To talk about spaces in a diminishing way actually means that you devalue the people there, and it becomes very easy to treat them and their neighborhoods as fungible.
—Imani Perry, from her interview with Krista Tippett at Chautauqua. Can’t wait to launch this in the podcast next week! (via beingblog)
- Lady on the bus next to me: Tell me again- what are you not going to do in daycare today?
- Little boy: I will not hit the teacher with a light saber.
- Lady: And why are you not going to hit her with a light saber?
- Boy: It is my toy, and my choice, but if I hit her with the light saber, I'm acting like a Sith.
- Lady: Do you want to be a Sith?
- Boy: No! I am Obi-Wan!
I will take twenty.
UUUUUUGGHHH I NEED THIS
Seriously. There has to be a warehouse somewhere with a bunch of those Kung fu chipmunk things. Just swap the chipmunk for groot, the song for some Jackson 5, and tweak the movement a bit and you’ll have the hottest toy of this Christmas season hands down.
Recently, I moved from Harvard to a place near Toronto called Daybreak. That is, from an institution for the best and brightest to a community where mentally handicapped people and their assistants try to live together in the spirit of the Beatitudes. In my house, 10 of us form a family. Gradually, I’m forgetting who is handicapped and who is not. We are simply John, Bill, Trevor, Raymond, Rose, Steve, Jane, Naomi, Henri, and Adam.
I want to tell you Adam’s story. After a month of working with Adam, something started to happen to me that had never happened before. This severely handicapped young man, whom outsiders sometimes describe with very hurtful words, started to become my dearest companion. As I carried him into his bath and made waves to let the water run fast around him and told him all sorts of stories, I knew that two friends were communicating far beyond the realm of thought.
Before this, I had come to believe that what makes us human is our mind. But Adam keeps showing me that what makes us human is our heart, the center of our being where God has hidden trust, hope, and love. Whoever sees in Adam merely a burden to society misses the sacred mystery that Adam is fully capable of receiving and giving love. He is fully human—not half human, not nearly human, but fully, completely human because he is all heart. The longer I stay with Adam, the more clearly I see him as a gentle teacher, teaching me what no book or professor ever could.
Once, when Adam’s parents came for a visit I asked, ‘Tell me, during all the years you had Adam in your house, what did he give you?’ His father smiled and said without hesitation, ‘He brought us peace.’ I know he is right. After months of being with Adam, I am discovering within myself an inner quiet that I did not know before. Adam is one of the most broken persons among us, but without doubt our strongest bond. Because of Adam there is always someone home. Because of Adam there is a quiet rhythm in the house. Because of Adam there are moments of silence. Because of Adam there are always words of affection and tenderness. Because of Adam there is patience and endurance. Because of Adam there are smiles and tears visible to all. Because of Adam there is always time and space for forgiveness and healing. Yes, because of Adam there is peace among us.
Don’t turn your head.
at the bandaged place.
the Light enters you.
—Rumi (via beingblog)