I’m reading a book entitled “The Friendship of Women” by Joan Chittister for my church group. One line jumped out at me as I read it: “It requires us to surround ourselves with people who speak to the best part of us from the best part of themselves.” It sounds simple. I believe in seeing the best in other people, giving them the benefit of the doubt, perhaps even to my detriment. My ‘best part’ doesn’t always show up when I speak—I react from old patterns of fear even as I daily try to change them. When I read that line, my first thought wasn’t about my personal life, however; it was about our public life as a nation. What if the election season ads came from the ‘best part’ of each party to the ‘best part’ of all of us? What if Congress and the White House gave their ‘best part’ to one another in service to the people of the United States?
The negative ads, memes, comments, and daily talk on the news and around the kitchen table is like a slow, insidious fog enveloping us, blinding us to common decency and connection. It draws a line in the sand, wants us to pick a side and come out fighting. It is detrimental to our bodies, minds, and souls. In our late September trip to the Northwoods, we cleared the air. We pledged not to talk about politics. We had no tv or social media. We had better things to do and more important things to talk about. (We did inadvertently land in the lap of politics two times, but we quickly pivoted away again.)
We had rain at various times each day and night when we stayed at KoWaKan. Our hike to Secret/Blackstone trail in Superior National Forest was under a blue sky and bright sun. By afternoon, the clouds started rolling in. Four of us went canoeing and fishing at a nearby lake, while the rest of us stayed at camp and canoed. Emily and Chris got rained on when they were out. Those rain clouds passed, and the sun shone again.
Emily and I got rained on when we went out, but we also saw what happens when rain and sun collide!
We dried ourselves and our socks by the campfire. The fishermen returned with stories of a small catch and a beautiful rainbow.
We prepared hobo dinners—ground beef, onions, carrots, baby potatoes, the last picking of green beans from the garden, butter and seasoning, all wrapped up in a double layer of aluminum foil—and placed them on the coals of the fire. We ate our campfire-cooked meal around the fire as the sun slipped behind the trees, and the sky darkened. We looked for stars between the clouds.
My day had started with a welcome from the eagle across the lake, progressed with a challenging, breath-taking hike in the National Forest, continued with a canoe ride bathed in rain and a rainbow, and ended with a delicious meal—surrounded by people speaking from the ‘best part’ of themselves. The ‘best part’ of me declared that this was the best day I have had in years! “Better than the Super Bowl weekend?” they challenged. That was very good and fun, but this was better. “Better than our trip to Wisconsin last year before Covid?” I loved that, but this day was better. Part of what was better was just how much ‘better’ I was on this day than on those others. Part of the better was being in the unbelievable beauty of Nature. Better was being in such a special place with so many good memories and stories. Better was being away from the negativity and stress of the pandemic and politics.
The next day we did a little more canoeing and fishing, packed up our things, and got ready to leave.
I am not delusional enough to believe that we can exist in a utopian world. I know unresolved hurts and traumas in our lives affect how we view the world, how we treat other people, and how we act and react. I know that my best self doesn’t show up all the time. I also know that drawing a line in the sand and tossing bombs of hate and disrespect do not make a United States of America. It does not make us a better country or better people. Our lives right now are stormy and messy. Our spirits are dampened. I wish you could all feel the way I felt at the end of that wilderness day—deep satisfaction, joyful happiness, and peaceful contentment in my body, mind, and soul—all wrapped up like the promise of a fleeting rainbow. I now know how ‘better’ feels. We can have a new beginning with each sunrise. Like the eagle, we can call out a welcome to others. We can place our feet on the Earth and see her beauty. We can glide on water and feel the blessing of rain. We can make a promise to do better. We can nourish our bodies with good food and nourish our minds and spirits with people bringing the ‘best part’ of themselves to the fire ring. We can look for the light of stars and the light of our better angels.
