Yet for this

And when the sun comes up, may I rejoice
when what was hidden is exposed
and our true selves are known

Lord let me be a workman approved
I’m false through and through
But I lay myself down to you

Please break through the lies
and the walls where I hide
terrified and guilty

yet for this Christ died!

Set me free
Let death die

Advertisements

The Ginkgo Trees

Overnight, without warning, all the ginkgo trees
dropped their leaves, an orchestra
guided by an unseen hand – compelled
with single unannounced, extravagant display,
to release all they held, all that covered them.
What grace, to shed protective covering. To shed
the golden glory of leaves and stand blessed, delighted
and delighting in the gift of their thin brown arms
extended towards the sky in celebration, open.

on a mountaintop

Te estas saliendo del huacal he said.
Whatever you want to call it —
stripping bark from myself, says Alice Walker
learning joy from dogs without collars, says Lauralee Summers

this is what it means to be free:
I’m on a mountaintop, and
there’s no railing, but
I choose this view
over
the safety
of the ground.

hiking

photo credit: Jennifer Gardner

Trust what is

Strip everything down to essence.
Let go of what you think you need.
Learn to trust what is.

Embrace happiness without grasping.
Happiness will break your bones as it slips out of your clenched fist.
Trust sorrow; It allows the soul to lie fallow and expand.

Embrace the daylight without demanding permanence.
Light fades into evening with or without your approval.
Trust darkness; It faithfully reveals the unseen.

Embrace tranquility without insisting on its presence.
Tranquility is a condition and not a promise.
Trust anger; It acknowledges the truth of your experience.

Embrace relationship without needing to control.
Relationship is a dance of constant movement and change.
Trust solitude; It is a centering space always available to you.

Understanding what is yours, release your grip.
Trust what is true to hold you up.

Trust what is

Inhabiting the now

I grew up like an international nomad (a story for another day), and have never developed a strong sense of rootedness or belonging in any particular community. I’ve lived in East Africa, Ecuador, South Korea, China and of course the US. When I was getting settled into my current home of Washington, D.C., I worked at the International Language Institute, an academic English program for professional adult students. The students came from a variety of backgrounds. Some were from affluent families in the Middle East and others were refugees from war-torn countries. I had moved to D.C. hoping for a job in International Relations or International Development, and in a way, that is exactly what I found – but it didn’t look a thing like I had expected. It wasn’t broad or universal; in fact, the closer I got to the heart of it, the more specific and local my relationships and work became.

Ironically, exposure to multiple international communities has taught me that genuine development, progress, and healing are always personal and local. There is no such thing as international relations, because a relationship by nature is specific. Wherever you are, what matters is how you treat the people in front of you.

My craving for place and belonging teaches me this lesson again and again: My healing comes in the specific, not the abstract. It comes through the broken reality I inhabit right now, and not in a distant place, past or future. However international, however broad one’s experience, the truth is that healing and growth always occur in immediate moments, relationships, and places. I no longer seek the grand and universal; instead, I pursue the fullness of small and quiet moments, the life-shaping, daily, utterly unique and yet ordinary moments that teach me to be where I am.

Refugee Center