Day Twelve-- Stop and Smell the Roses

Most of us live with a beauty deficit these days. I don’t know what the actual statistics on this are, but I’m guessing that if you took the amount of time you spent staring at a screen and compared it to the amount of time you spent going to art museums, listening to music, or even just walking through a garden, the comparison would staggering. I’m sure someone, somewhere, has done this study. I’d be curious to know the results, but at the same time, I think the results would be pretty predictable. Most of us live with a beauty deficit these days; is what I predict the results would say. 

This deficit is a problem when it comes to the amount of kindness and compassion in our world. Because, as at least one notable psychologist argues, beauty makes us better people. In his book on kindness, Pierro Ferucci tells the story of an elderly woman begging for money on the street outside a symphony concert hall. She was mostly ignored as people walked past her on their way into the hall. But after the concert, many of the people streaming out of the hall stopped to smile at the old woman and gave generously from their pocketbooks (in case you’re wondering what the concert was, it was Bach, of course). Research also indicates that when we are exposed to beauty, we tend to feel less anxious, and therefore more likely to be open to engagement with other people.

Anyway, all of this is just a longwinded introduction to my own experience of beauty this past week, and how that translated into an act of kindness. This past Sunday, my lovely little church decided to forego worship in our sanctuary and have church and a picnic at the park instead. We gathered three picnic tables and some chairs into a circle, sang hymns, prayed and read scripture, and reflected together about how we meet God in creation. I played the guitar badly. Furry friends joined the circle with us. After sharing a meal, we blessed the communion bread and cup and shared in the sacrament of Holy Eucharist together. After finishing up the formal part of our morning, a few of us went on walks down to the beach or to the giant mansion that is part of the park. I stayed put, laying next to my dog, Maya, as we reveled together in the miracle of grass. I think it’s great to lay in. Maya thinks it’s delightful to roll around in. 

After a while folks wandered back and we cleaned up, but Barrett and I were not quite ready to go home because the weather was just. so. perfect. So we drove a little ways down the road to a beach that allowed dogs, and let Maya off her leash for her first ocean swim of the summer. Is there anything better than the pure joy of a dog running full speed into the ocean waves? 

By the time we got home it was late afternoon, and I was exhausted. We had not made any plans for dinner, and neither Barrett nor myself really felt like cooking. Really, I just wanted to continue to sit outside in the grass enjoying the perfect day. And that's when an idea came to me. While Barrett practiced and worked on oboe reeds I busied myself preparing anything we had in the refrigerator that could be eaten raw; cheese, dried fruit, fresh fruit, olives, some salami, crackers, and bread. I ran to the store to pick up some sparkling rose. When I got home, I pulled out a few blankets and spread them out on our lawn behind the house, which faces the woods. And Barrett, Maya, and I enjoyed a lovely picnic on the lawn. I guess I’m not really sure if this counts as an act of kindness, but I do know that all three of us felt relaxed and happy sitting out on the lawn, eating delicious food, enjoying one another’s company, and appreciating the beauty of a perfect summer’s day. Certainly no unkind words were uttered. No angry thoughts expressed. No cynical views entertained. Bottom line—if we all had days like this more often, I think we would be less anxious, less angry, and yes, more kind.

Day Nine-- Patience, Again

Yesterday morning was breakfast day again. It’s getting a little easier to get up at 4:30 in the morning, but some things about this gig are not getting easier. It’s not the service part. I enjoy getting to know the guests who come for breakfast. I’m starting to look forward to seeing some of them and getting to know a little more about them. While I don’t always have time for a lot of socializing, I usually have at least a few minutes to pop out of the kitchen and say hello. Every time I do, I learn something new. For instance, yesterday I learned that Larry, my new friend as of last week, works as a custodian at the coast guard academy, where my husband also works. Every week I hear a little more of someone’s story, and I love that. Even the people that refuse to smile back at me don’t bother me. I mean, come on, it’s early, they haven’t had any coffee yet, and they are in line for a meager free breakfast in a church basement that's exactly the same this week as it was last week. I wouldn’t necessarily be smiling if I was in that position. But I just try to show kindness in every small way that I can with every little opportunity that I get. 

What’s challenging about this gig, and please understand that I don’t mean this as an insult, is that the people I volunteer with express their faith in a way that is so very foreign to me. You see, I volunteer with a crew that is almost entirely made up of folks from the church that owns the building that my congregation worships in. They are very evangelical, and quite conservative. The conversation in the kitchen can at times veer in some very… interesting directions. At these times, I bite my tongue, and I keep my mouth shut, because I am the one who doesn’t really belong there. But some mornings, it’s hard. And it becomes especially hard when the kitchen volunteers engage in evangelism with breakfast patrons that don’t necessarily want to hear it. Don’t get me wrong—there are people who do want to hear it, and there are people for whom this particular church’s brand of theology is comforting. But it isn’t always. And sometimes, it can feel unwelcome and even aggressive. But it just isn’t my place to correct them. I am not their pastor. I am not even a member of their church. I’m just a random person who shows up in their kitchen every week to help with their work. I am a guest in their house. So I must practice patience. So far, no one has ever asked me what I think, or asked for my opinion. If they ever do, maybe then I’ll try and think of a kind way to express my disagreement. But for now. I’ll just patiently keep spooning out the grits with a smile and a warm greeting. I will patiently hold on to my own theological convictions without having to force them on other people, knowing that it’s okay that not everyone thinks the way I do. After all, we are all there together, feeding, serving, and caring. That’s really what counts, in the end.

Day Eight-- Patience

I’ve always been somewhat enamored by the idea of “holy impatience,” a concept I was first introduced to when reading a biography of the same name about William Sloane Coffin—great prophet of civil rights, social justice and the social gospel. I suppose that the idea of holy impatience can be summed up in a quote by Martin Luther King Jr., who said that “change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but rather through continuous struggle.” Essentially, holy impatience is what happens when our concept of the world as it is runs up against the world as it should be. It is the notion that God has equipped us, as disciples of Christ, to do the work of feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, and welcoming the stranger—not just through acts of charity, but through our continuous advocacy for real social reform that pushes the world as it is just a little closer to the world as it should be. Holy impatience. Such an idea is certainly biblical—just look at Jesus turning over the tables in the temple. There are times when holy impatience is necessary, for we cannot stand by and do nothing in the face of immense suffering and injustice. There is work we are called to do. Christ has no body on earth now, but ours.

And yet, we must take care, for it is all too easy for our holy impatience to become less than holy, and more self-righteous and condescending. We get so caught up in our own notions of how things should be, that we start to become judgmental of everyone who may disagree with us, or even those who may agree in theory, but aren’t necessarily ready, for any number of reasons, to act in the radical ways we would prefer. And the bible is very clear about what happens when we judge others, right? 

Furthermore, as I’m sure every one of us knows very well, our impatience—holy or otherwise-- is so often what can lead us to be unkind towards others. We become impatient with our spouses and our children, and we speak to them unkindly. We become impatient with our leaders, and we berate them publically, rather than seeking conversation and dialogue with them. We become impatient with those we disagree with, and we condemn them as immoral villains, rather than people who simply hold a different view about how to make the world better. On the clergy side of things, we become impatient with our congregations and we complain that if only they would let us do what we wanted, that progress could occur. Or we become impatient with our institutional church structures for being too rigid and incapable of the kind of radical change we believe is needed. But if there is anything that is not biblical in that long list of impatient sins, it is most definitely the latter few. For it was the apostle Paul who said in his letter to the Corinthians that we must “wait for one another.” For Paul, this was said in the context of holy communion, and it is the same for us. We share holy communion with one another every week (for some of us, every month), and in that holy act, we are saying that we are together as one body, that we will wait for one another and walk together with one another, even if sometimes that means that the impatient ones among us most slow down a bit so that we can take others with us. And developing the patience to do that—well that is holy, and it is most certainly kind. 

And so on day eight of these 100 days of kindness, I pledge to be more patient with others—my husband, my fellow Christians, and perhaps most especially in this political climate—those with whom I disagree. I will be patient, as Psalm 27 says, and I will be strong and take heart, knowing that God is there in the waiting. God is there in the patient longing of our hearts for a better world. God is there in the space between the world as it is and the world as it should be. And perhaps, more than anything else, I can be kind to myself in my own efforts towards change, because it’s not up to me alone. It’s only up to me to love and serve others, and hopefully show them that there is a better way through kindness and compassion. In the meantime, I will wait for them. Let us all wait for one another in patience and in loving-kindness.

Day Seven-- Where the Heart Is

It’s been one week since I started this 100 days of kindness project, and so I thought I would take a moment to reflect on how the week went. As far as my individual acts of kindness are concerned, some days were clearly more successful and effective than others.  However, one thing that became all too clear to me this week is that while isolated acts of kindness are good, they don’t necessarily make you a kinder person. It’s all too easy, for example, to perform an act of kindness, check it off your list for the day, and then go home and get angry at your spouse, or join an argument on Facebook, or get angry and shout obscenities while watching the news (maybe that last one is something that only happens in my house, I don’t know).  Furthermore, when it comes to the sort of transformative power that I believe kindness and compassion can have in our world, I think it’s far more important to cultivate loving-kindness in your heart, and to adopt a posture of kindness throughout your day, than to simply do random nice things for people and then call it a day.  True kindness, therefore, is not necessarily about what we do (though of course our actions are important), but rather about the kind of person that we choose to be.

With this in mind, for the second week of this experiment, I am going to focus more on cultivating a kinder heart than on individual acts of kindness.  In his book on kindness, psychologist Piero Ferrucci talks about a number of qualities, or virtues, that can aid us in becoming kinder versions of ourselves.  One of those qualities is patience, a virtue I have always struggled with mightily.  And so tomorrow, my focus will be on patience.  I’ll start the morning with a meditation on patience and hold the word as a centering mantra throughout the day. We’ll see if I can make it through a whole day without becoming impatient.  Anyone who knows me well knows that this will be a challenge for me. J 

Day Three—It’s Never Just Five Minutes (or, Not All Cops Are Jerks)

Today was supposed to be a quiet day, working from home.  I had only one responsibility today, besides finishing up a few random things for church on Sunday.  I had to take my Syrian friend to her therapy appointment. It was supposed to be one hour out of my day, something I could check off my to-do list before getting back home to finish up some work and cook dinner.  And I could have done that, had I simply dropped my friend off outside her house and then driven home.  But I didn’t.  Because I thought it would be more kind to stop in and say hello to the family whom I hadn’t really talked to since last week. One member of the family had just had surgery and so I wanted to see how he was doing. That was to be my act of kindness for the day. So I went inside. And I told them I wasn’t going to stay, but the patriarch of the family-- we’ll just call him A.-- said to me, “Five minute, Sara.” At which point we all laughed. Because in this household, there is no such thing as five minutes. Five minutes turns into a cup of coffee, which turns into a bowl of rice pudding, and before you know it, it’s dinner time, and you’ve been there for an hour. This time, however, I really was only going to stay for five minutes (meaning, maybe 15 minutes). And that’s when it all went off the rails.

While we were sitting and talking, A. got a call on his cell phone. Turns out, another Syrian family, recently arrived in America, was on their way to visit from New London. But they had been pulled over by the police about three blocks from A.’s house. And this was bad, because no one in this new family had a driver’s license. Before I knew it, A. was putting his phone in my hands and asking me to talk to the police. I got on the phone, having no idea what was happening, and a cop asked me if I could explain to the driver and his family that he was going to follow them the rest of the way to A.’s house, where he would give them a ticket and then be on his way.  I could not do this, because I do not speak Arabic. So I said I would come meet them. A. and I jumped in my car and drove three blocks to find a van full of Syrian refugees and two police cruisers with lights flashing. “Oh!” said A.  I just shook my head. It’s never just five minutes, I thought.

I went to speak with the cops, who lectured me (as if I was somehow in charge of these people whose names I didn’t even know) about international driving laws. And he said that he was going to be nice and let them off with just a ticket, even though technically he could have their car towed right then and there.  “Yes, officer, thank you officer,” I said.  “Can you please explain to them about the ticket?” the officer asked. Seriously?  Do I look like someone who speaks Arabic??  “No,” I said, “but I can call someone who can.” At which point I pulled out my phone to call one of our translators, thinking I could put him on speaker phone with the cop.  But by the time I had dialed the number, the cops were in their cars pulling away.  So I was on my own.

To make a very long story much shorter, the translator dropped everything he was doing to come and save the day.  (He gets the kindness award for the day). We all made it back to A.’s house safely, and the new family got quite a lecture about the rules of the road in America.  Never a dull moment folks.  And it’s never, ever just five minutes.

100 Days of Kindness- Day Two

I’m just sitting down to type this at 9:45pm, and I’ve been up since 5:30am, so I’m going to be brief today.  Today was an easy one, because I already had it on my calendar to volunteer at the New London Community Breakfast program this morning.  It’s not hard to find opportunities to connect with people and show kindness in such a setting.  I’m sure I’ll have more opportunities to say more about the breakfast program over the next 100 days, but for now, I’ll just mention the two new friends I made today.  First, I met Nate.  Nate is an older gentleman who I’ve noticed in the last two months that I’ve been volunteering, always sits in the same chair in the back of the room.  He sits by himself and never talks to anyone.  He doesn’t eat breakfast, he just sits and drinks his coffee. Today I decided to go talk to him.  I wasn’t sure how friendly he would be, but it turns out that Nate was more than happy to chat with me.  He seemed a little shy, so I figured I would just chat for a few minutes so as not to overwhelm him. On my way back to the kitchen, I was stopped by Larry, who I had met the previous week, but hadn’t spoken with at length.  Larry told me how much he likes meeting new friends, and that he tries to make friends everywhere he goes.  I told him he could definitely count me as a friend, and we chatted a little while longer before I had to get back in the kitchen to help with clean up. 

There’s so much more I could say, but it’s getting late and my husband just turned on the John Oliver show, so I’ll save the analysis for another day. Looking forward to another day of kindness tomorrow!

100 Days of Kindness: Day 1

Day One.

I woke up this morning excited about the first day of 100 days of kindness.  What would I do today to start things off, I wondered. I decided to just let the day unfold and try to be open to any opportunities that came up. Most of the morning was spent doing busy work in the office, catching up on emails and phone calls after a weekend away.  After finishing up an afternoon appointment, I decided to walk over to the local food co-op to grab a quick lunch and a cold beverage.  On my way there, I was careful to be aware of my surroundings, noticing who walked past me on the sidewalk, smiling and saying hello to people as we passed. (In New England, this alone can be something of a radical act.)

At the store, I bought some fruit for myself, and, on the off chance that I ran into someone who was hungry, bought some beautiful looking apricots and cherries.  In the check-out line, I noticed a cute little coin purse made from recycled materials that was adorned with the words, “you are beautiful, don’t change.”  On an impulse, I bought it, thinking it would be a nice gift to give someone who needed a little cheering up. I paid for my groceries and headed back down the street towards my office.  On the way there, I kept my eye out for someone I could engage with. Most people looked busy, purposeful, not necessarily open to talking to some random stranger on the street. As I walked by the Salvation Army, however, I noticed an elderly Hispanic woman in the parking lot—it looked like maybe she was waiting for someone. And so I approached her. I smiled and said hello.  She smiled warmly back at me, but didn’t say anything. I asked her if she spoke English.  She shook her head, no.  At that moment I wondered what to do. I had the fruit in my bag, but all of a sudden I felt weird about giving fruit to a total stranger in a parking lot. I had obviously not thought this through.  

“Can I help you?” came a voice from the building behind me. A younger looking man came walking over to us. I didn’t really know what to say, and all of a sudden felt extremely awkward. So I panicked. I pulled the coin purse out of my bag, and said, “I just wanted her to have this.” I turned to the woman, “God bless you” I said, “have a beautiful day.”  I felt like a total weirdo, though the woman smiled broadly at me as she took the coin purse. I gave an awkward wave to both of them as I turned around and headed back across the street.  I did not look back for fear that they would be staring and laughing at the crazy woman who was giving away purses in the Salvation Army parking lot.

So today I learned a few things about this little project.  First, I learned that having the goal of reaching out in kindness to at least one person every day actually requires one to pay attention.  It’s so easy to get wrapped up in our own personal bubbles as we go about our daily business that we don’t even notice the people around us. Second, I learned that walking up to strangers on the street is a lot harder than I thought, and, without any real purpose, maybe not actually advisable. Finally, I learned that perhaps “random” acts of kindness, while certainly not a bad thing, are not necessarily always going to work best.  I think I’d prefer to be a little more intentional about this endeavor, which will require a little more effort, thoughtfulness and planning on my part.  So for tomorrow, I’m thinking more along the lines of a pre-meditated act of kindness.  Stay tuned…

100 Days of Kindness

Hey there.  How’s it going for you these days?  Okay?  Maybe not so good?  Maybe you’re feeling a little down, a little depressed over the state of the world, the state of our nation, the state of your local community, the state of your family, or maybe even the state of your soul? Maybe you’re kind of having a tough time knowing where you fit anymore, or knowing how you can make a difference. Maybe you feel totally helpless, and maybe that stirs up all sorts of other emotions for you—depression, despair, anger, fear, anxiety, frustration… the list could go on. Maybe you choose not to think about it, because what’s the point anyway? It’s not like there’s anything we can do about it, right?

Well, I’ll be the first to admit it, if that helps at all. I’m having a tough time.  Like, a really, really tough time.  Ever since the election (and if we’re being honest, for many years leading up to it) I have felt more and more as if the world has no place for someone like me.  A dreamer. A peacemaker. A gentle soul who would rather talk it out over hot chocolate than fight about it on Facebook or Twitter. I have felt more and more in these past few months that I am an oddity, and something of a worn-out, semi-useless oddity at that. I suppose the best way to explain why I’ve been feeling this way lately is by telling a story from something that happened shortly after Trump’s inauguration.

I was one of millions of women around the world who participated in the Women’s March on Washington this past January. I, along with about 50 other women in my town, stumbled sleepily onto a bus in Norwich, CT at 1:30am in order to arrive in Washington D.C. later that morning for the march.  After the march was over, many of us who had ridden that bus decided we wanted to stay in touch, and maybe even try and organize. And so I attended the very first organizing group meeting several weeks later.  As part of our debriefing, we went around the room and talked about what struck us at the march—what were our take-a-ways?  I answered that what struck me the most was the kindness and generosity people were extending to one another that day.  The joy in the air.  The sense of hope and possibility. Because for once, we weren’t tearing each other apart.  We were rejoicing in our solidarity and shared hope for the future.  People were kind to one another. It was glorious and beautiful. I was so moved by it. And so, I said that if we wanted to be successful, if we truly wanted to change any hearts and minds (and make no mistake, this is all about changing about hearts and minds), kindness was going to be key.  Kindness, compassion, love, and mutual respect. That is the only way we are going to get out of the mess we find ourselves in. That’s what I said. But not a few minutes later did a relatively well-known political figure in the room say there was no room for kindness anymore.  We were going to have to be “a$#holes” if we were going to get what we wanted, or so this person seemed to think. And to my dismay, most women in the room seemed to agree. There I was, alone in my naïve dream of a revolution of kindness and love.  Bubble burst. Holding back the tears until it was time to go home.

I left that night thinking, “where is my place in this world?” Where is the place for someone like me who thinks that we should be supporting each other in common goals rather than constantly being suspicious of one another’s motives?  Where is the place for someone like me who believes we ought to be building each other up from the ground up, not tearing each other down?  In the days since that meeting (I haven’t gone back to another of those meetings since), I’ve tried, with varying degrees of success, to move forward towards my dream that with just a tiny bit of effort, we could make this world a much softer, much kinder place.  And yes, I have been called naïve.  I have been called idealistic.  I have been told my ideas won’t work. But I’m not going to give up. Not yet.

And so, starting tomorrow—Wednesday, June 28^th 2017-- I am launching my newest endeavor. It’s not clever.  It’s nothing earth-shattering or extraordinary.  It’s just 100 days of kindness.  That’s all. No more, no less.  100 days of doing something kind and compassionate for someone else. Because I’m tired of hearing people say that kindness isn’t enough.  Actually, I think it may just be the one thing left that can save us.  If nothing else, maybe it can save me.

Anyway, I’m hopeless when it comes to blogs, and so, for now, this will all be going on Facebook as well as my ancient Wordpress blog (http://sara-fromthehill.blogspot.com).  Frankly, I’m impatient, and I want to start doing this now rather than waiting the two months it would probably take for me to figure out how to start a new blog from scratch. Check back each day to hear about that day’s act of kindness.  Leave comments with your own suggestions, or better yet, try it yourself and leave a comment telling me how it went. Maybe we could even create an army of compassionate souls, moving the world with the power of love, mercy and kindness. Stranger things have happened, I’m sure of it.

Stay tuned for my first act of kindness later today.  In the meantime…

Peace and loving-kindness to all,

Sara