By Susan Esther Barnes
What do you do when you encounter unspeakable beauty?
When words and actions and music and voices
combine with grief and joy and comfort
to create one holy moment after another
when God’s presence fills the spaces inside and in between
the people and the room and the instruments
and you think to yourself
Life can’t possibly be any better than this
and someone says
Maybe this is the world-to-come
What do you do when the best outlet you have
is to pour it into words on paper
but you know for these moments
words on paper are utterly inadequate
What can you do other than soak it in
and feel grateful in the moment
then go home
and try to stop it from slipping away
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Unseen Impacts
By Susan Esther Barnes
I’m beginning to suspect few of us, myself included, has any idea the impact our words and actions have on others. The Torah tries to give us a hint about the power of words. In the very first chapter, God creates the world by using words, as in the famous, “God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.”
It’s not uncommon for me to think about words and their impact. I try to write things in way that will, as accurately as I can, communicate how I see things as well as how I feel about them. I feel best about my writing when I feel it packs a punch, leaving the reader with something to think about after they have finished reading.
A couple of weeks ago a friend was struggling because she felt she was failing to get others to see the importance of something very dear to her. She said she felt she wasn’t communicating to others about it in a powerful enough way, and she was contemplating using more powerful language, but she didn’t want to be hurtful. I told her it’s possible to use words powerfully without being hurtful.
Often it seems being powerful and hurtful is much easier than being powerful and constructive. And yet, there are times when we say or do powerfully constructive things without even realizing it. For example, two and a half years ago, a woman introduced me as, “My friend Susan.” She said it as if it were no big deal, and to her it probably wasn’t one. She had no way to know it was the first time I’d heard those words in 20 years, so she had no idea how powerful those words were to me.
Earlier this year a woman said to me, “I value your friendship.” I thought, “You value my friendship? Don’t you mean it the other way around?” I had been so wrapped up in how cool it was to have a bunch of friends around me, it hadn’t occurred to me it might work both ways. She didn’t know what a revelation it was for me to consider someone might view my friendship as a valuable thing to have.
Yesterday, I received an email from someone who said, “Thanks for being a good friend.” It made me feel great, but I was surprised. Sure, I think of him as a friend, but I have no idea why he thinks of me as a good friend. We don’t have dinner together; we don’t go to the movies or other outings together. I don’t even know when his birthday is. Aren’t those things all part of being a good friend? Obviously, I must have said or done something in the past that makes him feel this way about me. And clearly, at the time I had no idea the impact I had on him, just as he has no idea the impact his words, “Thank you for being a good friend” had on me.
Just before we say the Amidah, the central prayer of each prayer service, we say, “Adonai, open my lips so my mouth may declare your glory.” Rabbi Noa says we start with this prayer because we want the prayers that follow to come out right. Often, when I say those words I’m not thinking about the prayers coming up. Instead, I’m asking God to help me, throughout the week, to say and write things which will have a positive impact on others. Sometimes I know I’ve succeeded. Sometimes I think I’ve succeeded when I haven’t. And sometimes, I’m discovering, I succeed without even knowing it.
I’m beginning to suspect few of us, myself included, has any idea the impact our words and actions have on others. The Torah tries to give us a hint about the power of words. In the very first chapter, God creates the world by using words, as in the famous, “God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.”
It’s not uncommon for me to think about words and their impact. I try to write things in way that will, as accurately as I can, communicate how I see things as well as how I feel about them. I feel best about my writing when I feel it packs a punch, leaving the reader with something to think about after they have finished reading.
A couple of weeks ago a friend was struggling because she felt she was failing to get others to see the importance of something very dear to her. She said she felt she wasn’t communicating to others about it in a powerful enough way, and she was contemplating using more powerful language, but she didn’t want to be hurtful. I told her it’s possible to use words powerfully without being hurtful.
Often it seems being powerful and hurtful is much easier than being powerful and constructive. And yet, there are times when we say or do powerfully constructive things without even realizing it. For example, two and a half years ago, a woman introduced me as, “My friend Susan.” She said it as if it were no big deal, and to her it probably wasn’t one. She had no way to know it was the first time I’d heard those words in 20 years, so she had no idea how powerful those words were to me.
Earlier this year a woman said to me, “I value your friendship.” I thought, “You value my friendship? Don’t you mean it the other way around?” I had been so wrapped up in how cool it was to have a bunch of friends around me, it hadn’t occurred to me it might work both ways. She didn’t know what a revelation it was for me to consider someone might view my friendship as a valuable thing to have.
Yesterday, I received an email from someone who said, “Thanks for being a good friend.” It made me feel great, but I was surprised. Sure, I think of him as a friend, but I have no idea why he thinks of me as a good friend. We don’t have dinner together; we don’t go to the movies or other outings together. I don’t even know when his birthday is. Aren’t those things all part of being a good friend? Obviously, I must have said or done something in the past that makes him feel this way about me. And clearly, at the time I had no idea the impact I had on him, just as he has no idea the impact his words, “Thank you for being a good friend” had on me.
Just before we say the Amidah, the central prayer of each prayer service, we say, “Adonai, open my lips so my mouth may declare your glory.” Rabbi Noa says we start with this prayer because we want the prayers that follow to come out right. Often, when I say those words I’m not thinking about the prayers coming up. Instead, I’m asking God to help me, throughout the week, to say and write things which will have a positive impact on others. Sometimes I know I’ve succeeded. Sometimes I think I’ve succeeded when I haven’t. And sometimes, I’m discovering, I succeed without even knowing it.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Visit from the Shekhinah
Yesterday I felt like I was coming down with a cold, and I spent the whole day in bed napping with the cats and watching the "Deadliest Catch" marathon on TV. However, it was Friday, I missed Shabbat last week because I was in Hawaii, and I'm going to miss Shabbat next week due to our company retreat. Three weeks without Shabbat is three weeks too many as far as I'm concerned, so I hauled myself out of bed and went to the synagogue.
When services started the sanctuary doors were closed, so during the song/prayer "Lecha Dodi" I walked around the back of the sanctuary to the outside of the main sanctuary doors. "Lecha Dodi" is about welcoming Shabbat. Traditionally, during the last verse, everyone bows toward the doors of the sanctuary, thereby bowing to Shabbat as she enters. I'd say Shabbat can make it through the doors whether or not they're open, but it's more dramatic if the doors are open when the last verse starts, and it certainly seems more welcoming to Shabbat to open the doors for her.
So there I was, in the foyer, listening to the singing through the closed doors, waiting for the last verse, and I started thinking, "Hmmm, if I'm standing out here waiting to let Shabbat in through the doors at the last verse, then Shabbat must be out here in the foyer with me now." So, I looked up over my shoulder, and felt the Shekhinah, God's presence, hovering over me.
When the congregation reached the last verse and sang, "Come in, bride," I opened the doors, and the Shekhinah swept past me into the sanctuary.
I know God is with us all the time. I know I can feel God wherever I am. But there is something special about the Shekhinah on Shabbat that I truly miss whenever I'm away.
When services started the sanctuary doors were closed, so during the song/prayer "Lecha Dodi" I walked around the back of the sanctuary to the outside of the main sanctuary doors. "Lecha Dodi" is about welcoming Shabbat. Traditionally, during the last verse, everyone bows toward the doors of the sanctuary, thereby bowing to Shabbat as she enters. I'd say Shabbat can make it through the doors whether or not they're open, but it's more dramatic if the doors are open when the last verse starts, and it certainly seems more welcoming to Shabbat to open the doors for her.
So there I was, in the foyer, listening to the singing through the closed doors, waiting for the last verse, and I started thinking, "Hmmm, if I'm standing out here waiting to let Shabbat in through the doors at the last verse, then Shabbat must be out here in the foyer with me now." So, I looked up over my shoulder, and felt the Shekhinah, God's presence, hovering over me.
When the congregation reached the last verse and sang, "Come in, bride," I opened the doors, and the Shekhinah swept past me into the sanctuary.
I know God is with us all the time. I know I can feel God wherever I am. But there is something special about the Shekhinah on Shabbat that I truly miss whenever I'm away.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
A Zero Sum Game
By Susan Esther Barnes
I remember, when I was a teen and I felt like my life was a mess, I thought that somehow each of is allotted only a certain amount of happiness in life, and that if we are happier in part of our life, we’ll necessarily be less happy in another part. So I remember making a deal with God, saying, “Ok, things suck right now. Go ahead and let the first part of my life be awful, because I know later on it’ll all balance out, and I’d rather be unhappy now and happy when I’m old, than the other way around.”
Over the last several years, as I experienced large changes in my life and everything seemed to be getting exponentially better, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Things can’t really stay this good for long,” I thought, but then I’d also think, “On the other hand, most likely I’m in the second half of my life now, so maybe now I finally get to enjoy all the happiness I ‘paid’ for in my youth.”
During services this morning, I kept thinking about the man who recently told me he’s looking for a good way to kill himself. I kept thinking, “My life is so good right now, in so many ways, and his isn’t. If only I could take some part of my happiness and give it to him. I have more than I need; it would be worth it to have a little less if it would help him.”
Then suddenly it dawned on me: That isn’t the way happiness works. The more good feelings and caring I have shared with others over the last few years, the more happiness and caring has flowed back to me. It’s like throwing a little yeast into dough. Sprinkle some around, and before you know it, it starts expanding. When I try to give this distressed man some of my caring and happiness, I don’t have less. I have more. For the first time in my life I finally understand it’s not a zero sum game.
I remember, when I was a teen and I felt like my life was a mess, I thought that somehow each of is allotted only a certain amount of happiness in life, and that if we are happier in part of our life, we’ll necessarily be less happy in another part. So I remember making a deal with God, saying, “Ok, things suck right now. Go ahead and let the first part of my life be awful, because I know later on it’ll all balance out, and I’d rather be unhappy now and happy when I’m old, than the other way around.”
Over the last several years, as I experienced large changes in my life and everything seemed to be getting exponentially better, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Things can’t really stay this good for long,” I thought, but then I’d also think, “On the other hand, most likely I’m in the second half of my life now, so maybe now I finally get to enjoy all the happiness I ‘paid’ for in my youth.”
During services this morning, I kept thinking about the man who recently told me he’s looking for a good way to kill himself. I kept thinking, “My life is so good right now, in so many ways, and his isn’t. If only I could take some part of my happiness and give it to him. I have more than I need; it would be worth it to have a little less if it would help him.”
Then suddenly it dawned on me: That isn’t the way happiness works. The more good feelings and caring I have shared with others over the last few years, the more happiness and caring has flowed back to me. It’s like throwing a little yeast into dough. Sprinkle some around, and before you know it, it starts expanding. When I try to give this distressed man some of my caring and happiness, I don’t have less. I have more. For the first time in my life I finally understand it’s not a zero sum game.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A Pleasant Surprise
With my lunch today I got a fortune cookie that says, "A pleasant surprise is in store for you soon in the coming week," and I thought, "That's not new news. I get a pleasant surprise every week."
For instance, last night I had to drive out to a board meeting in Galt on Hwy 12 (a one-lane, notoriously dangerous road), and although it was raining on the way out, I was pleasantly surprised that the rain had stopped before I had to drive back. I was also pleasantly surprised at the board meeting when my client, without any prompting from me, asked that my item be moved up on the agenda since I had a long drive back.
I would expect that all of us get at least one pleasant surprise per week, if we'd only keep our eyes out for them and recognize them when they happen.
On a related note, I'm compiling comments from a survey we mailed recently for a recreation & park district. Some people are saying, essentially, "Why should I pay for something I don't use?" while other people are saying, "I won't use this, but I understand the value parks have to the community so I'm willing to pay for them anyway."
I'd rather live in a world where we all try to enjoy our pleasant surprises and are willing to do things to help one another even when those things may not benefit us directly, than live in a world where we spend too much time focusing on our own self-interest.
For instance, last night I had to drive out to a board meeting in Galt on Hwy 12 (a one-lane, notoriously dangerous road), and although it was raining on the way out, I was pleasantly surprised that the rain had stopped before I had to drive back. I was also pleasantly surprised at the board meeting when my client, without any prompting from me, asked that my item be moved up on the agenda since I had a long drive back.
I would expect that all of us get at least one pleasant surprise per week, if we'd only keep our eyes out for them and recognize them when they happen.
On a related note, I'm compiling comments from a survey we mailed recently for a recreation & park district. Some people are saying, essentially, "Why should I pay for something I don't use?" while other people are saying, "I won't use this, but I understand the value parks have to the community so I'm willing to pay for them anyway."
I'd rather live in a world where we all try to enjoy our pleasant surprises and are willing to do things to help one another even when those things may not benefit us directly, than live in a world where we spend too much time focusing on our own self-interest.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Today Was a Much Better Day Than it Might Have Been
This morning I encountered much heavier traffic on the freeway than I expected. Not only that, but when I was filling my gas tank, I noticed one of my tires seemed to be low on air. When I looked closer, I discovered a large crack on its side. Its twin on the other side didn't look too good, either.
So far, this doesn't sound like a great start to the day. But the fact is, I spend a lot of time driving on the freeway. This morning, I was able to drive to the tire place without mishap, and I was able to get both tires replaced. It's possible that the unexpectedly heavy traffic on the freeway helped to keep my tire from blowing out. It certainly would have been possible for me to shrug and decide not to further investigate what looked like a slightly flat tire.
When I compare the inconvenience and even the expense of some bad traffic and the need to replace two tires, it seems like nothing next to the possibility of blowing out a tire at 65 MPH and possibly injuring or even killing myself or others.
So, I have to say, today was a much better day than it might have been.
So far, this doesn't sound like a great start to the day. But the fact is, I spend a lot of time driving on the freeway. This morning, I was able to drive to the tire place without mishap, and I was able to get both tires replaced. It's possible that the unexpectedly heavy traffic on the freeway helped to keep my tire from blowing out. It certainly would have been possible for me to shrug and decide not to further investigate what looked like a slightly flat tire.
When I compare the inconvenience and even the expense of some bad traffic and the need to replace two tires, it seems like nothing next to the possibility of blowing out a tire at 65 MPH and possibly injuring or even killing myself or others.
So, I have to say, today was a much better day than it might have been.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
