I feel the doors of heaven open

Very exciting interview: Tavis Smiley talks with Gustavo Dudamel, "Conducting a life."

The Dude, as he is fondly known in Los Angeles,  Gustavo Dudamel cares about kids and music.  He brings the two together in life-changing, life-affirming action. 

Tavis says, "Kids have a lot in common with those old Polaroids.  Just as that process needed exposure to the air, to develop into fully articulated photographs, kids need to be exposed to the best in this world to develop into fully realized human beings.  And music without doubt should be part of that."

A 12-year old tympanist explains what classical music does for him, "When I play I feel like the doors of heaven just opened up for me."

If you enjoy classical music, or maybe more importantly if you haven't discovered that joy as part of your life yet, you might be interested in this interview. 

Tavis Smiley interviews Gustav Dudamel

Jesus loved little children too.  Perhaps he knew they were in sync with a higher music, that of the Kingdom of Heaven which, he said, is within each of us.

A time to walk

Cuddle time

Chevy is a hopeless cuddler.  He cannot grasp that he's too big.  An equal opportunity pal, he is sure any lap will do, especially if it's on the couch.

Feeling secure is comforting.  I can remember as a child, falling asleep in the family car on the way home from one place or another.  My dad's strong arms would gather me up, carry me into the house, and plunk me gently on my bed.  Mom would tuck me in.  I felt so safe. 

How disappointing to reach a size when instead of carrying me into the house, my parents would wake me up to groggily walk in with them -- on my own two feet.  Probably there was a guiding hand on my shoulder to keep me from bumping into anything.

I was no less safe -- just assuming a little responsibility which took a little more effort.

I think our relationship with God is like that.  Sometimes She carries us tenderly, strongly, in Her arms (as it were).  As we grow in our ability to serve, She sets us on our feet, to discover we can walk on our own.  

Spiritual strength, spiritual listening, a desire to give meaning to our lives helps us find that security and comfort in unselfish service.  At least I haven't found any other way.

Chevy may never outgrow his need for being embraced.  Yet you and I can find some degree of spiritual cuddling (hmm, interesting phrase) as we remember to let our Maker guide us in tangible and meaningful ways, for the sole purpose of helping others find safety and peace in their own relationships to their Maker.

The spirit of Christmas

If you're especially fortunate, there's an event in your life that defines the spirit of Christmas. This story revives every year about this time, and it's one worthy of circulating. Even though it's considerably longer than my usual post, you may agree that you're glad you read it.

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.

We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.

Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight."

I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.

Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy.

When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me."

The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on.

When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?" "

You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked.

The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"

"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him.

We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked.

"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our concern.

We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?"

"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"

Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children---sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up."

I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and, much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord himself has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.

Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.

Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.

At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older brothers and two older sisters were all married and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, "'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will."

Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children. For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

A community of support

2006.  One of the biggest moment's in Jason's life.  And well deserved.  After carrying water and wiping sweat off the other players, Jason gets his opportunity.

Jason is terrific, but it isn't just Jason.  It is his coach, his team, his school.  They form a community of support.  This is unity at its best.  When Jason succeeds, everybody wins.

Morning's promise

Sunrise approaching the winter solstice, especially in the city, feels really late.  Yesterday and today the sun perched over the garage roofs around 8 am.  

The cats have little tolerance for late breakfast.  Buster tromps across my stomach at summer sunrise time demanding sustenance.  Crystal, with gentle persistence, purrs in my face.  They get their breakfast, and I'm glad to be up.

I love the promise of dawn at all times of the year.  Mary Baker Eddy describes this promise succinctly,

"Morning.  Light; symbol of Truth; revelation and progress."

Here's a summer sunrise photo taken at the foot of the Rockies.  Morning with all its promise cascades a palate of pinks across an blue-sky canvas.

Christmas and outward symbols

Kids naturally want to help others.  Little things count.

 

We loved to open mysterious and brightly wrapped packages as youngsters.  Yet Christmas becomes more, or less, to us as our years advance.  Less as the gift-receiving is no longer a big deal.  It becomes more as we discover the joys of giving.  As we celebrate Christ in our hearts.

Some who have understood this, have also been able to articulate it.  This poem is one of my favorites.  It reminds us that withdrawing from the hubbub is possible.  It sets a quiet standard for feeling that deep peace and love in our hearts, so that it finds expression in our lives.

John Greenleaf Whittier, American poet, wrote of Christmas:

Let every creature hail the morn On which the holy child was born And know, through God's exceeding grace, Release from things of time and place.

I listen, from no mortal tongue, To hear the song the angels sung, And wait within myself to know The Christmas lilies bud and blow.

The outward symbols disappear From him whose inward sight is clear, And small must be the choice of days To him who fills them all with praise.

Keep while ye need it, brothers mine, With honest zeal your Christmas sign, But judge not him who every morn Feels in his heart the Lord Christ born.

These words are in the Christian Science hymnal of 1937, hymn #170.

That old classic, Amazing Grace

Grace. There's something about God's unconditional love and approval that's hard for the human mind to grasp.   She puts it into our hearts to be expressed towards one another.

So here is a rendition, just because Andre Rieu does it so well:

Christmas challenge

You have to love that somebody has the courage to challenge the status quo, to question just doing the same old, same old. 

What if we spent less on presents and more on presence?  
What would change?

Think about it

“We don't stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.”
~ George Bernard Shaw

Or, to paraphrase, “We don’t stop learning because we grow old; we grow old because we stop learning.”
 

Or, “We don’t stop caring because we grow old; we grow old because we stop caring.”
 

Or, “We don’t lose our sense of wonder because we grow old; we grow old because we lose our sense of wonder.”

Something to think about.

A winter bush full of birds - awesome sight

Finding Christmas purity

Christmas makes me feel pure.  True, I’ve backed away from nearly all gift exchanges, i.e. commercialism, and that helps immensely.

It begins, perhaps, with Mary’s purity.  Pregnant outside marriage -- a sin worthy of stoning in her culture.  She was comforted only by the angel, Gabriel,  bringing a message of hope and promise.  And dear Joseph.  What’s a fiance to do?  He must have been terribly troubled with unanswered questions -- who has Mary been fooling around with?  Why?  How can I prevent her being put to death by the village? -- until the same angel, Gabriel, brought him in on “the plan.”

So the unwed couple understood at least something of the larger picture as they lived and worked under the accusing eyes of their families and neighbors.

I think of the purity of that night when Mary gave birth in the cave-stable among the warm and gentle animals -- secluded from the hustle and bustle of the Roman census crowds.  It was Rome’s counting of its populace which had brought Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem.

I think of the purity of the shepherds who were tending their sleeping herds on that chill night.  They didn’t argue with their angel messenger that something wondrous was taking place in a cave-stable in the nearby town.  They ran to see.

Then there were the kings, or wise men, riding their camels for weeks or months.  They had to have a purity of focus to stay the course, following a star -- of all things!

And all this purity came together, in due time, to celebrate Christ here and present.

May the spiritual innocence and joy of genuine Christmas be yours -- all year.

Tradition has Mary riding a little donkey like this one.

Sometimes you don't know the rest of the story

It was a cold December afternoon as Mom and I drove home from an errand run.  Both northbound lanes were stopping and starting erratically.   Suddenly the cars in front of us sped away revealing the cause of the slowdown -- a medium-sized, brown dog stood bewildered in the gutter on our side of the highway.

She was stockily built and wore a chain collar dragging a leather leash.  You could see at a glance that she had recently had puppies.  She had apparently been wandering in the road and the drivers had stopped while she tried to figure out where to go. 

“We need to stop,” Mom and I said almost together, pulling into a handy forest preserve parking area.  “Father, what is your plan?”  I asked, getting out of the car.  That quick prayer set the tone for the next five minutes. 

I ran along the grassy shoulder after the dog who was already headed south, fortunately still on the side of the highway.  “Here Girl!”  I called louder and louder till she heard and turned around.  She waited.  I kept talking to her.

“Thank you, Father, she’s waiting!”  I said.  She let me pick up the end of her leash, and agreed to step on the grassy shoulder.  But she didn’t want to walk in the direction of my car.  She felt she needed to go the other way.  My mom approached and talked to her.  She came with us a few steps and stopped.  This girl was too heavy to pick up and carry.

“Father?” I quietly asked.  Just then a woman pulled up and rolled down her window.  Amazingly, there was almost no traffic behind her, so we could have this conversation.
“Do you need help?” she asked.  “I saw the dog in the road and turned around and came back.”  I said I wasn’t sure, that the dog didn’t want to come.

Checking for traffic in her rearview mirror, the woman swept clutter off the front passenger seat and said, “See if she’ll get into the car.”   This was someone who was familiar with dogs.

I opened the door, patted the seat, and the dog jumped in.  “Good girl!”  the woman said as I flipped her the leash and closed the door.  “Sit,” she said.  The dog sat.  I waved as she rolled up the window and drove off with the dog on the front seat.

Part of our job was done.  The dog out of traffic.  This next stranger had appeared and was taking the her on the next part of her journey.  The woman could ask any vet to see whether the dog had an identification chip, in which case they could try to contact the owner.

Cynics could offer criticism at this point.  But Mom and I had to trust our initial prayer, “Father, what is your plan?”  And this was the second part of our job: to continue our prayers for the dog, and to expand them to including all who were homeless, to find their right home.  That was perhaps the most important part of the episode.

Staying focused amid distractions

A couple of weeks ago I met a new friend, Jolinda Wade, who is not your typical served-time-in-prison former drug addict.  She turned her life around and is now co-Pastor of an active church that includes running a community soup kitchen.

In the prison segregation unit, for 18 months she wrote a daily letter of gratitude to God which, she said, kept her sane.  Her letters, now published in a book, Divine Grace behind the walls, show her acceptance of His unconditional love, her instant obedience to everything God asked her to share -- with inmates, guards and administration.

One thing that comes across is that life in segregation is free of distractions.  You're in one room 23 hours a day.  No laundry, no grocery shopping, no TV, no phone calls, no emails.  Just, if you so choose, you and God.  You pray and you listen and you do.  She startled herself by thanking God for segregation where she learned to give Him her every moment.

My goal too is to give my every moment, my every thought, to God to be purified.  But I have to ask myself, how well do I deal with distractions?  It takes great discipline of thought to say focused in a gratitude-prayer walk, not to become angry, annoyed, or disappointed. Sometimes it's a struggle.

Gratitude isn’t denial of the injustices all around, so much as commitment to recognizing the good, however small it may seem, as evidence of God present and active.  I can do better!

Thank you, Jolinda, for setting such a high standard.  

Burnt biscuits

The following arrived in an email.  It's such a good reminder to appreciate the broader good.  Love, forgiveness, and gratitude go a long way towards maintaining good relationships.

 When I was a kid, my Mom liked to make breakfast food for dinner every now and then. And I remember one night in particular when she had made breakfast after a long, hard day at work.

On that evening so long ago, my Mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage and extremely burned  biscuits in front of my dad. I remember waiting to see if anyone noticed! Yet all my dad did was reach for his biscuit, smile at my Mom and ask me how my day was at school. I don't remember what I told him that night, but I do remember watching him smear butter and jelly on that biscuit and eat every bite!

  After I got up from the table that evening, I heard Mom apologize to Dad for burning the biscuits. And I'll never forget what he said: "Honey, I love burned biscuits."

Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy good night and I asked him if he really liked his biscuits burned. He wrapped me in his arms and said, "Your Momma put in a hard day at work today and she's real tired. And besides - a little burned biscuit never hurt anyone!"

 
So my prayer for you today is that you will learn to take the
 good, the bad, and the ugly parts of your life and lay them at the feet of God.  Because in the end, He's the only One who will be able to give you a relationship where a burnt biscuit isn't a deal-breaker!

Harmonica in Carnegie Hall

Focus, dedication, and practice.

One happy man shares his talent in Carnegie Hall.

Flash mob surprise

It's been fun to watch the evolution of flash mobs -- yes there is a name for them now -- these talented groups that appear to be so spontaneous.  

They sing and dance and delight people in the most unlikely places -- and then disappear.   Events such as "Doe a Deer" at the Antwerp train station, or the T-mobile dance at the Liverpool Street Station.  

Now, in keeping with the season, we have the "Hallelujah Chorus" in a mall food court!  (I'm guessing America for this one.)

My poem for Thanksgiving, 2010.

Thanks-living

Thank you Mother-Father for your gifts:
Friends and fellowship,
vitality and kindness.

Your tough love wants
action as thanks.
No shallow living here!

Life, You say, isn’t cumulative.
Isn’t “He who, at the end, has the most toys wins.”
Life is giving. 
Generously.

Existing asks, “How much do I have?”
Living asks, “How can I help?”

Jonah's story -- like you have never heard it before

Perhaps you believe Jonah is a story told for the value of the lessons -- that we need to obey what God is asking us to do; that you can run, but you can't hide; that deciding how God should punish our enemies just doesn't work.  Or perhaps you are a literal believer word-for-word.

Either way, here's a rendition that draws the listener in with a smile.

Actions of thanks

Kindness is like the sun breaking through the clouds.

"Accion de Gracias."  This is Spanish for Thanksgiving.

Don’t you love that first word, which translates as “action”?   Literally it reads “Action of Thanks.”

What a great way to celebrate Thanksgiving -- with actions.

Even though times may be tough, there is always something to be grateful for.  Maybe you have a friend, a spouse, or children who love you; or a dog or cat or a bird who loves you.  Maybe you can count on three meals a day and a roof over your head.  Maybe you have a job.  

Maybe you have an opportunity to set things right in a relationship. 

Here are some possible actions of gratitude:  A phone call to let someone know you care about them, or an email for the same reason.  Maybe a card or a letter -- sent the old fashioned way!   Your time given can be a precious gift.

How many ways can you find of to express your thanks through actions this coming week?

Run your own race

In the movie, "Secretariat," the big horse was facing the third race of the 1973 Triple Crown.  He had won the Derby, won the Preakness, and was facing the most grueling of the three, the Belmont -- one and one half miles of dirt track.

His intuitive trainer, Lucien Lauren, had a tough decision to make.  Common wisdom said to let the horse rest between the Preakness and the Belmont.  This approach made sense.  But Lucien and Secretariat’s owner both knew how the horse loved to run.  He was not a common racehorse.  They agreed he should be allowed to run his own race.  And so, contrary to common wisdom, they let him work out between the races.

On race day, Secretariat and his closest competition, another fine athlete, Sham, broke from the gate at the head of the pack and continued neck and neck.  Until Secretariat began pulling ahead.  The announcer said something like, “Secretariat ahead by a neck... by a length, by two lengths... by 11 lengths... by 20 lengths.”  The big red horse won that race by 32 lengths.  No one has seen anything like it before or since.

May I be clear at this point that I am not advocating horse racing or dog racing.  These have become cruel industries.  But that's another story for someone else to write.

Here now, for a spiritual take on Secretariat's triumph: we are all running our own races.  Each of us has a different race to run.  The lengths, locations, and conditions vary.  Some are glitzy like the Derby.  Some are grueling like the Belmont.  Supporters may or may not be there to cheer us to the finish line.

Unlike most racing, we're not competing with anyone else. The point for us is not whether we come in first, second, or last, but that we finish the race before us the best we know how. 

We can trust that our loving Mother-Father God has given us exactly what we need to praise Her in the race of this moment.  Love, honesty, intelligence, and a willing heart make a good start.

Rules of Life - as lived by a friend

In 2002 I worked on temporary assignment for a crackerjack manager.  She was bright, funny, effective.

Our team worked long hours together.  She was the one who took responsibility for solving problems and finding solutions.  By the way she lived, she taught wonderful life-lessons.  I wrote them down one day before the assignment ended.  Here’s what flowed from my fingers to the keyboard. 

• If it’s at all important, pray first.
• Pray first, Pray often.  Pray always. 
• If something doesn’t feel quite right, pause, step back.  Don’t proceed with anything that feels mushy.  Pray about it.
• Act on your intuitions.
• Be quick in obeying your highest sense of right.  If a direction or a conversation suddenly seems not quite right, don’t ignore that intuition.  Take control and move graciously in a right direction.
• Praise first, praise often, praise generously, praise exuberantly.  Praise whenever you can.  Find the good, and build on that.
• Support your team consistently. Publicly praise individuals.  Privately discuss needed improvements.
• Recognize incursion of evil and don’t tolerate it.
• Forgive and forget.  Move forward.
• Recognize your own shortcomings.  Be willing to apologize.
• Have fun.  Be fun.  Laugh often.  Laugh rather than cry.
• Laugh at yourself a lot.  Keep your jokes gentle.  Never joke, even a little, at someone else’s expense.  Use clever wit that uplifts.
• Keep your joy spontaneous.  Expect good from every direction.  Deny evil power, presence, activity.
• When you’ve worked long and hard all day, take a break.  Put on some good music and dance!
• Pray before speaking.  Keep your tongue a servant to kindness.
• Don't criticize.  Pray for the right wording to present criticism in a constructive way, so that it doesn’t even sound like criticism.
• Don’t personalize evil ever.
• Don’t argue.  Either contribute a constructive idea (perhaps through a carefully crafted question), or be quiet and pray.
• Keep your goals in focus.  Recognize and resist distractions.  Tangents, even worthy ones, are time-wasters if they do not immediately support the goal at hand.  Move them to another time, or eliminate them.
• Be willing to help.  Also see clearly when appropriate help lies in another direction, and point that direction.  Be firm on not getting involved when it is inappropriate.
• Don’t be wishy-washy.  Make your best decision at the time.  Be flexible and willing to change direction as new information comes to light.
• Go for the big picture.  Comprehending the big picture helps you make intelligent decisions.
• Be thorough in a project.  Pay attention to detail.  Every detail.  Assume nothing.
• Don’t get into the dream.  Life is not a burden, but a joy.  If you feel a burden you are in the dream.  Get out of the dream.  Refuse to be part of somebody else’s dream.
• Don't react even when reaction seems justified.  Stay quiet and pray   Find God’s power and strength.  You don’t always have to say something.  Your strength may be in active silence, in letting others feel you have listened.
• Stay humble by staying close to divine Love.

Rules of Life -- as dogs would write them

This delightful text came in a forwarded email -- author unknown.

Live simply. 



Love generously. 



Care deeply. 



Speak kindly.

Smile because you’re happy.



When loved ones come home, always run to greet them. 



Remember to play!

Run, romp, and play daily. 

Never pass up the opportunity to encourage your friends. 



Relish the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face.



When you take a nap, stretch before rising. 



Thrive on attention -- giving and receiving -- and let people touch you. 



Avoid biting when a simple growl will do. 



When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body. 



Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.

Always be ready to make new friends.



Be loyal. 



Never pretend to be something you're not.

 

If what you want lies buried, 
dig until you find it. 



When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.

Enjoy now!



Time for a little listen

“Grandma,” my very tall 11-year old grandson instructed patiently, “Put your fingers over the laces, like this.”  We were having a lesson in how to throw a football. 

“That’s right,” he said encouragingly.   “But your pinky doesn’t need to be way out there.  Keep your pinky closer to your other fingers.  Like this.”  I studied his eyes to see if he was making a little joke.  He wasn’t.  Those eyes, a little taller than mine, were quite earnest.  So even though it amused me greatly to hear where to place my pinky on a football, my expression remained serious and attentive.

I resisted the impulse to gather him in a great hug and tell him how wonderful he is to honor me with football throwing instructions. 

I am learning to bless these grandsons and nearly everybody who comes into my experience more consistently.  By that I mean I am learning to pray better for and about them.

For instance a couple of weeks ago the two boys and I were having dinner, and they started provoking and insulting each other and paying no attention to anything I said to diffuse the escalating taunting.

I sat back and mentally withdrew from the verbal chaos to have a little listen with God.  It was important to hear what She knew about these kids.  Right there, right then, I could honor their goodness, their intelligence, their caring, their respectfulness -- qualities that seemed to be missing.

Suddenly it was quiet.  The conversation changed, and that was the end of the nastiness.

 The transformed atmosphere startled me into gratitude and an awareness that my thoughts, more than my words, were what mattered.  They hadn’t heard my words, but they responded to recognition of their true nature as God knew them.

Just as that boy placed my fingers where they belonged to make a decent throw, so a loving God places each of us where we are intended to be a blessing.  And She insists that we be that blessing.

Six-second run for life

Elk delights tourists - Rocky Mountain National park

Chicago outskirts.  Sunday afternoon.  Driving north on I-294.  

Suddenly from some brush on the right, a deer leaps onto the highway and dashes across.  We’re talking eight lanes of divided expressway.  

Clearing the center divide without a pause, she heads into Russian Roulette.  No words come, but my heart goes out in prayer.  The three additional lanes of very fast traffic coming up behind the semi that she darts in front of do not know she will be racing across their lanes. 

Yet in another instant she is intact in the brush on the far side and heading for forest.  As the doe reaches safety, a van in the next lane nearly swerves into my car.  The driver waves apologetically, shaking his head in amazement at what we have just seen.

No accidents, no one hurt, no damage.  And several pretty startled drivers.

Many people will say, “That was one lucky deer.”  My take is that I was privileged to witness that tragedy is not inevitable.  That deer-killed-on-highways statistics are not law.  That the Creator of the universe has established spiritual laws of harmony and they do govern.  Rather than being persuaded that crises are normal and unavoidable, we can and should expect to see this law of harmony in action.

When is it OK to disagree?

I recently saw the movie, “Whip It.”

I'm pretty particular about time invested in a movie.  It needs to have a constructive message and, for awhile, this one was iffy.  The teen, Bliss, was lying to her parents, and lying about her age to her new friends in the brutal contact sport of roller derby, and generally making decisions that were leading to unhappy results.

The redemption came when, after bitter words with her parents, Bliss left home.  The women on her racing team were older and tough; yet one of her new friends took her in, offering this kindly advice, “It sounds like you’re being selfish in your relationship with your mom.  If my son lied to me the way you lied to your parents, he wouldn't run away because I'd break his legs.

Turning to her little boy, she smiled warmly, "Just joking!"

Back to Bliss, "Just because you have a new family (with me and my son) doesn’t mean you should leave your old family.” 

Bliss’s indiscretions had also gotten her best friend arrested for underage drinking, followed by her new boyfriend cheating on her.  Bliss returned home sad and wiser.
 
Genuine love in the family allowed space for Bliss and her parents to talk and listen to one another, and move forward.  Everyone struggled to, and did, rise to the occasion. 

What I took away is the important message that unselfish love makes a solid basis for relationships.  It creates space for apology, repentance, and forgiveness.  When all the elements are there, love supports moving past mistakes into stronger relationships. 

A friend once told me, "It's all right to disagree, if we disagree in love."   I think "Whip it" reached that conclusion.

Love isn't what we're in, it's something that we do

 Truly spoken.  This simple song takes love -- in marriage and every other relationship -- to a higher level.  Beyond, "What's in it for me?" to "What can I give to this relationship to keep it healthy and beautiful?"

One of the cool things about the Internet is that you can develop a network of like-minded friends, and you share ideas pretty freely.  Kate Robertson found Clint Black first.  If you would like to read her thoughts about these lyrics, click here. 

A life without hate

A life without hate.  You begin toponder this unconditional love business.

Jesus taught "Love your enemies."  You begin to think there is a universal truth, maybe a law, behind this requirement.  Jesus wasn't talking to Christians at that time.  He was a rabbi talking to Jews.  And he said, "Love your enemies."  No conditions, no loopholes, just do it.

Alice will celebrate her 107th birthday in November.  She's the oldest living holocaust survivor -- and she loves everyone.  Here's an upbeat video interview with a remarkable upbeat lady.

Wild Bill's story

There’s a revealing account in a book called “Return from tomorrow,” by George C. Ritchie.  The hero was nicknamed Wild Bill because of the shape of his drooping mustache.  Wild Bill accomplished unselfed love through a conscious decision to forgive his enemies.  Here are some excerpts from that story as recorded by Mr. Ritchie.

 ‘He was one of the inmates of the concentration camp, but obviously he hadn’t been there long: his posture was erect, his eyes bright, his energy indefatigable.  Since he was fluent in English, French, German and Russian, as well as Polish, he became a kind of unofficial camp translator.

‘We came to him with all sorts of problems . . . . But though Wild Bill worked fifteen and sixteen hours a day, he showed no signs of weariness.  While the rest of us were drooping with fatigue, he seemed to gain strength. . . . . his compassion for his fellow-prisoners glowed on his face, and it was to this glow that I came when my own spirits were low. . . 

‘So I was astonished to learn. . . that he had been in Wuppertal since 1939!  For six years he had lived on the same starvation diet, slept in the same airless and disease-ridden barracks as everyone else, but without the least physical or mental deterioration.

‘Perhaps even more amazing, every group in the camp looked on him as a friend.  He was the one to whom quarrels between inmates were brought for arbitration. . . 

‘It’s not easy for some of them to forgive,’ I commented to him one day. . .  ‘So many of them have lost members of their families.’

‘Wild Bill leaned back in the upright chair and sipped at his drink.  “We lived in the Jewish section of Warsaw,” he began slowly, the first words I had heard him speak about himself, “my wife, our two daughters, and our three little boys.  When the Germans reached our street they lined everyone against a wall and opened up with machine guns.  I begged to be allowed to die with my family, but because I spoke German they put me in a work group.

. . . “I had to decide right then,” he continued, “whether to let myself hate the soldiers who had done this.  It was an easy decision, really.  I was a lawyer.  In my practice I had seen too often what hate could do to people’s minds and bodies.  Hate had just killed the six people who mattered most to me in the world.  I decided then that I would spend the rest of my life – whether it was a few days or many years – loving every person I came in contact with.” ’

It's very humbling to ask, "Would I be able to make that decision to remove hate from my life -- by loving every person -- even those who had murdered my children in front of  my eyes?"  This is what Christians of all stripes profess.  Yet Wild Bill was a Jew - and understood exactly the demand Life was making on him.  To not hate.   To live, to truly live and to live truly, he would love.

Opportunities to bless

"It is impossible to bless and judge at the same time.  So hold constantly as a deep, hallowed, intoned thought the desire to bless, for truly then shall you become a peacemaker, and one day you shall behold, everywhere, the face of God."

Pierre Pradervand

Isn't it pretty amazing, when you think about it, that we have the privilege, the joy, to be able to choose to bless, rather than to judge or condemn.

Sandhill cranes at sunset

 

Pass it on!

“Have you had a kindness shown? Pass it on;

'twas not given for thee alone, pass it on;

Let it travel down the years, let it wipe another's tears,

till in heaven the deed appears, pass it on.”

Henry Burton (English clergyman 1840-1930)

Goodness expands, multiplies, as we share it.  Goodness is funny that way.  Things, physical things, diminish as we share them -- only so many pieces of blueberry pie, and then it's gone.

But goodness isn't a thing, it's an attitude; it comes from an infinite source -- like a freshwater spring that never runs dry.  We aren't depleted by passing along our cheer, our goodwill, our warm approval of things beautiful.

And maybe, as Reverend Burton says, it's a duty.  Whatever kindness has been shown you, in the broader scheme of things, wasn't intended just for you.  Lest it shrivel for want of light and joy, pass it on!  You'll feel happier for having participated.

Beauty as a kindness.

The path

“There is only one path to Heaven. On Earth, we call it Love."
unknown

 

That path to heaven isn't always paved.

 

Just a high school reunion?

Two years ago a buddy from Carl Sandburg High School sent an email to a few friends.  Would anyone like to help put together a class reunion?

Several responded.  We each brought our talents, our joy, and our willing hearts.

Last weekend was the payoff.  A good crowd showed up for the Friday night event.  Many mentioned how glad they were to be there.  Several confessed that the personal phone call from someone on the committee helped them decide to come.  Some flew in; others drove across the country.

Hugs and hearty handshakes preceded fluid conversations as people moved into and out of groups.  Clique boundaries from high school days dissolved as people discovered friends and more friends from long ago.

Some of us even enjoyed a horseback ride.

Many stayed in town for Saturday events and Sunday breakfast.  The committee watched as the reunion became a great success.  What made it work so well?

I have my own take -- that everyone on the committee approached the project unselfishly.  No kidding -- this makes a difference.

We looked at the reunion as a gift to our classmates.  This love included careful attention to details.  Nobody had a personal agenda.   Assorted skills and talents meshed beautifully and were valued and appreciated by all.  The tone was wonderfully inclusive -- decisions included everyone’s input.  Those facing family challenges were warmly supported by the team.

For me the weekend unfolded on a pervasive underlying spiritual element.  It rested on a principle of Love.

Who confirms your worth?

This fun little flick goes straight to the heart of the questions, “Who are we?” and “Why are we here?”

Do you agree with the conclusion?

"The Gentle Art of Blessing"

The world, it appears, is full of caring people.  You’ll find them among your neighbors, your family, your colleagues, even strangers.

A friend told me recently that Pierre Pradervand’s book had changed her life.  I hadn’t even heard of Pierre Pradervand -- one of the world’s more public caring people.  A little Google research revealed that one of the delightful things about Pradervand is he does indeed walk his talk.

He can write about unconditional love because he lives it.  Apparently he has for some time.  I look forward to reading his book.

Here’s an appetizer, a challenge if you will, from a Youtube slide show:

“On passing people in the street, on the bus,
in places of work, and play, bless them.
The peace of your blessing will accompany them on their way
and the aura of its gentle fragrance will be a light to their path.
On meeting and talking to people, bless them in their health,
their work, their joy, their relationships to God, themselves, and others...”

You really need to see the whole seven minutes.


He has it right.  Love is the only thing that matters.

Trust the big picture

A mom told me this story about her daughter-in-law -- whom she dearly loves and admires.

Jill was grateful to find a job in her field at the local arboretum.  It was only part-time, but she worked hard, attended to details, made solid contributions, and looked for full-time openings within the organization. 

A great opportunity came along to be assistant to her boss, and Jill applied.  She was devastated when another less qualified person was selected.

What to do?  Was all her hard work for nothing?  Was she not appreciated?  She decided not to go the route of self-pity or hurt feelings.  After considerable prayer she felt it was right to continue expressing helpfulness, willingness, and co-operation and stay in her part-time job.

Unknown to Jill, a grant had been applied for.  When it came through a short time later, the funds allowed her boss to create a full-time position especially suited to Jill’s talents.  Jill was one happy woman!

Usually we can’t see the big picture.  We don’t know where we fit.  The small parts we see sometimes don’t make sense or seem fair.  It’s good to remember that God knows the big picture, She knows where we fit.  Our job is to listen for direction and to do our best.

For somebody else the direction might have been not to stay.  That's where the listening comes in.   It's always fun when the pieces come together in a way that  confirms a decision as a good one.

Children's program at the arboretum