A gift from strangers

With the Westside Road closed,
it's a long way to get to Lake George.

I took off with my hiking buddy, with the lake as our goal.
We walked through explosions of golden leaves
set off by the green of the Douglas fir, western redcedar and hemlock,
watching leaves drifting down individually and sometimes in a mass exodus.
Enjoying the solitude and the sun on our faces.
Talking about things of the heart.
A perfect fall hiking day.

When we reached the trailhead we took a break,
and a group of men appeared down the road, heading our way.
We took off, hoping they had a different destination in mind.
The trail disappeared into the forest
and we regained our solitude.

At the lake, we found a log extending into the water
and climbed out on it to have lunch.
Enjoying the peace and beauty of the mountain lake.
Then the group of men appeared. You could hear them
before you could see them. They were loud.
And obnoxious. It amazed me that they seemed to have
little regard for our presence nearby.
I have to say, it made me mad.

They made their way (did I mention loudly?)
along the shore until eventually they were across from us.
And then something happened.
They broke into song, amazing harmonies that carried across the water.
"How Great Thou Art" drifted toward us in an unfamiliar language.
It was beautiful and surreal.

I had to put down my anger and self-righteousness
in order to receive this gift from strangers.
We learned later they were all from Ukraine,
now living in America.
They sing in church together.

A lesson from strangers. A gift of song.
Thank you.

I can do better

Stop and think, I tell myself.
None of this feels right.
So little makes sense anymore.
Are other people feeling this way?

Finding it more and more difficult
to feel at home, not in this place but in this time
when the loudest voices are those of
greed, hatred, violence and power.

The house I grew up in looks the same,
but the neighborhood feels so different.
You notice that too?

Finding it hard to speak the language of truth
when the dialect is dishonesty,
manipulation, power, pride, ego and self.
Flex your patriotic muscles.
Keep out the riffraff. You know the drill.

Since I speak of dishonesty, I should try
to be honest, recognizing that all of us -
you, me, them - are all part of the problem.
It is not a new problem,
it has been around for a long, long time.
Fed by every selfish decision we make,
everything we make into a misguided priority.
As individuals and as a community.

Sure, I'll love my neighbor as myself,
right after I make certain I have everything I need.
Better yet, everything I desire.
(Did I step on you trying to get here? You'll be okay.)
Here, help yourself to my discards.
My leftovers. What a generous person I am.
(Did you see me do that? Good, huh?)

Short-term gain has its hands on the wheel
taking a shortcut across the landscape,
leaving behind devastation and deep, muddy ruts.
For my children and their children.
(I really, really am so very sorry.)

None of this feels right.
What does it look like to live gracefully?
To respond appropriately?
To let go of things that don't matter?
To desire and seek things that do?

Here I am, looking at a page that was blank,
now filled with words. Thinking out loud.
Hoping you will join me.

Knowing I can do better.