when i first saw true happiness and peace in action
The phrase, "everything is going to be alright," was recently highlighted in our rector’s Sunday sermon. His message was that some people seem on a different track than the rest of us – a path where they know "everything will be alright." I thought of my stepdad. In my 30 years of knowing him, he's never appeared scared or worried.
Soon after he came into my life, a US conflict escalated to levels I had not witnessed. I was in college and terrified at the thought of war. In my mind, we were in a situation that could turn into Vietnam, and I watched the events unfold with increasing alarm.
My stepdad had navigated many charged international affairs during his years in the foreign service, and I looked to him for guidance. As I peppered him with my questions and controlled panic, I remember him smiling at me and saying, "Don't worry. Everything is going to be alright."
It was a defining moment.
Part of me thought, "how could it possibly be alright? Look at what is happening!"
But the kindness in his eyes, the lightness of his presence, the joy he maintained, and the certainty he brought with his assurances gave me a glimpse into another way of viewing and experiencing the world. The years unfolded in our new life as a combined family.
Over and over again, where I saw pain, disappointment, struggle, strife, and no way out, he saw something different. He saw possibilities for reconciliation, compromise, agreement, and even light.
As a cradle Episcopalian, he was a very spiritual person who introduced me to the Episcopal church and the teachings of leaders and sages of Hinduism and Buddhism. He had an understated faith in deep-running waters. He was consistently and amazingly upbeat and joyful — excited for the new day and ready to take on the next challenge.
He also had a remarkable way of talking with anyone. Social structure and trappings of status were absent in his appraisal of people. He spoke to everyone respectfully and kindly while meeting them where they were. He never talked down or held his education and experiences over another. I never felt any sense of superiority coming from him. Even though he had many blessings and privileges he could have wielded as weapons, he never did.
"How could you have worked in the foreign service, seen so many of the world's problems (with unmistakable clarity), and maintained this level of optimism and enthusiasm for life?" I thought.
He was a puzzle to me in many ways, but his kindness, certainty, patience, and the love he seemed to feel for everything became an anchor and an inspiration for me. He showed me a different way to be, a different way to walk through the world and experience life.
He helped me see that we can meet even the most annoying people with patience and humor and choose to navigate the most hurtful situations without hating and punishing ourselves or the other person.
He was human, without a doubt. He cussed like the sailor he was. He farted almost anywhere and did not care who heard it. At all. He made me crazy with his tight schedules measured by minutes and 6-minute warnings for every trip that required us all to get in the car. But all of these annoyances were fun more than not. His kindness and sunny disposition eclipsed these minor frustrations.
As I got older, I recognized ways his optimism and outlook on life could have been blindspots of sorts. Still, I wonder more and more if they were indeed blindspots or more a choice to see the world through God's eyes, as much as we can while in these bodies – and refusing to buy into the pain and fear that other people repeatedly ask us to join them in.
Years after witnessing his example, I stopped questioning its authenticity and began taking notes.
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