— Margot Fonteyn

There is genius inside each of us, just waiting to be released into the world.  It hides behind our humdrum routines, it is masked by our fears of inadequacy, it is halted by our fears of being too wonderful, it is waiting to be born.  There is genius in the seed of anything that we grow.  Think of the way two tiny cells combine to form the zygote that one day will become a new person — genius!  Think of the way those cells divide and migrate and dance in formation to become the tiny eyes and ears and arms and legs that pop and burst into being until they take on the shape of a human being — genius beyond our wildest dreams!

Genius is such a natural thing, and nature is filled with the magic that spawns such incredible things.  We study genetics and learn that the offspring of two parents carries the traits of its mother and father — hair color, eye color, familiar features that are handed down from one generation to another.  We see that we have inherited these visible traits, but do we consider that there may be less obvious sorts of inheritance that define who we are?  If we are children spawned by the magic — the genius — of the universe, then we also are its heirs.  We carry within us the magic that goes beyond what we can touch or see or think.  We carry within us the genius that can touch our world with invisible magical fingers and call something new into existence.

We see genius in others as we look beyond ourselves to the world outside us and see the changes sparked by the magic they liberate.  We marvel at their ability to bring to life the magic that once lived only in their dreams; and then we say, “but I am not creative.”  We bury the magic under all our insecurities and hide it away, but still it longs to be born.  There is genius inside each of us, just waiting to be released from its hiding place.  Bringing it to life is not about being brilliant or talented.  It is about trusting our inheritance and letting our magic come out of hiding and into the light where we can see it.  We are genius, because we are spawned by genius.  We are magical and beautiful and alive.  Let your genius show.

— Oliver Goldsmith

Philosophers are just full of wisdom about people struggling and facing adversity.  They tell us that it is in the overcoming of adversity that we discover our own strength, and it would be difficult to argue with that.  We need to be careful, though, not to become only philosophical when we observe the struggles that go on around us.  We must use the wisdom, the strength, and the courage we have gained in our own life struggles to discern when and how to enter into the adversity of another.

There is a lot of talk lately about boundaries — about the wisdom in understanding that each person walks a path through life that is designed to teach the lessons he or she must learn in order to achieve the purpose to which each is born.  Some folks, it seems, use this as an excuse for being fair-weather friends.  They hang around only when friends are navigating calm seas and disappear when the waves grow treacherous.  ”It is the path she is meant to walk,” they say, “and it has nothing to do with me.”

The first statement may be true, but we must develop the discernment that allows us to stand by a friend in the midst of struggle.  We do not need to solve their problems, but sometimes our own experience allows us to offer suggestions, encouragement, or simply a hand that helps him to regain his footing after a stumble.  Often great things are born of facing adversity, and we should honor the struggle in ourselves and in others, allowing it to unfold in ways that increase our awareness of our strength; but we should not forget to use what we already have won in our life battles to make the struggle less difficult.  It is out of great struggle that wisdom is born and the greatest wisdom we can own or share is the love that tells another person, “you can do it.”

— Jim Henson

“Don’t be so childish.”  How often do you hear someone shut down a moment of unbridled joy with these words?

We all start as children and, alas, we all grow up and become adults.  Some of us may be more sophisticated than others, whatever that really means, but I do believe and I do hope that inside each of us there still resides a child.  I wish I could understand why people get confused about being childish and being child-like.  Certainly, we wouldn’t want to live in a world where we all ran around making rude noises and spitting in each other’s milk.  We wouldn’t want to deal with the childish squabbles where differences are solved only when one of us takes the ball and goes home.  We wouldn’t want to live in the fear of turning off the light and going to sleep because there might be a monster under the bed.

On the other hand, our world is made infinitely better when we encounter the child-like spirit that lives inside us.  Sometimes we appreciate it even more when we see it in a friend and don’t run the risk of being criticized for our immaturity.  What makes our child-like personality so endearing is that without rude noises, she knows how to laugh heartily and without embarrassment and let her joy overflow.  She knows that there is no need for squabbles when we all agree that everyone should play and be treated fairly.  She is wise enough to know that the world does contain monsters but that her own love and strength and faith gives her the courage to turn out the light and sleep, knowing that all will be well.

Perhaps it is the child inside who calls us to live from our heart.  When she looks at global issues, she reminds us not to purposely hurt anyone.  She reminds us to include all sorts of people in our sense of fairness and take the time to learn about our differences and figure out rules that make the game fair for everyone.  She reminds us to stand up and be heard when we speak out about injustice — she reminds us that we have the ability to slay the dragons and assure that children everywhere need not be afraid of the dark.

Let your child come out to play today.  Celebrate life.  Or maybe a birthday…

— L. Frank Baum

It’s raining again this morning.  Not the exciting rain that crashes and splashes while the thunder booms.  Not the cleansing rain that seems to land by the bucketful and washes the remaining cinders of winter down the gutters to the storm drains.  Today’s rain is the sort that says, “yes, it’s still raining, half-heartedly drowning any plans you might have had to enjoy the day outdoors.  Today’s rain is not a good cleansing cry for the universe.  It is more like the tears that continue to leak after you think you can’t cry for one more second.  The world seems a bit blue today, and I really could use a bit of sunshine.

There must be something going on in the universe that conjures up such weather today.  It matches with my awareness of the sorrow that lives all around me today, but I would like to see whether a ray or two of light might allow me to leave this solemn place.  In the past two days, I have heard sorrowful news from three people I love dearly.  Three of them.  They struggle and rail and thrash and cry in the face of what seems like mountains of sadness and grief and injury and fear.  And now the rain chimes in and trickles down those mountains with so little effort that it doesn’t even cut a path through their sorrow.

The optimist in me wants to say that we need sorrowful days now and then in order to appreciate the happy ones we take for granted.  The friend in me would like to finally find the magic wand I could wave to make the mountains disappear and give my loved ones a flat, clear path that will return them to the land of tranquility.  The strong person who dwells in the center of my heart is thankful for the dreary drizzle that lets me linger for just a while in the feelings that seem so permanent for my friends.  I feel blessed to be included in such a sacred process as the spilling of tears.  I feel honored to enter the holy space where another human being sits exposed and vulnerable.  I feel in awe of being trusted to enter into the sorrow of another and simply sit there for a time as the rain mimics her tears and the universe tells her so eloquently that she is not alone.

It takes real faith in times of great sorrow to simply keep breathing.  Inhale, and exhale.  Sometimes it is all we can do.  Are you feeling blue today?  Remember to start breathing again.  The rain will not fall forever.

— William Shakespeare

My morning walk was a squishy one today.  A gentle rain fell last night and left the whole world fresh and sparkling and clean.  The earthworms crawled to the surface to see it, and the robins came to dine on a breakfast feast of water and worms.  As you probably can tell, I really love the smells, the sights and the sounds of a wet morning.  My camera was drawn to the precious beads of moisture that clung to each blade of grass and sparkled everywhere.  Water is something that often jumps to the front of my mind.  The oil spills and stories of contamination that threaten this life-giving resource have served to increase my gratitude for the absolute miracle of turning on the tap and filling a glass with water — beautiful, clean, abundant, taken-for-granted water.

Today, as I watched the droplets fall from the tall grass to the tops of my boots, I thought of water in a different context.  This Spring, through my granddaughter’s basketball coach, I became aware of a new company that combines the concepts of water and mercy in an exciting and original way.  Humankind Water states that its mission is, “humbly attacking the biggest physical problem in the world today” — bringing clean drinking water to the places where water-borne illness takes the lives of as many as 10,000 children per day.  How are they planning to attack the water problem?  Very simply — they are fighting water with water.  Their plan is to use pure spring water as both a symbol and a revenue producer, selling it to those of us who are blessed with water in abundant supply and then using 100% of their net profits to take clean water to the places where it is only a dream.

I am pretty much a homebody, and the thought of traveling to some distant locale in order to set up a water system never even crosses my mind.  On the other hand, now that Humankind Water has won the Walmart “Get On The Shelf” contest, I will soon be able to stop by a store in my neighborhood and buy the water that will send money flowing to the places where it is most desperately needed.  I hope you will stop by Humankind Water’s site today and read about their initiative.  For those of us who strive to bring healing to the world one small act at a time, this is a perfect opportunity to make a small change in our buying habits that will help put a dent in a problem so large that we might just walk away feeling inadequate to make a difference.  How about it?  Are you thirsty?

— Crystal Jones

So much has been written about mothers and about Mother’s Day!  As I searched for something profound to quote at the beginning of my Mother’s Day post, I suddenly realized that I needed look no further than my own family.  My daughter-in-law, Crystal, became a mother five years ago this month.  She was nineteen years old when her daughter was born — a baby with medical issues that took our breath away — and she rolled into motherhood as though she was born to the job.  Another daughter followed the first, sixteen months later, and this summer she and my son, Daniel, will celebrate the arrival of their only son.  In a heartfelt note to her firstborn, Crystal speaks to the universal truth known by mothers everywhere — the truth that as we relinquish our own childhood to the next generation in the instant that the baby leaves our womb, we immediately become students at the feet of that tiny master who calls us to be more than we ever could imagine.

Not every one of us is called to the challenge of seeing a child through numerous surgeries, but each of us who wears the title, “Mother,” has experienced the realization that the more we nurture and teach and guide the little ones, the more we become something extraordinary and beautiful and strong.  Who could have imagined as we grew through our teenage years that we could break free from the direction of our own parents and become all at once independent and humbled as we accept the holy task of caring for another human life.  As we set out to grow and nurture and love our little ones, we find that the length of the list of things we want to give them is not nearly so important as the depth of our desire to live from our heart and to wrap every single minute of teaching in the love of a mother — the strong, the beautiful, the tireless, the enduring love that survives every challenge we face — simply because it is what we do.

Today we will celebrate sixty-seven years of motherhood for my mother-in-law.  As many of us as can make it will assemble in the small church next door to the home where my husband grew up.  Sixty-seven years, nine children, twenty-some grandchildren, and thirty-some great-grandchildren later, I am sure that Joyce would agree with the words of her grandson’s wife.  She would nod wisely and say that all the while that she was teaching her children, they were making her into the woman she is today — a mother of infinite love, compassion, tenderness, strength, and humility at being blessed with the gift of some tiny lives to grow into the next generation.

To mothers everywhere today, I send you this wish:  May you take a moment to reflect on all your children have taught you.  May you take a moment to think of the ways you have used those lessons to increase the depth of mothering you have returned to your children.  May you be held in the esteem that honors the worth of being both teacher and student — of being Mother.

— Jiddu Krishnamurti

The thought passes through my mind all the time that any small act of love increases Love in our world.  Any small act of peace amplifies a spirit of Peace that pervades our orderly universe.  I seldom think about violence, because I like to think that it is not a part of who I am.  I would never think of raising my fist and bringing it down to hurt another person.  I would never wish to see the blood of an enemy spilled out of anger or revenge, so violence is not my problem, right?

We have heard it said that the opposite of love is not hatred, it is indifference.  Perhaps we need to take another look at the antonyms for violence.  At first glance, I would say that the opposite of violence is peace — or maybe the opposite of violence is compassion.  Perhaps the definition of violence lies far deeper than the breaking of skin, the hurting of feelings, or even the obedience that comes from being afraid.  These are definitions that grow out of the individual ego’s understanding of the self as the center of meaning in the universe.

If we look at the larger picture, we see that violence is very much a part of our world.  There are violent storms that throw trees to the ground and splinter the things we have constructed for our convenience — homes, buildings, roadways.  There are species of animals that prey upon others in order to survive.  The food chain is filled with violence, but it also is part of the order that keeps the universe in balance.  We accept that violence is a part of order in the natural world.  We try to build storm-proof structures, but we do not try to eliminate the storm.  We shelter our vulnerable pets from predatory wild creatures, but we do not eradicate a species in order to save another.

Violence becomes a problem when we make it personal.  When we step outside our place in the order of things and assume a role that overrides the love and the peace in order that we can dominate another, we commit violence.  It may not draw blood or leave another person cringing in pain, but it destroys the balance that makes all of life work in a predictable and logical way.  Perhaps the opposite of violence is order; and it is only when we step outside of our own personal agenda that we can see the truth about our concern for undoing violence among people.  It is only when we remember that our role — whatever that may be — is essential to the survival of the whole beauty of creation that we can begin to serve order and not violence.

— Martha Graham

Don’t hold back!  What is stopping you right now from being everything you possibly could be?  Has someone convinced you that you should be more like somebody else in order to be acceptable or to fit in?  Have you considered how truly funny that notion really is?

I love to work jigsaw puzzles, and what makes them fun and exciting is the way that each of the thousand or more pieces fits into only one space.  It adds its shape and its blend of colors to the surrounding pieces; and only when each one contributes its uniqueness does the big picture come to life.  We are just like those puzzle pieces.  We are filled with purpose and color and shape and uniqueness.  Can you imagine how the whole of the universe must suffer when we drab down our color or sand off our edges in order to be just like everyone else?  A puzzle with missing pieces falls short of creating its most beautiful picture.

Each of us is made to fit into that picture, not in the same way as everyone else, but by fulfilling our specific purpose for being alive.  Let us dance through life, embracing the differences in others and appreciating each individual for the contribution that she is destined to bring to us all.  Before we can truly love and appreciate all that the universe has to offer, we must trust the gifts that we have been given.  We must grow them and practice them and let them be seen in all their color and in all their magnificence.  Let us walk today in living color.  Let us sing the notes we have been given to sing and let them blend with the symphony of life. Let us remember that feeling small serves no purpose unless we can remember that our tiny contribution is essential to everything that exists.

Do not leave the world wanting for what you have to offer.  Without you, it might never come to be.  Remember that each of us speaks the same Truth, but each voice adds depth and beauty to the message.  You are the message, and so am I.  Together we can multiply our Truth.

— Karl Barth

Theologians write long dissertations about being grateful, which — I think — must be related to “grace-filled.”  Etiquette experts urge us to write eloquent thank-you notes to those who have bestowed upon us the gifts of property or entertainment.  If we are aware of kindness or good fortune we have been shown by another, it is only natural that we would want to find a way to express our gratitude.  As the person whose home often has been the gathering place for large parties of people — family, friends, and whatever strangers might find their way to our celebration of life — I can say absolutely that Karl Barth is correct.  The simplest and most powerful expression of gratitude is joy.

When I host a large crowd at a picnic or party, my favorite thing is to overhear someone say to a friend, “I’m really having a good time!” or “This is delicious!”  There is nothing like the laughter that overflows when people delight in the company of others and share the joy of being together.  Little can compare with a small child saying, “you have a fun house,” and wanting to know, “can I come and play here again?”  I enjoy a nice card or note.  I am flattered when someone asks me to share a recipe.  But the nicest thank-you of all is just seeing others overflow with joy as they share in some time we have set aside for their pleasure.

I can’t help but think that the whole universe is touched in the same way when we laugh with delight over being alive.  I can’t help but believe that the God who created us all feels most appreciated when our joy overflows.  Express your gratitude today by being joyful.  You may find that it becomes a habit; and there is no better way to live than in the anticipation of joy.

Cool silver

Beads of crystal

Cling, suspended

From the tips

Of each

Quivering

Growing

Leaf.

♦

Cool silver

Beads of crystal

Glisten as the

Sun ascends,

Sparkling

Twinkling

Diamonds.

♦

Cool silver

Beads of crystal

Falling from

The steel gray

Heavens

Raining

Life.

©Pamela Stead Jones 2012