How to Get Through These Strange Days? Start With Gratitude.

“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is ‘thank you’, that would suffice.”

--Meister Eckhart, German Mystic and Theologian

Birds.

That’s one of the many things I am so thankful to God for, right now, this day: the birds.  Our feathered friends, these winged creatures who sing and sing and sing. They sing in spite of the weather that’s been so fickle; or the never ending news too much of it bad; or the human realities of the day that can bring us down.

When I see the birds flitting from branch to branch so nimbly and listen to their faithful tunes in our noise diminished world, I feel hopeful. I remember the words of the poet Emily Dickinson: “Hope is the thing with feathers, That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all.”

I’m thankful for my friend Ian, who in the midst of his dealing with all the anxieties this pandemic inspires; he still finds time almost every day to stand patiently in his urban backyard and with camera and a patient, artistic eye, he snaps away. He captures fiery red cardinals and bright golden finches and black hued grackles, then posts these artistic images online. 

Never thought I’d so appreciate those photos, that now bring joy to so, so many, and to me. Never thought I’d become a birder, but there it is. 

Thank you birds. Thank you old friend.

What are you thankful for this day? What small gift of grace from God, what surprise you received from a loved one…what made you feel more alive today, even normal in these abnormal times?

I’m thankful for walking now.

For the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other and making my way through my cul-de-sac filled neighborhood with my fellow striders, Jill and Julie. I’m thankful for a new friend named Jonathan, whom I’ve met on my perambulations, a first grade boy so proud of his rock collection that he displays and shows off in his front yard. He shares his latest specimen with me, holds it up, like an amateur geologist. His enthusiasm makes me smile and feel happy.

Thanks Jonathan.  I can’t wait to see your newest rock on my next journey.

Thanks Juliana, the young woman who serves me my coffee in the Dunkin Donuts drive thru line: dark roast, two creams, one sugar. Masked and gloved, she still manages to be patient and kind to every patron she helps.  Yesterday she told me her shift ran from 8:30 am to 6:30 pm and even with her facial covering I could see the tiredness in her eyes, but as she told me: “Gotta pay the bills!” And so, she stands on her feet for ten hours with nary a break and I am in awe of her courage, yes courage, to work while others like me shelter in place.

Thank you Juliana. God bless you and your family too.

How are you feeling blessed this day? What simple thing or reality, that in regular times you might have overlooked or taken for granted or never stopped to thank the wondrous universe for…what touches your soul or opens your heart?

Thanks Cindy, my mask making extraordinary friend. With style and craftiness, she sits at her dining room table, and measures and snips and cuts and sews and creates cloth protective gear, and with flair too! I especially like her Sponge Bob mask. Thank you, for when I have asked for masks for myself or masks for a friend and his family, you deliver with joy and commitment. You do your part and then some. One of your masks ended up in the hands of a grateful gas station attendant, a young man surprised and moved by that unexpected gift on a recent chilly afternoon. That’s how it is with love: it only works if you pass it on.

Thank you Cindy: keep sewing!

Here’s how to be thankful, more thankful and appreciative and grateful, especially now, when we need to give thanks and wake up to the miracle that is this life just today. Pay attention. Open your eyes.  Go out of your way to seek and embrace the smallest acts of kindness, the simplest gifts of God’s creation, the love and care you feel right at home. Then just say, “Thank you!” Thank you: to the ones who bless us, whether human or in nature or transcendent.

And me? I am grateful for you. Thank you for reading this. Now may we go forth and just be more grateful. 

Yes, that will suffice.

      

  

              

The Things We Miss, The Things We Grieve

“I wonder how much of the day I spend just callin' after you.”  

--Harper Lee, “To Kill a Mockingbird”

The absolute worst Red Sox Opening Day ever, EVAH, for this longtime fan. April 9^th, 2019. A year ago. A lifetime ago.

I’d gotten two tickets from someone (my brother maybe?) and was so looking forward to a gem of a day, the kind of day one can only dream of in early April in these parts of New England. I hoped and prayed for simple gifts. Warm temps. Sunny and blue skies. An early arrival at Fenway to see the 2018 World Series champs receive their rings. A Red Sox win. Time spent with an old friend in our right field bullpen seats, and of course, two hot dogs slathered with mustard and onions, with an ice cold Coke on the side.

About the only thing that came true for me that day was my companion and my lunch menu. 

All the rest went south and very fast. The weather was abysmal, 41 degrees at game time, with chilly winds making it feel like 35 degrees. I tried to leave work early to arrive at the park on time but left late and missed the whole pre-game celebration. Then the game, a total disaster from the very first pitch thrown by Chris Sale, he, who recently signed a $145 million contract and made his 2019 home debut with a thud. Four innings pitched, five runs allowed on seven hits and three walks, and he even allowed a runner to steal home.

My God, how I wish I could go back to that day.   

Live it all over again, because in these pandemic weird and warped times, when it feels as if we are all living in a surreal dream, I am so missing baseball right now, even bad baseball. Missing going to the sports section first, in my online newspaper, and finding out if the Sox pulled out a win or found another way to lose. I miss putting the game on my car radio, that soundtrack of spring and summer returning again, like an old friend. I miss going to Minnesota for a yearly writing trip and retreat and spending time down in the Twin Cities playing catch with my 12 year old Goddaughter BJ, out on the front lawn, the thwack of the ball on leather, or maybe a game of rundown. She always wants to play catch. ALWAYS. I miss her so much right now too, wonder when I’ll be able to actually fly in a plane again.

This is our shared universal spiritual condition now, in 2020, in April. All of us: we are so missing something, so missing someone.

Missing the dependable rituals and rites of the season.  Missing being out in public with friends and strangers. Missing sitting at the bar in a jam packed restaurant, waiting for your seat, as the game plays on a big TV screen. Missing standing in a huge crowd on Boylston Street and cheering on the marathoners. Missing standing up in church and singing a big Easter hymn or sharing Passover with extended family and friends at a candlelit table, the youngest always asking, “Why is tonight different from all others?”

If you dig a bit deeper into our feelings of missing, of our longing for the “normal” things of life, you’ll discover grief. We are grieving now, a month into the lockdown and social distancing, and wearing rubber gloves and a mask to the grocery store, and spending hours staring at a screen at our loved ones and co-workers and obsessively consuming the news or avoiding the news. 

My missing baseball? I know it’s just a little grief, a little “death”. 

The big griefs, the big losses? These hurt so much more. Grief at actually losing someone to COVID-19—a family member, a co-worker, a neighbor’s beloved Grandparent. Grief at losing a job. Grief at not being able to formally graduate from college or high school. Grief at watching a spouse walk out the door to their work, their “essential” work, and praying that they do not catch the virus. Grief at not being able to worship with others or play with others or hug others or physically be with others.

Maybe I’m focused on how aggrieved I am about baseball being on hold because it is just too hard for me to contemplate all of our so much more heartbreaking griefs. The ones already here. The ones yet to come.

What are you missing? Who are you missing? 

My spiritual hope for all of us right now is simple. That we would have the courage to pay attention to our grief, both the collective and the personal. That we would begin to grieve and not turn away from it or pretend it is not real. That we would talk about it with folks we trust. Weep when we must or just rage at the universe. That we would bring our grief to God or whatever power is getting us through right now, and most important? May we remember that it is so normal to be missing all that which once marked our world, even something as simple as baseball.  I trust and I know it will all come back again one day soon, but right now?

We grieve.

We hope. 

Together.

In These Times Good Enough Is Absolutely Good Enough

“At the end of the day, remind yourself that you did the best you could today, and that is good enough.” 

--Lori Deschene, author, “Tiny Buddha”

Some days in the midst of these crazy days, good enough is just that: good enough.

So, the dishes don’t always get rinsed and put in the dishwasher right away and sometimes these accumulate in my sink. And I’m trying to make my bed every morning but now it may take me a bit longer to get to that. In the class I teach by Zoom on Sunday mornings, yesterday I had to confess I was not fully prepared, that the week before was so crazy, and I dropped some things I was supposed to get done. Tuesday I wore my baseball cap all day, because my hair is getting a bit scruffy, making me look at my worst moments like Larry, from the Three Stooges. All those plans I made to work on long neglected woodworking projects? After a long day of six online meetings in a row, all I want to really do is chill with my crossword puzzle.

And you—are you having more and more of these “good enough” days? If you are, you’re not alone. In fact, I’d say “good enough” is pretty much the norm for many of us now, not because collectively we’ve suddenly decided to become lazier or more careless or less disciplined about the large and small tasks of life. No.

We’re all just becoming more human and less perfectionist, because right now, all of us are living within and trying to deal with, the most traumatic and upsetting and dislocating historic event in our lifetimes. In one hundred years. Nothing, NOTHING, any of us could have done would have prepared us for this moment in time, individually and collectively.  And so, we are all just kind of making it up as we go along.

Figuring out how to stay sane while sharing so much more time with our families and loved ones than ever before. Personal space, sharing chores, and keeping everyone fed and cared for: that’s not easy, not at all and if you did it today, nice job.  Figuring out how to stay sane while living all alone and on lockdown, like I do now. I worry about how much I talk to myself. God, I miss being in the real, physical space of another human being, albeit from eight feet away.

Today, good enough will have to be good enough.

None of us had a class at school called “Pandemic 101”. None of us a mere month ago could have envisioned that thirty days later, we’d be spending almost all of our time behind locked and closed front doors and wearing a mask to go to the grocery store and worshipping God at our houses of worship by staring at a screen in our living rooms. None of us could have imagined such a worldwide traumatic event, because we are not supposed to think about such things. It is  too scary. Too surreal. Too overwhelming.

And yet here we are. Almost a month into this weird new world, with at least one more month, probably even longer, ahead of us, living under these conditions.

So, if you find yourself suddenly breaking into tears, lean into it and have a good cry. You need this release, we all do. It is sad and hard right now. If, like me, you find yourself snapping at others when you are normally not like that, or being more impatient, or going all quiet while others talk away, just give yourself a break. We all are finding ways to cope and vent and deal, and we are at our most human and real and so that means we are not perfect, not even close, certainly not now.  I know I’m about as far from perfect as one can get.

Thus, I need to remember that good enough is good enough.

Thank goodness I have my faith to remind of this truth too. Have a belief in a higher power who loves me, not because I am perfect or flawless or some moral paragon, but in fact because I am not those things. I am so imperfect. I am broken. I make mistakes, large and small.  But no matter what, NO MATTER WHAT, I am still loved. Always. I pray that you feel that as well, whatever your faith, whatever your perceived place in this world. We all need to know our inherent worth, now more than ever and embrace that rock solid truth every single day.

Because finally, good enough is absolutely good enough.

So, here’s my advice. Go ahead and go into this day and then just be okay if you need too. Middling. Sufficient. Raw. Authentic. Human. And when you come in contact with another fellow child of God, remember that they too, they are also just trying to get through these strange days. We all are. 

You are good enough and that’s good enough.

And if you see me on a Zoom call and notice that my hair is all sticking up, please gently me ask me where my Red Sox cap went.  Thanks, and stay safe and be well and God bless.