Be

for Renee Nicole Good

Many weeks ago, our beloved friend and neighbor installed a sign along the road across the street from us that says, “Be Nice.” I get a direct view of it from my bathroom window.

Well, I try. But I am sure I am not always nice. I am human like everyone else, and sometimes I fall short of the mark. A reminder helps.

After our recent heavy snowfall, however, the sign started sending me a different exhortation. A tall snowbank obscures the word, “nice.” Now the sign simply says, “Be.”

Be.

Isn’t that the best?

So, so many people I know were hoping fervently that turning the calendar page to 2026 would usher in some good news. In all honesty, I hoped so, too, although, when I am thinking rationally, I don’t put much stock in calendar pages. People who were hoping 2026 would be any better were quickly disappointed. It seems as though a whole new weather pattern of concern, dread, and anger has swept in — at least here in America. I won’t itemize my personal litany of worries and fears. You probably have your own litany. Anyway, as you can see, I dedicated this blog post to Renee Nicole Good, which gives you some idea. The current American regime forces citizens to shoulder, unbidden and unwanted by most, a monumental moral injury that exceeds anything I have known in my lifetime. Suffice it to say, we are heavy-laden with burdens that can crush the soul.

Unless we remember, every so often, to be. Simply be.

Adrienne Rich wrote:

My heart is moved by all I cannot save:
so much has been destroyed

I have to cast my lot with those
who age after age, perversely,

with no extraordinary power,
reconstitute the world.

My heart is moved, too. On a daily, sometimes hourly basis. Perhaps that is true for you as well. I know my contributions alone will not save the world. I hope the things I do — adding to the actions so, so many others are taking — are helping to reconstitute it. I want to keep showing up, offering whatever I can, whenever I can.

I am certain of this: To clear my head so that I can think more clearly, to soothe my broken heart so that I can continue to make room to hold others there, and to rest my weary soul so that I am refreshed for the work ahead, I need simply to be sometimes. I need the kind of soul-sustenance that comes from stopping and quietly listening to what is inside me. My guess is that is true for others, too.

Some find that kind of quiet listening in a meditation practice, some in prayer. Some may simply stop to follow their breath in an out, quieting the jabber inside for a spell. Some may adopt that inner view through exercise or even laughter yoga. Whatever route one takes, I think it’s important to stop, just stop, every so often. Poet Robert Frost knew that:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

I, too, have stopped to watch the woods fill up with snow — both literally and figuratively speaking. When I stop — really stop — I look my fears, my worries, my anger, my despair squarely in the eye. But I notice other things, too: the things that make me laugh and smile, the things that comfort me. The things that are of deepest importance to me. After stopping and resting, I can return to the promises I need and want to keep.

Years ago, I spent the night in the hospital hemorrhaging from a mid-term pregnancy loss. I was admitted to the hospital around 8 PM on that long-ago Saturday night. The doctor on call didn’t arrive until sometime after noon on Sunday. All night long, the nurses kept taking my blood pressure, concerned about the amount of blood I was steadily losing. Eventually, they hooked me up to an automatic blood pressure cuff that took regular readings. As the night wore on, I watched my blood pressure drop and drop and drop. If watching my blood pressure numbers sink lower and lower wasn’t enough to alert me that I was in serious trouble, I could also hear the nurses talking about me at their station just outside my room:

“Where is the doctor?” asked one, anxiously.

“We called him hours ago,” said another, also anxiously.

“I hope he shows up soon,” again, anxiously.

“She seems like such a nice lady.”

It was that last comment, spoken in a wistful, regretful tone of voice, that convinced me I was actually dying. I was too weak to do anything except wait. Another way of putting it is this: In the circumstances, all I could actually do was “be.”

As the night wore on, one worry, one thought, after another evaporated. Until I was left with this: “The only thing I care about,” I said to myself, “is [my husband] and [my 6-year-old son].” When I reached that point, I was filled with love.

The whole experience was harrowing, to be sure. But when it was all over, I was left knowing love to be my surest footing. Now, all these years later, when I stop to quiet the inner cacophony, I know I have been successful when I reach that bedrock of love. For me, love is the only thing that matters. The only thing that will sustain me so that I can gather my strength to soldier on. The only thing that will gently wash away my weariness.

Your own meditations of the heart may lead you somewhere different — I don’t know. The only thing I know for sure is that love is my center — I know it because I have felt it in my own body.

Much is required of those of us who work for justice, who try to stem the tide of assaults to democracy, freedom, and peace. New rallies and protests have been springing up all over the country, ever since the U. S. invaded Venezuela, kidnapped their president, and announced a lasting presence there. Even more rallies and protests are happening in response to the murder of Renee Nicole Good in Minnesota. We are called to show up — those of us who can. We are called to telephone and email our elected representatives. We are called to write op-eds and letters to the editor. And more. We are called to respond in so, so many important ways. The mountain we are climbing is steep and far. I am right there with everyone else who is responding.

One of my colleagues, the Rev. Earl Holt, once said:

When asked how much time a minister ought to spend in meditation, the spiritual leader replied, “One hour a day, except when you are very, very busy. On those days meditate two hours.”

Those wise words apply not just to clergy, but to everyone. All of us. We are in two-hour meditation territory here. At least for me, I find it important not to forget that. That’s why my neighbor’s sign is such a wonderful reminder just now. I know that in the fury, amidst the sturm und drang, I need to carve out time to “be.” Just be. To recover. To heal. To gather my strength and refresh my resolve.

Be quiet.

Be attentive.

Be love.

Be.

Love,

Sylvia