Connectedness.

So, there's a thing called StrengthsFinder.

Maybe it's just positive psychology mumbo jumbo,

but I think it's pretty insightful.

It says my #1 strength is connectedness.

"[You] have faith 

in the links between all things.

By nature,

you consider people 

more important

than things.

You consider ways

to initiate, nurture, or sustain

some of the linkages between individuals or groups.

You help people realize

they are part of the human family."

Francois Brunelle photographs
strangers that look like twins.

I think that description of me is dead on.

I like to think about

and blog about

what it means to be human.

I see people who are alone,

and I worry about them.

Later,

when I see them with friends,

I'm relieved. 

I notice who likes each other

and then I get particular joy

when they start dating.

And I can't describe how happy I feel

when people I love

love 

each

 other.

Mortal Brokenness.

Herein is one of the greatest triumphs

I have experienced:

to look at people,

and see all their mortal brokenness,

and to love them anyway--

because of,

not in spite of,

those defects.

Midsummer.

In pagan cultures,

magic is thought to be stronger

at midsummer.

And I believe it.

Each year,

I see more and more

how magical summer is.

...

This year,

I was determined to celebrate midsummer

and the summer solstice.

So I did.

Snow cones,

swing sets,

The Sandlot.

There are all sorts of pagan midsummer rituals

that I would have liked to do too.

Like jumping over bonfires

or dancing around a maypole

or casting wreaths of flowers into the river.

What I did was sleep with flowers under my pillow.

(It seemed easiest.)

Apparently,

when you sleep with flowers under your pillow

at midsummer,

you dream about your future spouse.

I guess you're supposed to have
at least seven different types of flowers.
All I had was a hollyhock
and some sort of weed that resembled a flower.
(Limited resources.)

At any rate,

I don't remember my dreams from that night,
but it was still fun.

...

Pagan comes from a Latin word
meaning rural or rustic.

I like the idea

of doing the same things

that centuries of simple folk did

to try to make sense of the world.

Silvery chords.

I believe

that when this big ole world is no more,

our souls and bodies will go on livin

forever.

And we'll have nothin but time.

Then we'll have the chance

to make everyone our friends,

to say all the nice things

that we were afraid to say here,

to think all the nice things

that we weren't kind enough to think of here.

...

Sometimes you love people on earth

and it don't make sense why you do.

So you don't tell 'em.

Me,

I'm gonna take all that lovin

and hold it in my heart

until the day comes

when there ain't no walls between any of us,

only silvery chords of sociality,

drawing us to one another.

The kind that make us say,

"Set down a while,

and we'll be the kind of friends

we was meant to be."

via

Catharsis.

Truth be told,

I love to cry.

There's something special about it,

something that makes us more human.

Sometimes,

I'm crying because I'm sad,

and then suddenly,

I feel so happy.

And I cry harder.

And then I'm just crying,

and I can't tell whether I'm happy or sad.

Let's Talk About Ice Cream.

On Sunday,

I was at church with my aunts.

There was a beautiful old lady there,

who was taking care of her handsome old frail husband.

I kept watching her in awe.

During the third meeting,

this lady raised her hand to make a comment.

She said that her mother had been a lovely woman.

When she was in a group of women

and the talk turned to saying unkind things 

about other people,

she would say,

"Let's talk about ice cream!"

And I thought,

Maybe one day I could be the kind of person

with so much love

that I would rather talk about ice cream

than say something unkind.

Maybe I really could feel that way

and it wouldn't be preachy or false.

...

I want to reverence people.

Reverence is

profound respect

mingled with love.

(From David O. McKay)

Usually, it is an emotion reserved for 

how we feel about God.

But I can only dream of how rich life would be 

if I respected everyone for the divine parts of them

and if I loved them for it.

Those feelings would mingle 

into a sense of 

profound

holy

awe.

It's you I like,

not the things you wear,

not the way you do your hair,

but it's you I like.

The way you are right now,

the way down deep inside you.

Not the things that hide you,

not your toys--they're just beside you.

-Mister Rogers

And I'll sing hallelujah!

Yesterday, a song meandered into my mind.

And I'll sing hallelujah,

and you'll sing hallelujah...

What song was that?

I could hear it in my mind,

but I didn't know where I'd heard it,

or where to find it.

After a long time, I found it,

and it was more than I bargained for.

This is an old type of singing from the American South,

called Sacred Harp, 

or shape-note, singing.

There is no accompaniment,

no audience,

no formal conductor.

In the musical notation,

each note has a shape,

so that people who didn't know anything about music

could still sing.

Sacred Harp is everything I love about America,

and about being human.

Nothing but plain ordinary folks,

with the sod of this great earth 

running through their veins,

facing each other,

singing about everything in their hearts,

about what makes a poor, beat up life

a life worth living.

Today I was mad,

and I put Hallelujah on.

And I thought about how sweet it will be to see God

and how meaningful the smallest things really are.

Deep down in the mud is where you can see life 

for what it is.

We're all children.

Today I watched

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.

It's a true story

about a man who became paralyzed after a stroke.

Even though he could only move his left eye,

he learned to communicate through blinking.

He wasn't a good man, see.

He left a path of broken lives in his wake.

And yet everyone around him loved him.

It astonished me how much I loved him,

when he didn't deserve any of it.

But I did.

There was a point in the film

where you heard him narrate,

"I have pneumonia."

And I gasped.

No.

Please.

...

He knew a man

who had been held hostage in Beirut for years,

who came to him and said,

"Hold fast to the human inside of you,

and you'll survive."

The real Jean-Dominique Bauby.

And he did.

That's why he was worth loving.

Even he said,

"We're all children;

we all need approval."

There was human inside of him,

and that couldn't be taken away.

She wears her heart on her sleeve.

On campus this week I saw a poster entitled

"Acceptable Reasons to Cry in Public."

Some googling informed me that the posters are some sort of

public spectacle essay/art installation.

There were some pretty sad things listed on the poster, like

"You saw an old man at the grocery store

buy one can of cat food,

a pint of milk,

and a candy bar."

However, my personal feeling is that any reason to cry

is an acceptable reason to cry in public.

Studia Humanitas.

In the desert

I saw a creature, naked, bestial,

who, squatting upon the ground,

Held his heart in his hands,

And ate of it.

I said, "Is it good, friend?"

"It is bitter--bitter," he answered;

"But I like it

Because it is bitter,

And because it is my heart."

Stephen Crane

I think the thing that bothers me most about my life

is that I'm mortal.

Casper David Friedrich

No really.

It's something that I can't accept,

because it feels so limiting.

I feel like I'm made of greater stuff than that.

I should be able to pick up French again,

perfect Greek,

start German,

and dabble in Latin.

I should be able to get another degree in history teaching

and another in humanities

and another in American studies

and then go to law school.

Why don't I know the history of labor unions?

Why can't I be an expert on 

every case that went to the Supreme Court

and why haven't I read 

the hundred most influential books of all time?

When will I know the story of the Irish Republican Brotherhood

and when will I celebrate the national day 

of each country in the world?

I should know how to play the harmonica.

I should see Casablanca.

I should memorize etymologies.

I want to know everything.

Everything about mankind and the human condition.

About what they did and what they thought and what they made.

There is something so godly about being a human being.

I want to know everything,

because down to my living, breathing guts

I am a human.

Which also happens to make me feel so frustratingly limited.

I look forward to the day when I will burst my limitations

and learn everything

and become like God.

Being mortal is like tasting a bit of being godly

but

how

I

yearn

for

more.

Born this way.

Sometimes something makes me remember

how different my interests are.

 

Usually I forget.

 

But let me tell you a story about my life.

.

.

.

.

.

When I was little, and lying in my little bed,

sometimes my dad would lay down on the floor next to me.

 

I would hang my little arm over the side

and he would hold my little hand.

 

And he would sing me songs.

 

 

Not primary songs.

 

No Rock-a-bye Baby.

 

My dad sang me folk songs.

 

They were about war

and politics

and being so far from home you could never go back.

 

He sang me those great songs sung by

Peter, Paul & Mary

Pete Seeger

Bob Dylan

The Kingston Trio.

 

 

 

He sang me a song that went like this:

 

"Go ahead and hate your neighbor.

Go ahead and cheat a friend.

Do it in the name of heaven:

You can justify it in the end.

 

There won't be any trumpets blowin'

come the Judgment Day.

On the bloody mornin' after,

one tin soldier rides away."

 

Can you even imagine?

 

What a cool little girl I must have been,

with those thirty-year old songs all in my head

and weaving themselves into my dreams.

 

They've woven themselves into my life.

 

I love folk music that I'm now 50 years too young to like.

 

But how can't I?

 

It's telling the story of America,

the story of your life,

with just a banjo

and a couple of voices.

 

Stories that can be sung by bedsides

and walking down roads

leaving on jetplanes

thinking about your old man

or mankind in general

until the end of time.

 

It makes you think about all those

humble, beaten-down men and women who came before

and learned their lessons

and sang about it.

So here I am today.

 

And they don't do it like that no more.