Poppy wearing and future generations


Lest we forget

 

He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old. He was delighted and delightful. He stood in front of my desk both excited and enthralled. “You’re wearing a poppy,” he said. “Why, yes, I am,” I answered him. And I was touched and thoroughly pleased that he was pleased.

I wonder if the coming generations will give much thought to Remembrance Day. I wonder if they will forget. But today I met a young boy that gave me a bit of hope. I wear the poppy to remember them. I hope one day he will too.

Lest we forget!

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Unity Prayer


prayer

O God, Divine One, I prayed

Come, heal our hurting world

Ease the suffering of peoples everywhere

And the answer came

I give you two hands

Two hands to lift up

To help and heal

I give you two legs

To carry you where you need to go

Whether across the street

Or across the world

Two ears for listening

To all the cares and concerns

One mouth, one mouth only

To speak the truth

Two arms, two strong arms

To carry away the burdens you will find

In every corner on earth

I give one heart

One heart to each human being

To love

And to each one mind

Created to understand

And so I learned

We have everything we need

To heal this hurting world

To ease the peoples’ suffering

And when our hearts and hands

Are joined in sacred purpose

Hurts will be healed

Suffering will be eased

And we can be one

Divinely led

Unity

Photo credit: PIxabay

Body and Soul: Gender Issues


gender dysphoria

 

I remember “Paul” (that’s what I shall call him), he was a classmate of mine. Paul was a very quiet boy. He was ostracized by the other boys and ignored by the girls. He was bullied on a daily basis. All these years later I still think of him from time to time and hope he found peace and happiness in this world.

I remember the cruelty of my classmates toward Paul whose x and y chromosomes had somehow tangled in ways I do not understand. I certainly did not understand at the time, but I was disturbed at how he was tormented by my classmates. I think I may have been 12 or 13 years old at the time. At any rate, he had begun to develop breasts. That was confusing to me, but imagine how confusing, difficult, and challenging that was for him.

I remember the class trip we were on and how the boys got together to convince the most popular and pretty girl in our class to go ask him if he would go out with her. There was a meanness in their curiosity about him. They wanted to “out” him because they thought he was gay. They couldn’t understand him and they hated him because their ignorance made them intolerant of difference.

That “group think” took over the class and they put their plan into action. I remember one child who was brave enough to question the cruel mentality and the plan to embarrass and/or center him “out” fizzled  mid-action. Thank God for that brave soul.

Paul makes me think of the “other”. Of how we treat those who are different from us. Of how we judge those people as somehow inferior or less than us. How arrogant we can be.

In today’s world we have learned more about gender and about how some people are born into the “wrong” body. It is a mysterious thing and I don’t pretend to know the answers. But, do we have to know the whys and hows to treat others with the same respect we demand and want for ourselves?

I remember when I went home after that class trip and asked my mother about Paul. She couldn’t answer my questions concerning the biological and physiological intricacies of the human body. But I do remember her admonishment to be kind and compassionate.

Today, I know of two young people who are struggling with gender issues. One I know fairly well. I see the pain she is going through and the horrible ways she’s been treated by others. I still don’t understand why this is happening to her. It is heart breaking.

Does the fact that one is born female or male really matter? Shouldn’t what is underneath the skin: the heart, soul, and be-ing matter more? Does the container, the body, really matter in the end? Shouldn’t how we treat ourselves and others be more important? I think it is. I know it is all far from simple, but I hope we will soon see a day when the body is recognized for what it is:  a vessel for the soul – and may we develop better understanding and appreciation for this precious commodity, which is the essence of life; the holder of love and all things good.

Image credit: Pixabay

I will not worry


a-small-pond-in-the-mountains-on-the-port-au-port-peninsula-nl

 

I will not worry

I will not fear

I will leave it all

In your care

Knowing that

Gentle Hands

Hold me close

A gentle heart

understands

Every need

Every desire

Every hope

and every dream

I will not worry

Upon your grace

I will lean

 

I want to join the caravan


Pixabay image

Photo Credit: Pixabay

I want to join the caravan

To hug each weary soul

To give to all

food, clothes, and more

A safe place to rest from trials

I want to join the caravan,

Extend a welcome hand

I want to know them each my name

And not as illegal, fugitive, nor migrant

I want to join the caravan

And share what God has given

For I have been so richly blessed

Every moment I’ve been living

I want to join the caravan

For they know truth, not lies

They know the value of a life

They hear the people’s cries

I want to know the ones who walk

Trudging mile after mile

Though humble, weak, and destitute

They’re richer than they seem

For though they hold not earthly gold

They’re filled with dreams and hopes

And not with greed’s own poison

I want to join the caravan

And walk the weary miles

Each one offers a chance, you see

to walk the talk

And be not afraid

They may steal my job

Or pilfer my way of living

For the Divine has set us here

To be good to one another

I want to join the caravan

To know blessings once again

For as we sit in judgment here

And sneer upon the ‘other’

We dishonor the God we preach

And deserve not the name

Of sister nor of brother

I want to join the caravan

And find my soul again

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cold, cold November – remembering those no longer with us


winter

 

It actually is quite cold here this morning, and it’s been snowing on and off for a couple of days now. Snow – frozen rain falling from the skies.  The song by Guns ‘n Roses,  November Rain, plays in my head. “And it’s hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain”. It’s a song about relationship; about love and loss. Even though it’s a love song and the story about the struggles of two people in a romantic relationship, the ballad is so sad, so haunting – it brings back painful memories for me – not about a romance gone bad – but about loss, irretrievable loss.

November – Remembrance Day and recalling the sacrifices made in two horrific world wars. All those who died. All those who were irreparably wounded in body and soul…

November – the month my father died…

November – and remembering the day two years ago when I got that awful call – my brother was killed by a drunk driver.

November, a month I dread with its admonishments that life is fragile.

And realizing, yet again, that it is this very fragility that reminds us life is precious – so very, very precious! A reminder to live life with a grateful heart and to appreciate all the blessings that are given; that even though the earth may freeze, underneath the killing frost new life waits to bloom again….

 

Lost in the Story


Lost in the story

Of people long ago

In a century that’s past,

And the hardships they knew

Characters come to life

and seem so real

Yet, I know, it’s only history

Stuck in the past

not in a negative way

Just walking in their footsteps

Our ancestors, dear

those who came before us

And paved the way

I treasure their lessons

And freedoms, hard won

I’m lost in the story,

And the story’s not done

I will keep all their lessons

And pass them along

Wisdom and courage

And faith ever strong

I’m lost in the story

Allow me to linger

I’m lost in the story

And here I will stay