Dear Friends,
For months now, I’ve had a scrap of paper floating on my desk with a sentence that JHYM Staffer Dave Baxter said to everyone at the end of the October retreat.
Even when your screens are off, I have felt you sharing what is in your hearts.
That sentence is so much of what we’ve all been reaching for over the past 12 months.
It has had me thinking, too, about something that happened at a JYM Retreat six years ago. It was Saturday night. Anne Anderson had come to me a couple of hours before, offering to lead a mindful exercise to help the children experience feeling each other’s presence, and I’d plugged it into the schedule for right after supper. Everyone was sprawled on the floor at Wellesley Meeting and the energy in the room was on the ceiling. I remember wondering whether I’d chosen the absolute worst time of the weekend to do it, but amazingly, after singing a few songs, and having a little quiet, the group settled.
Anne briefly shared some thoughts and stories on being present beyond the usually listed five senses. And then Anne asked everyone to try something in pairs. They scooted themselves around to face each other and look in each other’s eyes. Anne had them hold their hands up so that they were just barely touching—noting that if this didn't feel okay, they could just get them very, very close. And then, Anne invited everyone who felt comfortable to close their eyes and very slowly pull their hands away just a little bit, and see if they could still sense the other. There were a few giggles at first, but then there was silence—the kind of silence from which the still small voice of God can arise. I was not paired with anyone and got to watch our fifty-something children and staff trust Anne and step into the invitation. Some of them moved their hands a tiny bit in different directions, striving to sense their partner’s energy. The willingness to wholeheartedly focus their whole selves on being present to each other, and the Spirit that arose in that fellowship, was palpable.
This year has provided innumerable opportunities to grow our senses of each other. We peer across screens trying to discern what we see in each other’s eyes, use our own heart’s experiences to try and feel what another’s words convey, and use far more body language than previously to voice our compassion, encouragement, and concern. We are upgrading our internal radar for the other. It is hard, sometimes uncomfortable, often frustrating or disappointing, and definitely exhausting, but we are growing our capacities to be connected to each other in fellowship. I believe we are also growing our capacities to be heard or to be awakened to each other’s experiences of being oppressed or traumatically harmed.
In the midst of reflecting on all that has been lost, I feel deep gratitude and hope for this. I can use it when I need encouragement to keep on. Things shift in me when I think about approaching more Zooms, texts, or handwritten letters as ways to keep growing my own and our community's collective sensory connectors towards deeper compassion and understanding of each other’s hearts and experiences. (You know, I think it might be one of those holy potatoes ... .)
With love and gratitude for all you have shared and all that you are,
Gretchen