I can’t save you. I can’t fix the rawness of pain and damage in Japan this morning, or the agony that penetrates the heart in the midst of disconnect in relationships. I can’t wave a magic wand and fix the educational system or the health system. I can’t stop her cancer. I can’t heal his depression. I can’t stop wars. Goodness knows, I’m just trying to pay my bills and keep my own little boat afloat. Some days that feels enough in and of itself.
And yet, it’s all connected, wouldn’t you say? We’re all connected. I am not separate from any hardship or joy for that matter. I am not an island… and hey, even if I were, my sand will eventually become yours and your salt water is sure to baptize my shores. My inhalation and exhalation upon my wooded land swirls through the evergreens, and they, in turn, offer their breath to the wider expanse. The children huddled together in fear in Afghanistan also sit with me as I break bread at my candlelit table. The teachers weary from so much daily outpouring walk with me in meditative spaces of refreshment. The elders in retirement communities, who breathe stale air and sit in bland curtained rooms, paint with me in the brightest colors outside in the sunlight. The hungry roam with me through overstocked grocery stores. The sad snuggle up close under my umbrella. And every life that dances with joy spins with me in delight when I laugh with my nieces.
We each get lost sometimes. We each bump into heartbreaking times of isolation and desperation. We can forget the larger picture, the beautiful tapestry that we can really only see or embrace once we come out from underneath the workings. But I hope, and I do pray, that as you each find your way, it helps to know I am beside you as stranger or as friend. I believe in your divine goodness and in the gifts you so wondrously hold. I believe, for you and for me, that even in our darkness, in our darkest moments, there are small embers burning everywhere… everywhere… that sustain us in ways we can only remotely grasp.
Yes. Send the medicine. Yes. Rebuild the homes. Feed the hungry. Comfort the weak. But when all else fails, when your own spiritual and worldly resources are limited and you have utterly no idea how to personally aid in the healing of this world, find your quiet place and invite the wounded to sit alongside of you.
The winter goldfinches are tinged in yellow, and by our witness their brown turns to gold.
And yet, it’s all connected, wouldn’t you say? We’re all connected. I am not separate from any hardship or joy for that matter. I am not an island… and hey, even if I were, my sand will eventually become yours and your salt water is sure to baptize my shores. My inhalation and exhalation upon my wooded land swirls through the evergreens, and they, in turn, offer their breath to the wider expanse. The children huddled together in fear in Afghanistan also sit with me as I break bread at my candlelit table. The teachers weary from so much daily outpouring walk with me in meditative spaces of refreshment. The elders in retirement communities, who breathe stale air and sit in bland curtained rooms, paint with me in the brightest colors outside in the sunlight. The hungry roam with me through overstocked grocery stores. The sad snuggle up close under my umbrella. And every life that dances with joy spins with me in delight when I laugh with my nieces.
We each get lost sometimes. We each bump into heartbreaking times of isolation and desperation. We can forget the larger picture, the beautiful tapestry that we can really only see or embrace once we come out from underneath the workings. But I hope, and I do pray, that as you each find your way, it helps to know I am beside you as stranger or as friend. I believe in your divine goodness and in the gifts you so wondrously hold. I believe, for you and for me, that even in our darkness, in our darkest moments, there are small embers burning everywhere… everywhere… that sustain us in ways we can only remotely grasp.
Yes. Send the medicine. Yes. Rebuild the homes. Feed the hungry. Comfort the weak. But when all else fails, when your own spiritual and worldly resources are limited and you have utterly no idea how to personally aid in the healing of this world, find your quiet place and invite the wounded to sit alongside of you.
The winter goldfinches are tinged in yellow, and by our witness their brown turns to gold.
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