Reconciliation and Reverence
“No matter what someone says or does,
friendship is both a future possibility and a present approach.
We are not enemies.
The goal is not to win but to include.”
~ William Stafford
Past Midnight
As I walk back and forth with Brady in my arms on my daughter’s deck, the June air is still warm and humid. But even warmer than the air is this poor baby with a virus and his first ever fever. He hadn’t slept much the last few nights so I asked his devoted and exhausted mom if I could take a turn with him.
A few weeks before a friend gave this advice about calming little ones: “Sing to them,” she said. “Singing is the answer to everything!” So I do and he does stop crying. I go through all the lullabyes I know (both of them) and some Native American chants. And then I remember an old Seals and Crofts song—one I used to sing to this same daughter (now mother) so many years ago.
The words come back to me. “We’ll have children of the kingdom. They won’t be torn by war, or kill or hate . . . or hesitate to love.” And it comes back to me how I used to believe so much in those words. I was a young, idealistic, hippie-turned-meditator, new mom—and I just knew we could create that world for our children. I knew we could do it.
And now, hearing the words again in my own voice under the dark sky, I wonder. Do I still believe that? That the world will ever be what we want it to be for our kids, for our grandkids, for children everywhere? For sure, my decision some years ago to be more informed about issues, to actually listen to the news and become an activist of sorts, has battered a certain naive idealism that I had clung to for decades. Learning about the suffering, devastation, cruelties and injustice on our planet . . . Well. Open eyes. Break heart. Lose hope?
I keep walking, but I’m silent now. The little one is still awake, still restless.Thankfully, from somewhere up in the dark reaches of a nearby oak, a mockingbird starts singing where I left off.
But wait a minute, maybe I don’t know how to do this, but could I afford to give up hope? Do I even want to? Somehow to give up on the dream, the vision of a better world, feels like a betrayal of all the generations. I get to choose what I want to believe, and believing in the possibility of creating a better world feels so much better than the alternative.
So, maybe I don’t have to know how. Maybe it’s enough to know that whatever is mine to do, it must come from that same open, loving space that can reach for and access again the innocence, imagination and trust of a child . . . as well as the strength, skills and life-experience of an elder. I have to start with a mind open to new ideas and a heart open to creating and connecting in a real way, a deep way, with others.
Because this dream, this vision, requires not a me, but a we. I don’t know how to do this but we can figure it out together. When our voices give out, as they do, as they will, maybe even the birds and the beasts will add theirs. And maybe this infinitely inclusive chorus, maybe this coming together is the first, last and most important step in any plan for a better world.
And then I hear the voice of the baby's big brother in my head. When three year old James hears what he thinks is a good idea, when Mom or Dad suggests an outing, a new adventure or a fun project, he jumps up and exclaims, “Let’s do it!” and he says it with his whole body -- no hesitation -- with his totally committed, already moving self. The children of the kingdom are already here. We just have to make the world worthy of them . . . and beautiful and safe for them.
So, right then and there, with one grandchild in my arms, another’s voice in my head, I recommit to the vision. And, really, what better project could you have, what greater adventure could there ever be?
Let’s do it.