I left a store the other day without the jar of hand cream that my fingers desperately needed. I only had one item—it shouldn’t have been that hard. I just couldn’t deal with the self-serve checkout register. The scanner wouldn’t work, the register repeatedly beeped, and the loud audio voice kept proclaiming that I'd done something wrong. I didn’t want to take my frustration out on the one exhausted-looking employee who was serving multiple other people, so the logical solution seemed to be to just leave. Of course, as soon as I got in the car, I realized the flaw in my reasoning.
I love to be messy when it means being covered in soil from my garden, flour from my kitchen, or paint from an art project. I really, really don’t like being messy in my actions in front of other people. In that moment, having a mechanized computer voice repeatedly declare that “Help is on the way”—when I didn’t even know I’d done something wrong—felt beyond my capacity.
So there I was, looking out the front windshield of my van without the hand cream. Thankfully, rather miraculously, a bit of grace in the form of self-compassion blew in. I found myself slowly shaking my head and softly laughing. I even said out loud something like, “Wow, Gretch, you are tired. Be careful today.” I went home and decided that the “help on the way” was in a cup of tea.
We’re almost at the 2-year mark of the pandemic. We’re living in the midst of many crises, much fear and anger, and so much injustice. Many of us don’t have the kind of inner reserves we used to. Our weariness has us struggling to remain resourceful, patient, and resilient. Even small things are harder. It’s urgently important that we go gently—being patterns and examples, activists, workers for justice, givers and healers, artists, nurturers, elders, parents, friends, witnesses to the Light all the while being ready to receive moments of grace, joy, hope, or comfort. This is a time for practicing compassion in every step.
In the story of Exodus, the manna God provided in the wilderness was enough, but no more, for each day. It couldn’t be hoarded or stored for later. Many of us have long since used up our spiritual and emotional reserves. It’s critically important that we take seriously our need, individually and collectively, for enough sustenance to keep on striving to faithfully walk in the Light.
What do we need? How can we help ourselves and each other recognize the divine appearing? How can we share what we have on good days when there is an abundance of hope and joy in our hands?
The deep yearnings many of us are feeling for spiritual sustenance, for joy, or for being with others who see, know and love us as we are—and can be—are real and wise nudges for what we need. How can we give ourselves and each other more compassion, less criticism, more joy? Whether it’s a cup of tea, a listening ear, an impromptu bit of silliness, or a nap, I encourage you, Dear Hearts, to go gently with yourselves and with those around you.
With love,
Gretchen