Tag: surrender

You made a difference…


Ironically, I’ve heard this quote twice this week – casting very different circumstances on someone’s life (although one was just a movie character).

Clearly, as a species or individuals, I think it’s common to want to look back on our lives and feel like we made a difference.  On a level, I think that’s noble.  But let’s look at ways to accomplish that goal, and what – in the end – really matters (IMHO).

I saw the new Jack Ryan movie this week. [SPOILER ALERT:  skip this paragraph if you want to see the movie…]  The main villain shares with someone during the movie that he feels like his life will have made a difference.  We find out later that  orchestrated a worldwide criminal plot, on behalf of his country and in memory of his son’s life, lost in war as a hero for his country.  Noble cause – to want to have made a difference.  Even noble in wanting to do so on behalf of one’s dead son, or one’s country.   I think we can all agree that it ends there, in terms of nobility.

But his story echoes this common theme:  finding self worth and value in life by making a difference.

The second time I heard this quote came today.  A friend died unexpectedly this week – as of yet, we don’t know the circumstances behind his death.  But, an early co-griever shared these words about our common friend:

You’re someone who cared
You were gentle, sweet, and kind
You made a difference

What an awesome way to be remembered : as caring, gentle, sweet, and kind.  I’d add that he was also authentic and passionate in life.  And he did make a difference.

Now, here’s where you might expect me to highlight a series of accomplishments on the same “scale” or “grandeur” to mirror the movie character’s goals in life. Well, I’m glad to say that’s where I think those three simple sentences are enough…more than enough. While there’s no Nobel Peace Prize, or national publicity on his accomplishments…does that really matter — for any of us?

Mike made a difference in the lives of those around him. He made relationships, telling stories, and celebrating others a priority.  He listened.  He was vulnerable.  He invited trust and showed compassion.  He understood that we are all connected — all living things — and took great pride and joy in that fact.

For me, there’s no better way to be remembered.

At times, with my life experience, I’ve honestly  believed that nobody would come to my funeral — that I would die alone, not having made a difference.  I also found my identity and self-worth primarily in my work — what I did — not who I was, or how I lived out my life.  I’m very grateful that I’m now able to see life so differently — through the powerful witness of others and through my own life experience.

I’m grateful for the lives of friends like Scott, Mike, and Phil who remind me that in the end, what is remembered is how we live, not what we do or what we accomplish.

I’ll  close here with some sacred and inspiring thoughts from a singer and poet I had the fortune of meeting last year at a conference on Asset Based Community Development.  Her words are both comforting and joyful.  Thank you Barbara for your gift…

I Wish That I Could Show You

Lyrics: Based on a quote by Hafiz 

I wish that I could show you
Whenever you are lonely or walking in the dark
The astonishing Light of your Being

When I Die

August 2011
©  Barbara McAfee

When I die I know there’ll be singing
By my friends all gathered around
As their sweet voices fade behind me
I will join with the One Great Sound
And I’ll stand on a sunset hillside
Just like I did in that dream
Join the multitudes there who are singing
The song inside everything

When I die I hope I’m not frightened
But it’s not for me to know
What awaits me there at the threshold
What’s required in letting go
Every time I leave home
Or someone I love
Or a place sweet and holy
Each night as I slip into slumber
I am learning how to die

When I die I’ll fall into a hammock
Woven of each song I’ve ever sung
I have sent them all forward to catch me
On the day that my life is done.
I will slip into that great mystery
As I did in the cool lake at dawn
I will swim those eternal waters
Let the current of love take me home

When I die I know there’ll be singing
By my friends all gathered around
As their sweet voices fade behind me
I will join with the One Great Sound

Link to her latest CD, with these two songs…

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men…


Teapot

I’m a little teapot…

…couldn’t put back Humpty Dumpty (nor my favorite teapot) back together again.  I found this teapot when I lived in Chester, England…so it had special meaning for me.  It’s lived through several moved and has had a full life as a useful and often used teapot.  Let’s be clear – it didn’t just sit on a shelf and look pretty!

For me this was a small reminder of two core beliefs for me.

First, I like things that carry a story or meaning from my past – but I also value their usefulness.  I don’t want to live in a fragile “house museum” of beautiful things,  which are kept away from life here in the moment.

Second, even though I have some important items that I carry close to my heart, they are just things – transient, easily lost, broken or stolen.  So, while I still want to take care of them, I don’t want to be so attached to them that a broken teapot sends me over the edge.  There are far more important things to be concerned with — relationships, health, well being…life itself.  Physical items can be replaced.

I believe that holds even for other guests in my house.  Yes, I hope they respect (and use!) what’s here.  But, at the end of the day, if a favorite item breaks – it’s just a physical item, and not worth losing a lot of sleep over.  Again, I hope they will speak up and apologize for the damage,  But then, we move on – no drama, no yelling, no threats.  Life happens.  I’d rather enjoy the things I have, value their story, but not be so attached to them that I overreact if they’re gone.

So, I swept up Humpty Dumpty and my teapot…had a fond memory of my time in Chester, and the many times I’ve enjoyed tea from my favorite teapot…and moved on.  Life happens…

 

 

Poetry in Motion – The Wild Iris


One that my friend Mike shared with me…which inspired a series of photographs from a walk around my neighborhood of irises.  Once again, thank you Mike for your words of comfort.  In particular, I like the part about finding my voice…  It goes hand in hand with some of Mark Nepo’s work, how we are alone, yet knitted together in a great mass of humanness.

The Wild Iris

At the end of my suffering
there was a door.

Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.

Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.

It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.

Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.

You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:

from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.

Louise Gluck