Category Archives: Inspiration
More food for thought from Bishop Steve Charleston
“We do not know what is around the next corner.
We do not even know what will pass in our lives between sunrise and sunset. Therefore, whether we claim it or not, we live each day in faith.
We believe. We believe in ourselves. We believe in our family. We believe in others who are close to us.
Some of us believe beyond that, to name a loving power that guides us, to walk with others who pray with us. But we all believe, in some way, in our own fashion.
Let that thin thread, that simple affirmation, bind us in a shared respect. We are not strangers in shadows, but believers searching for the light.”
—Bishop Steve Charleston
“If you get a piece of cake and eat the whole thing, you will feel empty. If you get a piece of cake and share half of it, you will feel both full and fulfilled.” —Haitian saying, as told by Lynne Twist in The Soul of Money.
When Lynne Twist referred to the Haitian wisdom above, she did so in a book about money. She used it as her way of saying that a person who hoards surplus wealth—money that, like cake, is not necessary for survival—will never feel like he has enough, and his days will echo with lonely dissatisfaction. But a person who enjoys the benefits of surplus wealth and shares some with others who might not have any “cake,” will remember that she has more than enough, and her days will ring with shared joy.
I believe that to be true, but today I’m talking about actual cake. I don’t eat sweets often. I don’t care for them, really. Instead of dessert, give me another piece of pizza or an extra helping of steak and I’m a happy girl.
Of all the sweets there are in the world, the kind I can most easily pass up without a blink of regret is cake. In fact, I usually eat it reluctantly (people are often insulted if you don’t eat their celebratory cake) and I don’t find it satisfying. In my opinion, cake is wasted calories. What is so darned appealing about a rather tasteless foundation topped with sugary goo? I don’t get it.
But it’s my birthday this weekend. Like it or not, there is extreme societal pressure to have cake at a birthday, even if the person celebrating the occasion doesn’t care for it much.
So, cake I will have. I will eat it, I will happily share it. (Please, take as much as you want!) I will feel both full and fulfilled because I know that cake makes the people I love happy, and that’s the best birthday present I could have.
Oh yes, it is.
My thoughts first turned to the southern hemisphere on Sunday morning when I talked about birthdays with the kids in my Sunday school class. One girl had a November birthday.
Here in Canada, November wins the grey and dreary prize. The weather is cold but without the redeeming value of snow in which to play. The days shorten. The two special days are All Souls’ Day and Remembrance Day, both of which involve death: not times to bring out the noisemakers and party horns.
But I told the birthday girl that in Australia November is the most popular month for weddings. Their November is our June. When I told her this, we both felt a little brighter.
Then I received an email newsletter from the Bolivian Children Foundation. (I witnessed the extraordinary work of this organization when I was in Bolivia, and I like to stay abreast of what they’re doing.) The newsletter began:
“What a great day we are celebrating today – first day of spring . . .”
Seeing the phrase “first day of spring” in September makes North Americans blink. In a country like Canada, where dramatic changes in light and temperature mark the changing seasons, it’s almost beyond our ability to comprehend September as spring.
It’s the first day of spring everyone. Oh yes, it is.
Doesn’t the thought make you feel a little brighter?
When people preoccupy themselves with minutia instead of thinking “big picture,” the popular saying goes: “They can’t see the forest for the trees.” Upon hearing it, worried people step back, let go of insignificant concerns and observe situations from a broader perspective. That’s a good thing.
Sometimes, we need to flip that saying on its head: “They don’t see the tree for the forest.”
Last weekend I walked in Gilles Grove near Arnprior, ON, and I came upon a bright spot in the forest. The sight of one mighty ancient white pine all by itself in the middle of tiny saplings struck me. There were no other trees even close to its age and size nearby. The picture cannot give you perspective on just how mighty and ancient this tree was. When I attempted to wrap my arms around it (yes, I hugged the tree) they would not even reach half way.
This tree is hundreds of years old.
I imagined our First Nations people brushing up against it as a they moved through the forest centuries ago. I thanked the powers that be for sparing it from the blades of the lumber barons who logged the area beside the Ottawa River, felling the much-favoured white pines by the hundreds.
I spent some time appreciating this one tree, and I thought, “How often do people really notice, think about and appreciate one tree when they walk in a forest?” Usually we stride by them. They pass in a blur.
Sometimes we don’t see the tree for the forest.
It’s a reminder to take time to stop in the forest of our lives and really examine closely one extraordinary thing around us that we might otherwise stride by mindlessly.
It’s an enriching way to spend some time, even if your arms don’t reach.
Most parents don’t have to stretch far to reach a particular kind of memory. Certain memories spring easily,or rather, uneasily to mind.
I’m talking about the kind of memories that begin with a momentary—oh so brief—lapse in attention. During the time sucked up by distraction, a child vanishes from sight. Initial annoyance (Where did she run off to now?) grows from mild alarm (He was just here. Where could he be?) to gut-gripping anxiety (frantic calling of the child’s name) to full-blown panic and the early stages of the denial that lives at the border of grief. (No. No. No. No. No.)
In most cases, the child reappears laughing from a happy lark and parents respond with relief so profound it manifests as anger. (Don’t you EVER do that again!) But sometimes the happy lark has a tragic ending, and when that happens, a lapse in attention becomes a visceral before-and-after that defines the lives of the parents. The moment is the main feature in the highlight reel of their life story. The event gloms onto the parents like an extra unwanted shadow.
Leo Brent Robillard writes about such a moment in his new book, The Road to Atlantis: The main characters, David and Anne, lose their daughter, Nat, to drowning.
“Nat had been gone more than a year and her death was still the event that defined him. He suddenly knew it would always be like this. He, and everyone around him, would delineate his history as before and after Nat.”
Robillard’s book got me thinking about moments the define lives, and the way that people respond to them. Sometimes those moments arrive smack out of nowhere, and sometimes people’s bad choices lead to Atlantis-like sinking results: think Christopher Reeve, Tiger Woods and Richard Nixon. Their names trigger automatic associations with life-turned-upside-down incidents. We know the main feature in their highlight reels.
I can think of people in my community who have similar highlight-reel events as part their life story. I’m sure you can come up with some of your own too. And if I were to meet those people on the street—the parents who lost a toddler to cancer or the wife who shot her husband while he lay in bed—their tragic life events would loom like living things between us.
Robillard’s book relates how David and Anne navigate the “shoal of mud,” as Plato called it, that arises out of such a sinking loss, and how they manage to resurface. When life-altering events occur, a muddy quagmire of guilt, blame, denial, obsession, addiction or depression inevitably oozes in and rises around the feet. Those left behind must learn how to suck their feet out of that mud and keep walking.
Sometimes people do more than that. When 11-year-old Sandrine Craig was killed in an automobile accident, her donated organs helped other people, and her parents started the Sandrine’s Gift campaign to encourage life-saving organ donations. Two years ago, Rowan Stringer died after suffering a concussion during a rugby game. “Rowan’s Law” is now in the works in hopes of preventing other such tragic avoidable deaths. Since Terry Fox’s death, more than $700 million has been raised for cancer research, and the funds have led to otherwise unattainable advancements in cancer treatment.
Christopher Reeve showed us that moving legs aren’t required for valuable life, and his foundation is advancing research into paralysis and spinal cord injuries. Tiger Woods has never been the same since the upheaval in his life. Perhaps he’s still working his way through the quagmire. And Richard Nixon? He’s there to remind us that you never really make it out of the shoal of mud if you don’t own your actions.
All of these people show us that it is possible to craft a second even more important highlight for your life reel. The follow-up highlight is one of perseverance, open communication, family pulling together even when it’s hard, and work for the benefit of others.
Each of us has smaller versions of these Atlantis-like disruptions in our lives: getting fired, surviving cancer, losing a friend because we do something stupid. These aren’t newsworthy events—journalists don’t come calling—but they sink us for a while, nonetheless. The good news is, with perseverance, open communication, family pulling together even when it’s hard, and work for the benefit of others, you’ll end up with a really inspirational life highlight reel.
If you would like to meet Leo Brent Robillard and talk to him about the fine highlight reel he’s crafting for himself, you can find him and his books at:
The Kingston Writers’ Festival, September 26 from 9:00 to 11:oo p.m.
Word on the Street in Toronto on September 27
The Brockville Museum, October 8 from 3:00 to 5:00 p.m.
Octopus Books in Ottawa, October 14 at 7:00 p.m.
Chapters Kingston, October 17 at 1:00 p.m.