Ubiquitous kindness revisited

Last week I blogged on the widespread kindness I am finding in the world. I focused on specifically on the way the sports and school systems in Springfield, Oregon have gathered around my visually impaired grandson, allowing him to do things like successfully run on the cross-country track team. All of that is still true.

But I need to revisit the theme because Reilly ran in his second race this week, and it didn’t turn out so well. He ran into a pole.

Apparently the race began late and the coaches released more kids than usual onto the track at the same time. The first part of the trail followed a city sidewalk, until it veered off into a more rural path. It happened on this sidewalk, complete with telephone poles. The crowding of so many kids, the narrowness of the sidewalk—who knows why, but it all threw Reilly a little off. Even though he was looking straight ahead, and even though the accompanying runner was right there, he ran full force into the pole. He’s fast, and those around him watched with horror as he hit, bounced back and crumpled to the ground.

He rallied quickly, but felt dizzy and disoriented. He was taken to the hospital and then kept home the next day to watch for signs of concussion. He didn’t have one. Young bodies are resilient, and Reilly finished the week back in school. Next week he plans on racing again.

But this has served as another wake-up call. Reilly behaves so normally that we frequently forget the extent of his impairment. Even he forgets, which is good. But it can be dangerous, too.

It’s made me wonder if I might have been a bit glib in my last post about God’s grace and kindness permeating the world. I could even be tempted to blame God for letting this happen, or to blame myself for not praying enough. And of course I could blame the system—the very system that I saw last week as demonstrating the ubiquity of kindness—for letting Reilly down.

I could do all of that, but I’ve chosen not to. I will continue to affirm the power and pervasiveness of God’s grace. But I need to put it in the context of this imperfect world, where accidents happen, kids go blind, and millions of refugees wander Europe in desperation. I need to ask, with tears, “Where is God’s kindness in all of this?” I need to admit that I don’t know.

But I need to keep asking. Keep affirming. And keep praying, even offering my life as part of the answer.

So next week my prayers for God’s manifest kindness and grace will accompany Reilly around the curves of that cross-country trail. I will dare to prayer for the refugees across Europe. I will dare to ask how I can be involved.

And I will continue to affirm the ubiquitous kindness of an all-seeing, loving and powerful God.

The ubiquity* of kindness

Some say that iniquity is ubiquitous, but I see it as just the opposite. I see kindness lurking around just about every corner, lying in wait for the right moment to jump out and offer you a lollipop or an organic pear, depending on your preferences.

I see it every time a car stops to let me cross the street, even where no marked crosswalk exists. I see it in my neighbors bringing the left-overs from their Indonesian meal, thinking we might like to sample their country’s cuisine. I see it in the number of old friends who kicked in on Facebook to wish me a happy birthday. I see it every time Hal fixes breakfast.

Yes, it’s kindness that wins the prize for ubiquity. It’s everywhere!

Most recently I saw it in the Willamalane Park and Recreation Department in Springfield, Oregon. My daughter Kristin lives there with Jon and their three school-age kids. The oldest, Reilly, has been visually impaired since birth with a rare combination of ocular albinism and optic nerve hypoplasia. (I’ll dispense with definitions; you can google them if you’re curious.) Simply put, he doesn’t see well. Corrective lenses bring his vision up to about 20/800 in each eye.

Other than that, he’s a normal, bright and out-going 13-year-old. He attends a public middle school (always gets a front row seat in class), plays several musical instruments and loves sports.

People and organizations go out of their way to make sure Reilly’s life is as normal—and as rich—as possible. From the school district, to the Lane Regional Program for kids with special needs, to the county park and rec department, and the state association for the blind, Reilly is provided with services that help him learn to navigate his challenges. These includes an iPad and computer with special apps, weird binocular glasses that let him watch movies, braille lessons, large print library books, a support group of other visually impaired kids and their parents, participation in a summer camp for the blind that includes horseback riding, and much more. These acts of “official kindness” are provided at no cost, as are so many services to kids with special needs.

Reilly is athletic and has actually been on a soccer team since the first grade. His keen sense of hearing helps him follow the action, and when he gets close enough to see the ball, he does what needs to be done to it. Most spectators don’t know he has a problem. And in the first grade, the kids are out there mostly to run around and have fun.

But now in middle school, it isn’t working out so well on the soccer field. So Reilly is changing sports and has joined the cross-country track team. However, it’s quickly become clear that vision matters in this sport, too. And here’s where that ubiquitous kindness pops up again.

The Willamalane Park and Rec, sponsors of the team, have developed a plan. It seems it matters to them that Reilly be a successful member of the team. So this last week, on the day before the first meet, a trainer took Reilly on a special tour of the trail, marking curves and potential problem spots with colored paint. And on the actual day of the meet, an adult runner accompanied Reilly the whole one-and-one-half miles. Other kids on the team had agreed to look out for Reilly, too.

He made it to the finish line, of course. When asked about his experience, he responded, “Awesome!” (that ubiquitous middle school phrase).

Even awesomer—the amount of kindness built into the systems that take care of our kids.

I recognize that Jon and Kristin live in a middle class school district and that their taxes help fund these services. I also know that in the Springfield/Eugene area the same services reach to all social and economic levels. Kristin has become a special-ed teacher for the visually impaired, and many of her young “clients” come from families that definitely could not afford these services otherwise.

On the other hand, I suspect that across our country as a whole, many children with special needs fall through the cracks. These types of services are probably not uniformly available to all. Freedom and justice—and kindness—for all remains more an ideal than a reality among some populations in our country.

At any rate, I rejoice in the specific kindnesses shown to my very specific grandson. And I trust that Reilly himself in turn will become a source of ubiquitous kindness.

And maybe even of justice for all.

*ubiquity: great word, meaning a state of being widespread, all around us if we only have eyes to see

                                    On your mark, get set, GO!

                                     Accompanied

                                         Made it!

Flying High!

Since I share my birthday with the archangels, I decided to fly. Hal and I rode the seven-station zip line in the forest around Skamania Lodge, overlooking the Colombia Gorge. I like flying through the forest, every bit as much as I thought I would. We spent the night at the Lodge, in a room overlooking the river, and in the morning we hiked one of the trails, again through the forest.

This treat is thanks to Northwest Yearly Meeting of Friends who, last year, gave a gift card to the lodge as a retirement gift, and we have managed to squeeze three trips out of it. This trip maxed out our card, but what a fine way to celebrate 70 years of life and grace.

Here are some photos.

In answer to your question

Yes, I used to put God
in a box, but it turned
out to be a Jack-
in-the-box, and God
kept jumping out
and scaring me
at the most inconvenient
times. One day he
jumped all the way
out, leaving me
with this empty tin
cube, red paint peeling.
I finally threw it
away. God remains
at large.

This is the day

“This is the day which the Lord hath made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.”

There is determination in that posture. There is intentionality. We will, we determine to, we intend it, it is our purpose. So joy and a grateful outlook are more than personality, more than a good night’s sleep, more than the background of a happy childhood, more than the right circumstances, more than the right body chemistry, more than good relationships. They are more than all the bullet-points that would go in a how-to-be-happy book.

Basic intentionality.                                                             

We will rejoice and be glad.

We will.

It’s also plural. We will. Me, yes, but me with. The others in my life, whoever they are, matter. They are part of the ingredients in the recipe for joy. And it’s the we in my life who can intend to rejoice and actually carry it off. We.

And it’s this day that is the setting—the context if you will—when all the joy happens. This very day. Not the past, as fine or as painful as it might have been. No nostalgic longing for what was or what might have been. And no blaming past tragedies, pain, abuses or mistakes for any present inability to rejoice. No.

And no looking to the future and thinking that if only this circumstance, or these people, or this place, or this much money…. No.

Right here. Right now. With these people. In these circumstances. This is the day. We will rejoice and be glad in it. And in no other.

Because this is the day that the Lord has made. Now we’re down to basics. Sovereign God has made, sustained, and given to us—this day. Because God is in it, behind it, before it, and surrounding this very day, it is possible. The joy is possible. It is possible to trust God to take care of us. To supply our every need. To help us forgive the past, be healed, and move forward with hope into the future. A future that will be full of days that God will make.

Because of God we can be in today. We can fully inhabit this day. This is the day. We can wisely intend to rejoice and be glad.

Rejoice—make a habit of joy. Re-joy. Do it again and again. Because of God, our source and sustainer. Be glad. Be—a verb of being. A state of being. An habitual way of life. Gladness. Gratitude.

Oh, Lord, Holy Spirit of God. Enable us today to seize the moments, to rejoice and be glad. Today. Because of you. Amen.

On being a liver

 
Peter, age 7, and Paige, 10, were playing Legos in my living room, while I sat on the couch pretending to read, but really listening to them build their imaginary world.

At one point Paige lifted her Lego horse and as it leaped the castle wall, she asked Peter, “Can your Lego guys do this?”

“No,” Peter responded. “Me and Tim don’t do stuff like that. We’re livers.”

Paige cocked her head and gave him that “you’re-crazy” look. “What?”

“Livers.” Peter insisted. “That means we’re normal guys. We don’t do stuff. We just live.”

I smiled and kept quiet. I connected their conversation with the old Martha/Mary division and the differences between people. Some people are do-ers, workers, those who accomplish great—or not-so-great—things for the kingdom. They “work for the night is coming,” knowing that “their labors are not in vain.” Others prefer to sit at the feet of the Master, meditate, pray and just be. They focus on “abiding in the vine.”

This division is, of course, superficial. Most of us move back and forth on a continuum between doing stuff and quietly being present. While we may tend to one side, we’re both types, depending on circumstance and opportunity.

I’m a poet. The noun “poem” comes from the Greek “poema,” and its verb form means, ironically, “to do” or “to make.” The particular making that a poet engages in results, sometimes, in a work of art. Work is on the doing-stuff side, but art leans toward the livers of the world. The combination, “work of art,” brings them together in synchronicity.

This is beginning to sound as silly as my grandkids’ conversation.

At any rate, I’ve added a new meaning to an old word. I’ve got lots of stuff to do today, but I will take the time to remember that I’m basically just a liver.

                   Paige the do-er and Peter the liver

 

NWYM and human sexuality: to remember or to forget?

Let me begin with a true confession. I am a member of the board of elders of Northwest Yearly Meeting. Just a week ago we “released” West Hills Friends Church to follow the way they’ve discerned that God has been leading them, in acknowledgement that NWYM can’t tolerate this level of diversity, at this point in time, without breaking apart.

I am also a blogger and, as such, enjoy being a member of the wider community of Friends. But this month (I’m writing on the last day of July) is the first in which I have not been able to write a single blog or, more seriously, a single poem. The agony preceding, in the midst of, and following our decision has drained the words. Before yearly meeting, I found that the only way I could pray was, “Lord, have mercy.” And in the first four days following the announcement, all I could pray was, “I’m so sorry.” Over and over and over.

Eventually I sensed the voice of God—and definitely heard the voice of my husband—saying, “Enough, Nancy. You’re forgiven. Stop saying, ‘I’m sorry.’”

I want to acknowledge the other voices, the voices of care and compassion that have reached out to West Hills Friends. And to me. Many people from my own congregation, North Valley Friends, divided on the issues of human sexuality, have approached me with concern and love, even while they are agonizing over the decision.

I especially want to acknowledge the attitude of WHF. Throughout the two-year process we’ve recently gone through, and during and after yearly meeting, believers from this congregation have been so gracious and respectful. That continues, in spite of the grief and pain. I’ve had emails from individuals at WHF this week, asking if I’m alright, expressing concern and encouraging me. One said, “Yes! Of course we’re still friends!”

Soon after the decision was released, I was invited to a meeting of young adults of NWYM, those who were especially concerned (read, “outraged,” or “anguished”) by the decision. They included many members of my congregation, extended family members, and young people who were MKs when I served as a missionary in Bolivia. They also included several members of WHF. Most of these came up to hug me at the close of the meeting.

Back to West Hills, I think that if I were still in my idealistic little girl stage of life, I would look to these sisters and brothers and think to myself, “That’s how I want to be when I grow up.”

I also want to acknowledge my fellow and sister members of the board of elders. We went into yearly meeting week mindful of the differing perspectives we represented, matching the whole gamut of positions in the wider yearly meeting. But throughout the week we managed to proceed with love and respect for each other. And we did indeed come to a new place. We found we could not find fault with WHF for not “being in compliance” with a section of Faith & Practice that the yearly meeting no longer holds in consensus. We realized that we had a deeper level of theological discernment ahead of us. And we also sensed the pain of the whole yearly meeting, coming from both sides of the issue, and our sense of the possible results of any decision. We came to the language of “releasing” WHF out of our growing respect for the way these brothers and sisters were moving forward, our desire for their spiritual prosperity and our hope for a future reconnection. Individual members of the board grieved our decision for different reasons, but we all grieved.

 I realize that what I write here may meet with cynicism. I’ll take it as it comes and probably keep silent. (That’s a prediction, not a promise.) I do find hope in the movement of young adults and others to appeal the elders’ decision. This brings more people into the discernment process and perhaps will lead to a better way forward, although getting there will continue to be hard.

While I’m more inclined to short blogs, and this one has already leaped the bounds of that ideal, I want to reflect on a section of Scripture that is guiding me as I reflect on the deeper issues of human sexuality. Some time ago I ran across several parallel passages in the book of Isaiah that amazed and delighted me. I love biblical contradictions that in time tell me I’ve gotten their name wrong. Not “contradiction” they insist. Our name is “paradox.” So, here it is.

In Isaiah 46:9, the word of the Lord comes through the prophet to tell the people of Israel, “Remember the former things, those of long ago; I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me.” The passage goes on. And in many other places throughout the Scriptures, God encourages us to value the old ways, the holy traditions and understandings that have been faithfully handed down to us, as we also remember God’s loving acts toward God’s people in the past.

Here’s the parallel passage, a few chapters distant, but coming from the same historical context. Hear the word of the Lord, through the prophet Isaiah: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wilderness” (43:18-19).

So which is it? Are we facing the threat of straying from the ancient path of God, giving in to ungodly pressures from our surrounding context? (This often has happened in the history of the Christian church.) Or is the Spirit of God showing us something new, something that includes new light on the meanings behind the Scriptures? (This often has happened in the history of the Christian church.)

I find myself right-smacky-dab (as my Grandma would have phrased it) in the middle. I hear truth from both sides. I did get a word from the Lord recently that I feel is sound and real. I asked God to show me which way was true (remember or forget?), and I sensed the Spirit saying, “I’m not going to tell you as an individual; I will reveal this mystery to the gathered body.” But I have no sense of how long this revelation with take. I’m sure God can speak faster than the speed of light, but we’re not always so quick at hearing.

I do have the advantage of my personality type. I’m a poet. I love mystery and am highly tolerant of ambiguity. I can wait my way through pain. But not without the hope of an answer. One of my pastors reminded me this week of a quote by Rainer Maria Rilke (already underlined in my own copy of his book), writing to a “young poet”:

“…I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything that is unsolved in your heart and to try to cherish the questions themselves, like closed rooms and like books written in a very strange tongue. Do not search now for the answers which cannot be given you because you could not live them. It is a matter of living everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, one distant day live right into the answer.”

The only part of that I find issue with is the injunction not to search now. We don’t dare stop searching. Only God can help us live the answers.

In the meantime, I would encourage all of us to drop the language of “villains” and “victims.” We can turn the “meantime” into a kinder time by the way we treat each other and talk about each other.

Here are some prayer requests for the larger body of Quakers, ways to hold NWYM in the light:

--Pray for the LGBTQ people in our midst, as others have pleaded, that they can understand they are not being rejected once again.

--Pray for a way for us to stay together and do the hard word of discernment required of us.

--Pray that we can, even now, reach out with compassion and be Friends of Jesus right where we are—and anywhere else in the world God sends us.