Tom Adams
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This morning I was up early and read Richard Rohr’s daily meditation, Richard Rohr is a Franciscan friar, ecumenical teacher and founder of the Center for Action and Contemplation. Today’s meditation is entitled The Spiritual Practice of Awe. The meditation draws from the book This Here Flesh: Spirituality, Liberation and the Stories that Make Us by Cole Arthur Riley.
On Sunday evening, after a delightful holiday weekend, I learned of the sudden death of a 41-year-old friend. I couldn’t believe it. Numbness blocked my tears. I sat in shock.
Last week my post explored the power of gratitude and the simple act of making a gratitude list. I found myself paying attention to the many beautiful moments that brought me gratitude, and the more difficult moments that compete for my attention. This week’s post explores the connection between gratitude, family, and community.
Thanksgiving is a great time to reflect on gratitude and its relevance to daily life. I have had periods of my life where the word gratitude would make me angry and nauseous. Apologies – maybe that is a little dramatic. You get the point. Some years there didn’t seem to be much to be grateful for.
I am back from a trip to New York to continue research on Bill and Lois Wilson. My friend and colleague Joy Jones and I are writing a book about Bill and Lois Wilson and how their marriage changed the world. We have a working draft of the book. We are now in the tedious part of making sure the story makes sense, is accurate and advances our hopes in writing the book.
TJ Klune writes in “The House in the Cerulean Sea” about magical children who are segregated from society because their differences are seen as dangerous and in need of regulation and prescribed assimilation. Thomas Page McBee writes in Amateur, a memoir of his journey as a transgender male: “It is not easy to face the long shadow of assimilation in the United States, which is as old as the nation itself. It is so much a part of our national history to pretend to be what we are not in our striving that many of us no longer see what we have lost.”
About eighteen months ago, a new friend wished me “traveling mercies” as Geraldine and I were heading off on a trip. I had not heard the term before and wondered what she meant. At first, I thought it was a prayer for gentleness and compassion for self and traveling companions when the inevitable travel fatigue and resulting crankiness occur. But I came to appreciate that traveling mercies were more than that – they were graces or blessings that occur during travel. And they often remind us of how much love and grace there is in our life every day.
September is National Recovery Month. Granted, Recovery Month is less well-known than Black History Month or Gay Pride Month. I almost missed it again this year, but for a friend who mentioned it. Last week in reflecting on the Celebration of Life for my brother John, I commented on the sense of community at the gathering of his friends and our family. More specifically I commented on the love in the room and how my ability to see, feel and give love continues to grow as I age.
A recent reading at a Sunday worship service focused on the simple principle: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” You don’t have to be a churchgoer or believer to learn this principle. Some call it the golden rule – “Do unto others…”. A friend had a similar saying: “What goes around, comes around.” My brother John died recently. Reflecting on John’s life and legacy has broadened my perspective on the golden rule and how love grows.
We are sitting on a large piece of driftwood nestled into the sand at San Josef Bay near the northernmost tip of land on Vancouver Island. Clouds of rain have come and gone most of the day until a small, postage-stamp sized piece of blue sky opens up. An osprey seizes the moment to rise into the air and begin its fishing expedition along the Bay. Its flight is a joyous sight. Soaring with each breeze it stops to hover by rapidly flapping its broad white wings. Suddenly it shape shifts into a darted missile and dives down into the churning sea and emerges scant seconds later with a wriggling piece of silver clenched in its talons. And then disappears.
Tom Adams writes and speaks on topics vital to the intersection of our personal lives with our community and global lives. He has for decades been engaged in and written about nonprofit leadership and transitions, spirituality and spiritual growth, how we each contribute to a more just and equitable world and recovery from addictions and the Twelve Step recovery movement.