remnants of lives well-lived,
fulfilling the purpose for which they were created,
without doubting the skills they were given…
This Shabbat, may more of us know and, without doubting, live our purpose, jen
My ego wants to wax poetic, to trudge through the toil of writing a series of words that might capture the heart of a judge and win a prize, so that those who said I’d “be nothing” can eat their words.
But I don’t write for my ego; I write to record the words that tumble forth from the darkness.
When I was a child, the darkness was terrifying — it was the void where demons and other evil creatures waited to steal souls.
But now, the darkness holds all the brilliance of G-d’s Light. It houses the Eternal Lover who beckons, who wants only that I learn to find peace and joy, so that I might be available to help others as they learn to find peace and joy.
So I close my eyes to the world where my ego lives with other people, open my soul to the eternity that is my Home, and listen for words that tumble forth from the darkness . . .
Hoping Shabbat brings a blessed peace in which each of us finds at least a few moments free of the hectic grind and constant noise of 21st century life, so that we might reconnect to The Holy One, whose divine spark resides within each of us . . . jen
My boys and I have spent the last six days on a small organic farm — collecting chicken eggs, cuddling with dogs and cats, petting a horse and a donkey, tromping through muck in mud boots, watching the sun rise and set, clearing brush, building campfires, folding and floating paper boots across a little pond as cattle lazily munch grass in another part of the pasture, allowing ourselves to “journey on gently, according to the pace of the cattle.” Genesis 33:14.
It’s not only been a wonderful break from our regular school and work routines, but also an amazing chance to reconnect to nature. We’ve been able to experience wonder at many simple things — the sight of a crawdad, the strength of tree vines, the number of eggs chickens lay, the beauty of a horse trotting, the texture of Spanish moss, the colors of the sunset, and the massive size of some bull frogs!! 😀
In Honey from the Rock, Rabbi Lawrence Kushner explains that sometimes we must
set out for the fields and rediscover the fundamental truth: Entrances to holiness are everywhere and all the time.
Rabbi Lawrence Kushner, Honey from a Rock ch. 34 (Jewish Lights Publishing 2000).
How true that is!!!
Rabbi Nachman of Breslov taught: “It is a great mitzvah to be happy always.” And I must agree because, when we are happy, we are much more able to share our Light and Love with whomever we encounter each day.
But sometimes, Life brings us circumstances that make joyfulness difficult to maintain. At those times, it can seem that no matter how hard we work to hold onto the Light, storm clouds roll in, surrounding us with a grey-green gloom that can make daily life a struggle…
I recently ran across a prayer that I thought was beautiful, and it seems appropriate for those moments when Life’s storms are getting us down. The prayer is from the Berditchever Rebbe, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, a great Hassidic leader who lived from 1740-1809. He prayed:
“Lord of the world…I do not beg you to reveal to me the secret of your ways–I could not bear it! But show me one thing; show it to me more clearly and more deeply; show me what this, which is happening at this very moment, means to me, what it demands of me, what you, Lord of the world, are telling me by way of it.”
In Nahum N. Glatzer, Ed., The Passover Haggadah, Schocken Books, Inc., 1979.
with prayers for peace, jen
Rabi’a al-Adawiyya, a Sufi mystic who lived in the Eighth Century of the common era, is credited with saying:
Whenever I listen to the voice of anything You have made–
The rustling of the trees
The trickling of water
The cries of birds
The flickering of shadow
The roar of the wind
The song of the thunder–
I hear it saying:
G-d is One!
Nothing can be compared with G-d!
Upton, Charles. Doorkeeper of the Heart: Versions of Rabi’a at 48. Threshold Books. 1988.
And, to Rabi’a, I would say: “Ah, yes, my friend. I know what you mean. Colors can be like that too . . . ”
praying that we all might more often be blessed with ears that hear and eyes that see, jen
How many days, years, events, or heartbreaks, had led up to this one moment?
Had it happened before?
How many times had she promised “Never again!”?
No doubt she had meant it every time.
But each time, life kept creeping back in and, in just the way life does, taunting her, telling her she may as well, because she was worthless anyway.
Teachers who didn’t care.
Ministers who preached shame.
Boys who forced sex too early (or were they men? and how many had there been??).
She probably hadn’t experienced all of those, but how many heartbreaks does it take to shatter a soul when she lives in a society that sees her as “less than” because of the color of her skin, the cadence of her speech, or the neighborhood where she lives?
Perhaps she had been born into poverty, with little hope of escaping the cycle of poverty and violence that traps far too many innocent souls in this country where we profess faith in God but routinely fail to protect the orphan, the widow, and the poor.
Perhaps she’d been sent to under-funded schools, where we unrealistically expect kids to succeed, insisting they can pull themselves out of poverty by their own bootstraps.
But how was she to learn if she hadn’t eaten since school lunch the day before and if she had been kept awake all night by cold, fear, and the gnawing pangs of hunger?
How old did she have to be to realize she’d never own the boots she was to use to pull herself out?
Surely she knew before she was a teenager that the odds of winning a lottery jackpot were better.
Why bother trying?
And so, in a hopeless place where most everything indicated she had no value to our society, she did the best she could.
She did what she had to do.
She struggled to get by.
And I, having not ever for even one millisecond stood in her shoes, I have no right to judge her as she walks home from the liquor store, drinking from the bottle in a brown paper bag, Thursday morning, 8:26.
shavua tov, jen