At a time in my life when I felt forlorn, I received a gift in a daughter’s letter—someone else’s daughter, yet my own. Her simple, eloquent words said, “Thank you for helping me find my way to restore my faith in me.”
Her gift to me was accepting what I had to give.
You write it: When has someone given you the gift of accepting what you offered?
Once I was called in to work with a department that was rife with dissension, and the first thing I did was to interview each employee privately, seeking to understand how each one fit into the dynamic.
One man I interviewed told this story: He grew up in Africa. When he was very young, both of his parents died, and his country had no plan for caring for orphans. So he was on his own. But before he died, his father told him, “Go to school. Get an education.” Feeding and clothing himself from trash, he obeyed his father, never missing a day of school. He said, “I paid close attention when I saw parents with their children. I listened to what the parent said, and then I took the words for myself.” Thus he learned how to behave.
Finally he came to the attention of the authorities when he was about to graduate at the head of his class. Then the government made sure he had a new suit of clothes and a scholarship to a prestigious university in England. Eventually he came to the U.S., and when I met him, he had a wife, children, and good job.
This story always brings me back to the resilience of the human spirit, the power of education, and the utter triviality of most things that trouble us.
You write it: Who is a memorable person in your life? What did they teach you?
Between my friend and me is an invisible stream. We float.
You write it: How does friendship seem to you?
Recently on Facebook I saw an exchange between country music star Toby Keith and legendary actor Clint Eastwood. Eastwood said that the following week, he would begin shooting another movie. With reference to the fact that Eastwood is in his 80’s, Keith asked, “How do you do it?” Eastwood, with his characteristic grin, replied, “When I get up in the morning, I don’t let the old man in.” Subsequently, Eastwood wrote a song with that title that you can google.
Author and concentration camp survivor Viktor Frankl in his book Man’s Search for Meaning wrote that, despite circumstances, we have the ability to decide what we allow into our minds. How we begin our day determines to a great extent the kind of day we will have. We decide what can come in to our consciousness. The good news is that, if we sense that we are going in the wrong direction, we can begin our day over—any time.
All truly is well.
You write it: How did your day begin?
Recently I’ve had the experience of observing two young girls come into an unfamiliar group. At first, they were hesitant and reserved. Then, oh, so gradually, they began to interact with the mostly adults around them. Then I saw smiles as they relaxed into the acceptance and grace they experienced.
As I observed this transformation, I committed anew to being a safe presence for others.
You write it: How do you provide a safe presence for others?
Early this morning my husband and I got up and drove into Sedona for a tax meeting with our accountant. It is a beautiful, sunny morning. We stopped for my favorite breakfast—Egg McMuffin at McDonald’s. A few minutes early, we arrived at the accountant’s office, prepared. All the blanks on the work sheet he had sent in advance were filled in. All the documentation for every category was neatly sorted. We left his office less than ten minutes after we arrived.
I remarked, “That was the easiest tax experience I’ve ever had.” The day seemed even brighter. I simply savored the moment.
You write it: So much of the time, we are thinking about what’s next instead of simply enjoying what is. When is the last time you had an “in the moment” experience?
Still I am learning that my life is one whole, not a string of boxes with different rules. What governs my spiritual life—love, compassion, forgiveness, grace—are powerful in every aspect of living. Let the walls of the boxes come down.
You write it: What are you still learning?
“Let go of what has passed. Let go of what may come. Let go of what is happening now Don’t try to figure anything out. Don’t try to make anything happen. Relax, right now, and rest.” Tilopa
A heavy snowfall has made my world white and still. No coffee meetings. No trips to the grocery store or anywhere else. No “what if” or “maybe.” Just sacred powerlessness as it snows. Peace.
You write it: When have you felt sacred powerlessness?
Amazing Austin artist Ash Almonte donated an embellished print of a hummingbird for an auction to benefit food banks in the Verde Valley of Arizona. A Sedona framer agreed to donate the framing, and while it was in his shop, a woman came in, saw the hummingbird, and burst into tears. She explained to the framer that her mother, who had recently died, promised to return to her in the form of a hummingbird. She wanted to buy the piece.
Our auction team agreed we should offer to sell it to her, but she didn’t take our offer. We were puzzled, but we put it back into the auction collection and hung it on the wall of the church’s fellowship hall along with other auction pieces.
The next morning it was discovered that the hummingbird had fallen from its hook, and the glass had shattered, but the art was not damaged. Now I’ll take it back to the frame shop to have the glass replaced.
I remarked, “This hummingbird is trying to tell us something. I’m listening, but I don’t get it.” Then I realized—sometimes I’m just supposed to listen and wait.
You write it: When has something puzzling happened to you, and the only thing to do was listen and wait?
Richard Rohr is one of my most treasured teachers. This morning I read through some notes I took from a talk he gave in 2017. I wrote, “To be loving has to be chosen almost every hour.”
I realized anew I try to be loving once and for all. It’s good to be reminded that loving is a continual decision.
You write it: What meaning do these words have for you?
My friend’s father received his theology degree late in life, after two careers. He loved to translate the Bible from the language in which it was written. Here is his version of the portion of the Lord’s Prayer that we know as, “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.”
Untie the tangled threads of destiny that bind and imprison us, as we release others from their mistakes and errors of judgment.
You write it: How would your life be different if you “released others from their mistakes and errors of judgment”?
A few days ago my husband and I went to a performance by Jim Curry, who looks and sounds remarkably like John Denver. The performance included visuals, one of which was an eagle taking flight. That eagle simply spread his wings and allowed the invisible air current to lift him.
In that moment I realized what faith is.
You write it: What is faith to you?
Henry David Thoreau, in Walden, wrote, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach.”
A week or so ago, Sixty Minutes’ Leslie Stahl interviewed Marshall Medoff, an 81-year-old man from Massachusetts with no science background who decided he wanted to find “environmentally friendly transportation fuels in a clean and cost-effective way.” To begin his journey, like Thoreau, he went to Walden, immersing himself in nature and solitude. In his words, “What I thought was the reason people were failing [to find fuel solutions] is they were trying to overcome nature instead of working with it.” Long story short, more than a decade after he went to Walden, Medoff has built a company and success in accomplishing his dream.
His journey began with communion with nature, peace in silence, openness to perceive, and faith in a favorable outcome.
You write it: When have you experienced success that began with silence or meditation or immersing yourself in nature?
A new favorite TV show is “God Friended Me.” It comes on Sunday night after “Sixty Minutes.” Long story short, a Facebook friend called “God” sends friend suggestions to a young man named Miles, who calls himself an atheist, and his two friends. They then find the suggested friend, who always needs some help that they can give.
Some days I feel that I’m living in that TV show. Only “God’s” suggestions don’t show up on Facebook; they just present themselves, and then I realize that I’m in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. I can’t explain how this happens. I only know that if I keep myself open to the flow of spirit through meditation, and open my heart to see and hear what is, the flow of spirit appears.
You write it: How does the flow of spirit appear for you?
After a meditation this morning, I want to write about how important it is to give the gift of kindness—to yourself, your spouse, your children, your friends. It’s simple. It can be done in a text. Give the gift of kindness. Do it now.
“He is come in joy, like the silent morning.” May this be your Christmas experience.
One Christmas my father bought a jigsaw puzzle and sat with me for what seemed like hours, carefully eyeing, fingering, and placing the pieces. I learned how exquisite patience and stillness can be. I don’t remember what Santa brought that year, but I will never forget the gift of my father’s presence.
You write it: What is a precious Christmas memory for you?
“Love is patient. Love is kind. Love keeps no record of wrongs.”
“Someday, after we have mastered the winds, the waves, and gravity, mankind will harness for God the energy of love. Then, for the second time in the history of the world, we will have discovered fire.”
May you have love this Christmas season. May you give love this Christmas season.
Especially during the holiday season, we can be hurt by our own expectation of how others should behave towards us. After unmet expectation comes resentment, which can block the love and peace of the Christmas season.
To clear the way for love and peace, consider these words from Reverend Safire Rose on letting go:
Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort.
There was no struggle.
It wasn't good and it wasn't bad.
It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it all be.
A small smile came over her face.
A light breeze blew through her.
You write it: What do you need to let go, to clear the way for love and peace?
