"Little darling, it's been a long, cold, lonely winter..."

"Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes..."
George Harrison "Here Come the Sun" *

I was a 14 year old junior high school student when the very cool and beautiful coed sister of my friend and neighbor Sam (not his real name) Nelson returned home for Spring break her freshman year of college having been bitten by the bug of political activism.  We loved her.  She was not only cool and beautiful, but smart and passionate...and Bobby Kennedy's candidacy was her reason for existing that Spring.  She was going to campaign during her break and we, her young admirers, were going to be her army of canvassers.   We loved it...I really loved it.  I loved thinking that I could make a difference in the world.  I felt a new sense of purpose in knowing that when I knocked on the front doors of identical homes in the seemingly endless string of cul-de-sacs in our subdivision, I was part of something bigger than myself.

I studied every piece of campaign literature that my role model had brought home from college with her. I started reading newspapers and magazines at the public library and talking to my parents about the choices they would  make through the power of their vote later that Fall. I began caring about something larger than my own small world of dance rehearsals, yearbook editorial meetings, clothes, and pop music.  My tastes expanded with my sense of the world, and I felt like a bird set free.  I was no longer just a suburban kid, I was a global activist for peace and social responsibility. I began listening to folk artists like Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, and The Weavers whose protest songs were to become the soundtrack for a generation of awakening global citizens.   Each conversation with a neighborhood voter helped me find my voice and my courage. 

Sam's sister returned to college leaving behind her a wake of passion and hope as wide and as long as the road we have all traveled in the last 40 years.

I continued to campaign and canvass for Bobby that Spring with a group of kids from our neighborhood who, I believe, realized that we wanted what she had.  We wanted passion, purpose, and to be inspired by a vision...one of peace, brotherhood, and care for others.  Later that summer Bobby Kennedy was assassinated in Los Angeles, demonstrators at the Democratic National Convention were beaten on the streets of Chicago and my political activism got put in a shoebox with the Bobby Kennedy campaign button and a thank you note Sam's sister had sent me from college...after I sent her a barrage of fan mail...following her Spring Break visit.   But my devotion to social responsibility and human rights advocacy never waned.  I've campaigned for causes and candidates I believe in, written newspaper editorials, gotten angrier than I want to remember, and prayed vigorously that love would govern and guide world leaders, community organizers, voters, the governed...and most especially my own thoughts, words, and activism.

Tuesday night as I watched more than 200,000 people gather on the lawn of Chicago's Grant Park and in celebration around the world, I felt like that 14 year old girl again.  I have been deeply touched by so many recent memories: our eleven year-old daughters canvassing in a suburban neighborhood for the candidate they had chosen to support even though they couldn't vote, the dignity of poised public servants in the face of vicious attacks on character, my husband's voice on the phone with his mother explaining policy and untangling rhetoric.   I was moved beyond measure by the image of Jesse Jackson weeping, unabashedly, in Grant Park with men, women and children from all genders, races, ages, backgrounds and neighborhoods. 

In his tears I could see the unstoppable outpouring of invincible courage, unyielding vision, irrepressible compassion, and fathomless, audacious hope lived, and died for, by human rights pioneers like Rosa Parks, Mahatma Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela, Abraham Lincoln...and yes, Bobby Kennedy and his brothers...each drop, one of a million, trillion tears flowing like a salty balm of healing and redemption over all the earth and through the streets of Chicago.  Countless tears gathering into a raging, rushing river of compassion that would carve out a space from the rock-ribbed hardness of selfishness and apathy where our hopes could gather, pool, and provide "living waters for the thirsty".

The span of forty years seems so truncated and comprensible today...like the columns of a spreadsheet collapsed so that you can see both the first and last column on the computer screen at the same time.  For the 14 year old girl in me...and the 54 year old wife, mother, woman and human rights activist...it all makes sense somehow.

I am still weeping....
Kate
*For those of you who love George Harrison and "Here Comes the Sun" as much as I do, here is another version performed by George with Paul Simon.

"Easy to be hard..."

"How can people be so heartless
How can people be so cruel
Easy to be hard
Easy to be cold

How can people have no feelings
How can they ignore their friends
Easy to be proud
Easy to say no

And especially people
Who care about strangers
Who care about evil
And social injustice
Do you only
Care about the bleeding crowd?
How about a needing friend?
I need a friend

How can people have no feelings
How can they ignore their friends
Easy to be hard
Easy to be cold
Easy to be proud
Easy to say no…"
- MacDermot, Rado, Ragni

Today, I woke up with this song rattling around in me.  It was an anthem of promise in 1969. In those days my friends and I clutched it to our hearts like folded flags of social protest. We pledged that this song would never let us forget that the collective demise of individual responsibility for the greater good was something to mourn. We were the "all you need is love" generation. We imagined a world free of greed and self-interest. It was a dream worthy of our young hopes.  Today, this song does not resonate with sweetness. I don't find examining the breadth of my own contribution to fighting social injustice and economic inequity, 39 years later, easy. We are in the midst of a severe economic crisis. I somehow deluded myself into thinking that I was still actively protesting a haves and have-not society with most of my economic choices. But lately I am glaringly aware that I have tolerated chapters in my life when I thought I deserved the privilege of giving my children opportunities and things that I didn't demand for my urban neighbors. This is weighing heavily on my heart this morning. 

I am someone who does can about strangers, I care about "evil and social injustice"…I care about the bleeding crowd.  But am I there for a needing friend?  I don't know.  I don't know if I am there when those who really need help…really need help.  I pray that I am.  I pray today that I am not so caught up in wrestling with the implications of a $700 billion bailout….parsing the details, agonizing over the long term fallout, praying for clarity of thought, wisdom, and discretion on the part of our executive and legislative leaders…that I lose sight of a "needing friend."  I pray that I am awake to the needs of those nearest and dearest to me.  I am asking myself, "does my good friend need a Starbucks visit filled with laughter" more than I need to stay abreast of breaking news on MSNBC, does my mother need a phone call, does my "sister" need a loan, a message of encouragement, a shoulder to cry on?

I pray that I do not lose sight of the one small sapling sitting next to me withering in a drought, as I fuss over a forest of economic woes, global warming, and war.

For me, Three Dog Night's "Easy to be Hard" was always an anthem of protest against the heartlessness of "society's" greed and self-indulgence.  It was always something very far removed from the ideological tendencies of my socialist heart. 

But today I wonder…am I really all that different from the man in the near-armoured Hummer next to me in traffic? Do I hide behind my cell phone waving off the man offering to wash my windows for spare change at a stoplight?  Do I stop and actually speak with the woman at the intersection who is holding a sign that says "will work for food," or do I only roll down my window and hand her a dollar bill before the traffic light changes?  Do I congratulate myself on walking away from a department store bargain on last season's shoes, only to spend it at the grocery store on high-end out-of-season produce our family doesn't need, instead of taking canned goods to the local food bank? Do I live my social principles without self-indulgence?

The world is presenting us with images of poverty, want and despair so alarming that it is "easy to be hard."  Not only easy, but for some of us that hardness may seem critical to navigating this moment in history without falling apart emotionally. For many, the "hardness" is a protective veneer…it keeps poverty, loss, and disaster "out there," and if we can convince ourselves that it hasn't penetrated into the lives of those closest to us, it must not be standing on our doorstep or knocking at the portal of our own lives.

But I am discovering that the most immediate relief from fear of lost assets, is an abundance of love.   Fear of lack is smitten when we engage in a radical love for giving.  Fear of pain…destroyed when our love for extending comfort and gentleness is indulged.  Fear of loss…eradicated by a love for generosity and sharing our extensive spiritual gifts with others.  Fear of hatred…exterminated by a deep and penetrating love for our right to extend kindness…unconditionally.  And the closer the "here" of our giving and the nearness to the "now" of our loving...the better. Don't wait for a big project to present itself. Don't think you have to find the right charity or have a large block of time to serve in that soup kitchen. Those are great goals, but don't wait for those to surface to begin your charitable giving...your protest of social injustice and greed.  Do it right now with those who are most immediately present in your life.  Let the power of that great love within you reach out concentrically touching more, and more…and more with every pebble-like drop in the pool of family, friendship...humanity.

Try it. It feels so good!! And you will feel richer for it...right away.
Kate

"and I can't fight this feeling anymore..."

"...I tell myself that I can't hold out forever.
I said there is no reason for my fear.
Cause I feel so secure when we're together.
You give my life direction,
You make everything so clear.

And even as I wander,
I'm keeping you in sight.
You're a candle in the window,
On a cold, dark winter's night.
And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might.

And I can't fight this feeling anymore.
I've forgotten what I started fighting for.
It's time to bring this ship into the shore,
And throw away the oars, forever.
- Kevin Cronin (REO Speedwagon)
"I Can't Fight This Feeling" - from Horton Hears a Who

This afternoon Jeff and I took Emma and Clara to see "Horton Hears a Who". This animated film, adapted from the Dr. Seuss classic of the same title is simply wonderful. Its message of compassion and social responsibility resonated with all four of us.

I couldn't help but think of how often we are given the opportunity to advocate for the dignity of others and are dissuaded from taking up the cause by suggestions of "what can one small me do in the face of such enormous world problems?" Darfur, Iraq, inner city Detroit, 1.5 million foreclosures, an AIDS pandemic in South Africa, 63,000 US jobs lost in one month…it all seems so overwhelming.

This is where Horton finds himself when he discovers that he is holding "a whole world on a speck of dust" in the palm of his hand. And yet, it is the voice of one small being reaching out and touching his heart, that nerves Horton to find a solution to the Who's "global" crisis.

I think it is the desire to make a difference, to be a part of a solution, to answer the cry for help…far and near…that is the feeling we can't fight anymore. I think this feeling, this movement within collective humanity...and felt as a surging in the individual heart...towards ending homelessness following Katrina, starvation in Ethiopia, and the war in the Middle East, that we can no longer fight the tide of within us. Compassion is overtaking apathy, brotherhood is superseding self-interest, and altruism is rising up and pushing fear aside so that all that is good and noble and kind can remind us of who we are.

I remember hearing an interview on national Public Radio some months ago with an international relief worker and anthropologist who had just returned from Darfur. The interviewer asked her why she thought it was that when we hear reports of a tragic shooting at a local university, we are almost stopped in our tracks with concern and grief and an urgency to help, but when we hear stories of massacres in Rwanda or millions dying each year in South Africa of AIDS we almost seem indifferent. Her reply explained to listeners that the human heart cannot imagine that one person alone can make a difference in solving such enormous problems, and that when we feel so overwhelmed, we shut down so that we aren't shattered by that feeling of helplessness. She went on to say that sometime it feels just too large to comprehend. But if we were to break it down into one story at a time, one village, one family and then were to see that we actually can help one family, one mother, one orphan...before long we might realize that what seemed insurmountable is actually quite conquerable.

Mary Baker Eddy suggests in her work Pulpit and Press:

"Perchance some one of you may say, "The evidence of spiritual verity in me is so small that I am afraid. I feel so far from victory over the flesh that to reach out for a present realization of my hope savors of temerity. Because of my own unfitness for such a spiritual animus my strength is naught and my faith fails." O thou "weak and infirm of purpose." Jesus said, "Be not afraid"!

"What if the little rain should say,
'So small a drop as I
Can ne'er refresh a drooping earth,
I'll tarry in the sky.'"

Is not a man metaphysically and mathematically number one, a unit, and therefore whole number, governed and protected by his divine Principle, God? You have simply to preserve a scientific, positive sense of unity with your divine source, and daily demonstrate this. Then you will find that one is as important a factor as duodecillions in being and doing right, and thus demonstrating deific Principle. A dewdrop reflects the sun. Each of Christ's little ones reflects the infinite One, and therefore is the seer's declaration true, that "one on God's side is a majority."

A single drop of water may help to hide the stars, or crown the tree with blossoms.

Horton didn't ask if he was big enough or strong enough to save his "small planet on a speck of dust". He just did what he could each step of the way.

When we know who we are and what is at work in the the core of our being, spurring us on to live nobly and make a difference…we walk with courage. When we preserve that "scientific unity with our divine source" and demonstrate it every day by following our heart, doing what we can, and resolving to do more the next day, little by little planets are saved and its beings sing a song of humanity.

We don't have to aspire to great things, but as Mother Teresa said:

"only small things done with great love."

Horton heard a Who…what do I hear of my neighbor's cry for help?

Will I answer?
Kate

"More to do than can ever be done..."

"From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun
There's more to see than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done…"
- Elton John/Tim Rice
"The Lion King"

It was early December in 2000 and we were grateful for a patch of warmer than usual weather just prior to the holidays.  Emma and Clara were active, busy, rambunctious three-year-olds and a recent purchase of new tricycles had given us a playtime option they loved.  Racing around the back driveway or tearing up the front sidewalk caused an explosion of happy giggles to spout from them like bursts of water from a summer fountain in the park.

Buying the tricycles had been a financial stretch for us, but a sale at Target coupled with our urgency in finding appropriate gross motor activities for these two little monkeys who never stopped moving, quickly shifted the purchase from a want to a need. 

The girls awoke each morning with one major goal…get outside and ride their new red "bikes." But as often happens in a family of five, a third child's needs supercede the others and everyone has to cooperate with a plan that might not fulfill their greatest hopes for the day's schedule.  This particular day our older daughter's needs had to come first.  We were in the throes of pre-Nutcracker rehearsals, and as "Clara," she was rehearsing more than she was eating and sleeping…combined.

We had all piled into the Jeep accompanied by the echoing strains of "I want to ride my bike, I want to ride my bike"…a litany...in stereo.  We dropped our older daughter off at the dance studio, stopped by the grocery store, and then picked up the twins' babysitter so I could work for a few hours while she watched them ride their tricycles around the block.  When we pulled into the back driveway, I immediately noticed that something was missing…the tricycles.  I was sure they had been in the driveway…and now they were gone. 

At first I thought that perhaps their dad had scooted them into the backyard, or put them in the garage.  However, a quick but thorough search made it clear that the tricycles were no longer "in the house."  Julia quickly, and miraculously, turned the girls' attention towards a messy, therefore thrilling, art project while I assessed the situation.

The trikes were gone.  Period.

I was devastated.  We had stretched our budget to buy them in the first place.  Replacing them was going to be hard…even if the sale was still underway.  Of course I was already  praying to see that we could not be separated from anything that was truly ours,  but more critical to my spiritual poise were the feelings of helplessness, violation and despair I felt.  We lived in a very sweet neighborhood bordering the grounds of the university, and anchored by a wonderful park with a lake and ducks and a playground.  I felt so safe there and I trusted that my children could play without harm.

And, to be honest, I was angry. 

As I vacillated between praying to feel a sense of peace and wanting to let loose my tears (and feelings) of frustration, the question kept coming to me, "Who steals tricycles from the driveway of a home?"

The prayers for inner peace finally overcame the angry tears.  I sat still.  I was poised, waiting  for the inspiration that would make sense of this all.  Again, the frustrated question came.

"Who steals tricycles from the driveway of a home?"

"So much for the parting of the clouds," I thought.  But when the question came again, "Who steals tricycles?" I actually listened and engaged.   Within a moment or two, my heart broke wide with mercy. 

"Oh my goodness," I thought. "Only someone with small children or grandchildren would ever want two shiny new tricycles just before Christmas." 

I remember hearing a Sunday morning pundit, speaking about neighbor on neighbor urban violence, once say, "Desperate measures are nothing but a measure of someone's desperation."

Anyone whose experience made them feel hopeless enough to stop and steal two itty-bitty shiny red tricycles out of another person's driveway…must be feeling very desperate indeed.  And not only might they be feeling the bleakness of their own hardship, but they must have had children or grandchildren, siblings or nieces and nephews they wanted, and needed, to care for.

"...More to find than can ever be found
But the sun rolling high
Through the sapphire sky
Keeps great and small on the endless round..."

In an instant, my prayer changed from one of "take away my anger and let me find peace," to "how can I be an instrument of change and healing in my community which includes someone feeling so desperate that they would steal toddler-sized tricycles?" 

The more I prayed, the more my heart burst open with ideas for how we, as a family, could participate in some way toward making a difference during that Christmas for children whose parents may have had needs so looming that the simple traditions that we enjoyed were, for them, beyond even our modest holiday budget . 

Because our holiday plans that year were being driven by our daughter's ballet "career" and her performance in The Nutcracker, it was a natural first step for me to think about how we could roll out that performance to a larger audience…those in our community who might not have the means to purchase expensive tickets.  And although my husband and I were not poised to write a check for a block of tickets,  I knew we could always draw on an abundance of practical spiritual ideas, a generous desire for social advocacy we shared with our friends, and a love for the arts that was fathomless.  These were the things we had invested in for our own children's future.  These were the things we could offer to share with others.

Throughout the rest of December we were overwhelmed by the number of amazing, fresh ideas that God laid at the doorstep of our hearts for how we could share our holiday bounty…of dance, beauty, art, inspiration, and music with others.  However,  one opportunity unfolded immediately…and it continues to fill my heart with gratitude. 

So, back to the tricycles. 

After the girls were settled into their messy art project with Julia in the kitchen, I headed off to my "office" at the Border's bookstore café near our home.  Since I was there much of every day for appointments with patients and inspirational study, I had become quite close to the managers and employees.  That morning as I sat at my favorite table praying for answers, Heather, the store's events manager, noticed me staring into the empty space between where I sat and the snow-covered mountains looming in the west just beyond the plate glass windows.   She playfully asked me what I was daydreaming about.  

I told her, "A way to bring The Nutcracker to children whose parents can't afford tickets."  Then I went on to tell her about my morning and the tricycles. 

Within the span of ten minutes, we had our first gift to the community all wrapped up with shiny paper and satin ribbons.  We would bring The Nutcracker to Borders bookstore on the busiest Saturday of the holidays and perform scenes throughout the store.  I called the director of the ballet and she agreed that this would be a perfect opportunity to share The Nutcracker with children who may not be able to otherwise attend, promote the performances, and give the dancers another dress rehearsal.  It was done. 

Throughout the month, opportunities to share what we had with others quite literally fell into my lap.  For this "once upon a time" very poor little girl, it was as if I had been given the greatest gift…to be able to give back.  The gift I received in return was priceless…a new perspective that didn't put me on either side of an economic chasm…privilege or poverty, but gave me the tools and the heart to build bridges of compassion and humanity.

I stopped seeing desperate parents, children, teens…or desperate measures.  Instead I saw families eager to care for one another's needs. I saw mothers willing to bake and serve cookies at a bookstore rather than be out shopping for their own children at the mall.  I saw, through grateful tears,  children wide-eyed with wonder as the strains of Tchaikovsky's "dum-dum-da-dum-dum-dum" ushered in E.T.A. Hoffmann's story of a girl, a toy, some sweets and a dream…children so fully satisfied by the beauty of it all that hunger was forgotten…for a moment at least.

That was one of my favorite Christmases of all times.  As I sit here writing, I realize that I can't, for the life of me, remember how or when we replaced the girls tricycles.  Somehow it happened…but it simply escapes me today in the light of what we discovered about ourselves and our neighbors.

When we see someone resorting to desperate measures, like Cho, the young man who voiced his desperation in such an angry, violent way, we can either feel angry, hopeless, vulnerable and frustrated ourselves, or we can look for ways to bridge the chasm between hearts with practical prayer-based solutions that break through despair with the light of hope and kindness.

The answers to Virginia Tech, Columbine, 911, and Darfur do not lie solely in the portfolios of Senators, on the maps of Generals, the promises of presidential hopefuls,  or in the hands of prison guards.  They lie in the most accessible place on earth…the heart.

"..It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of Life."

There is more to do....but it can be done...
with Love,
Kate