In These Times

"One person,... one person of integrity, can make a difference, a difference of life and death." 

- Elie Wiesel

When our leaders don't lead in the direction of our own moral compass, we have the opportunity to rise to leadership, lighting the way in kindness and unity. As Glennon Doyle says, "We are made for these times." Leadership begins right here.

You who are reading this blog right now... Thank you for being a voice of wisdom in this world that needs to hear that voice. 

May You be the Best You You can Muster

A friend of ours who lives in the eastern part of our country wrote about his fear and how hard he's finding it to process the events that occurred in Charlottesville, Virginia yesterday — the gathering of neo-Nazis and the hatred and violence that came with that.

Here is my reply:

It must be hard to be so close to do many boiling pots. You probably feel the tension around you.

I watched live video of the brawl yesterday, and it was stressful. I wondered what I would do if that action was taking place here.

I can't know that answer until it's not a hypothetical question, but the only kind actions I saw were from those who helped people who were suffering after being maced or hit. And then there were people who helped the injured after the car plowed through. Maybe if something like that happens here, I will go to help those who need it. But there would probably be others doing that, like there were yesterday, and they might not need more bodies in the craziness.

I value kindness. I don't value fear, but it comes sometimes. So I focus on what I value, and I go there. What others do is none of my business. It's my business to live in kindness. Cancer has taught me a lot about what is my business. I can't do a thing about cancer or how Michael is dealing with it. My work is to be kind, and I've seen how fear has gotten in the way of that. This racism is a cancer. It is not new, but the symptoms are more evident right now. I can't do a thing about the cancer of racism that has been here since the beginnings of this country, and I can't change how people act upon their beliefs. I can only focus on kindness.

You are a kind person. That is what we need. We don't need fear or retaliation. We don't need to lose our heads when those around us are already doing a good job of that.

Have you seen the Wavy Gravy Movie: Saint Misbehavin'?  We watched it the other night. I loved it, and recommend it. One of many things I got from it: He says this beautiful, sweet prayer, and he ends it with "and help me be the best Wavy Gravy I can muster."

May I be the best Carol I can muster. May I love, even when — especially when — it breaks my heart to do so.

Thus I end my sermon for this beautiful Sunday morning, with birdsong out my window and the sound of dog paws on wood floors outside my bedroom door.

Remembrance Dawns

Early morning rain; 
creates soft, gentle light, and
I am reminded how still 
you are,
offering up 
your warm lap. 
Ever here, 

you sing "Come,
come, rest your constant
worries and need for doing.
Snuggle your cheek 
against my chest. I will 
tell you stories
of the many ways
I've loved you 
since before time." 


- Carol Barrow, July, 2017

And We Danced

We moved most of the furniture out of our living room and into our screened-in porch, rolled up the rug, hiding it in the garage. We looked through all of the music Michael has collected, and chose the best dance songs, trying to cover varied tastes. We had already sent the invitations. They carried this quote: 

"While I dance I can not judge, I can not hate, I can not separate myself from life.  I can only be joyful and whole. 

This is why I dance." 

- Hans Bos

Then, some of the most glorious people on the planet showed up. And we danced. We could not judge or hate or separate ourselves from life. We could only be joyful and whole.

It was beautiful.

Starstruck

With sticky, putty-like stuff, I stuck glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling above my bed. A year or so ago, I had bought these stars for a creative endeavor, but my idea hadn't worked out. Last week I decided I either needed to throw them away or put them on the bedroom ceiling.

At night I look at these stars and wish that I was motivated enough to stand on the bed and move some of them. That one would look better over there. I don't like the pattern those four make. But I don't get up. I leave the stars where they are. I could form a constellation with them, but I'm not all that interested in that. I wonder if God debated the location of each of his stars.

I remember waking during the first night of my first wilderness quest. Alone out in the silent desert, I looked up at the bits of light strewn across the immense night sky, and I wept. Until that moment, I hadn't realized how much ceilings, windows and walls separated me from life. As I took in the silent hugeness of the night, I remembered who I was — a creature connected to all life. I wept in sadness for all the years of forgetting, and in gratitude for that moment of remembering.

My last quest was in 2011, and I have not slept outside since. The stars above my bed, though a fun addition to a blank ceiling, have no depth, no life. They don't inspire awe. I sleep surrounded by walls and windows, under a roof that holds in the heat. We animals are not made for this.

Excuse me. It's dark out, and though the city lights remove all but the brightest of stars from my view, I think I need to go listen to the night sky and, once again, remember my place in this universe.

Singing Beauty

Songbird sings its wake up song 

outside my window the morning

after news reports informed the world

that we had bombed a country whose

refugees we refuse. Do we dare

sing our song when so many 

suffer? Yes, we sing beauty 

even more, like a mother 

tenderly soothing her sick child.

Carol Barrow

April, 2017