Stephanie Rutt

Everyone loves a secret. But ahhhh, there’s a secret known as the greatest of all secrets–indeed so profound that it’s capable of unlocking within each of us the full awareness of our place in the cosmos, our place in the divine plan. Spoiler alert! Stop reading now if you’re not ready to Know! For once you Know, you can’t not Know. There’s no going back. There’ll be no more reasons not to create a life of beauty–to truly become a living prayer.

This greatest of all secrets is that God does not live in you…but, rather, you live in God. (BG 9:6) Pause for a moment and allow this secret to settle within you. These were the words of Krishna to Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita, when He, divine personified, was guiding Arjuna on the path to his greatest service and toward full emersion with Him, eternal bliss. Yet, Truth, being universal, is not contained within any one faith tradition. Saint Therese of Lisieux said it this way in her poem, The Atom of Jesus–Host, I am the atom of Jesus…for I have the Host as my support. 

 I find something so very comforting, embracing, supporting, that I can do nothing but exhale into some deep place of slumber when imagining it, even as I also feel myself inhale, stirring awake, stretching into ahhh–liveness. Can it really be? I too am an atom in the body of the Beloved? I too am a living pulse of the greatest of all secrets? Just the ever so faint imagining of it leaves me still and silent, yet bursting, frolicking in some childlike exuberance, as Grace has its way with me.    

And how does this blessed awareness birth each of us into becoming a living prayer?  Well, for example, you may have wondered, with literally millions of people praying to God, or to Jesus, Shiva, Quan Yin, or another representative on a regular basis, how all of these prayers could be held equally by any one entity? The mind struggles with this if we think of God, or the representative, as outside of our self. Once we remember the great secret, that we live in God, a fundamental shift happens. Recognizing, just like Saint Therese or Arjuna, that we too are an atom in the body of Jesus, or Christ Consciousness, as we too live in the heart of God, we start to get that it’s our job, as an atom, to attune ourselves to the body of our blessed creator, our Host. Now, we do not pray to but, rather, as one who recognizes that it’s our birthright to become, as Jesus said, perfect even as our Father in heaven is perfect. (Mat 5:48)

Perfect, you say. And, why not? Perfection as an instrument of Grace has nothing to do with perfection as our ego might imagine it. In fact, it’s exactly in such moments of Grace or pure attunement, with the One within whom we live and move and have our being (Acts 17:28), we instantly get that it’s not about us at all. As Krishna reminds Arjuna, we too are just here to fulfill a purpose, to play a part, to get something done, and to, along the way, fully experience that we too are, graciously, a spark of the light of all lights forever beyond darkness (BG 13:17), birthing all of creation.     

 Jesus said the same by reminding us, Ye are the light of the world (Mat 5:14). Realizing this, our lives naturally become a living prayer, sparking, serving with delight some greater purpose of which we are, often, only partially aware. And, how perfectly so. It is not our job, after all, to focus on the destination or outcome. It is our job to attune our heartbeat to the One heartbeat, our breath to the One breath, our will to Divine Will. In this way, we bring our light out from hiding, out from under that bushel of ours, as the great song This Little Light of Mine sings, to let it shine, shine, shine. And the whole world becomes ablaze with our light as we step into our birthright to spark with the light of all lights and answer the charge of Jesus, Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works (Mat 5:16). It’s the intention and purpose of all spiritual practice.

 Attune.

Dare to imagine yourself an atom in the body of all creation.

Dare to ignite your spark to shine, shine, shine!

Dare to imagine your DNA contains a unique role to play in the vital functioning of our Host, the Host of all Hosts.

Dare…and create a life of beauty far beyond your imagination…

Dare…and become a living prayer.

I sing because I am happy.

I sing because I am free.

His eye is on the sparrow.

And I know He watches me.

(Chorus to the Hymn “His Eye is on the Sparrow”)

The tiny sparrow. Ordinary. Not particularly noticed or especially revered as, say, the eagle or hawk. Two for a penny the Bible tells us. And, yet, the beloved sparrow is held fast in the eye of God.

Just like us.

And who was it that sang I sing because I am happy with such untethered faith and assurance? Probably not who you might think. Listen to the story, as told by Sylvia Martin:

Early in the spring of 1905 my husband and I were in Elmira, New York. We contracted a deep friendship for a couple by the name of Mr. and Mrs. Doolittle. True saints of God. Mrs. Doolittle had been bedridden for nearly 20 years. Her husband was an incurable cripple who had to propel himself to and from his business in a wheelchair. Despite their afflictions, they lived happy lives bringing inspiration and comfort to all those who knew them. One day while we were visiting with the Doolittles, my husband commented on their bright hopefulness and asked them for the secret of it. And Mrs. Doolittle replied simply, “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.” The beauty of this simple expression of boundless faith gripped our hearts and fired the imagination of my husband and me. The hymn, “His Eye is on the Sparrow”, was the outcome of that experience.

We pray for wealth, health, happiness, success. We yearn for forgiveness, justice, an end to our suffering. We so believe that if our circumstances could be different then we, life, things would be different. We ache to see so, then, we may believe.

But, perhaps, it is we who must first believe so then, most graciously, we may see.

When I imagine Mrs. Doolittle, bedridden for all those years, I remember that such faith has no conditions. Did she need to get up and walk to feel herself as free as the tiny sparrow in flight just outside her window? Did she need proof that she too, just as the most ordinary of birds, was held fast by the unflinching gaze of her Beloved? Do we?

Now I can also certainly imagine that Mrs. Doolittle had her moments. There must have been times she felt very lost in her own darkness. Wingless. Trapped on her narrow bed. And, yet, she seemed to find flight…to be free.

How can this be?

Perhaps we find a hint in Jesus’ words in the Gnostic Gospel, The Dialogue of the Savior, “You cannot see the light unless you stand in the darkness.” In fact, how is it we can see the light at all without the darkness? How could Mrs. Doolittle have known the freedom of flight without also having felt grounded and helpless? It would seem to me, that such freedom does not come from the release from darkness but, rather, from standing in, for in such moments, we break out to find our freedom not in spite of, but, because of.

Still breaking out requires a choice on our part. As the Psalmist sings, Open my eyes that I may see, we too, like Mrs. Doolittle, must choose to allow our eyes to focus so we may see, right there in the darkness, the beacon of light closest of all to us.

For, in such moments, the most blessed thing happens…Suddenly, we see the very eye of God looking back at us. Watching over us. It’s why Meister Eckhart said, “The eye with which I see God is the same eye with which God sees me.”

And, though wingless in a dark night…we take flight with the sparrows…

Singing…

Happy and free.

I used to hate Christmas.  Well, not Christmas really.  Just what it seemed it had all come to mean, especially after the kids were grown, and there was no more special magic building up to Christmas morning.  What seemed left was a non-negotiable requirement to shop, spend, wrap, mail and oh, by the way, do it all with a spirit of joy, peace and love.  Sure I would think trying hard to hold off the low simmer of resentment brewing just under the surface. Whose idea was this anyway? I would silently complain feeling quite certain someone must be responsible for my checkbook going red, pants bulging from overeating and stress stealing me away into that just get it done zone.  Certainly there were moments that seemed to make it all worthwhile.  But, still, I would silently celebrate when it had all passed, even as I would try to ignore that ever so subtle sense of sadness.  This is not what Christmas should be about!  Something’s off.

It was.  And, it was me.

So, in recent years, my husband and I have made a concerted effort to make Christmas our own again and, with enthusiastic intention, have encouraged our family to join in our revolution to reclaim the mystery or, at least, our sanity.  Along the way, we’ve tried different things.  One year we asked that everyone bring a contribution to our Christmas dinner as an expression of our gift to one another. Worked fine until we discovered that enchiladas did not go so well with pumpkin soup.  Another year we suggested we all give only handmade presents until we remembered that we were the only ones with flexible time, or perhaps even the inclination, to enthusiastically create such gifts complete with all the joyful trimmings.

Then, this Christmas, something happened and I found myself totally caught up in that something.  Maybe it was decorating the tiny jewelry box I was drawn to give my beautiful granddaughter miles away with her favorite Bible saying.  Quite grandma-looking but what fun I had!  Or going on a mission to find that most-special calendar, the one I give my oldest daughter every year.  Yes!  Found it!  Or having to get just the right frames for those special pictures of my younger daughter and son-in-law with my beloved granddaughter.  Mission accomplished!  And, hearing a passing comment by my son-in-law just a week before Christmas.  Could I possibly find it and could it possibly get here on time?  Yes!  Amazing!  How in the world could this get any more fun??

And, oh my, watching my beautiful grandson, on Christmas Day, wanting to listen to the book I’d recorded for him, over and over, while his other high tech toys lay waiting.  Yes, this was when I absolutely knew I was in heaven – no question – sweetly confirmed a little later by a heart-stopping request from my younger daughter as she cut tomatoes for the Cesar salad.

But, still there was more.  This year I could not pass a Salvation Army jingle without giving, a little surprised by that lump in my throat.  A not serious, yet unavoidable, trip to the doctor let me know that the visit was only for me in a minor way.  I had really been sent on a secret Santa mission.  Oh, thank you Beloved.  I accept!  And, then being told to give something I’ve long had on my altar to an extended relative.  This one gave me pause.  Really?  Are you sure?  And then I could only smile.  Of course, You are sure!  I’m the only one questioning here!  Ok.  Done!

But, perhaps, the most special of all was finding that last minute stocking stuffer for my husband.  Oh, I knew he’d love it.  What I didn’t know was that it would instantly bring him back to a sweet memory from his childhood remembering his mom having the exact same item.  Only two days earlier we had talked of his mom, long passed, over our morning coffee.

Oh no!  Christmas can’t be over!  No!  There must be a way to make this feeling last all year long…

Oh…yes…that is the point isn’t it…

Now, my only last concern.  How will I deck my hammock out with all those boughs of holly?  But wait…I’m remembering…

All things are possible to him who believes.  Amen.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

…and greater works than these shall ye do. John 14:12 

Once there was a little girl who went grocery shopping with her mother.  At the checkout, she impulsively thought she might help bag up some of the groceries.  Seeing her enthusiastic efforts, an older gentleman working there as a bagger smiled at her and handed her a nickel telling her she had done a good job.  Thirty plus years later, the grown woman would say that she had kept the coin in her small jewelry box until well after she had graduated from college.  It was a reminder to her of how the smallest things make the greatest impact.  That it really wasn’t about receiving the money.  It was about having been recognized, seen, and acknowledged.

Now, I can imagine that the incident was quickly forgotten by the grocery store bagger.  But to the little girl it was a gift for a lifetime.  Oh my.  So often when we think of helping or serving others, we may wonder what we have to offer.  We may feel we have little in the way of abilities, time, money, resources.  Yet, what if none of these things really mattered?  In fact, what if our well-conceived concerns were actually getting in the way of our experiencing the Grace of true giving?  Did the bagger in the grocery store need some special talent or extended amount of time?  And, I do believe that all he needed in the way of money was a nickel.  Can we imagine that all we may need is something as un-noteworthy as a nickel to impact another for a life time?  We can when we remember, as the little girl would reflect years later, that the gift was really not about the nickel at all.

What if when Jesus said in John 14:12, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also, and greater works than these shall ye do, he was actually pointing us away from the standard notions of what we may imagine a great deed or miracle to look like and toward the realization that the true miracle may sometimes be just a small coin, given in gratitude and recognition, to a small pair of hands?

And, what if, all that was required of us to see the light of day in God’s holy night, to become such humble instruments of Grace, was to stand empty, silent and still, knowing that at any moment God beyond our understanding might breathe through us some unassuming deed for some unsuspecting heart…perhaps never for us to know the silent miracle left behind?

Do you have a nickel?  In our Temple, there is a small prayer bowl filled with nickels.  Take one or bring one from home and put it in your pocket.  Pray it becomes a small reminder of your covenant with the Beloved, to stand ready to serve in ways you know not.    

For, Graciously, then, without your even knowing, greater works shall ye do. 

Blessings this holiday season and always.

On the piano in our living room sits my favorite picture of my grandmother.  It was her 70^th birthday and she’s sitting in her stuffed rocker with her legs tucked up under her and arms folded across her chest.  And smiling that I’m so into trouble smile!  They say getting old is not for wimps.  I can relate.  But, in the face of the inevitable, I do believe I had the best of role models.  Recently, I had the great blessing and surprise to see her face again and I saw myself in a whole new way.

It happened in an exercise Tree of Life minister Rev. Amy Wood brought to us.  We were asked to simply stare at our reflection in a small mirror to just see if we could notice the Beloved there.  My first response was, Oh my, I’m looking old! Then, looking closer, I noticed the new, just barely forming, lines on each side of my mouth and suddenly, like a jolt from the past, right there starting back at me was my grandmother’s face.  And, in that exact moment, I could feel my ecstatic heart skip a beat as I realized that in not too long a time I, too, will have my grandmother’s face.

Yes, ecstatic!  You see, my grandmother was my bus driver.  What…you say?  Well, when I used to teach psychology, a study I enjoyed relaying to my students was one that followed a number of children, who had come from impoverished childhoods, into adulthood.  They wanted to find out what made some children grow up to repeat harmful familial patterns and others not and what variables made the difference.  One variable that showed up more often in the group that did not grow up to repeat harmful patterns was the experience of having had someone in their childhood who had been a very positive influence.  One man interviewed said this person for him had been his bus driver.  Jonathan, did you forget your lunch today?  Where is your coat?  Did you forget to put on your socks?  The man said that his fondest childhood memories were getting to see his bus driver every day.  His saddest days were when the weather was bad and school was canceled.

My grandmother was my bus driver.  Every summer, I got to spend time at my grandmother’s house and those times saved me.  And, as I have been sitting with the memories, what feels most poignant is what was not there, what was not necessary for her to so easily win the award for best bus driver ever.  There were no long walks together.  She never sat on the floor to play with me.  There were no toys, let alone special ones.  No full schedule with multiple activities designed to stimulate my developmental growth.  There was no set bedtime routine.  No intimate conversations or special moments of deep connection.  No special activities or projects.

No, none of the usual things we often think need to be present for building intimate relationships were there.  Ah, but what was there was that feeling I always had around her.  She always seemed happy to see me, just happy to have me around.  She would sometimes, just haphazardly, call me Baby.  No one had ever called me a special name.  So, every year I would count the months, weeks and then, finally, days until school was out so we could start heading back to my grandmother’s house.  Yep, she was my bus driver.

Then, one summer as I, my mom and other relatives were sitting around the old dining table, I witnessed the humanity of my grandmother for the first time.  I was a young woman by then and perhaps could then see what, of course, had always been there.  My mom happened to make some simple comment and, suddenly, my grandmother lashed out at her in exactly the same tone and language I had often heard growing up from my mom.  And, in a flash, I understood.  Later, after much personal inner work, I would come to have great compassion for my dear mom because, in part, I realized that she had never had a bus driver.  And, from that time on, my grandmother, who would remain my bus driver, lived ever more tenderly in my heart as I came to see the depth of those lines etched into her long lived face.

I am certain it is designed by Grace that, for those children picked up by bus drivers, perfection is not a job requirement.

I like to stress that we each have a role to play in the divine plan.  You will often hear me talk of the importance of doing our unique work in the world.  That we each have a sacred contract to fulfill.  I do believe so.  And, each day I go about my work with a deep and abiding gratitude and firm commitment to just being the best instrument I can be.  And, nothing feels more important.

Yet, in this moment, I am wondering.  Just wondering, aside from any good I may be able to leave behind, if anything could be sweeter than imagining that perhaps, just perhaps, one day one of my beautiful grandchildren may look in a mirror…long after I am gone…and, suddenly smiling, say…

I have my grandmother’s face.

Dr. George Washington Carver, 1861-1943, agricultural chemist and agronomist, is probably best known for discovering 300 new uses for the peanut and 150 new uses for the sweet potato. What is less known is exactly how he extracted all those new uses. Once, when asked how he had accomplished such a feat, he replied, “Here [his laboratory] is what I call God’s Little Workshop. No books are ever brought in here. What is the need of books? Here I talk to the peanut and the sweet potato and the clays of the hills and they talk back to me. Here great wonders are brought forth.” And, when asked how it was he could get the peanut or sweet potato to give up its secrets, he replied, “You have to love it enough. Anything will give up its secrets if you love it enough. I have found that when I silently commune with people they give up their secrets also – if you love them enough.” [From The Man Who Talks With the Flowers by Glenn Clark]

Recently, I bundled up to catch one of the season’s last slumbers in my hammock. I got to thinking about George Washington Carver as I gazed up at my familiar friends, the leaves. There they were, once again, just dancing above my head across that deep blue sky soaking up the sun’s rays. I thought about all the times I had reached up toward them, as if I could touch them with my fingers, yearning to join in their play. How I have loved those leaves.

So, I decided to try it out. What secrets might the leaves share with me today? Silently, I asked which leaf might be willing to be the spokesperson. It didn’t take long for one to emerge. As I held it in my gaze, I imagined it in my heart receiving all the love and gratitude I have long felt for its simple presence in my life. I am listening.

And, the following secrets were revealed…

We were born of the seed from Father Sun and nurtured in the womb of Mother Earth. When Father Sun illumines us, our differences are revealed which we all quite enjoy. You see, even though some of us may appear similar, there are actually no two of us alike. We are each unique like snowflakes in winter. We are fed each day from Mother Earth through the deep roots of our tree. We receive all we need. Sometimes our brother, wind, comes to play and blows through us. And, sometimes our sister rain comes to shower us with the water of life. From above and below, and from all around, we are nurtured and cared for.

We have a short life compared to you but, unlike you, we delight in our coming end. Why? Oh, because this is when we actually become the most extraordinary! Some of us will turn bright red, others golden and still others a deep orange. Some will delight in keeping their forever green. We never know how it will be. We just know it will be beautiful.

And, when it is time, we will gently let go of our branch and float down, back home, to Mother Earth. You see, she needs us to make good soil to grow new trees and to make more leaves like us. In this way, we get to be a part of, and live on through, all the leaves to come. Just like the veins that weave through each of us, we join the great web uniting all life. While you may fear death as a separation from life, we know that death unites us to all life.

Know, too, that we see you each time you come to play with us. And, together, we weave into the web of life all the love we enjoy.

And, all are blessed.

The leaf told me so…

It feels quite fortuitous to me. We have just celebrated the 50th year anniversary of the I Have a Dream speech and we now find ourselves as a nation forced to confront the fundamental question that the life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. so courageously yearned to answer: that is, how do we confront injustice, wrongdoing and evil without becoming unjust, wrongful and evil ourselves? How do we show up and act with clarity and compassion when wrongdoing appears on our doorstep instead of reacting with vengeance and retaliation to, sadly, become that which we would confront?

Make no mistake. Action is not a choice. Even inaction has its consequences. This is why Krishna in the beloved Bhagavad Gita does not coddle Arjuna when he sees him falter in the face of his duty to confront the injustice before him. Stand up scorcher of foes! This faintheartedness does not suit you! But, like us, Arjuna struggles with his inner enemies, doubts, fears and rationalizations and, as a result is, momentarily, unable to see clearly the path before him to right action.

Right action. Theologians and religious scholars have long debated the meaning of right action. It is hard to define yet, when we see it, we know it instantly by how it makes us feel. Instead of feeling the contraction of digging in, defending our point of view, acting against, we feel an expansion that provides both focus and freedom as we begin acting for.

Right action is able to transform actions of injustice to serve the common good of all. A good example was Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. declaring that Negroes would no longer agree to sit at the back of the bus. Averting the injustice would no longer be tolerated. Action was required. Yet, he warned against self-motivated righteousness. Instead, he preached tolerance and patience for his white brothers – even in the face of the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church that killed four children. In the face of injustice, he chose right action, to stand for justice, compassion and equal treatment for all.

Today, it is we who are confronted with images of dead children among many innocent victims of ruthless violence and injustice. What will we do? How will we respond? What an important opportunity to examine just what right action might look like when such injustice strikes. I invite us to explore together: What can we do here, as a community, to help promote right action when injustice strikes our brothers and sisters around the world? How may our voices for right action be heard?

And, let’s remember that any act, no matter how small, affects the whole. Perhaps in exploring the question globally, we will also find that some of our answers begin right here at home, locally, in serving our own communities and neighbors.

We are not asking that the world be different. We are asking that, with right action, we be different. And, in being so, we create the possibility that our world could be different.

Let’s question together. Stand tall together…Join our voices in right action together…

So all God’s children…far and near…may know the meaning of…Let freedom ring!

This past weekend I was blessed to preside over the memorial service and grave site ceremony for someone I’ve long loved. After the memorial service, we made our way some distance to where the burial would take place. It was a beautiful cemetery, one I had not seen before. There were no raised headstones. So, at first glance, it seemed more like being in an expansive beautiful park than being in a cemetery. As we slowly made our way around the winding curves to the burial site, just taking in the scenery, suddenly we saw a beautiful doe grazing a ways ahead of us.

But oh, this was no ordinary sighting. Soon the doe, seemingly unaware of us, just leaped into the air as if it were having its own private joy party! Guests, perhaps, welcome but not necessary! Some part of me knew I had just witnessed the most blessed of gifts. And, following the hearse, the message could not have been more vivid. On our Temple wall, there’s a small sign that says it all, Don’t postpone joy!

The laundry will get done. The house cleaned. Our jobs will carve out our days. The ‘to do’ lists will naturally rejuvenate. But, what about joy? We’ll make our appointments, transport loved ones, cook dinner. But, did we forget joy? Can we imagine our necessity driven, well choreographed, days suddenly punctuated with spontaneous leaps? Just the thought makes me giggle! After all, there are only so many days, hours, minutes, breaths left until it is we who are slowing making our way around to our own burial.

So, in the mean time, let’s savor the gift of the doe. Let’s just imagine joy, more often, having its way with us and…ummmmm…leaping us alive…!

I am still giggling since witnessing that leap. So, I wrote a poem about it. May it bless your day with imagining…with that pure, unbridled, uncensored joy, everywhere around us…

I do believe it’s what we’re made of…

You leaped into my heart when you didn’t know I was looking
and now my Soul has become your playground.
Suddenly, I am unable to stop grinning
and this spring in my step is attracting attention.
You, my deer, have completely taken me over
and I remain clueless in joy with you…
unable to fathom the blessed fate of my captivity.
Possessed by you, I am set free.
In the silent wonder of you, I sing aloud.
And now, in the heart of you,
I soar.

Signed,
Clueless

I recognize the feeling. Caught. Breathless. Remembering. Forgetting. Some unexpected and unforeseen yearning fulfilled. Suspended from knowing. Free falling, yet cradled, into the sweet abyss of unknowing.

I have been here before…when I first heard the long version of the Gayatri mantra in Sanskrit, the Kal Akal mantra in Gurmukhi, the Lord’s Prayer in Aramaic…and now, the 23rd Psalm in Hebrew. Last sounds before sleep. First sounds upon waking. And, each day carving deeper and deeper. I can’t remember how I was when I began and I don’t know where I may land. Yet, it no longer matters as I am held fast in the sweet care of roee, my shepherd.

And, I want nothing more but to be with You…
To lie down in the soft green pastures; to walk beside the still waters…
For only You can restore my soul and lead me in the paths of truth and Love.
As I walk through this valley of the shadow of death, I will fear not for You are with me…
Your rod and staff are a comfort to me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil.
My cup overflows.
Surely, goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life…
As I dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

And, like a bell echoes on the summer’s breeze, each sound calls me home from distant pastures and, together, they sing to me softly chiming in the wind…

A kind of lullaby known only to the Beloved.

And, I…I am rocked to sleep…even as I am waking…

Kosi r’vaya…
Kosi r’vaya…
My cup overflows…

For a long time we didn’t even know her name. We just knew that every Friday morning we’d get to hear that familiar voice, “Good morning! Welcome to Dunkin Donuts. May I take your order?” Stopping by was part of our weekly routine on the drive down to watch our grandbaby. And, over time, we got to be regulars. “Hi guys! How ya doin’?” she’d say handing us our coffee and sandwiches. And, we’d pull away smiling. It always made me chuckle how good I felt just driving through getting those sandwiches.

Then, one Friday, a strange voice. “Well”, we thought, “she’ll probably be at the window.” But, she wasn’t. “Gee, hope she’s not sick. Maybe she’s off today. We’ll see her next week.” But, we didn’t. And, not the next week either. Finally, we had to admit the inevitable – our sweet dose of Friday morning delight was gone forever from our lives. Would seem like such a small thing. It was and it wasn’t.

We all have people in our daily lives we see often, yet casually. But most of these encounters simply pass by unnoticed. They don’t linger. So, what is it about the ones that do? Funny, we knew absolutely nothing about our Friday morning server and each encounter was simply a replay of the same ole few seconds of rote dialogue. Yet, here she is still with me today.

As I sit with it, this lingering delight I feel seems to have something to do with kindness. Such a simple thing. But, she made us feel, with just that quick glancing smile, right there in the moment, that there was all the time in the world for us. Made us feel like something a little special was going on right there at the drive through. Imagine that!

Could it be that kindness is what is left when all else falls away? And, in those moments, could it be that simply our presence is all that is needed? Kindness, after all, requires no background check or personal knowledge. No special conditions or ritual. No particular reason. No long conversation or intimate understanding.

No, it seems kindness is the language of the Beloved so, graciously, is complete unto itself leaving only delight in its wake. We may not be able to predict when it will find us but, instantly, we know it has as we are not left where we were found. Even right in the middle of the most mundane circumstances we can find ourselves suddenly smitten and smiling.

Smitten and smiling indeed! Now, just imagine a world so smitten! I can see the new national campaign now – our server’s smiling face front and center and the slogan: America Runs On Delight! And, in fine print just below, the disclaimer: Warning – Contains Unrefined Kindness ~ May Cause Uncontrollable Smiling.

Think I’ll follow our server’s lead and go out and spread a little of that delight.

“Hi there, how ya do’in?”