In the small Fannin County Hospital, local ministers take turns being chaplain for a week. Fred Craddock tells about one of his assigned weeks when a baby was born. It creates quite a stir, because not a lot of babies are born in a thirty-bed hospital. Fred writes, "I went there, about nine in the morning, and saw a clan of people gathered, looking though the glass at a little bitty new baby."

"Is it a boy or girl?"  

"It's a girl."

"What's the name?"

"Elizabeth."

"Is the father here?"

Someone pointed, and Fred saw a young man leaning against the wall.

"I'm the father," the young man told him.

"Baby's name is Elizabeth?"

"Yeah."

"She's a beautiful baby."

Elizabeth was squirming--you couldn't hear through the glass--but she was squirming, and red faced and all like that. Thinking the father may be concerned, Fred told him, "Now, she's not sick. It's good for babies to scream and do all that. It clears out their lungs and gets their voices going. It's all right."

The young man nodded, "Oh I know she's not sick. But she's mad as hell."

And then, "Pardon me, Reverend."

Fred said, "That's all right. Why's she so mad?"

"Well wouldn't you be mad? One minute you're with God in heaven and the next minute you're in Georgia."

Fred thought, Man, I've got myself a real mountain Gnostic here. This guy's been reading Plato. He asked, "You believe your daughter was with God before she came here?"

"Oh yeah."

"You think she'll remember?"

"We'll that's up to her mother and me. We've got to see that she remembers, 'cause if she forgets, she's a goner."

It's easy to forget isn't it? What with the cacophony and pace of life.

Which begs the question: how does one remember? And why is it so easy to forget?

Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen.  

Don't be afraid. Frederick Buechner

Okay. But somehow you'd think we make this journey a lot easier on ourselves.

This past week was a clear reminder of what we are up against. I had several conversations with people--some very close to me--who feel overwhelmed, exhausted, derailed, diminished and disheartened. "Tell me," they asked, "where is the hope?" I had no answer. Not that didn't sound scripted and insincere. 

Here is what I do know: this world is fragmented. As if that's not enough, we internalize the untidiness or unrest or sense of scarcity as the message. In other words, it becomes the lens through which we see the world, our life and our identity. (Whatever is honored will be cultivated.) 

Remember as children, we sang--right index finger raised--"this little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine."

"You are the light of the world," Jesus reminded us.

And yet, we read it as a command rather than an affirmation.

Here's the deal. He never said, "Create the light. Contrive the light. Design the light. Engineer the light." He said simply, "Let." Meaning "allow." Meaning, the light is already there.  

Inside of us.  

Now.

Like the little girl in a Georgia hospital, we arrived with it. And each soul and each light is unique and imprinted by God, and we are invited to break out of the minimum-security prison of conformity or fear or smallness in order to experience our soul's true power and story. 

Sufficiency isn't two steps up from poverty or one step short of abundance. It isn't a measure of barely enough or more than enough. Sufficiency isn't an amount at all. It is an experience, a context we generate, a declaration, a knowing that there is enough, and that we are enough. Lynne Twist

This sounds good.

So. When and how do we tune into our heart and listen? To remember. 

And why do we so easily "give up?" There are no tricks, much as we'd like. (Lord knows I've read enough self-help books where I feel worse after.) You see, when I view "remembering" as some kind of exertion, I fall short whenever I don't step up my game. That's when we double-down on whatever derails us. As if we can muster enough will-power to get ourselves out of a pickle. And (to make matters worse), we believe that the "remembering" has to do with data, so we focus on creeds and correct theology and accurate advice.

Apparently, you are the light is not enough.  

No wonder we need someone to remind us. Which means that where and when we go to remember is as important as the remembering itself.

Gabrielle Roth reminds us, "In many shamanic societies, if you came to a shaman or medicine person complaining of being disheartened, dispirited, or depressed, they would ask one of four questions. When did you stop dancing? When did you stop singing? When did you stop being enchanted by stories? When did you stop finding comfort in the sweet territory of silence? Where we have stopped dancing, singing, being enchanted by stories, or finding comfort in silence is where we have experience the loss of soul. Dancing, singing, storytelling, and silence are the four universal healing salves."

Here in the Pacific Northwest we've had a Spring Day unable to make up it's mind. From gloomy to an unrelenting hailstorm to an afternoon giving way to a blue sky with brush stroke clouds. The light does wonders to the colors in the garden, leaves--new shoots on the roses a translucent cranberry red--and blooms--butter yellow tulips. And the light, thankfully, does wonders to my spirit. It almost makes me want to dance.