Hope

"There is a voice that doesn't use words. Listen." - Rumi

It's been a hard few days.

The skies are gloomy.

The weather is cold.

My interior life duplicates what the exterior world provides.

I talk to someone who spends her days working with families who have children with disabilities who have lost everything in a massive, all-consuming wildfire.

There is no housing for any of them...so they squish themselves into RVs and try to make it work.

The reservoir that provides all of the water for this same community has been contaminated with metals and chemicals and other toxic items all oozing into the water.

No housing.

No potable water.

No jobs.

It's catastrophic.

To top it off, our president enjoys punishing people for their tragedy.

Maybe it's because he has always had a home.

Always had access to drinking water.

Always known safety.

His bitterness seeps into our collective conscience as he tweets his condemnation for the unpreparedness for the fires.

There is no understanding loss.

Or cruelty.

As Jewel sings so well, "Only kindness matters."

These past few days, sadness seeping in...the pain of so many suffering...so much loss...

I gift myself with a visit to my local coffee store.

I delight in my order,

smile my shy smile and say,
"I'd like Enlightenment please."

They steam up some milk, coat the cup with honey, add some green tea and call it Enlightenment.

[It should be noted that I could also order Bliss...but Enlightenment wins out every time.]

On my way out the door, someone calls my name.

It's a person I know only a bit...but she brings sunshine with her...serious calmness...and although I don't know her that well, 

I owe her.

She, of course, does not know my debt.

Has no idea.

19 years ago, when my baby was born with both Down Syndrome and a heart defect...and I was wondering how anyone mothers three children in any successful way, let alone a child with a disability in the mix, she graced my life.

She taught pilates out of her home.

I don't know how I found out about her class.

I have no idea who was watching my three kids 

while I did pilates in her home...

but somehow the universe made it happen and my heart knew what I needed.

I only did it for a few months.

But, she ended every class with this wisdom:

leading us with big deep breaths...

three times...

Inhale gratitude, Exhale judgment.

That four word phrase and those big deep breaths stuck.

They became a part of me.

In and out...

Sucking up gratitude and exhaling away so much.

In that fragile time of my life, I took the tiniest step forward toward self-care with that pilates class.

I didn't know it then. 

Didn't have the vocabulary or the life experience to be able to talk about that in any real way...

I just knew that those moments at pilates helped give me my breath back.

And, my teacher had no idea.

Years passed.

Breathing in gratitude.

Exhaling judgment.

Guiding student teachers or small children in hard moments with big breaths.

I wanted to say thanks.

Kept meaning to...

but it felt like the time had passed.

I let the thank you sit unsaid.

But today, on my way out of the coffee shop, there she was...she stopped me and introduced me to her daughter, Hope, a grad student working at the Perkins School for the Blind (Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller's school!!)...and we got to talking...and talking...and it was Hope who asked,

"How do you guys know each other?"

Her mom referenced it in three words:
Pilates on Parkside.

And, like a red-checkered picnic blanket, the universe spread out the moment before me.

I knew I could finally thank her for the gifts of restoration and care and breathing and kindness she gave to me.

Through tears, I asked if she remembered the way she ended her class all those years ago.

She shook her head no.

I did.

Inhale gratitude.

Exhale judgment.

My time with Hope and her mom was rare and precious...we all could feel it...

and we all knew it couldn't end right then...

but real life was in our way.

Obligations.

Places to be.

We decided to meet later that afternoon.

Who does that?

People who listen to their heart.

In that precious afternoon chunk, Hope and I talked about people with disabilities, opportunities, inclusion, barriers, common sense, education, systemic problems and so much more.

It was kismet.

Magic.

A sunshine spiral.

I still can't believe it happened.

All we have is today...and the people who cross our path...in this moment, 

right now.

For some blessed reason, today, my heart was listening...right when Hope and Dion called my name.

Tonight, I take a deep, fresh breath of gratitude...for kindness and kismet...wrapped up in Hope.

Whispering to Remember - Christmas 2017

Hope - Peace - Joy - Love - The Four Candles of Advent

It's Christmas 2017.
One entire year of the Trump Administration.

Usually reflecting on the year, no matter how hard, is a joy...
we have each other...
we will get through.

During the four weeks of Advent, one of my favorite traditions is the Advent Wreath.
We have four candles, three purple and one pink, set in a circle.
We get to light one each week...so that by the time Christmas comes around,
there is serious light in the darkness...
four bright candles...shining triumphantly.
Holding open the spot...creating space for a baby...and a miracle...and family.

I was pregnant at Christmas time twenty five years ago.
All these years later, I cherish that extra special time of singing and preparing for two babies during that Advent in 1992,
not just one.

But this year is different.

I feel the weight of a year's worth of lies.
A year's worth of looking the other way.
A year's worth of pretending everything is ok.

I feel the crushing crashing of dreams of so many Americans withering on the vine...
this week it is grad students due to the tax bill that gives massive deductions to corporations over its citizens...
months ago, it was those with disabilities...
those with medical conditions...
...people of color...
...women...
...the LGBTQ community...
...or immigrants...
...or refugees...
...or children.

A year ago, I could feel an entire nation of children's eyes watching the adults in the room
make excuses...
it doesn't matter that she's never been in a public school classroom...
or that he derides the Environmental Protection Agency...
or that he flies private planes all over the United States at our expense...
lower your eyes...
pretend you don't see.

Are our children any better twelve months later?
Sadly, no.

They've seen open racism and half-hearted excuses.

They've witnessed their President UNwelcome entire nations of people.

The've had to accept a new normal and the sickening taunts of a president...
corruption and people so achingly out-in-the-open greedy that it insults those that work to teach integrity and honesty.
They've witnessed the open disregard for suffering people in Puerto Rico...
the pointed, barbed insults to people hidden in the shadows working for our safety...
the FBI, the CIA...
and our press...
daily derided...
with blatant untruths...
and intentional misinformation.

*****

This Christmas I want to whisper who we are.I want to remind each of us what it means to be American.

Like the Advent candles, first I offer HOPE.We are better than this.
Integrity.
Character.
Honesty.
Humility.
THESE THINGS STILL MATTER.
Millions resist openly.
Millions more resist in the smallest of ways.
Two-thirds of us...the majority of us say NO.

Light the candle of hope...and see how it breaks the darkness.
The second offering is LOVE.
Love is opening the circle wider...building a longer table...
love is recognizing fear and still pushing up your sleeves to do the work.
Love is the answer...the only response to racism and sexism.
Love is knowing that all humans are equal and working against injustice...
it's seeing yourself in the stranger.
It is living in the present moment.
What can I do right now?
and then taking the first step to begin.

Choose love and you change the trajectory.

Ours is not a small God...the endless, timeless beauty of the universe whispers the grandeur of Higher Love.
Seize it.
Breathe it in.
It is yours everyday for the taking...
grace in the ordinary.

Can you hear the murmurings??

The third offering is JOY.
With so much hatred, corruption and villainy...joy can be hard to find...but it is there.
There, in the ironic plot twist of a transgender women winning the seat away from someone who bragged that he was "Chief Homophobe" in Virginia.
In the way the sun still sets...the clouds still swirl across the sky...
the perfect simplicity of a cup of tea...or an act of kindness...a baby's laugh...a toddler's wonder...
rain on a rooftop...clothes fresh from a dryer...firefighters who work to save houses...and teachers who read out loud to students stories that bind us together.
Pick up a rock.
Try to watch the dance of a snowflake.
Gather friends together and cherish their company.
Walk your dog.
Hug your kid.
Dance.

Laugh.

The last offering is PEACE.This seems like a wish.
A fantasy.
Something out of reach.
But tonight I listened to a mother who had to bury her first grader after he was murdered at his elementary school in Newtown live her life with forgiveness at its core.
Five years after every mother's worst heartbreak, a woman named Scarlett showed me the way.
Forgiveness carries peace on its wings.
Scarlett mentioned:
Nurturing, Healing Love.
She wants every human to have that and recognizes that her child's killer was unable to
either receive or give love.

One year of Trump's despicable behavior...his devastating cruelty...his duplicitous companions that tolerate the tarnishing of all that is sacred about our country...
one entire year.

Advent offers light in the darkness.
My whisper blows it forward...
to you...
to another you...and another you...
as Pope Francis said in his TED Talk:
"Hope begins with you and then another you and another you
until it becomes US.
When there is an us, there is a Revolution of Tenderness."

I'm ready for the Revolution.

I know you are too...
let us begin.
Light the candle.
Notice the warmth.
Offer it to others.
Remember the way home.
Be honest.
Work hard.
Resist.

We are better than this.
Demand it.

Seeing What Hasn't Been

He arrived into our school following on the heels of a woman 

who had taught music at our school for decades. 

She was beloved and gifted.

She taught the students hymns and songs that were inspirational.

She taught the students to play the bells at Christmas.

She loved music and she was a professional.

Teaching music with a pride and a respect that was mirrored with her singers.

He came bearing a guitar, strumming the kindergarteners toward the music room like a Pied Piper.

I liked him immediately.

She was traditional.

He liked Coldplay.

He played so many instruments I lost count.

He jammed.

He flowed into Classical music.

Mostly, he believed every single kid could become a musician.

And so he set out to do just that.

His first motley group of 3rd graders attempted the recorder.

They practiced and adjusted and considered learning notes.

Meanwhile, he jammed with the kids who wished for a garage band in the upper grades.

He guided beginning band kids.

He created a choir.

He listened to kids who had dreams.

And he dreamed.

B-I-G

Only two years into this job, he wished out loud:

Our students are going to sing at Disneyland. 

Huh?

Did he see different kids than we did?

Was he best friends with someone at the Magic Kingdom?

Pretty sure that you have to be on the A Team to get to do that.

But he prepared his students, sent in an audition tape and got accepted.

Dang.

Now, when that is happening at your school, you're happy for those kids.

But you're not really sure your kid can be one of those.

Our family...we have nice people and we are definitely good fans...but music?

Not our strong suit.

Zero musicians.

Anywhere.

Zero singers.

Not counting the shower or the car, of course.

[I rock that.]

So, my kid tells me after playing the recorder that she wants to do band...

and I support her...

rent the clarinet and smile.

Because I think I know the way this story goes.

Only I don't.

Once a week, she grabs her clarinet case and heads to school early and in a few weeks, 

she's reading music!

She's whistling.

She's singing in the shower...and around the house.

She starts looking up songs online.

This becomes normal.

And we just go with it...because, you know, you never know.

And the Disneyland gig is coming around again...

and well, maybe your kid can sing in it.

So she trots off to choir and brings back candy to sell, and songs to sing and finally a permission slip.

It seems that we will be going to Disneyland.

And poof!

Something I could never picture before now enters my line of sight.

Disneyland.

We make our way to California Adventures.

We find the Monsters, Inc. ride...

we see a stage...

and yes, there they stand.

This is real.

This 4th grader of mine is up there.

Singing and harmonizing and holding notes.

I've heard her group sing...but this is different.

"I felt the music like a physical thing; it didn't just sit in my ears, it flowed through me, around me, made my senses vibrate." -- JojoMoyes from Me Before You

Those words.right.there.

It was a waterfall...

droplets of sound landed on my body...

tears sprang to my eyes.

The words they sang kept circling around me like an embrace:

Let every heart be filled with music...

it's a never ending gift that circles back again.

Take my hand and sing with me.

Music builds a bridge -- it can tear down a wall.

This is why we sing.

Take my hand and sing with me.

Share the joy, find a friend.

Live your life out loud.

Let your voice be heard...if you dare.

The music teacher, Mr. S to the kids...paused and explained about dreams and America and how we live in a place where anybody can dream...

and then he handed the stage over to an 8th grader.

She wrote a song.

And Mr. S. -- with all that he has going on -- stopped what he was doing and listened to that song.

Valued those words.

Honored that dream.

Supported that student in the biggest way that he could...

his choir sang back up for her.

Singing behind her and through her wisps of hope and future,

these back up students shared the dream too.

What kind of teacher takes his shining moment and turns the spotlight onto his student?

Someone who is the business of teaching hope...

not just music.

Someone who can see what hasn't been...

who can visualize great accomplishments for any child.

Who believes in his students. 

                                                

Mr. S. had all sorts of students sing solos.

So many had a chance to shine.

But this moment...that's was the one where I just sunk into the words and the transformation that was happening right before my eyes...

"What would happen, if we tried?

Could we spread our wings...and learn to fly?

And together we could see that the world is ours...

we could shine like stars...

we can dream.

ooooohhhhoooo

We can dream.

ooohhhoo

We can dream.

ooohhhooo

We can dream."

We can dream.

In this world that is busy telling you to be sensible,

and to hurry things up,

and squish all those feelings underground,

we have Mr. S....

actively building bridges to opportunity

and chances

and dreams.

He offers the chance to dream

and then builds the staircase...

one step at a time...

bit by bit.

This is no joke.

No Easy Street.

Skill +Practice +Determination +Personal Investment = Dreams Coming True

But Mr. S. will be there.

Every step of the way.

Telling you what he sees...

and seeing what's never been.

Mr. S., there are no words.

Only great big sobs of joy...

tears of appreciation...

sighs of seeing something so beautiful that came to be because of your hard work.

In a little music room, day in and day out, 

during recess and before school,

you make it happen.

You're in the business of teaching

but you're also in the business of building.

Tonight, I'm grateful for the grace of a musician turned music teacher turned dream maker.

This sky full of stars...

what a heavenly view!

Thank you.

Dancing Between The Good Things

Today I had to run to the grocery store -- no food for dinner -- fill up my gas tank, take my bike in for its flat tire and quite a few other errands all at the end of the day.

The grocery store was my final stop.

My in-and-out-one.

My super quick - I can do this in 15 minutes one.

Nice try.

As I was walking and concentrating on that list in my mind, Jeff came up.

Jeff is one of those people that lives in my town but I only see in one place ever:

the grocery store.

I see him at all times of the day.

He hangs out at the grocery store.

He's older...usually has his black backpack in the cart along with one or two items.

The grocery store is his community.

Jeff is someone that some people avoid.

He's eccentric.

He's loud.

He's out there and just by talking to him he puts you out there too.

Before Patrick, I would have considered my grocery list more important than Jeff.

I would have felt uncomfortable...and hurried...and bugged by this guy.

But after Patrick, my heart cracked open in a way where now every little person on the planet counts.

There are no randoms.

I don't discount the interruptions.

The sideways detours.

The super bizarre roundabouts that life takes me on.

Because of Patrick, I've been talking to Jeff for years.

Saying hi at first.

Listening to his math stories -- because he is a math genius.

The rumor is that he was a high level math instructor somewhere.

Over the years, I've given him my address so he could write me a letter.

"You never have to write back. It's ok. I just like to have people to write to."

He's found out about my job with teachers and asks about them...or my family.

Seeing Jeff at the store is a spot of sunlight.

He makes me pause and helps me know what's important.

Often, he will say something that will soak into my heart like it was a parched slab of earth.

Tonight was one of the best.

I asked him how he was doing.

"Oh," he says, "I'm dancing between the good things."

I smiled.

He went on...letting me know that it is our choices that make our life.

Our attitude that determines if our life is good or bad.

That we can change the day even in the middle.

Just what my parched heart needed to rain down.

Dancing between the good things.

What if we did dance in the hard spots?

Instead of laying down...or curling up in a ball...or sitting alone through the crap...

what if we danced?

What if we believed in that deep down way of Jeff that the good things were mere dots that needed connecting? 

The blank space left for dancing?

*****

After his explanation about how having a positive attitude can make everything better.

He paused.

Suddenly, shy and embarrassed.

Like he had an invisible sand timer that suddenly ran out.

He looked up and said, "I should let you get shopping." 

"I'm practicing my social graces."

And with that, he abruptly turned his cart around and went off down the aisle.

Silly Jeff.

He doesn't need to practice any social graces.

He's dancing between the good things.

His grace is pretty obvious.

The rest of us might need some practice...but not Jeff.

Here's to dancing...

and living your life out loud.

Here's to beauty found in the grocery store...and grace freely given...

even late on a school night.