Shoes in Bucha

 Shoes in Bucha

 

In my first shoes I toddled 

grasping for stability - 

A finger, a chair, a table leg. 

I hung on to things, to people. 

 

I had shoes, little white shoes. 

When I took off my shoes, 

the bees in the clover 

stung my feet and I cried. 

 

My dad taught me.

There are worse things than having no shoes.

“I wept because I had no shoes 

until I met a child who had no feet.”, he said. 

 

I’ve lived 80 years now 

and shoes mean I can leave the house.

Weak painful wrists mean 

I can’t put on my socks and shoes;

I can’t hold my walking stick

Then I stay home until the pain subsides.

 

While I was home with my wrist in a brace, 

I watched a young Ukrainian girl.

She looked like me at her age. 

 Blue eyes light brown hair.

I thought, “I could be you.” 

 

I saw her heart breaking. It was the shoes. 

The shoes on the feet of the girl 

she lay dead in the street in Bucha, 

Her hands with red nail polish, 

devoid of water turning to leather.

Her body half naked, raped, stabbed, shot. 

 

The young Ukrainian girl spoke “Her feet, her shoes, 

they are the same as my feet, my shoes 

I walked on the street where she lived”.

Before the boys from Mother Russia came and left in defeat,

“My boy friend and I often went to Bucha on the weekends. 

It was a pleasant place, with a beautiful park. 

We were middle class like the people of Bucha. They were us.

She could have been me.” 

 

As I drove to town 

for medicine for Miles, our little black dog. 

I remembered the dogs in Bucha

loved and carried by the people 

fleeing from the horror of genocide. 

 

I saw the old, wrinkled women, 

Holding onto the arms 

of Ukrainian boys in camouflage wear.

For stability. They are me; I am them.

 

I am beyond sorrow; 

I am here for justice. 

I await the tribunal,

That will try and convict the war criminals 

who tore the heart out of a country

 far away from here finally bring justice.

 

And I have neighbors, you know

duped by a hateful movement.

Enflamed by a failed coup

They say they will do the same to us

in hate and fear. We are Ukraine.

Martin Luther King, Blessed Are the Peacemakers 2021 SD 480p

TEDxHomer-Libby Roderick-How Could Anyone?

Reconciliation: Learning to Love Your Enemy


Hyde Park Corner is a place in London where barkers, evangelists and political devotee’s of all stripes stake a claim to a space and preach, teach or proselytize while the crowds heckle, argue, or cheer them on. When I was 16 and heading into my last year of high school my parents sent me off to Europe to see the world. Hyde Park Corner was where Mr. Rosengrave, my chaperon, an Aussie with little tolerance for wayward children almost sent me home. Anyone who knows me will not be surprised that I was in my element. Being a devout Catholic and an even more devout patriot, I found myself defending my faith and my country  in an argument with a Black South African who was expounding upon the racism in the USA. With all the certainty that a 16 year old can muster I was arguing for the American values of equality under the law. He, of course, was arguing for 600 years of oppression under slavery and beyond. At 1:00 am my able opponent, myself and a bobbie ( cop) were the only ones left in the park. There was no reconciliation here. The argument ended abruptly when my chaperon came flying out of the hotel vociferously ranting that I was not to talk with man woman or child as long as we were in Europe. This was 1957; apartheid in South Africa did not end until April 27, 1994 when I first learned of reconciliation.

The Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa, set up by the Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Act, No. 34 of 1995. The hearings began in 1996. The Commission was to create three remedies to the injustices of apartheid and to successfully deal with human rights violations after political change.

The Commission heard testimony concerning human rights violations on all sides; worked for reparation and rehabilitation of victims, and in some cases to granted amnesty for those perpetrators who applied. This method of restorative justice was seen as an alternative to the retributive justice applied in the Nuremberg trials.

According to the Cambridge and Oxford dictionaries there are two parts to the definition of reconciliation. The first is the revival of a friendship that has been broken after the parties have argued seriously and kept apart from each other. The second is “making one view or belief compatible with another.

Our country, while claiming to be a Christian country, seems to have retribution as one of its core values. We see this in the different responses of the family members of victims of violence. Often the family seeks retributive justice, only believing “justice has been served when the maximum penalty has been. In other cases, those family members express sorrow for the losses  the family of the perpetrator are suffering and  seeking healing and rehabilitation, ie restorative justice.  Films of all types, westerns, war stories, and even stories of family violence end with the killer getting what he deserved.



Retribution requires that we see the perpetrator as ‘other’ not one of us. It is so pervasive that stories like To Kill a Mockingbird, The Green Mile, and Cool Hand Luke are notable simply because they expose the lie that underlies the belief that retribution is justified. Indeed the Hebrew Bible is full of stories of a vengeful God who takes a personal interest in the relationships of his chosen people, while Jesus teaches us to love, to forgive, to make amends.  Christians on both sides of the political divide have come to see the ‘other’ as the enemy, not as neighbor, not as one deserving of love and compassion.

How do we get from that place of seeking revenge to seeking healing and restorative justice?
“ Remember that everyone you meet along the way in your journey are dealing with their own hopes and fears. Everyone you meet loves something, has lost something or fears something.”1. Victor Narro

Following a panel on gun violence, I found myself arguing with the mother of one of the young men on the panel. We began by reciting our positions and trying to convince each other of our correctness. We each had beliefs and opinions about the group that the other represented. We were not hearing each other. In order for me to reconcile with my neighbor who thinks that carrying a semi-automatic rifle her God-given right under the Constitution. In order to cut through the impasse,  I had to be curious about her loves, her hopes and most particularly, her fears. In other words, I had to see her not as an enemy, threatening to block any efforts for gun control but as another human in the family of God. At the end of her rant about why we all needed guns, I was moved to ask, “What happened to you?” She told me; and I could feel her fear. More importantly, I could feel compassion for her fear and knew that had I been through what she’d been through, I might feel the same way. In the end, Nila and I became friends, planned to go out for coffee, even found some areas of agreement. She agrees that all people need health care, medicare, and social security. She believes in a woman’s right to make her own life choices. That is a beginning.

 For us Episcopalians, the ministry of the Baptized means we are not only to follow Jesus example but that we are part of the mystical Body of Christ. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, mystical means “Having a spiritual symbolic or allegorical significance that transcends human understanding.” In other words, our relationship to each other in the risen Christ is a mystery. It is wondrous, and deeply meaningful. We are the hands of Jesus blessing those around us with love, compassion and forgiveness. When we are asked to love our neighbor, often we can feel the joy in the gift Jesus gave us to love. Yet, that is not the end of the story. Jesus left us no clearer example than how he wanted us to treat our enemies, our oppressors, our political opponents. From the cross he forgave them. He preached to the poor and downtrodden not from the perspective of one who stands above them; as one who sees themselves as better than the less fortunate. He preached to them as their brother, as one of them. Can you find any passage in which Jesus tells the oppressed to punish the oppressor, the sinner, or one who has harmed them? Jesus tells us that we are all brothers and sisters, and that through our Baptismal covenant we are to meet each other as brothers and sisters treating each other with kindness and compassion even when we are at odds with them. Is this the cross Jesus asked us to take up; to love and forgive those who have harmed and oppressed us?

So, I invite you to look at your hopes and fears, Who or what have you loved and lost, or fear losing?  These are our potential triggers that block our opening to others. I invite you to picture a friend, or someone with whom you might disagree. Imagine yourself being curious about what in their life has caused them to hold so tightly to their beliefs. Imagine yourself listening for an opening, for a place to learn more about them. You’ll know what to say in the moment. Spirit will guide you if you are open to hearing. And just maybe you too will make a new friend. And that is the point from which you just might be able to let him or her know why you believe so strongly that love is the way.



Narro, V. Living Peace: Connecting Your Spirituality with your Work for Justice. CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, North Charleston, South Carolina. 2014

She Who Brings Light into the Darkness

“Teach me the power of the dark” – came to me in a dream. The dark is where we live until the light comes. In the dark our hearts are breaking. Our soul is wounded; a black hole in the heart, a dark spell is cast; it holds fast, and we slide into the dark night of the soul. This is the power of the dark.

In the beginning, we are told, humans became the fire bearers; in every home in the world is a place where the fire is kept: a hearth, the heart of the home. For every hearth there is a hearth keeper; in most cultures it is the women who tend the fire, who are the hearth keepers. Tending the fire, is a constant worry and a constant work. If the fire goes out, it must be restarted, or food will not be ready for the table. If the fire dies down children may freeze in their beds, If the fire wood runs out the family is in peril. We gather around the fire to warm ourselves, to share food and drink, to share stories and gain wisdom. Beyond the fire, lies the dark.

Advent is the time when the fire has gone out, and before it is relit. For many of us, this Advent is more than a time to remember the power of the dark, this year we are living it. We women of great heart, are taking up the challenge. We are making friends, sharing stories; cooperating in our natural way.  We are creating alliances with those we see every day. We heal wounds, we comfort those men and women who come before us. We make common cause in our daily lives and learn from each other. We are all sisters and brothers in an immense learning community of women.

Each morning, we meet. We greet, face to face, on the street as we walk our infants in strollers, at the market, or the well.  And now through the miracle of webs and clouds, we cross the miles, the oceans; the vast spaces evaporate like the dew in the morning sun. We are heart to heart, playing and working side by side, I in my village in the north; you in your village in the south, or west, or east. We carry in our hands our magic boxes linking our knowing in ways we might never have imagined.

I have always known you were there but you seemed so far away. I imagined that you knew not that I cared whether you had clean water, or a chicken to lay eggs, or gruel for your children. But I do care; I never imagined that I could let you know.

We are 3 hundred million strong and we are mending our nets, we are mending the fabric of soil beneath our feet. Can we share as women have always shared, a cup of sugar, an extra blanket, a prayer, a song across the miles? Can we, like the pulses of energy coursing through our bodies heal each other as we heal our families?  As we live in these dark days, like our world, we refresh ourselves, resting, replenishing our essential life force, by Grace. It is a time for healing, for remembering who we are and what we are called to be. The light creeps in slowly and the world awakens slowly quietly gently. Solstice is the beginning of the time of gentle awakening. Christmas is the season in which we celebrate the woman who brought Light into the darkness. Let us lean into the fire and into each other with compassion, remembering the women who are the hearth keepers and their ways of caring.

Beloved Community: Dreaming the Impossible Dream

Somewhere in every heart is a longing for home. We’ve all felt that deep ache. I first felt it when I was 7 sent off to summer camp while my family moved to a new home. The ache was so deep; the resident Collie feeling a small child’s pain lay down with me each day while I wept. Home is where we feel we belong.

At the end of the Wiz, Dorothy sings “When I think of home I think of a place with love overflowing”. To belong should mean to feel loved. I was loved; we were loved not only by my family but by a brilliant and compassionate community of women. The Immaculate Heart of Mary Community was my first clan, my first Beloved Community. They were our mentors and our role models; we were raised to be as they were - to offer love to others. Hospitality and welcome to all persons were their core value and ours. Women of Great Heart is the motto of the high school I attended. We were aspiring to be women of Great Heart. I was home there.

For the past week we have been celebrating and exploring what it means to be a community this year and beyond. Speakers have explored God’s Dream for Community, through readings from the Old and New Testament. This article is the first of six exploring aspects of the Beloved Community. Here we introduce the Beloved Community and visit an example of a Beloved Community in Seattle.

I first learned of the Beloved Community in Greensboro, North Carolina. The Rev. Nelson Johnson, founded the community after he was stabbed by a klansman and arrested during an anti-klan rally in 1979 which he helped organize. The Beloved Community was the vision of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King in which all people can share in the wealth of the earth.” “The core value of Dr. King’s Beloved Community was agape love which he described as “understanding, redeeming goodwill for all,” an “overflowing love which is purely spontaneous, unmotivated, groundless and creative. ”…”the love of God operating in the human heart.” King said that “Agape does not begin by discriminating between worthy and unworthy people…It begins by loving others for their sakes” and “makes no distinction between a friend and enemy; it is directed toward both. Agape is love seeking to preserve and create community.” It seemed clear to me that this was an unattainable goal. So, I wondered, “what does this have to do with me, with us, when we live in a world that is being torn apart by violence and hatred?

How can Beloved Community, King’s commitment to love all, enemy or friend,  empower me and my community to survive and thrive?

Philosopher, Josiah Royce, first explained the Beloved Community in the late 1800s. For Royce, Beloved Community is central to transforming the heart of humanity. It is how we will make it through the chaotic times in which we are living.  An overwhelming love, Royce tells us is exactly what we need to be human. For Royce, in order to have a meaningful life, we must find a cause, a life purpose, that is born in our life experience and is inspired from within to seek truth and kindness. For a cause to be good, it must be greater than anyone or any community can attain and it must be good for everyone not just a few. Royce called this a lost cause because we are aspiring to an ideal we can never attain. We are all Don Quixote chasing the impossible dream. Sister Simone told us, “you’ll know you’ve found your cause when it breaks your heart open”. Royce believed that causes are found in the social landscapes in which we live; we find a home in communities where we share their cause. The Civil Rights movement of Dr. King, and the Beloved Community of Reverend Johnson were communities with a shared cause.

Every good fight fought in this world has started with a heart broken open. Malala’s dream is education for girls everywhere. Mother Teresa’s was a good death for everyone. For Jimmy Carter it is homes for all. Impossible dreams are found in communities of dreamers and while we can’t reach the ultimate dream, our search moves us to accomplish amazing things.

For a number of years, Hillary Clinton has reached out with heart, hand, and treasure to Children, families, youth in prison,  dreamers, immigrants, refugees, women and girls worldwide. Having known the ache of being far from home, I was more than delighted to learn of this place where the longing for home is made whole for women and girls like me. If you are looking to be inspired you won’t want to rest until your heart breaks open.  Our prayer is that by exploring Beloved Community we will the renew our commitment to Agape, hold our Beloved Community together, and renew our commitment to the Impossible Dream, inspiring the amazing work we do. May it be so.

Mother Hummingbird designs and builds her nest.

Click on title.
Everywhere in nature there are females creating, nurturing, protecting, tending to the life of the next generation. Every unique creature on this planet comes into being through the creative power of the female of the species. She tends the hearth, prepares the food, rocks the cradle, makes certain there is water and wood. Chop wood, carry water is woman's work around the world. Backs are bent, heads are bowed, teeth are lost, all in a days work. The male is the consort, the helpmate unto the Goddess of the hearth. It has been so since the beginning when evolution began designing the species that were to come. Here is just one example of the work in nature of the mother hummingbird making a home for her offspring.

Caring Choices

Choices

I wrote the lyrics to a song yet to be written after I heard a TED type talk by Stephan Schwartz author of the Schwartz Report blog. Please consider doing what is asked of you here and help us spread the word. 

A one, a two, a one, two, three, four

You have to admit things aren’t  looking so good

For the people, the nations, and old mother earth. (rest)

People are fighting, Children are dying, 

Far away and near, even in our neighborhood.

This is the one thing I’m gonna do now

I promise you, you can do it to.

Every time you have a choice to make   

Choose the option that you, (rest) know in your heart is

The very best action of the two.

Choose life affirming compassionate action

That’s how were going to change our hearts

Choose life affirming compassionate action

That’s how were going to change the world

All day long we’re making our choices

Every day we have so much to do.

One option’s always better than the other, choose

The most life affirming compassionate action

(rest) you (rest) can (rest) do.

Text your friends, tell your family,

share it on facebook, take it to work

make it a habit, make it an earworm, 

Playing in your mind, it will change your heart.

Tell em,

Choose life affirming compassionate action

That’s how were going to change the world

Choose life affirming compassionate action

That’s how were going to save Mother Earth

It will spread like wild fire, person to person

Changing our minds, lifting our hearts.

We can change the consciousness of enough people

To take peaceful action and change the world.

Tell em,

Choose life affirming compassionate action

That’s how were going to change the world

Choose life affirming compassionate action

That’s how were going to save Mother Earth

Tell em,

Choose life affirming compassionate action

Choose life affirming compassionate action

Choose life affirming compassionate action

Choose life affirming compassionate action

Today.

How Wilma Learned to Walk

Wilma at the Parade 

Wilma

When I first heard of Wilma’s life long relationship with Chinook Lands, I had what could only be described as a moment of sheer grace. She had given so much to this place that had been a healing place for so many, she deserved care now when she needed it most. My heart responded and I agreed to help Wilma during the day to stay in her home. What followed was a miracle.

The first time I met Wilma, she was holding court in her Brookhaven Apartment. Wilma had just learned that she was no longer able to be cared for by Island Home Nursing, the local agency providing aides. Because she couldn't stand and the bathroom was too small for her wheelchair. If she couldn't find someone who would care for her, she would have to go to Careage. That meant leaving Langley. Wilma was grieving. 

I became Wilma’s caregiver and personal trainer. I new that if Wilma was to stay in her apartment she had to regain her mobility. It would take more motivation and effort than training for a triathalon. That’s what I told Wilma.

Wilma loved her community so much and wanted to stay close to them so much that she gave it everything she had. In the beginning she ran me ragged. I went to her house 5 to 6 times a day; 3 or 4 of those I were in response to a phone call. That got old really fast. Over the next two years Wilma and I worked together; every day I would stand her up, 5, seconds, 10 seconds, then for longer periods. After a few months we went to physical therapy. When she ran out of medicare, we went to the a gym where we attended an exercise class for people with limited energy three days a week. After much coaxing from me, one day Wilma stood with my help. When she took a step away from the chair, the whole class cheered; then 2 steps, then 3. A couple of months later, she walked along holding the handrail; she was terrified that she would fall but she eventually walked the whole length of the room. Weeks passed. We practiced walking around her apartment. Next she walked around the room holding my arm. A good friend came and remodeled her bathroom, we put poles by her chair, the toilet and the bed, and in the end, Wilma was getting out of her chair by herself, out of bed by herself, transferring into her wheelchair, standing up, putting her clothes on by herself, back to her chair and into her recliner. All of this, Wilma did because all she wanted was to stay here in Langley, with  her friends, her family, her community. Her community kept her involved with the Church and with Whidbey Institute. They scheduled a visit a day and Wilma loved those visits. On Tuesdays we would go to the community lunch in the complex where she lived; on Thursdays Jeff took her to the local soup kitchen for lunch. There came the day when Wilma was ready to go back to the agency that stopped her care because she was too much for their staff. Now she wasn’t; and I was worn out. She couldn't go to exercises any more because she needed someone to accompany her; that was not a service provided by the agency. It wasn't long after that when she fell and broke her arm and finally moved to Careage, a skilled nursing facility. Still her friends made sure she had a ride to church and came back to the community for special events.  When she went to the Careage she was ready; there she was happily loved and cared for until the day she died.

Her community never left her heart. Wilma is the hero in this tale, I had no choice, the call was so strong I had to answer it.

Twenty years earlier, in 1987 I began my dissertation research on nursing home care. The first person I interviewed was a patient named Bill. When I asked my first question. What do people who care for people do for them, Bill burst into tears. “Not enough” was his answer. He had had a stroke. Medicare had just stopped his physical therapy because they said he was no longer making progress. I knew better.

Bill haunted me for those 20 years. No one listened to Bill. They said his tears were a side effect of his stroke. He knew he could do more. Wilma confirmed what I had believed with my whole heart, that with a village of support and motivation, progress doesn't stop after six weeks. Love will move a mountain, and give a gracious gal the strength of a lion.  Amazing Grace really does happens.

You are the Flowers in the Gardens of our Days

Care is Like Water: You are the Flowers in the Gardens of our Days

You are the Flowers in the Gardens of our Days

Kelsey CrooksJohnson and Brenna Parrick holding our two new future employees!

Baristas and waiters, baggers and checkers, store clerks, and bank tellers, workers and volunteers

You are the trees of our community  stirring up good energy

your kindness fills my heart  with a grateful tune, So I’m singin’ this song for you.

You are the flowers in the gardens of our days.

You are our rest stops as we travel down our own pathways

So we thank you for the laughter and the happiness you bring

You are my inspiration  to find a new direction seek a higher vibration .

You are our garden tapestry enfolding our community

keep your kindness flowing like a river ever going.

Thank you for the light you shine in hard days and  tough times.

Oh, and thank you for your patience when we can’t make up our minds.

Thank you for the smile, the gentle laugh the warm hello,

how ya doing How’s the family, Glad you stopped by today.

Thanks especially for forgiveness when we can’t find a gracious word to say.

You buoy up our energy as we go from place to place

And everytime I see you  you put a smile on my face.

Jesus didn't die to save us.

Raffaello Sanzio - The Agony in the Garden

Last night I had a dream when Jesus came to me

Why was it meant to be?  In the garden his agony.

He said,

The day before I died, I was in agony

I cried out father, Oh God, Father;

 take this chalice away from me,

Why was it meant to be this agony?

in the garden,  in the garden I was in agony.

Lift this dark cloud off of me, Father I can’t bear it; 

Take this shroud away from me, Father I can’t wear it,

Not my will but thine, I said, and by the morning I was dead.

Could the death of a son of god have been a suicide by cop?

When  Soldiers  came I didn’t hide,

 It was by their hand this Jesus died.

They say I’m Jesus the Nazarene,

 Of the Jews, I am the king.

All my friends were sleeping,

In the garden I was weeping.

Just a decade in the rosary, my agony, 

it wasn’t meant to be.  This agony.

You make a hero out of me,

you worship me, adore me,

You pray to me to save you by his amazing grace.

All the time forgetting  that  the price glory

Is to bear the pain of  all the human race.

I’m not the only son of god, perhaps the first but not the last.

They say the good die young, they must, to let this chalice pass.

Many hearts are broken now,  many lives touched by the blast, 

First the anger, then the bargain, then acceptance comes  at last.

They don’t deserve to die

 these brilliant stars in our night sky.

When the concert is over, the sermon is done,  

the heart may lie empty, absent the sun.

He was a kind, a gentle soul,

and he loved all children so.

Let them come to me, he said,

 I will give them wine and bread.

He cured the blind; he healed the lame;

and he took on our human shame

Did he have a motive?  He was in agony

Did he have a plan? Sure, They’ll hang him on a tree.

He gave them opportunity, to kill him when only thirty-three.

They say,  I’m  Jesus the Nazarene,  Of the Jews, I am the king.

It’s part of their make up, these brilliant night stars,

 their lives like beacons, that  flame out in the dark.

When the concert is over, the sermon is done,

the heart may lie empty, absent the sun.

What if their friends had stayed awake,

 What if they saw what is at stake

They didn’t know they were part of his plan,

their guilt and shame, came when they ran.

Jesus lived to love and show us;  They didn’t kill him just to save us;

The concert was over, the sermon was done, the heart it lay empty, absent the sun.

We’ll never know what might have been, had a friend been there for him.

RIP Robin Williams 8/11/2014

Lamentation

Today Robin Williams, took his life. Last month, a young woman well loved by many left behind a loving partner and daughter, her pain too great to bear. Last year the husband of my dearest friend took his life after a long chronic condition left him with intractable pain and vomiting. I wrote this piece with the intention of setting it to music. However, I feel moved to post it here. It speaks to pain and grief of those who suffer and of those who would do anything to lift their pain from the hearts. In my life, the love of my life was caught in the trance that would have ended in suicide had she not told me her intention. It is only Grace that she is here with me today, to stand together by the waterfall.

Add caption

Sometimes you feel  like a motherless child.

So alone,  so all alone.  Wound in your soul, a black hole.

black magic, its tragic, a dark spell is cast, holding you fast.

Feeling you slide into the dark night of the soul

I stay by your side, day after day,

Your pain weighs on me like a lode stone.

All my love can’t heal your pain

Your sorrow has become my shame

My hand can’t hold your sorrow.

Your sorrow has become my shame

Your pain weighs on me like a lode stone

Here’s what I need to tell you;

I cannot take your chalice, from you.

my joy can’t fill your cup

I pray that you can give it up,

Let the wind touch your face, feel the grass where you stand

For I can never hold your sorrow in my hand

Look to the mountain high and strong; look to the valley green

And pray for the day when we will lie down by a quiet stream

Pour your pain into the river, float on the river down to the sea,

Bless you child, let the cool of the river wash your pain away,

Rolling rolling down stream to the sea.

Sweeping  the pain away,  Feeling  your pain slipping away.

Let the wind touch your face, feel the grass where you stand

For I could never hold your sorrow in my hand

Look to the river cool and clear look to the aspen tall

I Pray for the day when we will stand tall by the waterfall.

One minute of your joy will fill me up, Pour your joy into my cup,

I want to hear you laugh again,

Sing your songs of hope again, just for a few minutes each day.  

Eileen M. Jackson
8/11/2014