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Rabbi Albert Lewis tells the story of a man seeking employment on a farm; he hands a letter of recommendation to his new employer that reads simply, "He sleeps in a storm." The farmer is uncertain what to make of the note, but desperate for help, he hires the fellow. Several weeks pass, and suddenly, in the middle of the night, a powerful storm rips through the valley. Awakened by swirling rain and howling wind, the farmer leaps out of bed. He calls for his new hired hand, but the man is sleeping soundly. And so the farmer dashes off to the barn, where he sees to his amazement that all of the animals are secure with plenty of feed. He then runs to the field, only to discover that the bales of wheat have been bound and wrapped in tarps. And when he runs to the silo, he finds latched doors and dry grain. Only then does he understand the note, "He sleeps in a storm."
The rabbi concludes, "If we tend to the things that are important in life, if we are right with those we love and behave in line with our faith, our lives will not be cursed with the aching throb of unfulfilled business. Our words will always be sincere, our embraces will be tight. We will never wallow in the agony of 'I could have, I should have.' We can sleep in a storm."
The storm part--when the world as we know it goes catawampus--we all know. Just pick up your newspaper, or look in the mirror.
Like it or not, no one is insulated us from the common, messy, tragic, inconvenient and unfortunate experiences of life. And they sometimes "strike" so suddenly. But then, I think that's the lesson of the Rabbi's story: the real storm is not just the circumstances (however precarious), but that the storm re-calibrates our internal balance. You know, the storm keeps us from sleeping. . .
And yes, we live in a world where there are plenty of folk peddling some kind of tonic to escape the vicissitudes of life. Whether a gizmo, or a mantra, or a prayer designed to be some sort of secret handshake with God, or a maybe a scented candle to help the mood.
This story is not just about a storm, but about our ability to sleep.
More literally, to be at rest. At peace.
That sounds good. . .not that it always works out.
What was his secret? I'm asking because I don't easily sleep in a storm. Does anyone? (And I know of some people who actually prefer to create a storm or two, just for the adrenaline rush.)
So here's what happens. When I internalize the storm, I end up living "in between"--meaning I live "as if" or "if only" or "when." Which means that I am living "reactive" (just like the frenetic anxiety of the farmer in the story). Oddly, with my sense of worry, I assume that I am in control. Go figure. But my worry (living "if only") only leeches focus, passion, investment, and energy from all of my endeavors.
There is a story about a Zen priest in China when the warlords were plundering villages at the early part of the 20th century. When this particular village heard that the warlord was headed toward them, all of the people fled to the hills--except one priest. When the warlord arrived, he inquired if any one was left in the village. The answer was, "Only the priest in the temple." The warlord commanded, "Bring him to me." When the priest was brought into his presence, the warlord drew his sword and cried, "Do you know who I am? I am he who can run you through with this sword and never bat an eye." The Zen priest gave his reply, "Do you know who I am? I am he who can be run through with your sword and never bat an eye."
I want that kind of self-assurance to face the threats and storms in my life, don't you?
This I know: In the midst of a storm, we survive by affirming who we are. Theologian Paul Tillich (in his book The Courage to Be) said that the "ultimate courage is to affirm our being against all the threats of nonbeing." Yes, he is a professor and sounds terribly academic. Nevertheless, it is still true.
Every day "forces of non-being" confront us by saying,
"You are nobody--you don't have a right to exist."
Or, "This you is not enough."
Or, "When you arrive at such and such, you will find happiness."
Or, "Your life will begin when all the storms pass."
As if our identity is somewhere outside of us, and that whatever is inside of us is insufficient.
No, I'm not advocating that we try to outsmart the storm. Or control it for that matter. But it does help to remember that it does not control me--or us. And we have the power, and the choice to take small steps.
What do I have control over? Be it "securing the bales," or "latching the silo."
What is the one thing I can do? I can begin there. Now.
That my friend, is good news. Today, I make choices from--and rest in--that sufficiency. The truth is that our strength--fullness, abundance, value, sufficiency, wholeness--is already there. . .even if we don't see it.
And here's the deal: If we don't bring it with us, we're not going to find it there.
Our resources will be adequate if in the midst of the storms we affirm who we are, remember what we are here to do, and claim the presence of the One who never leaves us.
(1) The Rabbi's story from Mitch Albom's, Have a Little Faith (the Rabbi's sermon from 1975)
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