Category: Choices we make

On keeping your saw sharp

On By MaryIn Choices we make, sustainabilityLeave a comment

Well it seems that I am obsessed with balance these days. But not really. I just keep finding these stories, and they just seem so right.  This one comes to you from Paul Brian Campbell’s People for Others blog. It really is a wonderful blog to subscribe to – every morning he posts something wonderful. Sometimes a musical interlude, sometimes thoughts and reflections, sometimes a wisdom story that just makes me think.  Go check him out! http://peopleforothers.loyolapress.com/

 

It was the annual lumberjack competition and the final was between an older, experienced lumberjack and a younger, stronger lumberjack. The rule of the competition was quite simply who could fell the most trees in a day was the winner.

The younger lumberjack was full of enthusiasm and went off into the wood and set to work straight away. He worked all through the day and all through the night. As he worked, he could hear the older lumberjack working in another part of the forest and he felt more and more confident with every tree he felled that he would win. At regular intervals throughout the day, the noise of trees being felled coming from the other part of the forest would stop.

The younger lumberjack took heart from this, knowing that this meant the older lumberjack was taking a rest, whereas he could use his superior youth and strength and stamina to keep going. At the end of the competition, the younger lumberjack felt confident he had won. He looked in front of him at the piles of felled trees that were the result of his superhuman effort.

At the medal ceremony, he stood on the podium confident and expecting to be awarded the prize of champion lumberjack. Next to him stood the older lumberjack who looked surprisingly less exhausted than he felt. When the results were read out, he was devastated to hear that the older lumberjack had chopped down significantly more trees than he had. He turned to the older lumber jack and said: “How can this be? I heard you take a rest every hour and I worked continuously through the night. What’s more, I am stronger and fitter than you old man.”

The older lumberjack turned to him and said: “Every hour, I took a break to rest and sharpen my saw.”

 

Neuroplasticity and flying like and eagle

On By MaryIn change, Choices we makeLeave a comment

Neuroplasticity. It is an odd word, and an even odder word to use to begin a blog that promises in some kind of way to get around to social justice or human rights.  Neuroplasticity … plastic brain? Well, yes, kind of exactly. It is a newish area in brain studies that is very quietly shouting out that are brains are not as fixed as we were once told they were.  Remember high school biology class when we were taught that by then our brains were our brains and what you had was all that you were going to have? That drinking alcohol killed off brain cells, and so you should pretty much expect that drunk and stupid would inevitably go hand in hand? Well, now neuroscience is discovering that it ain’t necessarily so.

Now, I’m not saying drunk and stupid don’t go hand in hand, there is way too much evidence – scientific and anecdotal – to document that, but I am maybe saying it is the transient effect of the alcohol, not the permanent death of brain cells. But, wait, that is not really the point of this anyway. Back to neuroplasticity.

Neuroplasticity says that the brain is capable of healing itself, that the brain is capable of reshaping itself, literally so. If only we work at it diligently and in the right way. And isn’t is always the diligently and in the right way part that is the kick in the butt!  Trying something once, failing pitifully and giving up is no longer an options. Now it seems it really is much more that you have no longer failed so much as you have begun to succeed – if only you are willing to keep trying. And yes, trying with diligence and in the right way. Because, remember the definition of insanity: repeatedly doing the same thing over and over and expecting to get different results. And then there was Thomas Edison who would conduct thousands of experiments on an idea he had for an invention until he got it right. And that is the model here – Edison’s experiments: he would try something, fail, analyze the failure, learn from it, and then come back at it another way, tweaking (tweaking not twerking) until he got it right.

The road to social justice and human rights, the road to fairness and respect for human dignity is a long road, a very, very long road. But if we approach it with diligence and in the right way, maybe looking at all of our actions as experiments in the spirit of Thomas Edison, acting, analyzing the outcomes of our efforts, learning and trying again in a slightly different way, maybe there reason for hope!

And here’s a bit of a story I found that kind of gets to that point:

Once upon a time in a far off farm in rural New Jersey, Jessica found an eagle’s egg. She didn’t know what kind of an egg is was, she just saw that it was an orphan egg that needed a home. So she picked it up and carried it home with her. When she brought it in the house, her mother shoed her out, and told her to put the egg in one of the nests in the hen house. Together they would watch and see if one of the hens would sit on the egg until it hatched.

Well, sure enough in a little while the egg hatched, and a baby eagle was born.  The eaglet was born along with a whole brood of baby chicks and grew up with then in the barn yard.  From the time he was born, through all of his life, the eagle grew up with the chicks and did everything the chicks did right along with them.  They scratched in the dirt for worms and insects, he scratched in the dirt for worms and insects. They clucked and cackled, and he clucked and cackled. They would flap their wings and fly a few feet into the air, he would flap his wings and fly just a few feet into the air.

Some years passed like this, with Jessica and her mother always keeping a close eye on the young eagle and the chickens in the yard. One day an old college friend of Jessica’s mother, Anna who worked for the Audubon Society came by the farm to visit. When she saw the eagle in the barn yard in the middle of the chickens, she was aghast.  Her first reaction was to ask if the animal was ill or injured, but it looked healthy to her. Jessica and her mother told Anna the story about the egg and the eagle growing up with the chickens, Anna got very quiet and thoughtful.  Then she proposed a road trip to Jessica and her mother, and the three of them packed a lunch and drove to Hawk Mountain Sanctuary across the river in Pennsylvania. As they walked the trails there, the three of them talked about birds and freedom. Over the horizons they saw six or seven different kinds of hawks, a kestrel, and even an eagle or two. As they drove home, Anna looked at Jessica and her mother and said, that is what an eagle’s life should be like, not scratching for bugs in the dirt.

Jessica and her mother thought about it, and realized that Anna was right, but what could they do about it? Their eagle didn’t know how to fly, not any distance, not really. But they recognized right when they saw it, and so the two of them devised a plan to teach their eagle to fly. Each day they would take the eagle to a ledge, each day slightly higher than the day before, first a table top, then a ladder, then a low roof. Each day repeatedly they would stand the eagle on the edge of the ledge and encourage him to fly. The first day the eagle fell as much as he flew, but with practice and as his wings strengthened, the eagle developed skill and confidence. And then the day came when Jessica and her mother knew it was time. They gathered their eagle into a cage, drove to Hawk Mountain, walked to the edge of one of the cliffs, and set their eagle free. As he stood on the edge of the cliff, the eagle spread his wings, lifted his head into the wind, and few off with the wind to the life he was meant to live.

Of course Jessica and her mother were sad to see their beautiful bird leave their nest. But every now and again, they are fairly certain that they see a magnificent eagle circling over their farm, floating on the winds in majestic and regal freedom and dignity.  And in those moments they feel like they too share in their eagle’s freedom.

And the point of the story? Finding your nature and living it, of course. But also that it took diligence and determination, persistent and intelligent work to make it happen.

So, may we all find our best wings! And may we all develop the resilience to learn to use them to fly!! May we all remember that even the brains of old dogs are plastic enough to always learn new tricks.

What’s a Mother to do? The Days After Mother’s Day

On By MaryIn anti-racism, Choices we makeLeave a comment

Happy belated Mother’s Day one and all!  Because even if we have not given birth, we are all some kind of mother (put the accent where you will), we are all mother’s of invention.

I recently read a blog by a friend of mine, and she got me thinking about this question: What would YOU do to save your son or daughter in a moment when he or she might be putting herself/himself in harms way?

Far too many of our sons and daughters are subject to random acts of violence and senseless acts of cruelty.  There are not enough random acts of kindness nor senseless acts of beauty to balance the scales of any act of violence or cruelty and there have been far too many acts of violence and cruelty of late. My friend Rosi is right when she says we need to change the social structures. We need to build families, churches, governments, workplaces, media, social welfare systems that foster human dignity, growth and potential, that enable people to empower themselves. And I think we also, concurrently, need to change hearts, minds and actions on the interpersonal, ordinary day level so that the building of those new social structures is conceived in love, dignity and compassion.  And, I think Mother’s Love is just a fine foundation upon which to build all of that.

Here is the blog that spurred my thinking. It comes to us from

CHARLEENALDERFER familygram’s blog https://charleenalderfer.wordpress.com/2015/05/06/whats-a-mother-to-do/.

She posted it on May 6, 2015. I thought it would be appropriate to share it today, the day after Mother’s Day.

Thank You Charleen!

WHAT’S A MOTHER TO DO?

A tall, young black male enters the frame.  He wears a hoodie and jeans and carries the ubiquitous backpack.  He turns occasionally and looks back toward the camera.  In the background is a large gathering of people.  He seems to be headed in their direction. Suddenly, a woman dressed in yellow appears in the frame.  She is moving quickly in the direction of the young man.  While clearly older than he is, she is both matronly and attractive.  Intuitively, one knows she is his mother.  As she closes the distance between them, he continues at his same pace still turning to look toward her.  When she is close enough, she grabs his hoodie and he pulls away.  It is evident that he does not want to do what she is asking.  He reaches out and she grabs his arm with one hand and with other hits him on the head.  Now, we think, he will pull free and run.  But he does not run,.  He continues to resist.  The tug of war goes on and then, slowly, he goes with her.

This street in Baltimore has been in the news for the last few weeks.  It has been the scene of protests, both peaceful a violent. This young man was going to join the protestors in a setting which had turned toward violence. His mother saw him while watching the activity on TV.  She acted on her emotion and her instinct and ran after him to bring him home.  “Violence breeds violence” has been another kind criticism.  Hitting him just perpetuates violence. As a family therapist, I believe this is true if it is persistent and becomes a way of life.  We don’t know if this is the case for this mother and son.

If that were my son, I would do whatever it takes to get him.  My first thought would be that he might become Freddie Gray –   arrested and fatally injured in a police van.  My next thought would be to get him away from angry protesters who could convince him to join them.  I would want him home and safe.  What would a mother do to make that happen?  A slap on the side of the head got his attention.  The truth is that he didn’t resist that much.  He didn’t fight back, he didn’t try to run and he didn’t hit his mother. He could have done any of those things; he could even have pushed her down.  he was bigger, stronger, younger. Instead, he went with her.  Think about it.  What you do to save your son in that moment?

 

Thinking about money & suspending purchases

On By MaryIn Choices we make2 Comments

A little ago I was driving along the New Jersey Parkway and I came to one of the inevitable toll booths. So, I got my money out, rolled down my window, pulled up and reached out to hand the toll collector the money. She grinned at me, shook her head and said that the person in the car in front of me had already paid my toll. I was kind of mildly stunned. I mean you hear about people doing that kind of thing, but it doesn’t happen to me! So I drove off surprised and smiling. I smiled most of that day and into the next. Then, of course having strong and deep Catholic roots, I woke up and thought, “You damn fool! You should have paid for the car behind you! You should have kept the joy rolling. Damn what a dolt I can be!” And my overdeveloped Catholic guilt crept in and threatened to trash the glow I still had from the gift. And so I resolved to pay it forward the next time I’m on the parkway – and I even put a note in my car in the coin box to remind myself!

Then I remembered a day when I was driving along route 57 in New Jersey on my way to a graduate class at Marywood College in Scranton, PA. There in this small little town that I drove through every week were some guys alongside the road holding white plastic buckets and taking up a collection. Now, I don’t know about you, but where I come from the local volunteer fire departments do this once or twice a year. So I dug down deep into my pocket and pulled out a quarter (this was in the 1970’s and I was a graduate students, so that was big money for me) and I plunked my money into the man’s bucket. As I dropped the quarter into the bucket, I saw the KKK patch on his shirt. UGH. What had I done! I had just given money to a hate group, a hate group that I very much hated. UGH. Double UGH. I felt angry with myself. I felt deceived. I felt like I wanted to, needed to, take a shower. But I kept on driving, went to class, came home, and wrote a check for $5.00 to the United Negro College Fund (remember it was still the 1970’s and I was still a graduate student, so this was really, really big money). I figured this was one time when Martin Luther and his protest against the Roman Catholic practice of buying indulgences could be set aside.

Then I remembered a group in a gay bar that organized a fund raiser concurrent with a picketing event by Fred Phelps and some of his people from the Westboro Baptist Church. Fred Phelps and his people were our carrying their virulent anti-gay signs, demonstrating against something or other as they were wont to do. The group in the bar got people to pledge money, so much per quarter hour that Phelps and his people demonstrated, kind of like you do for people who are participating in a benefit walk, only in this case all of the money raised would go to a local pro-gay advocacy group. So, there was this beautiful ironic paradox – the longer Phelps and his people demonstrated against gay folks, the more the local gay group would benefit! Nice.

 

And then today I was surfing the internet and I found this story about some people who walked into a coffee shop, and as they were standing in line, they heard the folks ahead of them order five coffees, two for them, and three suspend.  As they waited in the line, a few orders later a small group of women ordered eight coffees, one for each of them, and four suspended.

When the new comers placed their order, they asked the barista what ‘suspended’ coffee was. The barista chuckled and asked if there coffee was for there or to go. They said they would be drinking the coffee there. The barista said, “ok, take a table close to the counter and watch.” So they did.

The new folks took a table that was near the counter and had a view of the stream behind the café. They enjoyed their coffees and some conversation for a while. People came, placed their orders, some sat and drank their coffee, some took their coffee to go, quite a few place orders that included suspended coffee, and occasionally a suspended sandwich or soup.

Then just as they were about to leave, wondering what they were supposed to be waiting for, a man dressed in shabby clothes who looked like he could be homeless came in and asked, “do you have a suspended coffee?”

And it dawned on the two visitors, people paid in advance for a coffee or sandwich or bowl of soup that they intended to be held in reserve for someone who could not afford a warm beverage or a meal. Nice.

It is not a solution. Maybe it is not even a step in the right direction. It surely does not address any of the systemic, structural problems that cause and perpetuate poverty. But it does give some comfort and nurturance to individuals in the moment. And that is both necessary and nice too.

Four little stories about money and what we do with it, about what we can do with it. How we spend our money can make a difference, it can bring unexpected joy to someone, it can advance justice, and it can bring comfort. Or not. Think before you spend. Frivolous spending can be a good thing if you do it in the right way, at the right time. Planful, intentional spending can be a very good thing, if you do it in the right way, at the right time. And I don’t know when there is a wrong time to invest in a good cause (as long as you have paid the bills and have purchased enough food to stay healthy and enough books to keep your brain alive).

On human interdependence and breathing

On By MaryIn Choices we make, human rightsLeave a comment

Since the failed grand jury decision in Ferguson I have been wanting to write something meaningful here about that. Then the Staten Island grand jury failed to find any cause to indict, and I even more wanted to write something meaningful. But what? what could I say? Eric Garner could not breathe, and I could not find words to write.  Then I cam across this meditation by Jan Willis, and so I share it with you in recognition of our deep interdependence, because breathing is a most basic human right.

Why We Can’t Breathe BY JAN WILLIS 

Lions Roar DECEMBER 7, 2014

http://www.lionsroar.com/cant-breathe/

We can’t breathe!

In Buddhist meditation, our breathing is essential. Anapana, meditation on the breath, was the Buddha’s first meditation instruction and the basis for all further meditative endeavors. Breathing is not only life-sustaining and calming; it is a foremost teaching aid. Breathing, we sense immediately our necessary connection to what is other than ourselves. Without the exchange of air —inner and outer–we would die. We are not independent. We are dependent.

We are interdependent. We are connected with one another. We breathe the same air. That air is neither black nor white. We share the life-force of all.

If one of us cannot breathe, none of us can breathe fully and deeply and we no longer experience our connection with one another.

If Eric Garner cannot breathe, then we cannot breathe. If Michael Brown no longer breathes, we cannot breathe. If Tamir Rice does not breathe, we cannot breathe.

Something is mightily broken. A hard rock of sadness and pain rolls itself up in our hearts and we cannot breathe. We must do something—swiftly and non-violently–to right the moral compass. Because, at this moment, none of us can breathe.

 

The Identity of Mullah Nasser-E-Din and the Jar

On By MaryIn Awareness, Choices we makeLeave a comment

 Once upon a time many of the souls in Afghanistan enjoyed the peace and joy of village life. Mullah Nasser-E-Din was a well known wise man throughout the villages, and is the central character in many tales of wisdom throughout Afghanistan, Israel and Turkey.

It is said that one day Mullah Nasser-E-Din went to the public baths. As he strolled through the bath, he thought to himself that it indeed would be lovely to dip into the waters and take off a few layers of sand and dirt. So, in he went and he washed himself from head to toe. As he emerged all clean and refreshed, he noticed that all the bathers were lying on the floor having a bit of a mid-day nap, rending the ceiling and the sky with their snores. He said to himself: “How good it would be to fall into a sweet sleep!” But he thought, what could he do so as not to be exchanged for a neighbor? What if someone stole his identity while he was sleeping. (Here we have a fabulous example of the prescience of Mullah Nasser-E-Din – he knew to worry about identity theft even then!) He took a jar, put his identity into it and fastened it to his waist, and fell asleep.

In the meantime one of the sleepers woke up and saw the jar fastened to Nasser-E-Din’s waist. He coveted the jar, took it, and fastened it to his own waist. After a short time, Nasser-E-Din arose and saw that the jar was not there. He looked around, and lo! There it was, fastened to the waist of someone else. He woke him up and said, “My friend, if I am I, where it the jar? But if you are me, who am I?”

 

When I first found this folk tale from Afghanistan in Josepha Sherman’s book of World Folklore, , I was completely taken with it. Then I reread it and didn’t get it at all. Then I read it again and thought about all of the ‘things’ that I have that I just wouldn’t really be me without (books came to mind first) and so then I think I got it again. Of course we don’t put our identities in a jar, but oh, do we ever tie them up in other things – possessions, relationships, work … and this little story was a nice reminder for me to just let it go, let it go, let it go …

The Good Woman and Huldukona: an echoing yes to life and to love

On By MaryIn Choices we make, generosity, kindnessLeave a comment

Once, or maybe twice, in that time when things we dream really do happen there was a woman in Iceland who trusted her dreams, she was a good woman. She was a hard working peasant woman, married to an average kind of hard working man. There was nothing much remarkable about their lives. They lived each day as best they could. They worked hard. They had little, but they had enough. Life was not easy for them, but it was their life and they made the best of it. To look at them you would find nothing very remarkable. And yet if you stood with them for a while you would feel a depth, a resonance, a rootedness.

One night as this good woman slept, she dreamt that the elfwoman Huldukona came to her. In the dream, Huldukona asked her to put two quarts of milk a day in a bowl, and to set it in a corner behind a cupboard. Huldukona asked the woman to do this every day for one month. Huldukona explained that she needed the milk for her child, the child of her heart and hearth. The good woman was moved by compassion and promised elfwoman that she would do this.

In the morning when she woke, the good woman remembered her promise, and put the milk in a bowl in the place Huldukona had pointed out. The good woman did this even though she and her husband had only enough to get by. Every day for one month the good woman put out the bowl of milk. And each day when she returned the bowl was empty. The good woman was faithful to her promise and continued her gift faithfully each day.

At the end of the month, Huldukona again visited the good woman in her dreams. Huldukona thanked the good woman for her kindness, and asked her to accept the belt she would find in her bed in the morning when she rose from her sleep. Huldukona then dis-appeared.

In the morning, when the good woman rose from her sleep she found a stunning hand wrought silver belt, more beautiful than anything she had ever seen, the gift of the grateful elfwoman.

 

When we think of heroes the first image that comes to mind is likely to be that of a warrior – a strong burly man engaged in a physical struggle of muscle and violence. But, today I am inviting you to think again. This good woman was a hero, maybe a new transformative kind of hero. She trusted her dream and her vision. She was willing to give from her heart to nurture a life. She believed in what was asked of her. She said yes to life and to love. What could be more heroic? And yes, in the fable she was richly rewarded in the end for her generosity, but I think that may well be beside the point. The point for me is that she said yes to life and to love … in a small unremarkable way, but in a way that made all the difference for those to whom she responded. And that made all the difference to them.

So, today in some small way, let us each wake up and say yes to life and to love, with a small act of kindness and generosity giving just a bit more than we might have first thought we were able, because after all, kindness and generosity are an echoing yes to life and to love.

On Finding Joy

On By MaryIn Awareness, Choices we make1 Comment

 As a young social worker, I was taught about schizophrenogenic mothers, mothers who were responsible for their children’s schizophrenia. In the day it was the norm to hold mothers accountable (actually to blame them) for all of the mental dis-ease that befell their children and families. Perhaps it is in that spirit that I share this apocryphal story about everyone’s and no one’s in particular mother. . .

There indeed was a mother who was known throughout the neighborhood for her quest for perfection. She spent her life bemoaning the circumstances of her life. Nothing was ever quite good enough, nothing satisfied her.

Life went on in the village. Days came, and days went. People got up, went to work. They laughed, they cried. They did all the things that people do in the days of their lives.

One grace filled summer day the sun burst through the fog that had risen from the ground after the nights storm had ended. A rainbow hovered over the mountains, and the sun spread sparkling light over the gardens and fields in a blaze of glorious color and light. It was one of those moments that took your breath away and left you inspired with the beauty and grandeur of your town and our world. It was an “ahh moment” if there ever was one.

Surely even that mother would see the beauty and joy of life in this!

Father Poplowski called out to the mother, “my daughter is this not a most glorious day?”

And the mother replied, “Well it may be Father, but will it last?”

 
Well, of course not. Nothing lasts forever. The sweetness, the joy is in the moment – perhaps made even sweeter in the knowledge of its evanescent ephemeral nature. Nothing lasts forever, Nothing ever could. And, yet somewhere in our youth or childhood, we must have found something good. And so, let us re-claim the lost innocence of youth and childhood. Let us learn and remember to take our joy, our happiness, our hope were we can find them, where we can create them.

 

In Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope, Joan Chittister reminds us of the sunflower – that beautiful plant which even in shadow turns its head towards the sun. Chittister christens the sunflower the patron saint of those in despair. She offers us this guidance from the people of New Zealond: Turn your face to the sun, and the shadows always fall behind you.

 

Today, this day, let us all make the effort. Let us enjoy beauty where it finds us, let us embody the sunflower and each turn our face to the sun!

What would you wish for?

On By MaryIn Choices we makeLeave a comment

 From http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/112250/jewish/Two-Bagels.htm by Tuvia Bolton

 On the morning after Napoleon had won one of his most important battles, he summoned the commanders of his various legions to a pompous ceremony in his war-room to reward their bravery in battle.

The commander of the Bavarian troops stepped forward, fell to one knee before his king and declared: “I ask for autonomy for Bavaria!”

“So it shall be!” proclaimed the Emperor to the ministers and officials surrounding the scene. “Autonomy for Bavaria!”

The Slovakian general then stepped forward, fell to his knee and similarly declared, “Liberty for Slovakia!”

“Liberty it shall be!” shouted Bonaparte.

And so it was with the Arabian and the Ukrainian generals. “By G-d, autonomy and statehood for Arabia, and for the Ukrainians!” Napoleon announced.

Finally, the chief of the Jewish legion stepped forward. “And what of you, my loyal friend?” Napoleon asked. “What reward do you ask for your bravery?”

“I would like a cup of hot coffee with milk and no sugar, two bagels with cream cheese, and some lox on the side.”

Without hesitation, Napoleon sent one of his officers to bring the Jew’s order, saluted all those present, and left the room. Meanwhile, the breakfast arrived, and the Jewish general washed his hands for bread, sat down, and began eating while the other generals gaped in amazement.

“You fool!” one of them blurted out. “Why did you make such a stupid request? You could have asked for a nation, riches and power! Why did you waste your wish on a couple of bagels?”

The Jew stopped eating for a moment, looked up at them with a smile and replied: “At least I got what I asked for.”

so, what would YOU wish for? 

I remember a time, about a thousand years ago, being in church and the priest read a bible story, where the angel of G-d asked some men what they wished for. The first ones asked for trifling things: money, power, fame. It was clear from the story that those were the wrong answers. Then the last one asked for wisdom. And wonder fo wonders, clearly that was the better answer, even the best answer! And so I adopted that as my answer, my goal for much of my life. Now, sitting here with 60 some years to look back on, I don’t regret my choice at all. And, (it’s always both and for me), and, I think the answer is really love and wisdom — and maybe they are not so very different.  And, a bagel would be kind of nice too!!

so, what would you wish for??

It’s not always easy to work out the meaning of work

On By MaryIn Choices we make, Cloister of the Sisters of Mary Magdalene, vision and perspective1 Comment

Back at the Cloister of the good Sisters of Mary Magdalene, the glow of postulantcy is beginning to tarnish for our bright eyed Sister Beatrix. She has just completed a novena to her patron saint, the beloved Beatrix Potter, but alas, Sister Beatrix continues to suffer the frustration of feeling put upon to do too much work.

Indeed, each day the good Sister Beatrix sets out to weed the extensive beds of vegetables and flowers that feed the bodies and spirits of the cloistered nuns as well as the homeless families in a nearby shelter. Each day Mother Magdalene watches the elegant poetry of Sister Beatrix’s movements as she moves along the rows of plants pulling and gathering the weeds, and then carrying them off to the mulch plies. And, Mother Magdalene also notices the frustration growing on Sister Beatrix’s face each day. To watch the young sister’s action is to see poetry in motion. To observe her countenance is to feel the growing length of the hard rows she must hoe.

One day, Mother Magdalene calls Sister Beatrix into her office. Mother Magdalene proposes to Sister Beatrix that instead of sweating and toiling in the gardens, each day she will come to the cloister infirmary where Sister Honora is recuperating. Sister Honora who is 90 some years old is essentially blind and quite deaf, but she remains devout in her spiritual practices when her health allows. As she is the only sister in the infirmary at the moment, she is also a bit lonely. Mother Magdalene proposes to Sister Beatrix that she spend a few hours in the infirmary each day, demonstrating to Sister Honora the movements of pulling, gathering and mulching the weeds. The infirmary is air conditioned, so Sister Beatrix enthusiastically jumps at the offer.

The very next day, during the cloister work period, Sister Beatrix goes to the infirmary, and begins her now ritualized movements of pulling weeds, gathering them, and then hauling the imaginary weeds off to an area she envisions as a mulch pile. The relief that she feels is immense! The infirmary is air conditioned. Imaginary weeds weigh nothing. The rows are as short as she chooses. It is an easy row to hoe, a sweet deal indeed!

Sister Bridget’s euphoria continues for a week or so. And then a sense of listlessness begins to creep up on her, overshadowing her new found joy with a feeling of being becalmed in shallow waters. What is she doing? Sister Honora sleeps through her visits. And even when she is awake, Sister Honora hardly notices her. What is the point of this, really? At least when she was outside in the heat, she was accomplishing something, she was engaged in the muddy substance of reality, making a difference in her world, helping to feed the Sisters in some small way. And then Sister Beatrix started to laugh. She got it! When she was in the gardens, she was doing something, something that mattered, something she could put her heart and soul into. When she was walking through the motions in the infirmary, she was merely walking through the motions. . . and so, Sister Beatrix requested an interview with Mother Magdalene, and requested her old job back, and she returned to weeding the gardens having found the heart in her path.

May the rows that we hoe be just challenging enough to keep us focused and engaged. May we all find work with meaning and purpose. May we all find and follow a path with heart!