The past several days I have been in retreat with my colleagues and leadership of the Center for Courage & Renewal. Hence, no internet access.
It is a discipline to unplug and be out of touch. As difficult as it is to disconnect from the voices of our every day, this simple act of self-care brings rest and renewal to one’s soul. Being in retreat allows us to deeply reconnect to ourselves. Making whole of that which is tired, fractured, and separated. In retreat I am reunited with my soul and with the values that I know I cannot live without as they are core to who I am as a Human Being.
Parker Palmer, writer, educator, activist, and Founder of The Center for Courage and Renewal, and someone I consider as my mentor, teacher and friend, wrote:
“I want my inner truth to be the plumb line for the choices I make about my life —about the work that I do and how I do it, about the relationships I enter into and how I conduct them.”
I am reminded that while I have been “away,” rivers still flow, tides change, and life moves on.
As I reconnect with the happenings of my family and global news I sit in wonder of the precious gifts of love and life. I am reminded of my parental, civic, and human responsibilities. I am more acutely aware of the systems that we put into place that support inequality and hate, and promote delusion and denial of the very realities that destroy the fabric of our lives and the future of our communities and nation.
There are many conversations that we need to have and actions awaiting our full attention and resources.
We shy away from engaging in such discourse because life is already tough and we believe those issues have a very small likelihood of touching us or those closest to us. Those conversations become buried in the same drawer where someone keeps their gun, their hate, their secrets, their deepest pain. To approach something untouchable and scary takes a great deal of courage.
It sometimes means putting all of ourselves out on the line for everyone to see, to comment on, and even to judge. This is more reality and difficulty then we can stomach in a day—days where so many are already stressed and exhausted.
And still, my mind imagines our future, if in fact we continue to walk this burdened path. I think of my children and their children. And in the back of my mind I worry that the hate or the delusions of another might in some way harm them, or worse… I cannot even bring myself to name it, as I have watched the suffering of too many families as they grieve.
Even with this deep understanding I am still vulnerable to my own secret fears that I keep hidden in my drawer. This past year I had to examine one of my anxieties, one that I recognized was turning into something more—a prejudiced view that I could not easily shake.
My youngest daughter had graduated college and accepted a fellowship working for educational justice. She would live and work in West Philadelphia with seven other fellows. I was initially excited for her and clearly remember the day I first visited her at the row house the fellows called home.
As I drove into the neighborhood I was stunned by the sight of several women wearing full black burqas, Hallel Markets with signs in Arabic on each of the street corners and a large Mosque dominating the streetscape mid-block. As I parked my car I could hear the call to prayer and watched men of all ages walking in to worship. I recall a tightening in my chest. I could not believe that this is where my Jewish child was going to be living for a year.
I had to quickly decide how or if I was going to address my concerns with my daughter. I knew which drawer the fear was coming from—it was both ancient and contemporary, a distrust ingrained in me, and one I fought most my life. And here it was again, staring at me. I felt I had to sternly address myself, in that moment, standing on the street corner in front of my daughters residence.
I knew I had a choice: I could uphold my integrity by holding the dignity of others as closely as I hold my own, or I could continue to hide my weapons in a drawer. On that sunny morning I took a deep breath, sharing the same air as everyone in this community and chose to drop my weapon.
I recognize that each of us owns a weapon. I am not only speaking of the physical weapons like guns, knives. I am thinking of the emotional weapons that we hurl at another—the weapons of our biases, the weapons of hate, inequality, superiority, abuse of power and exclusion. The weapons of withholding empathy, compassion, kindness, respect and love.
The United States has made several big steps toward regaining our humanity, thanks to our Supreme Court. We still have a long road to walk to being fully human—to be accepting, caring and loving of all of who are of the Human Race. It is after all, the one designation that we all equally share.
I hope that we have the Courage to reconnect with our human values and create the deserved and imperative gift of Safe Space, so necessary to our Human Race to thrive.
I question, what more will it take for ALL of us to make a pledge to uphold our humanity, for the sake of our families and our communities? I sit in wonder and prayer as I march along the gritty path of change, all the while knowing that it has to begin with me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR | Lori Yadin a certified executive and life coach, an experiential educator, a facilitator in preparation with the Center for Courage & Renewal, and founder of Creating Safe Space. She has thirty years of experience helping individuals, teams and organizations achieve human potential, reach personal and professional goals, and maintain clear vision in line with values necessary for sustained success and living a contented and balanced life.
The post The Courage to Accept and Love Others In Spite of Our Fears appeared first on Center for Courage & Renewal.