Authenticity

"The most gracious and courageous gift we can offer the world is our authenticity, our uniqueness, the expression of our true selves." Sue Monk Kidd

For some reason the above sentiments have stuck with me for a few days--always together. So...Here's to being our authentic selves...reassuring as that may be.

The Woman on the Bus

Well, much as I would like to say I have another wonderful, peaceful story to share…that would not be the case with this tale—although it does start out that way. Monday afternoon I once again boarded a very full bus for my ride home. It started out delightfully as a man offered me his seat—an action almost never seen in my experience. I said, ‘thanks, I’m okay,’ but he insisted and told me that ‘chivalry was not dead.’ We laughed and conversed with a couple of other passengers until the next stop when he exited the bus. The exchange left me smiling and with a sense of hope.

The ride continued and I found myself between the window and a youngish man wearing large headphones, ensconced in his own world. As the bus came to a stop the woman in front of me needed to exit and her seat partner stood to let her out. The partner was facing me and just as I was about to nod and smile, her face darkened and she spit out, “Quit staring at me because I’m black!!” and then as she plopped into her seat she muttered rather loudly, “Bitch.”

I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Thoughts raced through my head. Is she talking to me? How could she think that? What did I do? She’s black? Her color had not even registered in my thoughts. I found myself wanting to apologize and say something to her, but realized that would be for my benefit not hers. I then started to wonder about the obvious anger and hurt inside of her. How had she become so guarded? Who had done this to her? Why must people be so unkind and cruel? It felt like she was spitting hatred onto me that had been heaped onto her throughout her twenty-something years of life.

And so, while very different experiences, this one has continued to stay with me as does "The Man on the Bus." These encounters have been added to the fabric of my life. It feels somehow trite to say, but I pray specifically for this man and woman and wonder where their lives will lead them. I have been changed by my experience of them while realizing my existence may not even register for them. We never know in life when or how we touch others.

"In surrendering to the miracle of the everyday, the Warrior of the Light notices he cannot always foresee the consequences of his actions. Sometimes he acts without even knowing that he is doing so, he saves someone without even knowing he is saving them, he suffers without even knowing why he is sad." --Paulo Coelho

May we all choose to surrender to the miracle of the everyday!

photo by bill hughlett

Easter Musings

Why must we be so quick to judge others, particularly those who we believe to be different from us, or who see things in other ways? Why must we be so quick to decide we are right and someone else is wrong? Why is religion used to divide the world rather than unite it in love?

This seems to be Evil's most cunning trick—to take religion, our pathway to God, and use it to create dissonance and war. If the way of love is Jesus’ way and Muhammad’s and Moses’ and Gandhi’s, then evil gets the last laugh because the world has fallen into the trap of using faith, beliefs, Bibles, Qurans and Torahs as bludgeons against one another.

I hesitated going to church yesterday because I did not want to hear the voice of judgment saying, the Resurrection is the ONLY way to believe, thereby making “us” right and the rest of the world wrong. Ironically, the choice to go to church was taken out of my hands. My daughter and I were ready to go meet my husband who was already there. I went to pick up my keys and after a frantic search discovered that my sweet husband had mistakenly taken both sets of keys with him. Aargh!! (As Lucy is prone to say.) So I settled down to have a quiet reading time instead. Shortly, thereafter, a knock came at the door. It was a beautiful “angel” named Sabrina bringing my keys to me. So, once again my daughter and I headed out the door. We got in the car, turned the key, and nothing except a click click…Double AARGH!! Then we looked at each other and burst into laughter. We agreed that maybe we weren’t meant to make it to “church” this Easter.

Back in the house, I listened to my favorite Easter hymn, “Christ the Lord is Risen Today.” For me, it has always defined Easter and I felt no differently yesterday for I love to imagine Christ walking out of the tomb and overcoming death. Next I listened to several versions of “Amazing Grace.” Finally I opened my Bible to look for the Easter story and was stopped by these words:

“By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.” John 13:35

There it was “love for one another.” I began to cry as I felt the peace and comfort of God. This for me is the key. Not judgments. Not being right or wrong. Not war and condemnation. But, LOVE. God had spoken to me more loudly and clearly in the silence of my own living room than any sermon from a pulpit on this Easter day.

Amazing Grace.

Good Friday

Can't you almost see the cross on the hill? I have never really understood why the day about Christ's death has been called "good." And, I know that today as I have reflected on my life, I can only call it Good. Beautiful. Abundant.

While it has not been a day of silence, it has been a day I have spent with myself. I spent the morning communing with my home. It was very comforting to spend time cleaning, unpacking, doing laundry and welcoming Spring. It is a glorious day in Seattle. Blue skies, a slight breeze and temperatures in the low 70's. It is a spring delight. As I write, I sit on my back deck with my old yellow dog, Curry, at my feet. I have spoken with a few friends today. They have blessed me and I have blessed them. I have shared e-mails and received amazing words of kindness about my gifts. Buechner's words on vocation come to mind. "The place where God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." I am blessed to have been called to that place of deep gladness.

And what has this to do with Good Friday? For me, it symbolizes life and the intricate role death plays in our living. Abundant Life. Life includes my friends and family as well as the man on the bus and the Native American woman I encountered on my walk today. Her toothless smile brightened my day as we looked each other squarely in the eye and greeted one another. I wept as I read Naomi Shihab Nye's poem at Chrisine's site about the beauty of community and breaking bread. Again, Good Friday points toward life. Welcoming the world, person by person, with simple gestures of love and care; being grateful for old dogs and clean sheets. These make life "good." Thank you, Lord, for today's reminder of life, death and resurrection.

"This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost." --Naomi Shihab Nye

The Man on the Bus

A very memorable experience presented itself yesterday during my bus ride home from downtown. I climbed on the 15 Local (slower than the Express I just missed) and found it to be quite full. There was an empty space toward the front next to a man in a window seat. After sitting down I noticed he did not seem to be aware of his surroundings and was slightly swaying in his seat. It was hard to determine if he was intoxicated or simply exhausted and having an impossible time staying awake.

As we rode along I realized he was tilting more and more in my direction. Normally I am very aware of personal space on the bus (both mine and other’s) but for some reason this did not feel like an intrusion. The weight of his body pressed more deeply against mine until I found myself holding onto the seat handle to keep from being pushed into the aisle. This, too, seemed okay to me. After a bit, his head came to rest on my shoulder. Other riders had started to look in our direction by this time seeming to wonder what was going on. At one point, a woman in the next row pointed out an empty seat for me in the handicap row. I’m not sure why, but it felt like I would be abandoning my seat partner if I got up to move. I was comfortable right where I was, and so we continued along, two strangers, his head gently laying on my shoulder and me feeling somewhat like a guardian angel.

As we rode along I was able to see him a bit more closely. I imagine he was in his late thirties or early forties although he could have been younger. He was well-groomed and cleanly dressed in a baseball jacket with leather sleeves, a button down shirt and nice jeans. In his lap was some type of canvas portfolio. His skin was dark and his features were reminiscent of someone from Ethiopia or possibly Eritrea although I could not know for sure. Again, I wondered about his state of near unconsciousness. He did not reek of alcohol although I thought I could detect a slight hint of something. He appeared totally incapable of keeping his eyes open or his head erect—bobbing as the bus continued its route.

Several times during the 30-minute ride I was given opportunity to move from my seat, but each time I declined. It is very difficult to explain the peace I felt as I sat next to this stranger. It felt as if for a moment in time it was my job to be with this man. I did not trust that anyone else would be kind to him if I left the seat open where I now sat. I kept thinking how he seemed to need a shoulder to lean on. Ironically, there were times in the ride when it would have been hard to tell who was leaning on whom as I pressed in to keep from falling out of my seat.

Fortunately, before we got to my stop he had shifted his weight to lean against the window side of the bus so I did not have to worry that he would fall to the floor when I left. I prayed for him as we rode side by side and wondered about his dreams and aspirations. Where had he been? Where was he going? Why was he so exhausted and/or intoxicated? Stories ran through my mind about the possibilities. While I don’t believe he ever cognitively recognized I was there with him, as I placed his fallen binder on the seat next to him, I hoped that somewhere in his soul he would be able to feel and recognize that someone had been with him as he rode obliviously through the streets of Seattle.

I will certainly remember him. It was a uniquely blessed time for me. I am not sure who ministered to whom in those moments, but I did recognize clearly that sometimes we all need a shoulder to lean on.

photo by bill hughlett