchildren. I can be part of their team, as they grow into a confusing and sometimes scary and unsettling world. 
      *  I can meet with my spiritual directees and listen to their concerns and help them uncover the person God has created them to be.
      *  I can create opportunities in my faith community through retreats and other programs to explore how we can each be a presence in the world.      
      *  I can gather with others to talk about what most matters and to share perspectives and knowledge. 

AND  
      * I can write about what touches my heart. Elizabeth Jarret Andrew says,

            Writers, this is our moment. Artists, truth-tellers,
            beauty-makers, people who make parts into wholes,
            all of us who connect the private, hidden stirrings of
            the heart to our complicated human communities,
            history now calls us. Now is the moment to put 
            everything we've got into creative engagement. Why?
            Creativity is an act of love; it teaches us to believe in
            possibility, it trains us to revise (re-see) the world. It
            demonstrates that 'the interior life is a real life, and
            the intangible dreams of people have a tangible effect
            on the world,' as James Baldwin wrote. We need all 
            this now. 

And, of course, I can and will vote. I can contribute financially to causes I believe in and people I support. I can stay informed, but not addicted.

Oh, and one more thing, and perhaps this is the most important thing, I can breathe blessings into the world. 

All day. 

Every day. 

With my whole heart. 

An Invitation
What can you do? I know you can do something, and I would love to know what it is. 

NOTE #1: To read my post on blessings, go here.

NOTE #2: I recommend 365 Blessings to Heal Myself and the World by Pierre Pradervand and also his website https://gentleartofblessing.org





              

A Blessing for Now: Tuesday's Reflection

During my morning meditation time recently I have been reading a new book by Jan Richardson, Circle of Grace, A Book of Blessings for the Seasons. Richardson says a blessing is designed to "call upon and convey God's deepest desire for our wholeness and well-being, both individually and in community," and "calls upon the presence of God and asks for the aid of the Divine, often in times of peril and pain."

God knows we are in the midst of peril and pain. 

Richardson says blessings are meant to "provoke us, to incite us to a response. The best blessings awaken our imaginations." Therefore I offer Richardson's "Blessing When the World Is Ending"

Look, the world 
is always ending
somewhere.

Somewhere 
the sun has come 
crashing down.

Somewhere
it has gone
completely dark.

Somewhere 
it has ended
with the gun,
the knife, 
the fist.

Somewhere 
it has ended
with the slammed door,
the shattered hope.

Somewhere 
it has ended
with the quiet 
that follows the news
from the phone,
the television,
the hospital room.

Somewhere it has ended
with a tenderness
that will break 
your heart.

But listen
this blessing means 
to be anything
but morose.
It has not come 
to cause despair.

It is here
simply because
there is nothing
a blessing
is better suited for
than an ending,
nothing that cries out more
for a blessing
than when a world 
is falling apart.

This blessing
will not fix you,
will not mend you,
will not give you
false comfort;
it will not talk to you
about one door opening
when another one closes.

It will simply
sit beside you
among the shards
and gently turn your face
toward the direction
from which the light
will come
gathering itself
about you
as the world begins 
again. 

Again, I quote Richardson.
              The best blessings awaken our imaginations. In places
              of difficulty, struggle, or pain, blessings beckon us to
              look closely rather than turn away. In such places,
              they challenge us not to accept how things are but 
              to dream of how they could be transformed. They
              invite us to discuss how God might be calling us
              to participate in bringing this transformation to pass. 

An Invitation
How are blessings alive in your life? I would love to know. 

NOTE: Jan Richardson has been a wise woman in my life for many years through her books, her art, and her online presence. You can find her at http://www.janrichardson.com

Who Will Be at Your Table? Thursday's Reflection

A week from today families and friends all across the nation will gather to give thanks and gorge on abundant amounts of food. I have a tiny kitchen, and I am not sure exactly how I am going to manage, but I will, happily so. Our children and their spouses, the grandchildren, and my father will assemble to eat and laugh and remember and give thanks, and eat some more. 

We will remember my mother and her scalloped corn and her jello salads and her pie crust. We will remember my father's oyster dressing, which I will not be making, and how every year he asked,  "Guess how much oysters cost this year."

We will remember the year our daughter-in-love's mother and father were with us, and we caught Mary turning over the turkey dinner plate to see whose pattern this was. (Johnson Brothers). We all got the giggles. Little did we know that would be her last Thanksgiving.

We will remember the year when Ralph the dog ate the apple pie, but we still had more than enough desserts to feed us all.

I will remember driving into Ohio's Amish country to get a fresh turkey at a small Amish butcher shop and then getting up early to start the roasting, good smells filling the house even before everyone got up for breakfast. 


I remember our granddaughter Maren in charge of making place cards. 

I remember setting the table. Sometimes our tablecloth on our nine foot harvest table, the centerpiece of our home at Sweetwater Farm, was a vintage blanket or quilt. As I set the table with turkey plates, crystal and silver, I blessed the space. I offered a blessing for all those who would be with us and all those who were no longer with us. I prepared for sacred time. 

I have a folder with my Thanksgiving menus from the last 10 years or so --not that the menu varies that much--and perhaps tomorrow I will make the first of many trips to the grocery store. I have ironed the vintage white napkins and thought about how to decorate the table this year. I am beginning to prepare for sacred time. 

Yes, I know each moment has a whisper of sacredness in it, and yes, I know each breath is an opportunity for gratitude, but Thanksgiving, gathering at the table, can awaken us to our many blessings. And to the sacredness of all life. 

An Invitation
What happens when you gather at the table? How do you prepare for this sacred time? I would love to know. 

Tuesday's Post: Blessings

Our Granddaughter's School

Almost daily I drive past one or both of the schools our grandchildren attend and when I do, I say a blessing. 
      
May all who walk those halls be blessed.

I started offering this blessing in the fall when I drove past the school our granddaughter was attending. The halls were more chaotic than calm, and the challenges of actually conducting school seemed difficult at best. I worried for her safety and the safety of all who enter those doors, but I knew adding my anxious energy was not helpful. Instead, I decided to send a loving blessing, which is really a way of showing one's care. 

Our granddaughter has moved to another school, one that is a better match for her and is a place where the focus can be on learning. We are so grateful she has the luxurious opportunity to be there, and when I drive by her new school, I offer the same blessing. "May all who walk those halls be blessed," but I also continue to whisper the same blessing to her former school each time I pass.

I think blessings matter, and I am attempting to build a blessing habit in my life.

Early morning when I go up to my garret for meditation and devotion time, I hear a car in the alley, a neighbor heading to work, I presume, and I say a quick "blessings to you." About that same time I hear a bird, one I have not identified, but I think that bird is blessing me, and I offer one in return. "Blessings to you, too." If during the day I hear or see an ambulance or police car with sirens blaring, I put my hand on my heart, and say, "Blessed be you." I don't need to know what has happened, what the emergency is, but I want to extend my human caring, and I can do that in the form of a blessing.

Many years ago I sat in a MacDonalds writing or reading before heading to a meeting. A couple about my age sat across from me. They were having an intense, although quiet, conversation, and I could tell they were struggling with each other. I have no idea what the issue was, and I did not need to know, but I stopped my writing and reading. I put down my book and my pen and closing my eyes, I took a deep, long breath and inside my head and heart repeated, "May you be blessed. May you be blessed." I have often wondered how those two are and if they resolved the painful problems between them, but I also thank them for they introduced me to the spiritual practice of blessing those I don't know. I felt their humanity, wounded, but striving, and I felt connected to them and knew I could offer something they needed. A blessing. 

Barbara Brown Taylor in her An Altar in the World, A Geography of Faith says, "…a blessing does not confer holiness. The holiness is already there, embedded in the very giveness of the thing." p. 203. When you start offering blessings, you start noticing--blessings are a kind of mindfulness. 

One more story. We have been privileged over the years to be included in the celebration of Jewish holidays, and I hold in my heart the remembrance of our dear friend lighting the candles and reciting a blessing. 

           Baruch Atah, Adonai Elohenu, Melech Ha-Olam,
           Ha-Motzi Lehem Min Ha-Aretz.

           Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe,
           who brings forth bread from the earth.

I didn't know the Hebrew she was speaking, but I felt blessed in those moments, we were all closer to the Divine. 

An Invitation
When have you blessed? When have you offered blessings and who or what is waiting for your blessing? I would love to know. 

O, Light Everlasting, a post by Nancy L. Agneberg

O, light everlasting
O, love never failing
Illumine our darkness and draw us to thee.
    Olaf C. Christiansen


     I walked the neighborhood this morning at 6:30, and although still dark, I had no trouble finding my way. I followed the lights, house to house, inside and out. In many homes I noticed Christmas trees already aglow, a welcome sight for sleepy children as they stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast before school or a comforting and quiet presence while reading the paper or checking email. I walked quietly and hoped nobody noticed me taking in these cozy domestic scenes. I offered a blessing to each household and prayed that this day would bring them more light than darkness. 
     The other morning, as I drove to Curves to exercise, I noticed the barest sliver of a moon. It couldn't have been much skinnier and still be identified as the moon. A child's drawing of the moon. And yet, so much light in the not yet morning sky. How little light we seem to need in order to see, in order not to feel blocked in darkness. On the way home, when the morning was much closer to being born, I drove past a home with a large menorah in its front yard, all but three candles illuminated. Seeing that light brought to mind miracles, including the first of God's creative acts. According to the first chapter of Genesis,  "God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness." This is the light that existed before the sun, moon, and stars, which were created on the fourth day. 
     Often I sign letters and sometimes emails "Light Blessings." I am not wishing a lightweight blessing. On the contrary, I pray that the recipient will know the light, find the light, and if the darkness seems overwhelming, that the light that shines deep in the recesses of our souls may be found. It seems to me that we let our light shine when we are open and responsive to all of life, even the darkness. With light comes clarity, direction, understanding. 
     Light reveals us to ourselves, which is not always so great if you find yourself in a big disgusting mess, possibly of your own creation. But like sunflowers we turn toward light. Light warms, and in most cases it draws us to itself. And in this light, we can see beyond shadow and illusion to something beyond our modest receptors, to what is way beyond us, and deep inside.
                    Help, Thanks, Wow 
                    The Three Essential Prayers
                    Anne Lamott, p. 7
    It is a paradox, however, that in order to know the light, we must also know the darkness and even as we learn to accept the darkness in our life, we continue to yearn for the light. Winter may be the season of darkness, but according to the Christmas story, a story that takes place, by the way, at night, darkness gives birth to light.
    In a couple hours I will light the candle on our kitchen counter, and I will turn on the lanterns lining our front steps. These tangible signs of light remind me to nurture my own light within, even when darkness descends.  Light Blessings. 

In what way do you or have you experienced light in your life? What light-filled people have you known? In what way does your inner light make a difference? What do you do to create light in the world even in the midst of darkness?