Humility exalteth man

When you mention humility people look askance.  It is such an old fashioned word.  Today the language is all about self confidence, that can do, capable, independent spirit we all long to have.  But humility, no, that is something we just wish others would have!  I was having a discussion about this with some friends and one felt that humility felt to her like being on her knees and being told to get lower.  That prompted an interesting discussion about what humility actually is and about self esteem and pride.  It was fascinating to hear all the different perspectives on this issue.

There’s a lovely quote about humility by Rick Warren

“Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it's thinking of yourself less. “

So humility is not about thinking less of yourself but about taking the focus somewhere else entirely.  St Augustine put it differently but more practically in terms of building foundations.

 “Do you wish to be great? Then begin by being. Do you desire to construct a vast and lofty fabric? Think first about the foundations of humility. The higher your structure is to be, the deeper must be its foundation.”

 

What a lovely image of us needing to build foundations to what we are and humility providing those very vital structures.  Something solid on which everything else can be built.  

The benefits of humility and the dangers of pride are dealt with beautifully and succinctly in this quote from Baha'u'llah.

“Humility exalteth man to the heaven of glory and power, whilst pride abaseth him to the depths of wretchedness and degradation.”

So if we are to become greater than we are now, start by building the foundations, acquire humility.  We need to build ourselves on something solid and pride does not help.

An Alternative Script

I tend to fill small notebooks with my scribbling and obviously had reached the very last page of one such book when I penned the following.

 

An Alternative Script

Reaching the end of this book

into which I have poured myself

sometimes rancid with sorrow

rarely radiant with joy

but always thankful for life

Perhaps to know each day

is really a fresh page of a new book

is the way to look at things

A chance to write a different hand

an alternative script

with a better ending

So on this the last

I want to remember and look forward to

all the stories in my life unwritten

that lie ahead just awaiting discovery

The triumphs the deeds

that I can hug to myself

as life on this plain wanes away

The friendships that I thank God for now

and the ones just around the corner for me to meet

And of all the sorrows and challenges

please give me strength for this too

So I won't buckle at the knees

and find my spirit cracked

I don't want to be a horse

carefully broken down to accept

the bridle and bit of life

I'd rather be a rough mare roaming

free on the plains

Discovering all that life offers

finding beauty in the landscape within and without

Unfettered, unsullied, unbroken

and if my feelings get worn

and a bit abused

I'd much rather that, than be iron clad

with the blacksmith's metal

and not feel the rough from the smooth at all

Let the hard surface of all

that I explore and meet

wear my hooves naturally

For a book unopened is protected forever

but what a wasted opportunity

Better thumbed and read, written and turned

than pristine and untouched.

Old Drum And Loyality

I read this piece to my first year animal management course in college each year and without fail it created an emotional reaction.  It helps that the kids are animal lovers but I reckon most people love the sentiments.  Hope you enjoy it!  The picture shows  a statue to Old Drum in Warrensburg, USA.

Senator Vest's "Tribute to the Dog"

It is strange how tenaciously popular memory clings to the bits of eloquence men have uttered, long after their deeds and most of their recorded thoughts are forgotten, or but indifferently remembered. However, whenever and as long as the name of the late Senator George Graham Vest of Missouri is mentioned it will always be associated with his love for a dog.
Many years ago, in 1869, Senator Vest represented in a lawsuit, a plaintiff whose dog "Old Drum" had been wilfully and wantonly shot by a neighbour. The defendant virtually admitted the shooting, but questioned to the jury the $150 value plaintiff attributed to this mere animal. To give his closing argument, George Vest rose from his chair, scowling, mute, his eyes burning from under the slash of brow tangled as a grape vine. Then he stepped sideways, hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets, his gold watch fob hanging motionless, it was that heavy. He looked, someone remembered afterwards, taller than his actual 5 feet 6 inches, and began in a quiet voice to deliver an extemporaneous oration. It was quite brief, less than 400 words:
"Gentlemen of the jury: the best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his worst enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it the most. A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honour when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads.
The one absolutely unselfish friend that a man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him and the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous... is his dog.
Gentlemen of the Jury: a man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounters with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens. If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death."
The jury deliberated less than two minutes then erupted in joint pathos and triumph. The record becomes quite sketchy here, but some in attendance say the plaintiff who had been asking $150, was awarded $500 by the jury. Little does that matter. The case was eventually appealed to the Missouri Supreme Court, which refused to hear it.

A poem on grief that will not heal

In our writing group there was discussion on recent suicides, especially among the young in our community, and the anguish they leave behind.  Knowing how desperate one must be to take one's own life there can only be compassion for those who find themselves in that lonely place.  Certainly no judgement or condemnation is intended but this poem arose from the consequences of such actions on those who remain behind.  

 

Suicide

In violation of my love

You took your life

Cutting our link with death’s blade

I bleed your loss profusely

Searching for a tourniquet of reason

Guilt, despair, explanations

cannot dispel the utter pain

Of knowing I was not enough

When my heart wails its willingness to face any ordeal for you

Any but this cold dead box

Nails hammered into sweet memories of love

Earth now covers that part of me

That was the best

What remains but this shell of deadness?

A mockery of living.

Etched upon my soul

Your absence is an acid

It burns unrelieved by time

Why not plunge the blade in here

It would have been a kinder deed by far

To my Nephew, James

It has been a pleasure watching you turn from an active toddler to a steady young man.  In my mind you are ever the tiny two year old who could not stand still but bounced on his toes as if anxious to start the race of life.  So much energy and so interested in everything.  Always so eager to make a start, with mind racing on in this direction and that.  Stoic and thoughtful you come at life strangely settled inside.  As if all the major decisions have already been taken somewhere.  Those important ones concerning principles, direction and morals.

I love your delight in creativity as it finds an echo in my own path.  How mundane not to create something fresh and rub ones hands in glee at its creation.  Not dependent on adulation, financial reward or even applause.  It makes life worth living and watching you listening to a track of your latest musical piece, eyes closed in concentration, head back to feel the music and shaking side to side slightly as if absorbing the sound waves selectively, is a lovely image.  May each day bring more such births along.  When so much nowadays is bring torn down, besmirched and corroded it is even more vital to be creative.  When destruction seems the key word today then let creativity be ours.  It is good to be choosing a different path.

I am firmly convinced creatively is a kind of inspiration.  It comes from somewhere outside us, but finds expression inside.  We just have to be clear channels to allow it out and share it with others.  So may the year ahead be filled with loads of inspiration and may your channel ever be clear.

Saving tiny birds one day at a time

Visited my elderly neighbour Joyce a few doors down from our old home yesterday in Coleraine.  Our house was a rotten wreck invested with wood worm and had a capacity to be much colder inside than the ambient temperature outside.  But our neighbours were universally lovely.  When we moved in we were greeted by one who brought flowers, chocolates and a massive bowl of fruit.  Joyce two doors down would appear at Easter, Christmas etc with one of her home baked cakes, those heavenly concoctions that only six decades of practice can produce.  I remember when my husband had a bypass operation in London and we had to fly over together, she sent a lovely note to my youngest son, left alone in the house, saying if he was lonely or hungry to call with her.  I really thank God for such people they make the world around them so much sweeter. 

You’ll not find them on the front page of your newspaper, or interviewed in a Jeremy Kyle show, or in your local court building, she will not create litter or vandalise your street, so you will probably never get to meet Joyce but be heartened that she exists.  I had obviously visited a little too early, half ten in the morning, but she welcomed me in with nice cup of coffee and slice of cake.  All with one hand.  It took me some time to notice that all the time we were talking a tiny bird was being held in one of her hands.  When I drew attention to the bird, she said it had flown into her kitchen window and stunned itself.  So she was holding it in her hand in the hope that the warmth of her hand would help revive it.  Sure enough the tiny bird began to become more lively and open and close its beak.  They say the best cure for shock in people is talking and warmth.  So Joyce was providing both to this tiny package of life.  After ten minutes the bird was much livelier and Joyce took it outside to see if it could fly.  Who does such things?  Who would share their human warmth with a tiny stunned bird.  Well, I hope you, like me, are strangely uplifted that Joyce certainly does!

Millenium Goals - the good news

Just over ten years ago the world’s leaders established goals and targets to free humanity from extreme poverty, hunger and disease.  The Millennium declaration set global priorities and allowed the world to focus their efforts.  I tend to be a cynic and am generally a half glass empty rather than a half glass full type but credit where credit is due – progress has been made, even in this financially taxing time.

Another example of what we can do when we work together is how the world tackled Smallpox.  Existing since 10,000 BC this disease was a real killer - estimates vary but proably 500 million people paid with their lives.  So when the world decided to eradicate this disease from the face of the earth it was no small task it set itself.   But it was united, a rare thing indeed for the human race, and in 1979 it succeeded in wiping this dreadful scourge out.  Speaks volumes about what this world can achieve when it sets its mind to it and acts as one!