Recognizing Abundance Even in Challenging Times

I think it's fair to say 2020 has been a rough one for most everyone. We've experienced upheaval in so many ways. COVID has brought many changes to our lives from changed routines to loss or diminishment of income to loss of loved ones. The deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and others have awakened many people, especially white people, to just how far we are from the highest aspirations of the United States' ideals. This week Louisville lost another bright light when 21-year-old Travis Nagdy, who grew into leadership through 6 months of continuous protests for racial justice, was shot and killed. The elections and its aftermath have exacerbated divisions that were already deep. Many of us are celebrating Thanksgiving (whose history brings its own complexities) in ways that break tradition. 

We may be mourning or angry or tired or so many other things and I wonder if, even as we experience all of those difficult emotions, we can find the places where we can exhale in relief, in gratitude, in satisfaction. I wonder if we can simultaneously notice points of gratitude that open us up in the midst of the complex emotions that can close us off, or at least allow these opening and closing emotions to ebb and flow within us.

Practicing gratitude (and it most certainly is a practice) is something I began just before the 2016 election. Every night for over 4 years now, I've posted on Facebook 5 things for which I'm thankful for, from the mundane to the extraordinary. This practice has helped me to stay grounded in a greater sense of wholeness- of all that is- especially during difficult times. In honor of the practice and this day, I'm sharing two videos that remind me of the expansive was we can notice abundance around us-

• beautiful imagery and Brother David Steindl-Rast’s reflection in A Good Day

• Carrie Newcomer's song Holy As the Day is Spent, a song I get to sing every year at my church's Thanksgiving service

I also want to share just a few of the things I'm particularly grateful for in 2020: 

• Frida- my 20-year-old cat: I have lived with no other being as long as I've lived with Frida. As all of us have spent more time at home and less time in the physical presence of other people outside of our household (I live alone, so...), her physical presence has been of great comfort. If you've been in my house or on a Zoom call with me, chances are, you've met Frida, or at least heard her. She's usually on my lap- as often as I'll let her be!

• My church community: Even though we haven't met in person since March, we have me weekly via Zoom and our community has even grown as we've welcomed friends and family who live outside of Louisville- in other cities, states, and countries. I appreciate the comfort of ritual, the intentional inclusion of different community members’ voices each week, and the many ways we've cultivated community and support for and with each other.

• Park walks with friends: As we navigate safe ways to be together, I have loved every walk I've taken with friends. These walks help me move my body, fill my spirit, and ground me in connections with Nature and people.

• People who brought me meals or small gifts, sent text messages or notes, graced me with their company when I was struggling. There have been a few times this year when I've had a hard time taking care of myself. During those times friends, family members, acquaintances, and sometimes even strangers stepped in and gave me the care I was struggling to give myself.

• Getting to know my neighbors: Every night at 7:00pm, my neighbors and I come out on our porches and bang drums, ring bells, play tambourines, and otherwise make noise. Sometimes my 10-year-old neighbor rides his skateboard down the street in costume in the midst of the joyful noise. Most Saturday nights we've also gathered (at a distance) around a fire pit in the middle of the street. We've had two outdoor karaoke nights, a pumpkin-carving night, a cookout, among other things. Even when we're back to whatever the new normal becomes, I suspect these ties will remain strong.

• Healthcare workers and public health officials: I don't even know where to start. What a mix of the challenges they've faced, whether direct care of COVID patients, protecting themselves from COVID, dealing with supply shortages, changing protocols as the information about COVID evolves, interacting with people who are difficult for any number of reasons, overworking. And they still keep showing up.

• Teachers, parents, students, anyone involved in education: The creativity and flexibility that this year is demanding is A LOT (true in this scenario and most every other). Families and schools have had to make tough choices, wondering if they're the right ones and if they'll have to pivot again as circumstances change.

• New or renewed dedication to racial justice coming alive in many people: both observing and being a part of the racial justice work going on right now is exciting. Seeing young people come forward to lead is exciting. Seeing people of all ages willing to risk safety, whether physical or emotional, so that our society is more equitable is exciting. Seeing structures of support form is exciting- therapists groups dedicated to protesters, lawyer groups ready to support people who got arrested in protests, volunteers who provide food, rides, sanctuary spaces, child care, education, training. Just wow.

The truth is that this is only the start to my list. It could easily have 100 points, but I'll leave the rest for another day... or for your imagination.  

For what are you grateful? 

How has 2020 brought blessings to your life? 

Swimming in the Holy

Not long ago I returned from my church’s Thanksgiving service. Gathered was a group of people I dearly love. Some of the people I know well, or others I see only on Sundays. Whichever is true, I consider them my family.

At the service I had the pleasure of singing Carrie Newcomer’s “Holy as the Day is Spent,” a song that recognizes the sanctity of many seemingly ordinary moments.

How often do we regard these moments only as ordinary and forget that in them also live opportunities for gratitude, for holiness, for recognition of abundance?

About 3 years ago, I started writing daily gratitude lists on Facebook. The lists are short and sweet; they are my attempt to recognize that even on hard days, even when devastation feels like the status quo in the world, there are so many things, people, moments to be grateful for. In the three years since I started my list, several friends have started posting their own lists and others tell me that they appreciate mine.

My lists are short and sweet. My gratitude is long and deep.

So today on this Thanksgiving Day, even as I acknowledge its complicated and violent history, I dive into giving thanks, swimming deeper than I go in my little lists, knowing that I can’t possibly cover all I’d like to.

Today I am thankful that I woke up.

In a warm bed.

I am grateful for my 19-year-old calico cat named Frida who walked across my chest and then sat on me, meowing until I pet her and then got up to feed her. I am thankful that she snuggles with me as I write my morning pages every day. I am grateful she has lived to be 19 and I am grateful for her orange tabby sister Telula who died at the age of 18, a few days after Thanksgiving last year. I’m also grateful for Clyde, another orange tabby who used to live with me and now lives with my parents.

I am grateful that my 46-year-old body continues to move with relative ease and is healthy most of the time.

I am thankful that I have clothing and that it’s even clothing I enjoy wearing. Some of it I’ve bought new, some at the Goodwill, some I’ve been gifted, and some I’ve acquired through clothing swaps, fun occasions to give and receive clothing that may have interesting stories already attached to them.

Today I am grateful that I have access to food, any kind of food I want, really. I am grateful for the times I have money to buy local, organic, and sustainably produced foods. I am grateful for the farmers committed to providing nourishment for others. I am grateful for so many interesting tastes I have experienced and the cooks who have prepared them. I appreciate the technology, old and simple or new and more complex, that makes food preservation possible.

I am grateful that I can turn on the tap and clean water comes out. I can regulate its temperature for drinking , bathing, washing hands, washing clothes. I can flush my toilet. I can water my indoor plants and my garden. I am grateful for rain that eliminates the necessity to water my garden.

I am grateful to have a car and that I had the means to buy a hybrid, so I don’t use as much gas as I would with other cars. I am also grateful for times when I can carpool with others, both for the savings in gas and the joy of traveling companions. I am grateful for times I can walk to where I want to go. I am grateful for public transportation, though I rarely use it.

I am grateful for heating and air-conditioning, particularly when it’s bitterly cold or swelteringly hot outside.

I am grateful for the cardinals, robins, doves, hummingbirds, butterflies, bees, squirrels, raccoons, opposums, and even a groundhog (and other creatures) who I see in my yard often or rarely. I am grateful for the diversity of plants, animals, and other parts of Creation that I have access to, even in my small yard. I am thankful for the creative way Life has evolved and that I get to experience even a small part of it at my home and a larger part when I am away from my home.

I am grateful for books, audiobooks, podcasts, libraries, radio programs, and other ways I learn new information and am inspired by creative expression through words.

I am also inspired by drawings, paintings, collage, glasswork, mosaics, ceramics, sculptures, music, dance, and other ways humans touch our souls when they expose their own.

I am grateful for scientists, who explore the world with a particular curiosity and openness, and for intuitives and mystics whose curiosity and openness lead to Connection. I particularly love when these two ways of seeing come together and affirm from their different perspectives what IS.

I am thankful for the rhythms of days, moon cycles, and seasons, that teach us, if we choose to learn, to honor every stage of being from birth to growth to slowing down to death.

This is today’s incomplete list. Reading over it, I am aware that some of the things I’m grateful for are related to the privilege I carry in the world and some are related to simply being alive. Like Thanksgiving, my interaction and place in the world comes with complications. I’ve written about such things before and will again. Today I choose simply to acknowledge that and focus on gratitude.

Today I choose not to name the particular people I am grateful for. There are so many people, SO MANY PEOPLE I am grateful for. Some I’ve exchanged words with. Others I will express gratitude for on other days in other ways. Perhaps I’ll acknowledge them in a blog post some time.

For now I thank you for reading this post.

I hope you find as much abundance in your life as I find in mine.

Grounded in Gratitude

This morning I had the great honor of speaking at Trinity High School's Thanksgiving service.  Below are the reflections I shared.

We began with prayer, the school population reading the italicized text and I reading the rest:  

Prayer of Thanksgiving

Vienna Cobb Anderson

God of all blessings,
source of all life,
giver of all grace:

We thank you for the gift of life:
for the breath that sustains life,
for the food of this earth that nurtures life,
for the love of family and friends without which there would be no life.

We thank you for the mystery of creation:
for the beauty that the eye can see,
for the joy that the ear may hear,
for the unknown that we cannot behold filling the universe with wonder,
for the expanse of space that draws us beyond the definitions of our selves.

We thank you for setting us in communities:
for families who nurture our becoming,
for friends who love us by choice,
for companions at work and school who share our burdens and daily tasks,
for strangers who welcome us into their midst,
for people from other lands who call us to grow in understanding,
for children who lighten our moments with delight,
for the unborn who offer us hope for the future.

We thank you for this day:
for life and one more day to love,
for opportunity and one more day to work for justice and peace,
for neighbors and one more person to love and by whom be loved,
for your grace and one more experience of your presence,
for your promise:
to be with us,
to be our God,
and to give salvation.

For these, and all blessings,
we give you thanks, eternal, loving God,
through Jesus Christ we pray. Amen.

Then I shared these thoughts: 

Thank you so much for inviting me to speak this morning.  Trinity has a special place in my heart, since I taught here for six years. In that time, I am sure I learned at least as much as I taught.

As you may be aware, Election Day was two weeks ago. The mention of this may make some of you uncomfortable, since it seems to elicit high emotion from lots of people, myself included.  I mention it not to provoke, but simply because I can’t speak honestly here today without acknowledging that in our country, there is a lot of division, a lot of pain rising to the surface, and a lot of fear that is showing itself in many ways – as hate, as anger, as violence. I could have made the same statement months before the election and I would have made the same statement if the election results had been different. Our country is hurting.

What, you might ask, does that have to do with gratitude?

On the night of the second presidential debate, I started a new habit. That night and every night since then, before going to bed, I’ve posted a gratitude list on Facebook. The night of the debate, bogged down by the negative energy being hurled in every direction, I wanted – and needed – to acknowledge the good, to share something positive, and to remind myself that while there were and are daunting challenges ahead, there is a solid foundation from which I, and you, can face them. That foundation is gratitude.

My first night’s list included:

-being back with my wonderful church community after a few weeks away
-getting a bit of catch-up time with a friend and soaking in the sweetness of her five-month-old son
-walking & talking around the Cherokee Loop
-making plans
-yummy pumpkin ravioli from Trader Joe’s 
-friends who show up, stand up, speak up for justice
And so much more…

If you were to make a gratitude list today, what and who would it include?

My lists reflect only a small piece of what is good in my life and in the world; in no way do they capture all the good. I don’t think I’ve ever expressed gratitude for having enough food, a safe home, my own transportation. These things are so common in my life that I often don’t even think of them; I take them for granted, even though I know that many people in our world, in our country, maybe even in this school community, cannot take them for granted.

I started making my lists because I know that in the big picture, goodness is everywhere, but sometimes we get caught up in the small picture, the stuff that we can see. We forget that as God created the world, over and over, God said it was good. People, all of us created by God in God’s image, are, at our very core, good, even if we don’t act that way all the time.

So, during difficult times like now, we must try really hard to focus on the good. The more goodness we notice, the more we are able to share it because we know that it’s not going to run out. In fact, the more we are willing to share our own goodness, the more we have to share. Goodness and gratitude, most often, multiply goodness and gratitude.

I say this not because I think everything is happy and rosy. I am well aware that there is much darkness in our world. But we have a choice in how we face it: we can give in to the darkness or we can let the light that is within us shine.

In Matthew 5:14-16, we hear the words: “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to our God in heaven.”

You are the light of the world. Do you know it?

Marianne Williamson says it another way. You may have heard these words in a movie or somewhere else. When I taught theology at Trinity, I used to use these words as prayer on the first and the last day of the semester:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

God has created you and given you gifts, so that you can shine and help others to do the same.

You wouldn’t be here on earth if you didn’t have something to offer the world. If you don’t believe it yet, I hope that when someone else, maybe a parent, a teacher, a friend, tells you how they see your light shining, you believe them. 

We are all meant to shine. This is true of you, your family and friends, your teachers, and even the people you don’t like.

You may have noticed the pictures behind me. I wanted to share some of the people and places that have shone their light on me. Some of the  people I’ll talk about today; most, I won’t. There’s not enough time.  But I will share a few stories.

When I was in high school at Sacred Heart a long time ago, I, like you, learned about history and social justice and about some of our world’s problems. I don’t remember the particulars, though I imagine some of the problems included war, poverty, hunger, slavery, discrimination, violence, and violence, and more violence.  What I do remember is realizing that my life, in comparison to a lot of other people, was pretty easy. Learning that prompted me to join the school’s Amnesty International club. There we wrote letters to governments and leaders around the world asking them to respect human rights, asking them to release political prisoners, asking them to protect peace activists and truth-tellers. Realizing that I had so much freedom compelled me to use that freedom, that power, my voice, so that others might also enjoy freedom, peace, security, things that I could take for granted and others couldn’t.

You, too, have a lot of freedom and power and a voice you can use. At this time in our country, who needs you to use your voice?  Who needs you to speak up for their safety and well-being and rights?

Between my freshman and sophomore years of college, as part of a group from the Church of the Epiphany, I visited El Salvador for the first time. There I learned about the recently ended civil war. I visited where Archbishop Oscar Romero had lived and been killed and I learned about the way he became a voice for the Salvadoran people. I was burdened with stories of brutality from the war, I was burdened by the knowledge that my government had given many millions of dollars to support the forces responsible for some of the worst atrocities of the war.

And I was also blessed. I was so blessed by the Salvadoran people who opened their hearts and homes to me, who taught me about hospitality and generosity. Another delegate, named Joann, and I stayed in the home of Mary and Panfilo. Mary and Panfilo didn’t have running water. They had a large concrete basin that collected water during the rainy season. During the dry season or when there wasn’t enough water, they had to walk up the road to a spigot to get water. They had been told before our arrival that we were used to bathing with hot water, so they heated water on their stove and put it in a separate area just for us so we would be more comfortable.

Most of their living space didn’t have walls around it. The only place with walls was the room the whole family slept in. Because they’d been told we were used to privacy, they put sheets up around 2 beds, giving Joann and me our own space to sleep. The beds we slept in weren’t extra beds; Mary and Panfilo’s sons doubled up, so that Joann and I would each have a bed.

The family always served us food first to make sure that we had enough to eat. They gave us not what was extra – they didn’t have extra – but offered us their very best, even if it meant being less comfortable themselves.

I received the same kind of generous hospitality in India almost 20 years later. Five years ago at this time, I was in India teaching sixth and seventh grade English.

Let me tell you a little about the school. While technically it had electricity, most often it didn’t work. There was no running water. There was no cafeteria, so all students brought their own lunches and ate in the classrooms or out in a concrete patio area. The school was in a walled-in compound that also had the house where I lived with Indian Sisters of Charity of Nazareth. On my first day of teaching, the sixth grade boys invited me to eat lunch with them. So instead of walking back to the house to eat with the sisters, I sat in the classroom with the boys, where they asked me questions about the U.S. and we looked at maps and laughed and learned about each other. Because I didn’t have any food, each student tore off a piece of his bread or gave me a bit of his potatoes or cauliflower and by sharing in that way, they had enough to eat and I also had plenty. At the end of our meal, they asked if I would eat with them again the next day. I said yes.

By the time we sat for lunch the next day, the boys had gone home and told their mothers about the new American teacher. I was a novelty, the only foreigner for many miles around. In India, as I experienced in El Salvador and so many other places, guests are treated with the utmost care. The boys’ moms had gone out of their way to make fancy dishes and include sweets in their sons’ lunches. Like the day before, the boys gave me a small part of their lunches – bread, potatoes, other vegetables, sweets – they gave me so much food that I had to urge them to help me eat it. I felt like I was living the Bible story of the loaves and fishes, where food multiplies and everyone has enough to eat and there’s even extra left over. None of the boys hesitated in giving up some of their food, because when they each gave me a little, everyone still had enough.

I have, and have always had, more than enough. After spending time with people who don’t have much stuff, I’ve learned that I need much less than what I actually have. I’ve learned that I can live out of a backpack for nine months. I’ve learned that I can give a lot away and still have plenty.

In El Salvador and India and other places, I’ve learned about generosity, about how as a person who has enough stuff, I can and must use my resources to support people who are suffering from need.

As a person with so many privileges, I can and must use my voice to speak up, like Archbishop Romero did, for people whose voices have been stifled or silenced. For many years after that first trip to El Salvador, I was involved in justice work for Latin America. I also became a Spanish teacher, where I got to share not only the language, but also the stories of people I had met.

That teaching brought me to Trinity 11 years ago. Three years into my time at Trinity, I was getting a Masters degree when I went into Mr. Zoeller’s office to ask him if I could miss 2 weeks during the school year to participate in a class that would take me to Israel and Palestine for the first time. Without hesitation and to my surprise, he said yes. That trip has shaped all the years after it. I have gone back to the area five more times.

The first time, I went to teach English to Palestinians in the West Bank. I had a class of children, a class of teenagers, and what I called my man-class, a class of six young men who were all friends. My teenagers were, like I’m sure many of you are, plugged into social media, so I thought it would be cool to set up an exchange between my Palestinian students and my former students in the U.S.

In preparation, I asked my Palestinian students what they thought of when they thought of the United States. “Los Angeles,” they said. “New York! Justin Bieber,” and the list went on.

Then I asked them what they thought students in the U.S thought of when they heard the word Palestine. “Israel,” they said. “The West Bank.” The third word they said was “terrorists.”

It broke my heart, because I had heard, and still hear, people in the U.S. lump all 1.6 billion Muslims into that category. I knew that when some people thought of Muslims, which all of my students happened to be, or Palestinians, which all of my students were, they did indeed think they were terrorists.

When family members say such a thing, I remind them that we who share bloodhave different ideas and ways of living in the world, so it‘s possible that the 1.6 billion Muslims, living all over the world, don’t all think or act the same.

In the case of my students, I was in a classroom of guys and girls worrying about their homework, complaining about their classes, sending texts, posting on Facebook, making plans for the weekend, some working jobs in the evenings and weekends, and basically doing the same things I’d seen my students in the U.S. doing. Except that they were also living under a military occupation and living with a label that few, if any, of my students here would ever have to worry about.

During that class, I told them about how Palestinian shopkeepers I didn’t even know had invited me for tea, how they, my students, had invited me to meet their families or offered to show me around town. I explained what a great experience I was having. Then I went on with class.

As I was walking out of class that day, one of the girls stopped me, looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Do you think we’re terrorists?”

For the second time that day, my heart broke. With tears in my eyes, I looked right back at her and said, “No. No! I don’t think you are terrorists. I think you are teenagers who worry about the same things as teenagers in the U.S. and who just want to have a decent life.” I never saw evidence of anything different. For my birthday, those students organized a party for me, buying a cake, complete with candles that shot up sparks. They showed me such love and care and thanks to Facebook, I am still in touch with a few of them. 

The next four times I was in Israel/Palestine, I worked as a human rights defender. I’ll go back again. Often the work involves documenting human rights abuses, like Palestinian children getting teargassed on the way to school, something I cannot stop from happening, but can at least document, so the world knows it’s happening. Hopefully, when enough of us know and demand that it stop, it will stop. Those days are really hard, especially when it happens day after day after day. Occasionally, thankfully, I have days when I can step into a tense situation and break it up before things get violent.

I’m fortunate to have met and worked with Palestinians, Israelis, and other people from around the world working for peace and justice. It is from them that I learn what courage looks like. Courage doesn’t mean being without fear. It means walking toward fear and through it, over and over again. I’ve learned about dedication from people who’ve been working for years or decades for a more just and peaceful world.

My own learning – about generosity or courage or dedication – is slow. Sometimes I have to learn the same lessons many times. One of those repeat lessons is that all people I encounter are made in God’s image. This is true even if I disagree with what they are doing or saying. It is true if they are insulting me or otherwise not living up to their godly nature.  

When I am at my best, one thing I do to remind myself that they, too, are God’s children is I look them in the eye and I think as I hold their gaze (if they are brave enough to look back at me) something like, “I wish you peace. I wish you joy. I wish you love.” Looking them in the eye reminds me that we – me and that other person – we are in this together. My well-being is tied to theirs. Looking them in the eye that way can be really hard to do. But when our eyes meet, it is clear that we are connected. In our connection, we become better than we were moments before when we tried to pretend that we were disconnected or really different from each other.

Today in our country, we need as many people as possible to be connected, to be at their very best, shining brightly and inspiring others to do the same. We need to find our grounding in gratitude for all the goodness in our lives.

Then we need to share all that goodness. Mrs. Emrich told me that the reason you all are dressed down today is because you – the whole school – met your goals for the Dare to Care food drive. Because you knew you had enough, you shared it with people who don’t.

You also have other gifts to share. Your talents and abilities add beauty to our world and help it to function better.

This morning we’ve heard the wonderful music of the jazz band and choir. Everyone else in this room has something to share, too, whether it be words, music, visual art, math skills, athleticism, a memory for history or statistics, great jokes, compassion, generosity, dedication, or courage. 

And so I ask you once again: What are you thankful for?

What gifts have you been given?

What do you have that the world needs?

You are the light of the world.

Grounded in gratitude, with your light shining, may each of you find a way to make a difference: today, tomorrow, and as we face whatever challenges lie ahead in our country and in this world.

Thank you.