"the place just right..."

"and when we find ourselves
in the place just right..."

Jewel's recording of "Simple Gifts," touched me deeply tonight. I can't hear it without remembering a moment from over fifteen years ago. A single moment of "contact" with another human being. A moment that had a profound impact on me.

It was the middle of December. For over a year, I'd been commuting twice a month from our home in Colorado to Boston. I'd spend the afternoon flying into Logan, and then I'd take a taxi to the office. My life looked on purpose, successful, and finally - just right. But something wasn't right. Just below the surface I felt oddly disconnected. It didn't make sense.

I prayed often throughout the day, I was engaged in work I loved, working on a project I believed in, had a beautiful family I adored, a dream house we were renovating, served on the board of our local arts council and ballet, was involved in causes I was passionate about, and served a church community I cherished. This feeling of disconnect had no rational basis. There wasn't anything wrong. In fact, I thought everything was very right. Didn't I "have it all?"

But that day as I rode from Logan to the office -- dressed in my Dana Buchman suit and Joan and David pumps, briefcase filled with reports, day planner on the seat next to me, and a pager at my waistband -- I couldn't shake it. I'd lost touch with something vital. It wasn't just that I was missing my daughter's first Nutcracker rehearsal, that the twins were with their nanny, and I couldn't remember the last time we'd eaten as a family. It was something much deeper.

Inching along Storrow Drive during rush hour traffic I decided to use the time for quiet reflection -- to breathe and enjoy the Boston skyline at twilight -- my favorite time of day. The Charles River was on our right, the Back Bay to our left.

Staring out the window towards the river, I saw a large cardboard box leaning against a cinderblock building. In it were two people. A man and a woman, bundled against the December chill of a rainy Boston afternoon just edging into dusk. Her head was resting in the curve of his shoulder, his arm was around her, and his cheek was leaning against the top of her head. They seemed oblivious to the traffic, the cold, their "situation." There was such a profound look of love, contentment,and peace on his face that it took my breath away.

I will never forget the first thought that came to my heart, as the crest of a sob caught in my throat:

"I want what he has..." 

And I knew it was the truth. More true -- for me -- than anything else at that moment. It wasn't that I was unhappy. I loved my family, I loved my work, I loved my home. But I also thought that I was responsible for maintaining it all. I had to stay alert, be willing, pray without ceasing -- never rest. I longed to be at peace with just trusting God's care for all of us. I ached to know that I could be just as serene if I were living in a cardboard box. That I could be completely oblivious to the mental trafficking of false expectations, ambition, achievement, approval, acceptance. That I could truly lean into Mary Baker Eddy's admonition to:

"Trust Truth,
and have no other trusts." 

In a matter of minutes we were beyond that section of Storrow Drive, but I was never the same. The look of deep contentment and peace I saw in that man's eyes -- as he held his partner, in a cardboard box -- has never left me. It has been something I've sought within myself ever since. For me, it is:

"the place just right..." 

I seek it throughout each day. I often return to that moment in the back of a taxi as a touchstone. I ask myself: "Do I need this project, house, person, event, acquisition, accomplishment to tell me I am content, satisfied, at peace with myself, and at one with God? Would I be just as content in a cardboard box on the side of the road? Would my trust in God be just as unwavering and unshaken?"

For me, it's what is at the heart of Mary Baker Eddy's poem, "Satisfied," which begins:

"It matters not
what be thy lot,
so Love doth guide;
For storm or shine,
pure peace is thine,
whate’er betide..." 

Each day I pray that whether I am in a cardboard box or a cottage by the sea, with a friend or a stranger, appreciated or vilified, feasting or famished, giving or receiving, blessing or being bless -- I am deeply, profoundly, unwaveringly content because God is with me and nothing else can give me peace, or take from me my right to love. This is my cardboard box prayer -- it never leaves me. And I never leave it.

always,

Kate

"kindness matters..."

"In the end
only kindness matters.
I will get down on my knees,
and I will pray..."

Jewel's beautiful anthem, "Hands" has a profound effect on me. For over a decade, this line: 

"in the end, 

only kindness matters," 

has been a touchstone, time and again.

This week film reviewer, Roger Ebert, passed on. I found myself weeping when I heard the news. I love this man.  I trusted his filter.  I loved his courage, his generosity, his candor.

He could make me laugh one moment, and then leave me speechless the next.  He was a deeply spiritual man with a profound insights about humanity.  His statement on the importance of kindness -- in thought, word, and deed -- has been close to my heart since the first time I read it:

"Kindness covers all of my political beliefs. No need to spell them out. I believe that if, at the end, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do.

To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn’t always know this and am happy I lived long enough to find it out."

I can't think of a more perfect way to sum up his contribution to the human collective.  I am so happy that Roger was "here" long enough to discover the power of this truth, live it, and share it with us by word and example.

For me, kindness is at the heart of The Golden Rule. Jesus is recorded as having urged:

"Whatsoever ye would 

that men should do to you,

do ye even so to them."

A "rule" which appears -- in some form -- in the doctrines and teachings of almost all major religions and philosophical movements.

There are so many issues facing the human family today. But when I look at each of them through the lens of kindness I am at peace. There is such serenity in making our life choices based on what is most kind. When facing questions like: Do I help a stranger, judge another person's personal choices, cast my vote in a particular direction?

For me, sifting those decisions through the filter of kindness always brings greater clarity and confidence. It has helped me to separate good judgment -- in how I think and act myself -- from judging others.

John Lennon once wrote,

"You may say that I'm a dreamer. 

But I'm not the only one..." 

Tonight I am grateful to know that I have had the privilege of living in this world at the same time as Roger Ebert.   A man whose politics could be summed up in one word, "kindness."

Because in the end, only kindness matters...

offered with Love,

Kate

"I won't be idle with despair..."

"If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we're all OK
And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear..."
- Jewel

I just spent five weeks serving the spiritual needs of teens at a camp high in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.  It was quite a jolt to return to urban St. Louis.  My first night home my husband and I took our usual nightly walk to "The Loop" – a wonderful street full of restaurants, coffeehouses, shops, boutiques, an arts film house, galleries, and two well-known live performance venues.  This great stretch of urban magic is only short blocks…through tree-lined neighborhood streets…from our home.

I was looking forward to reconnecting with our favorite street performers, shop owners, and Amy, the girl at the coffeehouse who knows just how to make my hot chocolate.  But I had forgotten – in just five short weeks – how much I pray during those walks.  It didn't take long to be reminded. 

Although the walk through the neighborhood was idyllic, it also reminded me that our city needs our prayers.  The small elementary school on the corner is a beacon of family warmth here.  It's empty asphalt playground reminded me that there are children – children who run around the block for "track" instead of on a surface technically calculated for optimal performance. Children who have only a rubber ball and some painted white lines for playground equipment…no grass, swings, gaga pit, rubber "wood" chips to break their fall from a jungle gym that doesn't exist.  Only asphalt a ball and their imagination.   What can I do to contribute to the educational experience of the children in my neighborhood?  My heart broke open a bit as we rounded the corner and I sent up a prayer of humble thanks for the realization that I am not helpless to help.

"My hands are small, I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken..."

By the time we reached the corner where our neighborhood meets the Loop I had found more of my rhythm as a spiritually-empowered, not embattled, thinker - living in an urban neighborhood.  I knew that I knew how to respond to requests for hand-outs, help, food.  I knew that my heart was ready.  I could spread as much love, joy, kindness as was needed in my neighborhood that night.  It is joy that is contagious, it is compassion that spreads like wildfire…it is love and kindness that steal through a neighborhood lifting hope…not pocketbooks or dignity.

"...Poverty stole your golden shoes
It didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
But I knew it wasn't ever after..."

I felt such confidence in my place on the streets of our neighborhood.  I love my time in the mountains…I love the sweet joy of finding a teen who wants to talk waiting on my porch after dinner or the tentative knock on my door after bedtime of a counselor who wants to talk.  But this kind of urban street work is what God has given me the heart to embrace.  I love the challenge of seeing through the veil of ghetto-tough to the deep desire each of us has to know that we matter and that we are doing something of value with the gift of life that God has given us.

"...We'll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what's right
'Cause where there's a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing..."

Later as we were heading home we caught sight of a young mother being placed in handcuffs while her young son and daughter were being escorted towards another vehicle by a kind, but obviously unfamiliar, officer in uniform.  My heart seemed to split in two.  What could I do to help? Then I remembered who, and what, I am.  As Mary Baker Eddy states in her book Miscellaneous Writings:

"As an active portion of one stupendous whole,
goodness identifies man with universal good. 
Thus may each member of this church
rise above the oft-repeated inquiry,
What am I? to the scientific response: 
I am able to impart truth, health, and happiness,
and this is my rock of salvation and my reason for existing."

I could, right then and there "impart truth, health, and happiness".  I could express joy and gratitude that this mother was getting the help she needed.  I could know the truth that those children were safe and that they could feel the kindness of that police officer.  I could see that their mother's health – her wholeness, her purity, her dignity – was untouchable, inviolate, and invulnerable in the eyes of her children…and her God.  I could rejoice that if she needed some space from the demands of caring for her children in order for them all to be safer and happier in the long-run…then God would only bless that time apart with His grace.  That mother's tears for her children were an indication of her love for them and her desire to be a better parent would only be blessed of the Father and would not return unto her void.

"...My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
I am never broken..."

My heart ceased to feel broken and began to swell with hope for our city.  Good is operating unspent in the hearts of everyone here.  We all want the best for those we love…we just need to expand our sense of how far and wide the arms of Love reach within us and those we see.

"...In the end only kindness matters..."

This is the message that my heart took home that night…"only kindness matters"…are my prayers filled with kindness…or fear, hopelessness, despair.  There is much to be done to see our city for what it is…a city of hope, light, love, and yes…a city of kindness.

"... I will get down on my knees, and I will pray

My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
We are never broken
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's heart

We are God's hands"

with Love,
Kate