Wandering around the Albuquerque Airport Terminal, after learning my flight had been delayed four hours, I heard an announcement:
"If anyone in the vicinity of Gate A-4 understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately."
Well—one pauses these days. Gate A-4 was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian embroidered dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing. "Help,"
said the flight agent. "Talk to her. What is her problem? We
told her the flight was going to be late and she did this."
I stooped to put my arm around the woman and spoke haltingly.
"Shu-dow-a, Shu-bid-uck Habibti? Stani schway, Min fadlick, Shu-bit- se-wee?" The minute she heard any words she knew, however poorly used, she stopped crying. She thought the flight had been cancelled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for major medical treatment the next day. I said, "No, we're fine, you'll get there, just later, who is picking you up? Let's call him."
We called her son, I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and ride next to her. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just
for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her? This all took up two hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling of her life, patting my knee, answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—from her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the mom from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There is no better cookie.
And then the airline broke out free apple juice from huge coolers and two little girls from our flight ran around serving it and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend— by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, with green furry leaves. Such an old country tradi-tion. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and I thought, This is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in that gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too.
This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.
Not everything is lost. I love this story poem by Naomi Shiab Nye. It describes beautifully what it means to truly live sacramentally, what it means to bless those we meet, to live by blessing, isn’t this true communion a love fest, a true love fest. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost. This is how we are meant to live spiritually alive. Yes, we can all be lost at times, but it does not mean all is lost, we can soon be found.
Not everything is lost.
Last Saturday, evening I was talking with one of the regulars of “Colours of Grief”, she was utterly lost. Not necessarily with the grief that comes with death, more living grief. She was deeply lost within herself, so much so that she was finding it really difficult to connect with anything. She was almost in the same panicked state as the woman in Naomi’s poem. I walked her to her car when suddenly a British Bulldog appeared from out of the twilight. He ran straight towards me, jumping up my legs as dogs do. His tale was going like billy-ho
We instantly stopped our conversation and were consumed with concern for the dog. He had no collar and we wondered where the “ummer” he had come from. My friend suddenly forgot all her troubles and was focused purely on finding this lost dog’s home. My phone rang and I became distracted by another crisis. We searched around and noticed the gates of next doors house was open, so we approached and knocked on the door. A man answered and his wife and children came to the door. It was their dog “Buzby” who had got out. How on earth they hadn’t noticed is beyond me. They are new neighbours and I had not met them before. The dad did make me chuckle when he told me the dog’s name “Buzby, as in sir Matt”, he is obviously a Manchester United fan.
It was lovely to get the lost wandering dog home. What was equally so was the impact it had on my friend, how she responded to its needs, she suddenly wasn’t so lost herself in her troubles, it was beautiful to witness.
This all brought to mind a quote I often see posted on social media “Not all who wander are lost”, it comes from the “Lord of the Rings”. It is certainly true, just because someone is wandering aimlessly it doesn’t mean that they are lost, Buzby wasn’t he was just wandering round the neighbourhood, but he could have easily found his way back home, it was we who intervened. It also got me thinking that all who are lost do not necessarily wander. You can be lost in the most familiar of places, in the safest places, surrounded by loving company, as my friend had been. She was lost oh so deeply within herself. Somehow by helping Buzby find his way home, she found herself at home in herself once again. I admire my friend greatly as even though she doubts it she always seems to find her way back home despite her very real troubles.
Most folk are familiar with the phrase “The unexamined life is not worth living”. Socratres is reputed to have said it at his trial when he was found guilty of impiety and corrupting of the youth. He chose death rather than exile. For if he was in exile he would be unable to continue to examine life. As Socrates trusted his religious experiences such as his guiding “daimonic voice” he preferred to seek truth in the after-life, than to live a life not identifying the answer on earth. He would rather die than live an unexamined life.
It is vital to know ourselves, to be true to ourselves. Although the most important knowledge to know is that we are mortal, we are not God’s at least according to those great thinkers of ancient Greeks. To “Know thyself” is to know that you are mortal, you are not God.
So yes “The unexamined life is not worth living”, that said I have also found that that an over examined life can become stagnant. It is so easy to get lost in ourselves, so lost that we fail to live and find it impossible to engage with life fully. When this happens life can feel like it isn’t worth living. To quote good old Forrest church
..."an overexamined life is not worth living. I know that. some of you who come to me for couselling are so wrapped up in your own and your parents' underwear that I sometimes wonder if you will ever get out, if you will ever get naked. Just remember, you are not alone on the Titanic. we are all here together, on this extraordinary ship - different classes, yes, and not enough lifeboats - but when it comes to death there are never enough lifeboats. the ship is magnificent but one day it will sink. All hands will be lost.
This advice may return to haunt you, but I commend you to ignore life's dangers as readily as you protect yourself from them. Even as an overexamined life is not worth living, an overplanned life lacks wonder and sponteneity. The harder we work to get things exactly right, the more cautious we become, the more careful not to fail. Risking nothing, we stand to gain little beyond the security of battened-down existance. We miss the sea breeze and the ball. We will know little failure, or only little failures, but consider the cost. any sure thing is almost sure to be so carefully packaged that when we unwrap it, the size of the box will turn out to be so many times larger than the size of the gift that we cannot help but be dissapointed.”
We do not have to wander to feel lost, we do not have to step out into the wilderness, the unknown. It is just as easy to get lost in the most familiar, to be lost in ourselves, so much so that we fail to live. We are communal beings, we are in this together and do you know what we often only truly find ourselves in the love and service for one another, this it seems is where true meaning emerges. This is often where we truly find ourselves, our purpose.
We all feel lost and confused at times and we all find ways to help and encourage, to keep one another going. I love the wisdom of the greats, but they are not really my inspirations. It is the ordinary folk all around that I admire the most, that change my life. It was an ordinary man from Oldham that guided me when I was most lost, not Socrates or Frankl, Jesus or Gandhi, they have helped, but were not the real inspirations. I do not stand on the shoulders of giants. More ordinary folk, those that stumbled along a lot, those that fell many times, but rose again. They had no special wisdom or power, in fact they constantly messed up, they often failed. That said they were filled with love and courage, they were perfectly imperfect. They got up every time they fell, they kept on going and encouraged others to do so too. They helped others and each other to reach what seemed unreachable, they inspired others to do the same. When I am gone I hope that no one tries to stand on my shoulders, I am certainly no giant. I am more interested in walking shoulder to shoulder with others, inspiring each other, offering courage and bringing out the best in each other, just as Buzby did in the Twilight of last Saturday.
We all feel lost at times, but we can always be found again. No one needs to lead, nor does anyone have to follow. We all take our turn, just like those Canada Geese I love so much and their honking.
As Naomi wrote “And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and I thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world.… This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”
I saw this once again last Saturday and I have been witnessing it all week. I have seen over and over again that when we feel lost we are found again through our shared interdependence, this is how we are sheltered and saved. My friend and “Buzby” the bulldog showed me that once again in the twilight last Saturday. All is not lost, faith, hope and love will always lead us home. This is the world in which we all share. “This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”
So, know yourself, know that you are mortal and know that no matter how different you might feel, how lost it all seems, no one is anymore lost than anyone else and no one is anymore different than anyone else.
Not everything is lost.
We all feel lost at times, it is important to accept this. The problem isn’t getting lost, we all get lost. The problem is in losing faith that you can be found once again. The key is how we live when we find ourselves lost. Do we close down and get lost deeper in our fear, or do we pause and reach out and ask for help from those loving forces that are all around whether visible or invisible.
Also when we see another lost, or hear their call. How do we respond? Do we stay lost in our own or others underwear or do we ourselves answer the call?
Not everything is lost. All is not lost. No one is ever truly lost, we can always find our way back home.
below is a video devotion based
on the material in this "Blogspot"
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