DIANNE APRILE, Accomplished Journalist, Author and Educator
This I Believe:
I believe in silence. In its power and its persuasion.
I believe that the act of saying nothing often – no, USUALLY -- speaks louder than words ever could.
Monks know this. From Thich Nnhat Hahn to Thomas Merton to the Dalai Lama, monks know and understand the deeply felt significance of the unspoken.
Poets know it, too. EE Cummings said: Silence is a looking bird. Not a singing bird. A looking bird. A bird observing, noticing, listening, Being. Here. Now.
But so do we ordinary women and men know the profound power of silence. Intuitively, we know it.
Consider the wordless communication between a mother and the newborn at her breast. Or the tacit tete a tete that exists in a hospital room where the dying patient lies in bed and a friend sits, silent, at her side.
I believe in the authority of silence.
What if governments, rather than reacting with statements and decrees and edicts, observed silence – briefly but routinely - at times of crisis? What if we, the citizens, stopped to quietly reflect on the news of the day, rather than jumping into the fray with our rushed judgments and verbal crossfire.
Silence has its own eloquence.
Think of the times you dissolved a disagreement by simply not giving expression to the negative emotions it stirred in you.
I believe silence is a way of affirming life in all its forms and functions. Particularly in a democracy, which - of course - is at its heart a public conversation. But let’s not forget that conversation implies alternating patterns of listening and talking –equal parts silence and speech.
Imagine an election campaign where no one spoke unless they really had something to say. Where silence was imposed for, oh, maybe a calming 5 or 10 minutes after a debate or a speech or a misspoken word -- so we could meditate for a moment on what was spoken (and NOT spoken) before the grumbling hordes of commentators and bloggers burst forth to tell US what WE heard.
Think of the silence in music, when there’s a pause – that empty moment during which a bridge is created between what came before and what is to come. A moment of awareness of the present, with a nod to the past and an ear turned to the future.
Silence, Mary Oliver says, is what gives poetry its rhythm, cadence, music. So too our lives need silence - patches of nothingness, ellipses of emptiness, to inform the drumbeat of our days. And of our duties.
Think of the heroes and movements that have used silence to change the world. Silence, as in the refusal to act in bad faith, as in the refusal to follow orders, as in the refusal to go along with wars and poverty and discrimination and the destruction of the earth.
I believe in silence, in its yearning for wholeness, its desire to close the breach, its urge to unite what’s come asunder.
Silence too often gets a bad rap. It is not apathy. It is not surrender. It is not looking the other way.
Likewise, speaking is not necessarily speaking out. Sometimes words get in the way of reconciliation. They convey noise, not knowledge.
Imagine allowing conflict to settle … and BE settled, rather than engaged and aroused – ratcheted up a level, and a level, and a level. Think of the Dalai Lama’s soundless smile. Gandhi’s quiet walk. Martin Luther King’s dramatic and carefully placed pauses in his stirring orations. Think of the anti-war protests where there were songs and speeches, and think of the ones conducted wholly in silence.
Imagine a nation that listened rather than blogged.
A nation that, in the midst of turmoil, gave itself permission to sit still, to ponder, to NOT move, not speak, not act – until all that was unspoken, all that was hidden or unheard, was given time and space to make its case, to be taken into account.
Imagine that.
“Silence is never really silent,” the composer John Cage said.
This I believe.
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CAROL BESSE, Co-owner, Carmichaels Bookstores
This I Believe:
I believe in revolution. And revolution is exactly what we need in this country – and we need it now. I am a child of the 60s so I grew up in the midst of a revolution. One of the first things I did when I left home for college was to join every anti-war protest I could find. Never one described as cautious or timid, I loved to be in the midst of a loud and raucous group trying to right a wrong.
And today my friends often hear me ask – sometimes at the top of my voice -- why in the heck aren’t we out marching in the streets today – and tomorrow and every day? And exactly what are we to rebel against? The list is practically endless – the destruction of our environment, the takeover of our government by special interests, the meltdown of our economy, the growing inequity in our society—everywhere that entrenched corporate and political interests have a chokehold on our culture. Insurance companies tell us we can’t have national healthcare, auto and oil industries tell us we can’t have fuel-efficient, clean cars, politicians tell us we can’t have a government uncorrupted by money. But we must have these things.
We need a revolution, but it’s not really a revolution until someone gets hurt. We need some pain, and we need everyone to feel it. Too often the pain is borne by those least able to bear it. $4 a gallon gas is painful, but it may take $10 or $20 a gallon gas before the outrage of the people is loud enough and menacing enough to rock our complacency – we’ve been asleep at the wheel for too long now and the car is out of control headed toward the cliff.
There are two things that I am passionate about – books and birds – and both are threatened with extinction if we don’t change our course and change it fast. Reading is what I do to connect with the world outside myself, but it’s also how I learned almost everything I know. We have already begun to see the disastrous effects of the decline in reading and literacy. If people stop reading they are at the mercy of politicians and marketers and corporate hucksters of every sort. An uninformed populace is our greatest danger.
My second great passion is birds – birding is how I connect with the natural world, with my planet, our planet. And I see an even more precipitous decline in the health and viability of our ecosystems than I do in reading. Our environment is nearing a tipping point from which we'll not be able to recover. And if the planet is lost, none of the rest really matters, does it? If the planet is lost, then it seems foolish to speak of half-measures, to take small steps, to talk about going slow. We need a revolution. This I believe.
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EILEEN BLANTON, Executive Director, Peace Education Program
This I Believe:
When I speak the truth about racism, I heal my broken heart and strengthen my leadership.
I am the daughter of an East Tennessee, Southern Baptist farm boy turned engineer and a New Jersey Irish Catholic nurse. When my father died, my mother did a magnificent job raising us – newborn, 4 and 10 year old. When she returned to work she hired local women to watch us. Unspoken conflict arose in a clash of cultures when these Irish immigrant, working class white and African American women helped raise me and my siblings. As a child, I knew things were not fair. I had no words for the racism and classism that I witnessed.
I am the leader I am today because of the conflicts that arose in our household. I chose to teach conflict resolution skills because I was both terrified of conflict and longed for a return to the diversity I experienced as a child! I have made it my life’s mission to bring people of diverse backgrounds together to build community and problem solve.
When I was five years old I was bedridden for 6 months. The woman who cared for me, Early Mae Horton, carried me from bed to toilet multiple times in the day. She read to me, bathed me, played with me, cajoled, nursed and threatened me to make sure I stayed in bed. Early Mae saved my life. She made it possible for me to heal at home rather than in a hospital. I loved this woman deeply and yet I knew nothing of her life. Later my mother fired Early Mae because of a conflict between them. I never saw her again.
It wasn’t until High School that I realized Early Mae had a life outside her time with me.
Her grandson Walter and I became friends. He knew all about me. I didn’t know he existed. It was then I began to ask:
What gave the right to call her by her first name?
Who took care of her children while she took care of me? My mother was earning about $4,000 a year. How could Early Mae live on the wages my mother could afford to pay?
Why was Walter’s only option out of poverty to join the military?
In the last year of her life, my mom regretted firing Early Mae. Her own family and cultural patterns of handling conflict had worked against her in solving the problem between them.
I wrote this commitment in honor of these two women who changed my life:
To Mom and Ms. Early Mae:
Mother Jones said “don’t mourn, organize”
I say, I will mourn, then organize.
Today I will let my heart break open with the beauty and suffering before me.
Then do whatever it takes to relieve the suffering, dismantle the injustice and celebrate the beauty.
Today I will stay completely human, refusing to numb out and shut down.
I will Sing shout dance walk talk run weep love learn instead.
Like Alice Walker, I believe we are the ones we have been waiting for.
Now is the time. This is the moment .
I will speak my truths with respect.
I will listen to you with an open heart.
I will welcome the tension and hopelessness that comes in conflict before the breakthrough to understanding .
I will go toe to toe with you and not let go until we build that beloved community.
I will love you tenderly as we battle the devils in our own minds and hearts that tell us we cannot have each other.
I will act bravely on behalf of justice, as I stand shaking in my boots.
And Laugh loudly at my audacity in daring to make a difference.
I will be the change we want to see in the world.
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JEAN EDWARDS, Fellowship of Reconciliation, Louisville chapter
This I Believe:
In reviewing the guidelines offered by Terry Taylor for our remarks tonight, my thoughts focused on one sentence in particular: "Consider moments when belief was formed or tested or changed." For me, a radical change began to take place when I entered college in 1939. What I believed was shaken to its roots.
Prior to that time, life had seemed rather simple. Church activities, especially youth work, consumed a great deal of my time. During the summers, church camp was very important. Worship by the lake and passionate sermons were impressive. My faith was strengthened. Occasionally the pastor of our church, Dr. Barr, gathered the young people together for a weekend retreat when we discussed issues pertaining to our spiritual growth. My church congregation and my pastor were very warm and caring, providing me with a real sense of security. Our family attended services regularly. The American flag was proudly displayed in the church sanctuary alongside the Christian flag.
During 1939, Hitler began his rampage through Europe, and Great Britain joined forces to stop him. A patriotic fervor pervaded my family life in Nashville, Tennessee where I grew up. My older brother was considering joining the Navy. Students in my church group were being drafted. I often accompanied my mother to the meetings of the "Daughters of the American Revolution." We joined our neighbors in responding to the Red Cross call to roll bandages for the soldiers. The discussion around that table centered on whether the United States should enter the war in Europe.
This was also the topic of conversation in my history class during my first year of college. The students had grown up with the conviction that there would never be another world war. Our parents had convinced us of this. We asked the teacher how it could have happened that we were considering going to war. She summed it up in one sentence which had a profound effect upon me, "We will continue to have wars until the young men refuse to go." She was a Quaker. From experiencing that class, a new way of thinking for me began to take shape.
A similar discussion was making the rounds in our church congregation. This came to a head one Sunday morning when the pastor expressed his opinion during the sermon. He was completely opposed to entering the war. Headlines in the newspaper the next morning were two inches high: "Presbyterian Pastor Preaches Pacifism." A bitter dispute consumed our congregation. It was shocking to hear such mean words coming from church members that had loved and nurtured me. Derogatory letters were written even to the pastor's wife. I wondered if they really believed the "Sermon on the Mount". Finally the pastor left and started a new church on the outskirts of town, and about 300 members went with him.
This account of my experiences in 1939 tells only the beginning of my journey through various wars that have affected me more or less directly, including World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Contra War in Nicaragua, the Persian Gulf War, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Looking back over these years, THIS IS WHAT I NOW BELIEVE: War Is Never the Answer. Preparation for War is Never the Answer. Dwight Eisenhower said, "You cannot simultaneously prepare and prevent war." Yet our nation continues to live by war and weapons. This is our business, our livelihood." But in the words of the prophet Micah, "God has told you what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God."
THIS I BELIEVE!
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NGAWANG GYATSO, Louisville-based Tibetan Monk with Drepung Gomang Institute
This I Believe:
It was daybreak when I opened my eyes. Sunlight was beaming in the room through the window. After a quick wash I was handed a new set of clothes. It was my new look, my new monk robes. I never forget those words of wisdom my teacher told me. He said, like the robes you are about to wear with a bright color, remember your mind and heart should also generate the brightness of love and kindness to all without discrimination. I was 13 when I joined the monastery. Within the years as a monk I have heard and come to know many generous and kind deeds that people have done for the global community. I have tried to contribute my thoughts and actions through different community groups and gatherings. It has been a wonderful experience. But still I always have this question in my mind. Is global peace possible? This thought would gain more momentum when I recall the unrest and violence in several countries. That thought has changed and developed into a positive one with much hopes and aspiration due to a very good human being I met ten months ago. I had newly arrived here from India. Every morning I would take my mala {rosary} and go for a walk to the beautiful Cherokee park. One morning, I could see somebody bending down and trying to pick up something from the ground. In getting closer I saw a lady {maybe in her 70`s} picking up an empty soda can from the street and putting it inside a big trash bag she was carrying on her right hand. When I reached closer I said, ma’am, do you need help? She politely said, no, thank you for your kindness. I once again asked her, are you waiting for the garbage truck? With a long breath{she must have been working since quite sometime} she said no, I am trying to collect and clean the trash which even the garbage truck leaves back. It makes the neighborhood look dirty. She had collected all those beer cans, papers, plastics, and even broken bottles. While talking to her I came to know that she cleans the entire street. I introduced myself as a Buddhist monk. Oh, you know she said, I am a Christian and I also follow the good thoughts shared by H.H. The Dalai Lama. Especially, every morning when I come for this garbage collection, I remember his words of wisdom, “No matter what is going on. No matter what is happening. No matter what is going around you, Never give up! I could see the joy in her face when she said, I feel very happy in doing so and my whole day passes very well after my cleaning. I realized that we don’t have to form big gatherings and wait for someone or the government to act. If we have the motivation and commitment we can serve the community, country and the world in every small and ordinary we can.
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GARY HEINE, Entrepreneur, Co-owner, Heine Bros. Coffee, and Environmental Activist
This I Believe:
I believe in magic. The magic of this moment, all of us here creating community, inspiring each other. I believe in the magic of this planet flying through space, with six billion individuals flying it alone. But as we reach out to each other, we create the magic of being alive, of family, of friends that care for each other.
I believe in the magic of a great cup of organic, fair trade coffee. When I drink this cup, I help transform the lives of coffee farmers in Guatemala, in Nicaragua, in Ethiopia. I’ve visited schools in Ethiopia that poor coffee farmers built for their tiny village. I saw these schools filled with children. Schools built from the decision that thousands of people here in Louisville make every day to drink fair trade coffee. That’s powerful magic–creating something miraculous from nothing using the power of intention.
I believe in the magic of dreaming, of empowering each other to create the world that we dream together. I believe in the magic of composting. At Heine Brothers’ Coffee, we created Breaking New Grounds, an organization that composts our 70 tons of coffee grounds with other local food waste. We give the compost to our 50,000 magical worms to turn into worm poop, an incredible magical soil for this community that we sell in our stores. With the money we raise, we’ll create an organic farm in one of Louisville’s food deserts.
I believe in magic. The magic of children, my children: Cleo, Gwen, Sam and Jacob. The magic that they have taught me much more than I them, that they raise me much more, and better, than I raise them. I believe in the magic of speaking what I feel in my heart. Like right now. I believe in the magic of love. I fell in love with my goddess, Valerie, several months ago. Our love has transformed us, healed us, driven us crazy, made us laugh, helped us be more in service to the world, created miracles and miracles.
Life’s magic dreams me to sleep at night, this magic of life helps me come back to the world each morning. I believe in magic.
I believe in the magic of celebration – how food and people and inspiring conversation can transform this moment – this moment right now.
I believe in the magic of love.
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DAVID HORVATH, Co-chair, Kentuckiana Interfaith Taskforce on Latin America and the Caribbean
This I Believe:
Nearly every parent teacher conference ended with the same message coming home with my mother and father: “Mr. and Mrs. Horvath, David is very intelligent, but he just doesn’t seem to want to learn. And he asks so many impertinent questions and frankly, he’s got an attitude!” And so, year after year, I acted out in my role as the classic underachiever--falling just short of delinquency but leading to many sighs from my long-suffering parents.
It wasn’t until after more than12 years of this broken record that a chain-smoking, bushy browed philosophy professor affirmed that asking questions was not only OK, but an ideal way to learn and a fine way to teach--Socrates you know. And I began to form the most lovely connection with learning in my life--learning like a sponge. Curiosity didn’t kill this cat. So I’m always paying attention now to a world pregnant with meaning—questions begging.
So I believe in asking questions even if they sound impertinent.
Sometimes I question authority with a shaky voice. Sometimes I humbly question wise and brave people I encounter. When I am in a complicated or scary place I ask, “Place, how did you come to be like this? When I am in the presence of people wounded by our world, I ask rhetorically, “Why are these people treated this way?” And I try not to be so foolish as to forget that some questions won’t get answered ever because there are still really big mysteries out there and sometimes I feel I don’t understand one thing about this world--not one thing. For me, praying at its best is asking for a glimmer of meaning for really hard questions.
I also like the question without the question mark, even without the words. Because I believe we learn important things at the most unexpected times. We need to be open to learn from everything including sunsets, relationships, Republicans, rocks, poems, songs, paintings, mean people and even the bad stuff. And we may need to go to places that scare us so that we can ask the questions from the right vantage point. The answers then are relative to where we stand when we ask the questions.
And now I seem to be forgetting the details as fast as I learn the lessons. But no matter, the bigger lessons we learn are cumulative and ultimately connected, like the way creatures build their shells. They grow and the shells grow, keeping them company.
All the original ideas have long been taken, but they are rather fresh and brilliant when I’m ready to learn them, because I’m really getting them for the first time. I read them or hear them or see them and they bring smiles to my face or tears to my eyes today because of who I am today, what I need today and how weak or strong I am today. Or whether it’s a day when I’ll be trying to savor the world or to save it.*
So for all those years the message from the teachers could have been: “Mr. and Mrs. Horvath, your son is always asking questions and everyday he wants to learn about some darned thing or the other…”
*"To Savor the World or Save It" by Richard S. Gilbert
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JUDGE STEVE MERSHON, Circuit Court Judge and Peace Activist
The guidelines Terry sent me said: (1) tell a story and (2) keep it short. And we all know how easy it is for an attorney to keep it short! But I’ll try. My story will focus on my work during my college years because those years solidified the belief system that was ingrained in me as a child.
To me, it seems that our beliefs evolve from Fate; from the way we play the cards that we were dealt at birth, and from our childhood roots and wings that prepare us for and carry us into adult life. My fate was to have been born with an emotional silver spoon in my mouth and to have been raised in the middle of a large, loving Catholic family. I never suffered or knew of any abuse. I had wonderful experiences as an alter boy and even considered the seminary. But then I met my wife of 36 years and the Catholic seminary was no longer an attractive option.
During college, I worked for several years as a truck driver (Teamsters, Local 89) and for several at Our Lady of Peace Hospital. Interacting with patients at Our Lady of Peace taught me that I could never make a quick judgment about someone; that I never completely had the whole picture within my grasp.
A patient was not just a patient. He was a reflection of his genetic make up and of his family and upbringing. He was his past, present and future – his hopes and dreams, his loves and disappointments, his unreconciled problems and unanswered questions, and his knowledge of what (if anything) he had to go home to.
I learned patience and tolerance. I learned to move slowly, to ask a lot of questions and to be open to unexpected possibilities. And I learned how critically important it is to listen, especially to those with whom we disagree.
I learned that the truth is difficult to discern; that one's eyes are the entrance to one’s soul and that looking into another’s eyes is like looking into a mirror and seeing the common humanity that we all share, seeing that combination of saint & sinner that we all are.
Thus, I believe in the Yogic blessing of Namaste; that that spark of divinity in me recognizes the divine in you.
… So the best summation of what I believe is the old saying: “There, but for the grace of god, go I.”
I believe that there is a grace – call it god or Fate, the Tao, Mother Nature or whatever that power is that deals the cards at birth – and that that grace, which is beyond comprehension, unites us all. But for that grace, any of our circumstances could be drastically different.
So on a fundamental, universal level; I believe that we are all connected and that we are all truly our brother’s keepers. This I believe.
Namaste.
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LINDA MILLER, Executive Director, Dare to Care Food Bank
This I Believe:
When considering what to share about my beliefs, I kept thinking about how one’s beliefs can change with awareness. When I first became involved with Dare to Care Food Bank, I was not fully aware that many people in the world live each and every day without life’s most basic necessity, and of how their lives are controlled by poverty and hunger. And I became more aware of the face of Hunger in our own community. A Food Bank study showed that almost one third of our clients are children, one in ten are seniors, and one in four families that seek assistance have one adult that is working.
The duty to feed the hungry is reflected in every religious tradition, including the teachings of Christ. Jewish sacred texts teach that God has created a world rich in abundance and meant for all people. Islam affirms almsgiving and fasting as pillars of faith emphasizing the importance of sharing. Buddhists are called to compassion; and Hindus are also expected to share with the hungry. But regardless of religion, I believe that each of us has a moral responsibility to help those in need, and to be advocates for those whose voices are too often not heard. I believe that we cannot win the battle against hunger until we as individual citizens open our hearts and minds to the conditions that cause it. I believe that this moral responsibility also extends to our Government, and that our nation’s social and economic policies need to better address the challenges of poverty and hunger. And I believe that the “human equation” must always be considered in the conduct of our foreign policy as well.
I believe that I enjoy the blessings and abundance of this life, including the satisfaction and pleasure of good, nutritious food, I must remember to be grateful. And above all, that I must never forget those less fortunate than myself. This I Believe.
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JUDY MUNRO-LEIGHTON, Louisville Peace Action Community
This I Believe:
In August 2002, I knew that the Bush Administration was gearing up for war against Iraq. I believed that this reckless threat to start a unilateral war could not be ignored. I am a history teacher, and I have studied and taught classes on the Vietnam War. I marched in Washington in November 1969 and I knew the drumbeat to invade Iraq was wrong. I was not going to sit idly by and watch another fiasco unfold without a fight. I went to Cincinnati on Oct. 7, 2002, to protest George Bush's most famous -- and infamous -- speech where he used menacing tones to warn about Iraqi WMD and "a mushroom cloud." I did not believe him. I went to work making calls to Congress, organizing meetings, painting signs, and traveling to protest in DC. I even emailed the Pope and asked him to please go to Iraq and stop this madness. To this day, my greatest regret is that I could not prevent the US Invasion of Iraq on March 19, 2003.
Despite this set back, I firmly believe that nothing can stop thoughtful, committed individuals who will never give up. My work as a teacher in inner-city schools during the 1970s proved the power of clever, focused, collective action. With Margaret Mead, I believe that the willingness of citizens to stand up and speak out is the only thing that will change the world. Working with the Louisville Peace Action Community (LPAC), I found the support of others who wanted to end Bush's illegal war, which seemed in 2003 to be an impossible task. Today, I can not drive anywhere in Louisville without pointing to busy intersections where our anti-war signs drew taunts and obscenities. I will never forget the red-faced anger, the single finger salutes, and the threats from war supporters. I am proud that I made thousands of signs, stood on corners in every type of weather, and did not give up.
Now, five years after the US Invasion, the argument has shifted. In 2008, it takes no guts to oppose the Iraq War. This change in attitude is reflected at our protests and vigils. Is it America's shame over millions of dead and injured? Maybe it is the eye-popping war costs of $5000 each second of every day. Perhaps America's diminished reputation has soured the majority on Bush's War. Who could have imagined back in 2002 -- when more than 70% clamored for the US invasion -- that the 2008 presidential election will focus not just on plans to end the Iraq War, but more importantly, we will also reconsider the mindset that got us into Iraq in the first place. I believe we are up to this task.
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KEN NEVITT, Louisville Peace Activist and Attorney
This I Believe:
I believe in peace, love, and understanding.
I believe in the importance of family and friends.
I believe that this too will pass.
I believe that what is good for my neighbor is good for me.
I believe it is important to perform random acts of kindness.
I believe that an appreciation of the arts enhances the quality of one’s life.
I believe that it is better for the world and the individual to be vegetarian.
I believe that there is no magic, except as metaphor.
I believe that the major cause of crime is poverty.
I believe that through education we can move toward eradicating poverty.
I believe in the importance of outward signs of expressions of love and of one’s beliefs.
I believe in mediation, cooperation, and reconciliation.
I believe that we should think globally and act locally.
I believe that a government should provide a safety net for its citizens.
I believe it is more important to consider oneself a citizen of the world rather than a citizen of a particular country.
I believe that violence begets violence.
I believe that capital punishment is wrong.
I believe that war is not the correct answer to any question.
I believe that we have a moral obligation to rebuild Iraq, and to not invade Iran.
I believe that we will be closer to ending war when women make up a greater percentage of politicians at all levels of government in all countries. (Not that all women are kinder and gentler than all men, nor that we should always vote for a woman, but I believe that on average women are more likely when resolving conflict to resort to communication before resorting to violence. My experience with peace and justice groups has shown me that women consistently make up the majority of such groups).
I believe that the HOKEY POKEY may be what it’s all about (so, put your whole body in and shake it all about!)
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DJENITA PASIC, Bosnian Muslim Leader, Peace Activist and Attorney
This I Believe:
I believe in not being defined by religion. To me, religion is just like communism - a beautiful, noble idea that we are all created equal, which does not work too well in practice. Do not take me wrong; I am in favor of all the basic premises taught by all religions. But I have a serious problem with how all religions treat “others,” those who do not belong, in practice.
I was born into a Muslim family but I was raised in the communist, or rather socialist, country of Yugoslavia. With no religious practice, nor training in our upbringing, but with plenty of education and communist propaganda, I believed in my country, our way of life, our mutual, intermixed and tolerant religious heritage without ever even thinking it may not last forever. I suffered for the people in Beirut or Jerusalem and their constant wars because I believed we, in Yugoslavia, were different. I believed that we may have found the holy grail of peaceful coexistence and I was very proud of it. But then the war came to our country and this beautiful dream fell apart. All of a sudden we were told that we were different among ourselves, that our religions now defined who we were, and that we no longer had our communist common denominator. All of a sudden I became just another Muslim that could get killed, tortured or raped just because of my religion which I never even practiced! 200,000 dead and one million displaced Bosnian Muslims later - I realized it was time for change. I could no longer bury my head in the sand; I had to accept reality as is. I may have gone through the trauma of war and resettlement not visibly scathed but I know better.
Because of the experience of war in my home country I “became” very much a Muslim but I am also still a “communist” at heart. I know this may be the worst possible combination in the United States but I am no terrorist or anarchist. I am more of an existentialist and a pacifist, happy with my choices. And I want to promote my European, intermixed and tolerant heritage, which is still in the hearts and minds of my family and friends in my home city of Sarajevo.
Because of genocide over Muslims in Bosnia and Herzegovina I feel compelled and obliged to belong, to defend and represent hundreds of thousands of victims of this incomprehensible war. I believe in giving those victims my voice. My allegiance is with “my” Muslim people but not at the expense of others. I have seen and experienced the holy grail of peaceful coexistence and I will pursue it forever. However, while I am Muslim, I refuse to be defined by religion – this I believe.
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PAUL PEARSON, Director and Archivist, Thomas Merton Center at Bellarmine University
This I Believe:
I believe that life is a journey, that I am all the time moving forward, though frequently that may not feel to be the case. A journey at times over rough seas; through dark, foreboding forests; down paths that turn out to be dead ends; and even going down one way streets in the wrong direction. Victor Frankl once said that life is like the dentist, we think the worst is yet to come, when in fact it is already over. Sometimes that has certainly felt to be the case on my journey yet, deep down I believe - I know - that I can learn and grow from all these things. Though sometimes, in the midst of it all, this can be hard to cling to.
On that journey music, and the lyrics of songs, have played an important part. And in the dark times music can take on a special meaning and I ask myself at those times “Are there songs for singing when the light has gone dim?” Invariably the answer is “yes.”
On my own personal journey for over twenty-five years I have been accompanied by a fellow journeyer, a journeyer whom I never met – Thomas Merton.
Somehow, accompanied by Merton, I fell in love with monasticism and tried my own vocation, became involved in the areas of social justice, ecumenism and inter-faith dialogue, read many of the same authors he was reading, and many others I’m sure he’d be reading now if he were still alive. Whether my journey would have been the same without him, I don’t know.
My journey is colored by a Benedictine view of life, a belief in hospitality, a belief in balance, a belief in sustainability, a belief in simplicity, a belief in listening, and a belief in prayer.
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GRACIELA PERRONE, Flamenco Dancer, Choreographer and Artist
This I Believe:
…I am a dreamer. Since I was a little girl, my songs, my drawings, my dance, my tales were all related to dreams, romantic tales… I can see now how much I treasured the dreams of this little girl that lives in me… I carried them all my life, and they helped me to cross the streets of life… this is my tale, this is my dream, this is my life…
I believe in love, in its magic, I open my heart to love... I believe love transforms... I believe in dreams, I believe in the language of the birds, I believe in the waves that sing to me... I believe in legendary people, in their spirit, I believe in history, I believe in the voices of the women and the men that made a difference in this world, voices that resisted time, I believe in transcendence, I believe in what is behind of what the eyes can see. I believe in art. I believe in wonders, in what they tell me, I believe in the awakening of our emotions, I believe in the uniqueness of each human being, I believe in the beauty of each flower, in their own colors, I believe in the roots, where the passion lives, I believe in passion, I believe in the song that made my soul shake, I believe in the power of the words, in the art of its combination, in the hearts that have the sensibility to capture them in a way that will paint unforgettable masterpieces to the ones that are listening, I believe in life, and I know that is passing... I believe in those that don't give up, I believe in peace... I believe in my palette, in the colors I mix, heart bits of my spirit… I believe in music... I believe in the song that still plays in my heart, I believe in tales, in angels, in fairies, that help me to get through… I believe that from the dark we can create the light, I believe in the sun and the colors of the clouds at dawn, I believe in the stars that shine in the sky and remind us of the beauty of the universe...
I believe in miracles, I believe in the laugh of a child, I believe in the wind, in the fire, in the earth and the water,,…..I believe in treasures, I believe we can make a difference, I believe in children and our responsibility to prepare the world for them to dream, I believe in their smile, miracles of love… I believe life passes a little each day and I prefer to wash away my fears and be surrounded by songs, music, dances, dreams... I believe in simple things, the ones that show me the light. I open my heart and my eyes and my arms to life... I believe in people that inspires me everyday with their determination to act... I believe in the drawing of our hearts... where anything is possible... This I Believe.
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GEORGIA POWERS, Civil Rights Leader and former Kentucky State Senator
This I Believe:
I believe I was created to be and become who I am, born in Jimtown, a segregated community in Springfield. Kentucky. At seventeen months old, a tornado destroyed the two-room cabin my father built, causing my teenage mother and father to move to Louisville. I have been involved in tornado, fire, flood and earthquake but fear has never been part of my life. I was predestined for my life’s journey. Instances of discrimination and segregation led to my desire to be involved in causes for social justice.
I was involved in a civil rights movement with a soul, with many who came, served and passed on, but others took their places.
I was elected to the Kentucky State senate in 1967 as the first woman and first African American. I gained my political experience and education by working for candidates for governor, U.S. Senate, Congress, etc. I was shocked when I was sworn in and saw no other women or African Americans. I knew then that my mission was clear as an advocate for equality for blacks, women, children, disabled, and “voiceless” people. I sponsored and co-sponsored 75 bills which were enacted into law; including the strongest open housing law with enforcement powers, in the south.
I believe genetics, parental presence and guidance taught me to treat everyone with dignity, worthiness and respect which has offered me a great opportunity to live a life of health, a positive attitude, love for people regardless of their status in life and longevity.
I believe my meeting with King Leruo Molotlegi on May14, and 15, 2008 in Nashville, Tennessee was not by accident. He is king of Royal Bafokeng, South Africa, a wealthy country who export 70% of platinum in the world. The population is 300,000. I was invited by two friends who have a connection with Kgosi. We had several meals together with his entourage of 6 and my friends. He was gracious and kind by inviting me to ride in his limousine with him.
This proves my point that you can get anything you want, if you help others get what they want.
I chose the road unlikely to succeed, but did.
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SHEILA PYLE, Owner of the Rudyard Kipling and Community Activist
This I Believe:
I was taught that one should not describe oneself thusly: I am a poet or I am a writer or I am an artist. Those are honoraria that others bestow upon one, not nouns that one should claim for herself. I feel the same way about “Christian”; we are leery today when one describes himself as Christian, partly because we may think, “Yes, and when did you last love your unlovable neighbor, feed the hungry, turn the other cheek?” Or we may listen for the pastor of a so-called Christian megachurch declare that God sent Hurricane Katrina to punish the wicked city of New Orleans for parading scantily-clad and colorfully made-up homosexuals on Mardi Gras or that God sent Hitler to make sure that surviving Jews could make it to the Holy Land, and therefore we should vote Republican. You might be embarrassed to say, “I believe in Christianity.”
My parents were natives of Appalachia, my mother a student of literature and romance languages, my father a civil engineer. They did not believe the load of foolishness the harsh, fundamental mountain churches threatened, and they never sent me to church or Sunday School. They did not forbid me to go, however, and after three nights of attending a revival with a little classmate when I was eight, I announced to them that tomorrow night I was going to go down front at the invitation and tell them I was SAVED, the consequences of not being saved having been described as very dire. “Are you Sure?” they warned. “Oh yes, I’m saved,” I insisted. The next morning they happily announced that tonight we would go on an outing to the drive-in movie, eat plenty of popcorn and ice cream, and I, delighted, forgot about salvation and never thought of it again.
My first job after graduation was teaching at an aristocratic boarding prep school in Winston-Salem , North Carolina, and the faculty were obliged to chaperone the heiresses to their respective churches on Sunday mornings. I accompanied my charges to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, where I found that the congregation alternately stood up and knelt down so regularly, I became headachy and nauseated. But after a few weeks, I grew to love all that praying and singing and loving so much that I wanted to be part of it. I went to the rector and confided in him but insisted I couldn’t say that I Believed a Load of Foolishness.
He lent me a book edited by Paul Tillich called The Christian Answer, several essays by Christian theologians assuring that one does not have to believe a load of foolishness.
However, there are some ideas in which one must believe. One must consider at least a threefold idea of God: (1) Creation—the universe, trees and flowers and birds and oceans and the whole damn thing; (2) Humankind—our brothers and sisters past, present, and future, of all colors and sorts and conditions; (3) The Divine Spirit—the holy blissful love that unifies and inspires and works for the happiness of all the above. Well, I can believe that. I can love that whether it’s true or not.
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DENTON RANDALL, Louisville Radio Personality (who has served for the last 8 years on the staff of Dare to Care Food Bank and will soon be starting a new position with Elderserve)
This I Believe:
I believe that laughter, genuine laughter, what the great humorist Peter Ustinov called “the most civilized music on earth,” is as essential to human existence as water or oxygen or protein.
Laughter of any and every kind, from the gentle chortle, to the roaring, makes-your-side ache belly laugh. The gasp of self-consciousness at an off color story. The groan after a sour pun. The bemused grin from a witty turn of a phrase. The double-back-on-itself amusement at Ireland’s greatest literary gift, the Limerick. And yes, the embarrassed, involuntary explosion of mirth that comes after Groucho outwits some society swell or Buster Keaton slips on a banana peel, or Curly takes one right in the kisser.
The laugh that eases a long and weary day. The laugh that provides a moments relief from the horrors of the world. The laugh that helps a friend thru a troubling time. As a verse attributed to the Koran reads; “He deserves Paradise who makes his companions laugh.”
In my own, probably vain, attempt to secure Paradise, let me share with you my absolute all-time favorite pun. This one is predicated on the knowledge that humorists, that much-maligned occupational group, were once referred to as “wags.” The humorist, S.J. Perleman, returned from a visit to Hong Kong, where he noted that the local working girls regularly accosted him in the lobby of his hotel, and remarked that it was a case of... “the tail dogging the wag.”
So laugh loudly and regularly. Savor your laughter. Share it with others. Do not suppress your laughter, or reject it as undignified or uncool. Remember the words of John F. Kennedy; “Only 3 things are real: God, human folly and laughter. The first two are beyond our comprehension, so we must do what we can with the third.”
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KIM SUMMERS-BATES, U.S. Department of Peace Campaign, Kentucky State Coordinator
This I Believe: “The Power of Tears and Making Way for Miracles”
I believe in the power of tears; the choice to truly feel and embrace the sadness for awhile. I believe by experiencing the authenticity of our grief, we can only then truly transform it at its roots. When we touch the tender core of our sadness, it can then be transformed into a miracle!
For as long as I can remember, I, Kimberly from Florida have wanted to be a mother. However, because of the trauma of my childhood and the time required to heal from it and because of the time it took me to honor it, I was in my late 30’s before I pro-actively tried to conceive. I was 37 before I felt ready to parent a child. Because of my age, fertility was an issue. I remember the agonizing months of hormone injections in my stomach and the months of progesterone induced rage that nearly destroyed my relationship. I remember the 6 doctor assisted inseminations with no success. I was angry! Damn angry, at the time it took me to heal from childhood abuse. Just plain damn angry at God! Or was it anger?
At one point, a well intended spiritual advisor told me that I wasn’t getting pregnant, because I didn’t believe I could.
Well this sent me into a tailspin of absolute grief and tears. Tears that revealed themselves as perfect! I was no longer stuck in ‘whiny’ or ‘angry’; I surrendered to tears. My heart cracked open and I cried a river. The fact was my body wasn’t getting pregnant. I prayed the prayer, “This or something better.” In my depths of sadness I recall looking to the sky and shaking with an uncontrollable quake, “All I want is a ‘Little Kimberly’!”
In my last attempt to conceive, my partner and I simultaneously proceeded with the international adoption process.
The adoption of baby Emmanuel flowed like a steady stream. On the way to my birthday celebration, we received a call informing us that our son from Guatemala would be coming home in approximately 5 – 6 months. What a birthday gift! A sign from God that this was the “highest way” for me to become a mother? Perhaps?
Well, baby “Manny” brought us such immense joy, we soon began the adoption proceedings again. My heart remembered the longings for a “Little Kimberly”, so this time we requested a baby girl. And after a few months wait, we received a phone call from the adoption agency. The placement specialist spoke of a baby girl that was born just 3 days prior. We were told that a picture would be sent to us on-line by 4:00 that day. We could then decide after seeing the picture if we wanted to accept the placement. Before hanging up my partner asked, “By the way, what is the child’s name?”
“Kimberli” the woman replied. “The birth mother named her Kimberli.”
“Did you say Kimberli?”
“I did”, the woman responded.
Without hesitation and no longer needing to see a picture, we knew a miracle had been birthed. We knew this was our “Little Kimberli.” This is what happens when a heart is cracked wide open. I became more convinced that my tears of sorrow paved the way for tears of joy.
As if we needed anymore affirmation, later we were sent “Little Kimberli’s” birth certificate. In my elementary knowledge of Spanish, I made out the word “Madre”. Mother: Florida’. The birthmother’s name was Florida’. I exclaimed, “I am from Florida too! Kimberly from Florida’”
God winked!
I believe in the power of authentically expressing grief and tears. I believe that what surfaces as anger is often deep sadness at its core. And most importantly I believe that when we meet the grief with integrity and cry, we make way for our grandest joys. Walking through the pain and not naming it anger, I am able to see with new eyes. As I heal my pain, my soul is better equipped to heal the pain of the world and create miracles!
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MANDY ZOELLER, Philosophy Major, University of Louisville
This I Believe:
The face of my savior is the face of a young girl I met in Haiti when I was fifteen years old. Her eyes were warm and wide-set above a shy, genuine smile, her head crowned with springy dark braids that glistened in the tropical sun. I knew her for only a few days. I cannot remember her name, but I will never forget her shining face, nor the way her voice stirred me as she whispered my name in her beautiful lilting Creole, calling me to a moment of transcendence that revealed to me the deepest truth I’ve come to understand in my short life. As we gazed into one another’s eyes, the barriers of division put in place by the world melted away: we were neither white nor black, poor nor rich, young nor old. We spoke not the same language, except that poetry that now danced between us, the wordless expression of commonality, of shared humanity, of belonging to the world and to one another. She smiled at me, and I smiled back, knowing that we both understood. In that moment, I felt that I could sense every heartbeat on the planet, every pulsation of every creature in the air and the sea, each breath of every tree, the stars swirling in the cosmos. I would feel this way almost exactly a year later as I hugged a homeless man at the St. Vincent de Paul shelter right down the street as he cried that he couldn’t express the gratitude he felt knowing that someone saw him as more than a bum, a nobody. I sensed this as I fed a paraplegic man at Active Day two summers ago and he grasped my hand, looked into my eyes and said, “You are a very beautiful girl,” and I realized he saw his own beauty reflected in our simple act of taking time to be present to one another. I am liberated in the same way as I sit quietly under a canopy of trees or dig my feet into the sand and gaze out across the ocean, recognizing that I and my sisters and brothers of every species belong to this earth, and it is all one.
This I believe: we are here for one another. Dissimilarity is an illusion. We must come to grasp our unity through short lives lived in a world into which we are seemingly born apart; it is our deepest and greatest spiritual challenge. Thomas Merton once said, “In the end, it is the reality of personal relationships that saves everything.” I am ever grateful for the gift my Haiti-sister and savior gave to me: a life of ever-present redemption through relationship, a life lived in reverence of the oneness that connects us all.
This I Believe:
I believe in silence. In its power and its persuasion.
I believe that the act of saying nothing often – no, USUALLY -- speaks louder than words ever could.
Monks know this. From Thich Nnhat Hahn to Thomas Merton to the Dalai Lama, monks know and understand the deeply felt significance of the unspoken.
Poets know it, too. EE Cummings said: Silence is a looking bird. Not a singing bird. A looking bird. A bird observing, noticing, listening, Being. Here. Now.
But so do we ordinary women and men know the profound power of silence. Intuitively, we know it.
Consider the wordless communication between a mother and the newborn at her breast. Or the tacit tete a tete that exists in a hospital room where the dying patient lies in bed and a friend sits, silent, at her side.
I believe in the authority of silence.
What if governments, rather than reacting with statements and decrees and edicts, observed silence – briefly but routinely - at times of crisis? What if we, the citizens, stopped to quietly reflect on the news of the day, rather than jumping into the fray with our rushed judgments and verbal crossfire.
Silence has its own eloquence.
Think of the times you dissolved a disagreement by simply not giving expression to the negative emotions it stirred in you.
I believe silence is a way of affirming life in all its forms and functions. Particularly in a democracy, which - of course - is at its heart a public conversation. But let’s not forget that conversation implies alternating patterns of listening and talking –equal parts silence and speech.
Imagine an election campaign where no one spoke unless they really had something to say. Where silence was imposed for, oh, maybe a calming 5 or 10 minutes after a debate or a speech or a misspoken word -- so we could meditate for a moment on what was spoken (and NOT spoken) before the grumbling hordes of commentators and bloggers burst forth to tell US what WE heard.
Think of the silence in music, when there’s a pause – that empty moment during which a bridge is created between what came before and what is to come. A moment of awareness of the present, with a nod to the past and an ear turned to the future.
Silence, Mary Oliver says, is what gives poetry its rhythm, cadence, music. So too our lives need silence - patches of nothingness, ellipses of emptiness, to inform the drumbeat of our days. And of our duties.
Think of the heroes and movements that have used silence to change the world. Silence, as in the refusal to act in bad faith, as in the refusal to follow orders, as in the refusal to go along with wars and poverty and discrimination and the destruction of the earth.
I believe in silence, in its yearning for wholeness, its desire to close the breach, its urge to unite what’s come asunder.
Silence too often gets a bad rap. It is not apathy. It is not surrender. It is not looking the other way.
Likewise, speaking is not necessarily speaking out. Sometimes words get in the way of reconciliation. They convey noise, not knowledge.
Imagine allowing conflict to settle … and BE settled, rather than engaged and aroused – ratcheted up a level, and a level, and a level. Think of the Dalai Lama’s soundless smile. Gandhi’s quiet walk. Martin Luther King’s dramatic and carefully placed pauses in his stirring orations. Think of the anti-war protests where there were songs and speeches, and think of the ones conducted wholly in silence.
Imagine a nation that listened rather than blogged.
A nation that, in the midst of turmoil, gave itself permission to sit still, to ponder, to NOT move, not speak, not act – until all that was unspoken, all that was hidden or unheard, was given time and space to make its case, to be taken into account.
Imagine that.
“Silence is never really silent,” the composer John Cage said.
This I believe.
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CAROL BESSE, Co-owner, Carmichaels Bookstores
This I Believe:
I believe in revolution. And revolution is exactly what we need in this country – and we need it now. I am a child of the 60s so I grew up in the midst of a revolution. One of the first things I did when I left home for college was to join every anti-war protest I could find. Never one described as cautious or timid, I loved to be in the midst of a loud and raucous group trying to right a wrong.
And today my friends often hear me ask – sometimes at the top of my voice -- why in the heck aren’t we out marching in the streets today – and tomorrow and every day? And exactly what are we to rebel against? The list is practically endless – the destruction of our environment, the takeover of our government by special interests, the meltdown of our economy, the growing inequity in our society—everywhere that entrenched corporate and political interests have a chokehold on our culture. Insurance companies tell us we can’t have national healthcare, auto and oil industries tell us we can’t have fuel-efficient, clean cars, politicians tell us we can’t have a government uncorrupted by money. But we must have these things.
We need a revolution, but it’s not really a revolution until someone gets hurt. We need some pain, and we need everyone to feel it. Too often the pain is borne by those least able to bear it. $4 a gallon gas is painful, but it may take $10 or $20 a gallon gas before the outrage of the people is loud enough and menacing enough to rock our complacency – we’ve been asleep at the wheel for too long now and the car is out of control headed toward the cliff.
There are two things that I am passionate about – books and birds – and both are threatened with extinction if we don’t change our course and change it fast. Reading is what I do to connect with the world outside myself, but it’s also how I learned almost everything I know. We have already begun to see the disastrous effects of the decline in reading and literacy. If people stop reading they are at the mercy of politicians and marketers and corporate hucksters of every sort. An uninformed populace is our greatest danger.
My second great passion is birds – birding is how I connect with the natural world, with my planet, our planet. And I see an even more precipitous decline in the health and viability of our ecosystems than I do in reading. Our environment is nearing a tipping point from which we'll not be able to recover. And if the planet is lost, none of the rest really matters, does it? If the planet is lost, then it seems foolish to speak of half-measures, to take small steps, to talk about going slow. We need a revolution. This I believe.
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EILEEN BLANTON, Executive Director, Peace Education Program
This I Believe:
When I speak the truth about racism, I heal my broken heart and strengthen my leadership.
I am the daughter of an East Tennessee, Southern Baptist farm boy turned engineer and a New Jersey Irish Catholic nurse. When my father died, my mother did a magnificent job raising us – newborn, 4 and 10 year old. When she returned to work she hired local women to watch us. Unspoken conflict arose in a clash of cultures when these Irish immigrant, working class white and African American women helped raise me and my siblings. As a child, I knew things were not fair. I had no words for the racism and classism that I witnessed.
I am the leader I am today because of the conflicts that arose in our household. I chose to teach conflict resolution skills because I was both terrified of conflict and longed for a return to the diversity I experienced as a child! I have made it my life’s mission to bring people of diverse backgrounds together to build community and problem solve.
When I was five years old I was bedridden for 6 months. The woman who cared for me, Early Mae Horton, carried me from bed to toilet multiple times in the day. She read to me, bathed me, played with me, cajoled, nursed and threatened me to make sure I stayed in bed. Early Mae saved my life. She made it possible for me to heal at home rather than in a hospital. I loved this woman deeply and yet I knew nothing of her life. Later my mother fired Early Mae because of a conflict between them. I never saw her again.
It wasn’t until High School that I realized Early Mae had a life outside her time with me.
Her grandson Walter and I became friends. He knew all about me. I didn’t know he existed. It was then I began to ask:
What gave the right to call her by her first name?
Who took care of her children while she took care of me? My mother was earning about $4,000 a year. How could Early Mae live on the wages my mother could afford to pay?
Why was Walter’s only option out of poverty to join the military?
In the last year of her life, my mom regretted firing Early Mae. Her own family and cultural patterns of handling conflict had worked against her in solving the problem between them.
I wrote this commitment in honor of these two women who changed my life:
To Mom and Ms. Early Mae:
Mother Jones said “don’t mourn, organize”
I say, I will mourn, then organize.
Today I will let my heart break open with the beauty and suffering before me.
Then do whatever it takes to relieve the suffering, dismantle the injustice and celebrate the beauty.
Today I will stay completely human, refusing to numb out and shut down.
I will Sing shout dance walk talk run weep love learn instead.
Like Alice Walker, I believe we are the ones we have been waiting for.
Now is the time. This is the moment .
I will speak my truths with respect.
I will listen to you with an open heart.
I will welcome the tension and hopelessness that comes in conflict before the breakthrough to understanding .
I will go toe to toe with you and not let go until we build that beloved community.
I will love you tenderly as we battle the devils in our own minds and hearts that tell us we cannot have each other.
I will act bravely on behalf of justice, as I stand shaking in my boots.
And Laugh loudly at my audacity in daring to make a difference.
I will be the change we want to see in the world.
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JEAN EDWARDS, Fellowship of Reconciliation, Louisville chapter
This I Believe:
In reviewing the guidelines offered by Terry Taylor for our remarks tonight, my thoughts focused on one sentence in particular: "Consider moments when belief was formed or tested or changed." For me, a radical change began to take place when I entered college in 1939. What I believed was shaken to its roots.
Prior to that time, life had seemed rather simple. Church activities, especially youth work, consumed a great deal of my time. During the summers, church camp was very important. Worship by the lake and passionate sermons were impressive. My faith was strengthened. Occasionally the pastor of our church, Dr. Barr, gathered the young people together for a weekend retreat when we discussed issues pertaining to our spiritual growth. My church congregation and my pastor were very warm and caring, providing me with a real sense of security. Our family attended services regularly. The American flag was proudly displayed in the church sanctuary alongside the Christian flag.
During 1939, Hitler began his rampage through Europe, and Great Britain joined forces to stop him. A patriotic fervor pervaded my family life in Nashville, Tennessee where I grew up. My older brother was considering joining the Navy. Students in my church group were being drafted. I often accompanied my mother to the meetings of the "Daughters of the American Revolution." We joined our neighbors in responding to the Red Cross call to roll bandages for the soldiers. The discussion around that table centered on whether the United States should enter the war in Europe.
This was also the topic of conversation in my history class during my first year of college. The students had grown up with the conviction that there would never be another world war. Our parents had convinced us of this. We asked the teacher how it could have happened that we were considering going to war. She summed it up in one sentence which had a profound effect upon me, "We will continue to have wars until the young men refuse to go." She was a Quaker. From experiencing that class, a new way of thinking for me began to take shape.
A similar discussion was making the rounds in our church congregation. This came to a head one Sunday morning when the pastor expressed his opinion during the sermon. He was completely opposed to entering the war. Headlines in the newspaper the next morning were two inches high: "Presbyterian Pastor Preaches Pacifism." A bitter dispute consumed our congregation. It was shocking to hear such mean words coming from church members that had loved and nurtured me. Derogatory letters were written even to the pastor's wife. I wondered if they really believed the "Sermon on the Mount". Finally the pastor left and started a new church on the outskirts of town, and about 300 members went with him.
This account of my experiences in 1939 tells only the beginning of my journey through various wars that have affected me more or less directly, including World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Contra War in Nicaragua, the Persian Gulf War, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Looking back over these years, THIS IS WHAT I NOW BELIEVE: War Is Never the Answer. Preparation for War is Never the Answer. Dwight Eisenhower said, "You cannot simultaneously prepare and prevent war." Yet our nation continues to live by war and weapons. This is our business, our livelihood." But in the words of the prophet Micah, "God has told you what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God."
THIS I BELIEVE!
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NGAWANG GYATSO, Louisville-based Tibetan Monk with Drepung Gomang Institute
This I Believe:
It was daybreak when I opened my eyes. Sunlight was beaming in the room through the window. After a quick wash I was handed a new set of clothes. It was my new look, my new monk robes. I never forget those words of wisdom my teacher told me. He said, like the robes you are about to wear with a bright color, remember your mind and heart should also generate the brightness of love and kindness to all without discrimination. I was 13 when I joined the monastery. Within the years as a monk I have heard and come to know many generous and kind deeds that people have done for the global community. I have tried to contribute my thoughts and actions through different community groups and gatherings. It has been a wonderful experience. But still I always have this question in my mind. Is global peace possible? This thought would gain more momentum when I recall the unrest and violence in several countries. That thought has changed and developed into a positive one with much hopes and aspiration due to a very good human being I met ten months ago. I had newly arrived here from India. Every morning I would take my mala {rosary} and go for a walk to the beautiful Cherokee park. One morning, I could see somebody bending down and trying to pick up something from the ground. In getting closer I saw a lady {maybe in her 70`s} picking up an empty soda can from the street and putting it inside a big trash bag she was carrying on her right hand. When I reached closer I said, ma’am, do you need help? She politely said, no, thank you for your kindness. I once again asked her, are you waiting for the garbage truck? With a long breath{she must have been working since quite sometime} she said no, I am trying to collect and clean the trash which even the garbage truck leaves back. It makes the neighborhood look dirty. She had collected all those beer cans, papers, plastics, and even broken bottles. While talking to her I came to know that she cleans the entire street. I introduced myself as a Buddhist monk. Oh, you know she said, I am a Christian and I also follow the good thoughts shared by H.H. The Dalai Lama. Especially, every morning when I come for this garbage collection, I remember his words of wisdom, “No matter what is going on. No matter what is happening. No matter what is going around you, Never give up! I could see the joy in her face when she said, I feel very happy in doing so and my whole day passes very well after my cleaning. I realized that we don’t have to form big gatherings and wait for someone or the government to act. If we have the motivation and commitment we can serve the community, country and the world in every small and ordinary we can.
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GARY HEINE, Entrepreneur, Co-owner, Heine Bros. Coffee, and Environmental Activist
This I Believe:
I believe in magic. The magic of this moment, all of us here creating community, inspiring each other. I believe in the magic of this planet flying through space, with six billion individuals flying it alone. But as we reach out to each other, we create the magic of being alive, of family, of friends that care for each other.
I believe in the magic of a great cup of organic, fair trade coffee. When I drink this cup, I help transform the lives of coffee farmers in Guatemala, in Nicaragua, in Ethiopia. I’ve visited schools in Ethiopia that poor coffee farmers built for their tiny village. I saw these schools filled with children. Schools built from the decision that thousands of people here in Louisville make every day to drink fair trade coffee. That’s powerful magic–creating something miraculous from nothing using the power of intention.
I believe in the magic of dreaming, of empowering each other to create the world that we dream together. I believe in the magic of composting. At Heine Brothers’ Coffee, we created Breaking New Grounds, an organization that composts our 70 tons of coffee grounds with other local food waste. We give the compost to our 50,000 magical worms to turn into worm poop, an incredible magical soil for this community that we sell in our stores. With the money we raise, we’ll create an organic farm in one of Louisville’s food deserts.
I believe in magic. The magic of children, my children: Cleo, Gwen, Sam and Jacob. The magic that they have taught me much more than I them, that they raise me much more, and better, than I raise them. I believe in the magic of speaking what I feel in my heart. Like right now. I believe in the magic of love. I fell in love with my goddess, Valerie, several months ago. Our love has transformed us, healed us, driven us crazy, made us laugh, helped us be more in service to the world, created miracles and miracles.
Life’s magic dreams me to sleep at night, this magic of life helps me come back to the world each morning. I believe in magic.
I believe in the magic of celebration – how food and people and inspiring conversation can transform this moment – this moment right now.
I believe in the magic of love.
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DAVID HORVATH, Co-chair, Kentuckiana Interfaith Taskforce on Latin America and the Caribbean
This I Believe:
Nearly every parent teacher conference ended with the same message coming home with my mother and father: “Mr. and Mrs. Horvath, David is very intelligent, but he just doesn’t seem to want to learn. And he asks so many impertinent questions and frankly, he’s got an attitude!” And so, year after year, I acted out in my role as the classic underachiever--falling just short of delinquency but leading to many sighs from my long-suffering parents.
It wasn’t until after more than12 years of this broken record that a chain-smoking, bushy browed philosophy professor affirmed that asking questions was not only OK, but an ideal way to learn and a fine way to teach--Socrates you know. And I began to form the most lovely connection with learning in my life--learning like a sponge. Curiosity didn’t kill this cat. So I’m always paying attention now to a world pregnant with meaning—questions begging.
So I believe in asking questions even if they sound impertinent.
Sometimes I question authority with a shaky voice. Sometimes I humbly question wise and brave people I encounter. When I am in a complicated or scary place I ask, “Place, how did you come to be like this? When I am in the presence of people wounded by our world, I ask rhetorically, “Why are these people treated this way?” And I try not to be so foolish as to forget that some questions won’t get answered ever because there are still really big mysteries out there and sometimes I feel I don’t understand one thing about this world--not one thing. For me, praying at its best is asking for a glimmer of meaning for really hard questions.
I also like the question without the question mark, even without the words. Because I believe we learn important things at the most unexpected times. We need to be open to learn from everything including sunsets, relationships, Republicans, rocks, poems, songs, paintings, mean people and even the bad stuff. And we may need to go to places that scare us so that we can ask the questions from the right vantage point. The answers then are relative to where we stand when we ask the questions.
And now I seem to be forgetting the details as fast as I learn the lessons. But no matter, the bigger lessons we learn are cumulative and ultimately connected, like the way creatures build their shells. They grow and the shells grow, keeping them company.
All the original ideas have long been taken, but they are rather fresh and brilliant when I’m ready to learn them, because I’m really getting them for the first time. I read them or hear them or see them and they bring smiles to my face or tears to my eyes today because of who I am today, what I need today and how weak or strong I am today. Or whether it’s a day when I’ll be trying to savor the world or to save it.*
So for all those years the message from the teachers could have been: “Mr. and Mrs. Horvath, your son is always asking questions and everyday he wants to learn about some darned thing or the other…”
*"To Savor the World or Save It" by Richard S. Gilbert
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JUDGE STEVE MERSHON, Circuit Court Judge and Peace Activist
The guidelines Terry sent me said: (1) tell a story and (2) keep it short. And we all know how easy it is for an attorney to keep it short! But I’ll try. My story will focus on my work during my college years because those years solidified the belief system that was ingrained in me as a child.
To me, it seems that our beliefs evolve from Fate; from the way we play the cards that we were dealt at birth, and from our childhood roots and wings that prepare us for and carry us into adult life. My fate was to have been born with an emotional silver spoon in my mouth and to have been raised in the middle of a large, loving Catholic family. I never suffered or knew of any abuse. I had wonderful experiences as an alter boy and even considered the seminary. But then I met my wife of 36 years and the Catholic seminary was no longer an attractive option.
During college, I worked for several years as a truck driver (Teamsters, Local 89) and for several at Our Lady of Peace Hospital. Interacting with patients at Our Lady of Peace taught me that I could never make a quick judgment about someone; that I never completely had the whole picture within my grasp.
A patient was not just a patient. He was a reflection of his genetic make up and of his family and upbringing. He was his past, present and future – his hopes and dreams, his loves and disappointments, his unreconciled problems and unanswered questions, and his knowledge of what (if anything) he had to go home to.
I learned patience and tolerance. I learned to move slowly, to ask a lot of questions and to be open to unexpected possibilities. And I learned how critically important it is to listen, especially to those with whom we disagree.
I learned that the truth is difficult to discern; that one's eyes are the entrance to one’s soul and that looking into another’s eyes is like looking into a mirror and seeing the common humanity that we all share, seeing that combination of saint & sinner that we all are.
Thus, I believe in the Yogic blessing of Namaste; that that spark of divinity in me recognizes the divine in you.
… So the best summation of what I believe is the old saying: “There, but for the grace of god, go I.”
I believe that there is a grace – call it god or Fate, the Tao, Mother Nature or whatever that power is that deals the cards at birth – and that that grace, which is beyond comprehension, unites us all. But for that grace, any of our circumstances could be drastically different.
So on a fundamental, universal level; I believe that we are all connected and that we are all truly our brother’s keepers. This I believe.
Namaste.
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LINDA MILLER, Executive Director, Dare to Care Food Bank
This I Believe:
When considering what to share about my beliefs, I kept thinking about how one’s beliefs can change with awareness. When I first became involved with Dare to Care Food Bank, I was not fully aware that many people in the world live each and every day without life’s most basic necessity, and of how their lives are controlled by poverty and hunger. And I became more aware of the face of Hunger in our own community. A Food Bank study showed that almost one third of our clients are children, one in ten are seniors, and one in four families that seek assistance have one adult that is working.
The duty to feed the hungry is reflected in every religious tradition, including the teachings of Christ. Jewish sacred texts teach that God has created a world rich in abundance and meant for all people. Islam affirms almsgiving and fasting as pillars of faith emphasizing the importance of sharing. Buddhists are called to compassion; and Hindus are also expected to share with the hungry. But regardless of religion, I believe that each of us has a moral responsibility to help those in need, and to be advocates for those whose voices are too often not heard. I believe that we cannot win the battle against hunger until we as individual citizens open our hearts and minds to the conditions that cause it. I believe that this moral responsibility also extends to our Government, and that our nation’s social and economic policies need to better address the challenges of poverty and hunger. And I believe that the “human equation” must always be considered in the conduct of our foreign policy as well.
I believe that I enjoy the blessings and abundance of this life, including the satisfaction and pleasure of good, nutritious food, I must remember to be grateful. And above all, that I must never forget those less fortunate than myself. This I Believe.
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JUDY MUNRO-LEIGHTON, Louisville Peace Action Community
This I Believe:
In August 2002, I knew that the Bush Administration was gearing up for war against Iraq. I believed that this reckless threat to start a unilateral war could not be ignored. I am a history teacher, and I have studied and taught classes on the Vietnam War. I marched in Washington in November 1969 and I knew the drumbeat to invade Iraq was wrong. I was not going to sit idly by and watch another fiasco unfold without a fight. I went to Cincinnati on Oct. 7, 2002, to protest George Bush's most famous -- and infamous -- speech where he used menacing tones to warn about Iraqi WMD and "a mushroom cloud." I did not believe him. I went to work making calls to Congress, organizing meetings, painting signs, and traveling to protest in DC. I even emailed the Pope and asked him to please go to Iraq and stop this madness. To this day, my greatest regret is that I could not prevent the US Invasion of Iraq on March 19, 2003.
Despite this set back, I firmly believe that nothing can stop thoughtful, committed individuals who will never give up. My work as a teacher in inner-city schools during the 1970s proved the power of clever, focused, collective action. With Margaret Mead, I believe that the willingness of citizens to stand up and speak out is the only thing that will change the world. Working with the Louisville Peace Action Community (LPAC), I found the support of others who wanted to end Bush's illegal war, which seemed in 2003 to be an impossible task. Today, I can not drive anywhere in Louisville without pointing to busy intersections where our anti-war signs drew taunts and obscenities. I will never forget the red-faced anger, the single finger salutes, and the threats from war supporters. I am proud that I made thousands of signs, stood on corners in every type of weather, and did not give up.
Now, five years after the US Invasion, the argument has shifted. In 2008, it takes no guts to oppose the Iraq War. This change in attitude is reflected at our protests and vigils. Is it America's shame over millions of dead and injured? Maybe it is the eye-popping war costs of $5000 each second of every day. Perhaps America's diminished reputation has soured the majority on Bush's War. Who could have imagined back in 2002 -- when more than 70% clamored for the US invasion -- that the 2008 presidential election will focus not just on plans to end the Iraq War, but more importantly, we will also reconsider the mindset that got us into Iraq in the first place. I believe we are up to this task.
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KEN NEVITT, Louisville Peace Activist and Attorney
This I Believe:
I believe in peace, love, and understanding.
I believe in the importance of family and friends.
I believe that this too will pass.
I believe that what is good for my neighbor is good for me.
I believe it is important to perform random acts of kindness.
I believe that an appreciation of the arts enhances the quality of one’s life.
I believe that it is better for the world and the individual to be vegetarian.
I believe that there is no magic, except as metaphor.
I believe that the major cause of crime is poverty.
I believe that through education we can move toward eradicating poverty.
I believe in the importance of outward signs of expressions of love and of one’s beliefs.
I believe in mediation, cooperation, and reconciliation.
I believe that we should think globally and act locally.
I believe that a government should provide a safety net for its citizens.
I believe it is more important to consider oneself a citizen of the world rather than a citizen of a particular country.
I believe that violence begets violence.
I believe that capital punishment is wrong.
I believe that war is not the correct answer to any question.
I believe that we have a moral obligation to rebuild Iraq, and to not invade Iran.
I believe that we will be closer to ending war when women make up a greater percentage of politicians at all levels of government in all countries. (Not that all women are kinder and gentler than all men, nor that we should always vote for a woman, but I believe that on average women are more likely when resolving conflict to resort to communication before resorting to violence. My experience with peace and justice groups has shown me that women consistently make up the majority of such groups).
I believe that the HOKEY POKEY may be what it’s all about (so, put your whole body in and shake it all about!)
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DJENITA PASIC, Bosnian Muslim Leader, Peace Activist and Attorney
This I Believe:
I believe in not being defined by religion. To me, religion is just like communism - a beautiful, noble idea that we are all created equal, which does not work too well in practice. Do not take me wrong; I am in favor of all the basic premises taught by all religions. But I have a serious problem with how all religions treat “others,” those who do not belong, in practice.
I was born into a Muslim family but I was raised in the communist, or rather socialist, country of Yugoslavia. With no religious practice, nor training in our upbringing, but with plenty of education and communist propaganda, I believed in my country, our way of life, our mutual, intermixed and tolerant religious heritage without ever even thinking it may not last forever. I suffered for the people in Beirut or Jerusalem and their constant wars because I believed we, in Yugoslavia, were different. I believed that we may have found the holy grail of peaceful coexistence and I was very proud of it. But then the war came to our country and this beautiful dream fell apart. All of a sudden we were told that we were different among ourselves, that our religions now defined who we were, and that we no longer had our communist common denominator. All of a sudden I became just another Muslim that could get killed, tortured or raped just because of my religion which I never even practiced! 200,000 dead and one million displaced Bosnian Muslims later - I realized it was time for change. I could no longer bury my head in the sand; I had to accept reality as is. I may have gone through the trauma of war and resettlement not visibly scathed but I know better.
Because of the experience of war in my home country I “became” very much a Muslim but I am also still a “communist” at heart. I know this may be the worst possible combination in the United States but I am no terrorist or anarchist. I am more of an existentialist and a pacifist, happy with my choices. And I want to promote my European, intermixed and tolerant heritage, which is still in the hearts and minds of my family and friends in my home city of Sarajevo.
Because of genocide over Muslims in Bosnia and Herzegovina I feel compelled and obliged to belong, to defend and represent hundreds of thousands of victims of this incomprehensible war. I believe in giving those victims my voice. My allegiance is with “my” Muslim people but not at the expense of others. I have seen and experienced the holy grail of peaceful coexistence and I will pursue it forever. However, while I am Muslim, I refuse to be defined by religion – this I believe.
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PAUL PEARSON, Director and Archivist, Thomas Merton Center at Bellarmine University
This I Believe:
I believe that life is a journey, that I am all the time moving forward, though frequently that may not feel to be the case. A journey at times over rough seas; through dark, foreboding forests; down paths that turn out to be dead ends; and even going down one way streets in the wrong direction. Victor Frankl once said that life is like the dentist, we think the worst is yet to come, when in fact it is already over. Sometimes that has certainly felt to be the case on my journey yet, deep down I believe - I know - that I can learn and grow from all these things. Though sometimes, in the midst of it all, this can be hard to cling to.
On that journey music, and the lyrics of songs, have played an important part. And in the dark times music can take on a special meaning and I ask myself at those times “Are there songs for singing when the light has gone dim?” Invariably the answer is “yes.”
On my own personal journey for over twenty-five years I have been accompanied by a fellow journeyer, a journeyer whom I never met – Thomas Merton.
Somehow, accompanied by Merton, I fell in love with monasticism and tried my own vocation, became involved in the areas of social justice, ecumenism and inter-faith dialogue, read many of the same authors he was reading, and many others I’m sure he’d be reading now if he were still alive. Whether my journey would have been the same without him, I don’t know.
My journey is colored by a Benedictine view of life, a belief in hospitality, a belief in balance, a belief in sustainability, a belief in simplicity, a belief in listening, and a belief in prayer.
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GRACIELA PERRONE, Flamenco Dancer, Choreographer and Artist
This I Believe:
…I am a dreamer. Since I was a little girl, my songs, my drawings, my dance, my tales were all related to dreams, romantic tales… I can see now how much I treasured the dreams of this little girl that lives in me… I carried them all my life, and they helped me to cross the streets of life… this is my tale, this is my dream, this is my life…
I believe in love, in its magic, I open my heart to love... I believe love transforms... I believe in dreams, I believe in the language of the birds, I believe in the waves that sing to me... I believe in legendary people, in their spirit, I believe in history, I believe in the voices of the women and the men that made a difference in this world, voices that resisted time, I believe in transcendence, I believe in what is behind of what the eyes can see. I believe in art. I believe in wonders, in what they tell me, I believe in the awakening of our emotions, I believe in the uniqueness of each human being, I believe in the beauty of each flower, in their own colors, I believe in the roots, where the passion lives, I believe in passion, I believe in the song that made my soul shake, I believe in the power of the words, in the art of its combination, in the hearts that have the sensibility to capture them in a way that will paint unforgettable masterpieces to the ones that are listening, I believe in life, and I know that is passing... I believe in those that don't give up, I believe in peace... I believe in my palette, in the colors I mix, heart bits of my spirit… I believe in music... I believe in the song that still plays in my heart, I believe in tales, in angels, in fairies, that help me to get through… I believe that from the dark we can create the light, I believe in the sun and the colors of the clouds at dawn, I believe in the stars that shine in the sky and remind us of the beauty of the universe...
I believe in miracles, I believe in the laugh of a child, I believe in the wind, in the fire, in the earth and the water,,…..I believe in treasures, I believe we can make a difference, I believe in children and our responsibility to prepare the world for them to dream, I believe in their smile, miracles of love… I believe life passes a little each day and I prefer to wash away my fears and be surrounded by songs, music, dances, dreams... I believe in simple things, the ones that show me the light. I open my heart and my eyes and my arms to life... I believe in people that inspires me everyday with their determination to act... I believe in the drawing of our hearts... where anything is possible... This I Believe.
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GEORGIA POWERS, Civil Rights Leader and former Kentucky State Senator
This I Believe:
I believe I was created to be and become who I am, born in Jimtown, a segregated community in Springfield. Kentucky. At seventeen months old, a tornado destroyed the two-room cabin my father built, causing my teenage mother and father to move to Louisville. I have been involved in tornado, fire, flood and earthquake but fear has never been part of my life. I was predestined for my life’s journey. Instances of discrimination and segregation led to my desire to be involved in causes for social justice.
I was involved in a civil rights movement with a soul, with many who came, served and passed on, but others took their places.
I was elected to the Kentucky State senate in 1967 as the first woman and first African American. I gained my political experience and education by working for candidates for governor, U.S. Senate, Congress, etc. I was shocked when I was sworn in and saw no other women or African Americans. I knew then that my mission was clear as an advocate for equality for blacks, women, children, disabled, and “voiceless” people. I sponsored and co-sponsored 75 bills which were enacted into law; including the strongest open housing law with enforcement powers, in the south.
I believe genetics, parental presence and guidance taught me to treat everyone with dignity, worthiness and respect which has offered me a great opportunity to live a life of health, a positive attitude, love for people regardless of their status in life and longevity.
I believe my meeting with King Leruo Molotlegi on May14, and 15, 2008 in Nashville, Tennessee was not by accident. He is king of Royal Bafokeng, South Africa, a wealthy country who export 70% of platinum in the world. The population is 300,000. I was invited by two friends who have a connection with Kgosi. We had several meals together with his entourage of 6 and my friends. He was gracious and kind by inviting me to ride in his limousine with him.
This proves my point that you can get anything you want, if you help others get what they want.
I chose the road unlikely to succeed, but did.
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SHEILA PYLE, Owner of the Rudyard Kipling and Community Activist
This I Believe:
I was taught that one should not describe oneself thusly: I am a poet or I am a writer or I am an artist. Those are honoraria that others bestow upon one, not nouns that one should claim for herself. I feel the same way about “Christian”; we are leery today when one describes himself as Christian, partly because we may think, “Yes, and when did you last love your unlovable neighbor, feed the hungry, turn the other cheek?” Or we may listen for the pastor of a so-called Christian megachurch declare that God sent Hurricane Katrina to punish the wicked city of New Orleans for parading scantily-clad and colorfully made-up homosexuals on Mardi Gras or that God sent Hitler to make sure that surviving Jews could make it to the Holy Land, and therefore we should vote Republican. You might be embarrassed to say, “I believe in Christianity.”
My parents were natives of Appalachia, my mother a student of literature and romance languages, my father a civil engineer. They did not believe the load of foolishness the harsh, fundamental mountain churches threatened, and they never sent me to church or Sunday School. They did not forbid me to go, however, and after three nights of attending a revival with a little classmate when I was eight, I announced to them that tomorrow night I was going to go down front at the invitation and tell them I was SAVED, the consequences of not being saved having been described as very dire. “Are you Sure?” they warned. “Oh yes, I’m saved,” I insisted. The next morning they happily announced that tonight we would go on an outing to the drive-in movie, eat plenty of popcorn and ice cream, and I, delighted, forgot about salvation and never thought of it again.
My first job after graduation was teaching at an aristocratic boarding prep school in Winston-Salem , North Carolina, and the faculty were obliged to chaperone the heiresses to their respective churches on Sunday mornings. I accompanied my charges to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, where I found that the congregation alternately stood up and knelt down so regularly, I became headachy and nauseated. But after a few weeks, I grew to love all that praying and singing and loving so much that I wanted to be part of it. I went to the rector and confided in him but insisted I couldn’t say that I Believed a Load of Foolishness.
He lent me a book edited by Paul Tillich called The Christian Answer, several essays by Christian theologians assuring that one does not have to believe a load of foolishness.
However, there are some ideas in which one must believe. One must consider at least a threefold idea of God: (1) Creation—the universe, trees and flowers and birds and oceans and the whole damn thing; (2) Humankind—our brothers and sisters past, present, and future, of all colors and sorts and conditions; (3) The Divine Spirit—the holy blissful love that unifies and inspires and works for the happiness of all the above. Well, I can believe that. I can love that whether it’s true or not.
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DENTON RANDALL, Louisville Radio Personality (who has served for the last 8 years on the staff of Dare to Care Food Bank and will soon be starting a new position with Elderserve)
This I Believe:
I believe that laughter, genuine laughter, what the great humorist Peter Ustinov called “the most civilized music on earth,” is as essential to human existence as water or oxygen or protein.
Laughter of any and every kind, from the gentle chortle, to the roaring, makes-your-side ache belly laugh. The gasp of self-consciousness at an off color story. The groan after a sour pun. The bemused grin from a witty turn of a phrase. The double-back-on-itself amusement at Ireland’s greatest literary gift, the Limerick. And yes, the embarrassed, involuntary explosion of mirth that comes after Groucho outwits some society swell or Buster Keaton slips on a banana peel, or Curly takes one right in the kisser.
The laugh that eases a long and weary day. The laugh that provides a moments relief from the horrors of the world. The laugh that helps a friend thru a troubling time. As a verse attributed to the Koran reads; “He deserves Paradise who makes his companions laugh.”
In my own, probably vain, attempt to secure Paradise, let me share with you my absolute all-time favorite pun. This one is predicated on the knowledge that humorists, that much-maligned occupational group, were once referred to as “wags.” The humorist, S.J. Perleman, returned from a visit to Hong Kong, where he noted that the local working girls regularly accosted him in the lobby of his hotel, and remarked that it was a case of... “the tail dogging the wag.”
So laugh loudly and regularly. Savor your laughter. Share it with others. Do not suppress your laughter, or reject it as undignified or uncool. Remember the words of John F. Kennedy; “Only 3 things are real: God, human folly and laughter. The first two are beyond our comprehension, so we must do what we can with the third.”
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KIM SUMMERS-BATES, U.S. Department of Peace Campaign, Kentucky State Coordinator
This I Believe: “The Power of Tears and Making Way for Miracles”
I believe in the power of tears; the choice to truly feel and embrace the sadness for awhile. I believe by experiencing the authenticity of our grief, we can only then truly transform it at its roots. When we touch the tender core of our sadness, it can then be transformed into a miracle!
For as long as I can remember, I, Kimberly from Florida have wanted to be a mother. However, because of the trauma of my childhood and the time required to heal from it and because of the time it took me to honor it, I was in my late 30’s before I pro-actively tried to conceive. I was 37 before I felt ready to parent a child. Because of my age, fertility was an issue. I remember the agonizing months of hormone injections in my stomach and the months of progesterone induced rage that nearly destroyed my relationship. I remember the 6 doctor assisted inseminations with no success. I was angry! Damn angry, at the time it took me to heal from childhood abuse. Just plain damn angry at God! Or was it anger?
At one point, a well intended spiritual advisor told me that I wasn’t getting pregnant, because I didn’t believe I could.
Well this sent me into a tailspin of absolute grief and tears. Tears that revealed themselves as perfect! I was no longer stuck in ‘whiny’ or ‘angry’; I surrendered to tears. My heart cracked open and I cried a river. The fact was my body wasn’t getting pregnant. I prayed the prayer, “This or something better.” In my depths of sadness I recall looking to the sky and shaking with an uncontrollable quake, “All I want is a ‘Little Kimberly’!”
In my last attempt to conceive, my partner and I simultaneously proceeded with the international adoption process.
The adoption of baby Emmanuel flowed like a steady stream. On the way to my birthday celebration, we received a call informing us that our son from Guatemala would be coming home in approximately 5 – 6 months. What a birthday gift! A sign from God that this was the “highest way” for me to become a mother? Perhaps?
Well, baby “Manny” brought us such immense joy, we soon began the adoption proceedings again. My heart remembered the longings for a “Little Kimberly”, so this time we requested a baby girl. And after a few months wait, we received a phone call from the adoption agency. The placement specialist spoke of a baby girl that was born just 3 days prior. We were told that a picture would be sent to us on-line by 4:00 that day. We could then decide after seeing the picture if we wanted to accept the placement. Before hanging up my partner asked, “By the way, what is the child’s name?”
“Kimberli” the woman replied. “The birth mother named her Kimberli.”
“Did you say Kimberli?”
“I did”, the woman responded.
Without hesitation and no longer needing to see a picture, we knew a miracle had been birthed. We knew this was our “Little Kimberli.” This is what happens when a heart is cracked wide open. I became more convinced that my tears of sorrow paved the way for tears of joy.
As if we needed anymore affirmation, later we were sent “Little Kimberli’s” birth certificate. In my elementary knowledge of Spanish, I made out the word “Madre”. Mother: Florida’. The birthmother’s name was Florida’. I exclaimed, “I am from Florida too! Kimberly from Florida’”
God winked!
I believe in the power of authentically expressing grief and tears. I believe that what surfaces as anger is often deep sadness at its core. And most importantly I believe that when we meet the grief with integrity and cry, we make way for our grandest joys. Walking through the pain and not naming it anger, I am able to see with new eyes. As I heal my pain, my soul is better equipped to heal the pain of the world and create miracles!
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MANDY ZOELLER, Philosophy Major, University of Louisville
This I Believe:
The face of my savior is the face of a young girl I met in Haiti when I was fifteen years old. Her eyes were warm and wide-set above a shy, genuine smile, her head crowned with springy dark braids that glistened in the tropical sun. I knew her for only a few days. I cannot remember her name, but I will never forget her shining face, nor the way her voice stirred me as she whispered my name in her beautiful lilting Creole, calling me to a moment of transcendence that revealed to me the deepest truth I’ve come to understand in my short life. As we gazed into one another’s eyes, the barriers of division put in place by the world melted away: we were neither white nor black, poor nor rich, young nor old. We spoke not the same language, except that poetry that now danced between us, the wordless expression of commonality, of shared humanity, of belonging to the world and to one another. She smiled at me, and I smiled back, knowing that we both understood. In that moment, I felt that I could sense every heartbeat on the planet, every pulsation of every creature in the air and the sea, each breath of every tree, the stars swirling in the cosmos. I would feel this way almost exactly a year later as I hugged a homeless man at the St. Vincent de Paul shelter right down the street as he cried that he couldn’t express the gratitude he felt knowing that someone saw him as more than a bum, a nobody. I sensed this as I fed a paraplegic man at Active Day two summers ago and he grasped my hand, looked into my eyes and said, “You are a very beautiful girl,” and I realized he saw his own beauty reflected in our simple act of taking time to be present to one another. I am liberated in the same way as I sit quietly under a canopy of trees or dig my feet into the sand and gaze out across the ocean, recognizing that I and my sisters and brothers of every species belong to this earth, and it is all one.
This I believe: we are here for one another. Dissimilarity is an illusion. We must come to grasp our unity through short lives lived in a world into which we are seemingly born apart; it is our deepest and greatest spiritual challenge. Thomas Merton once said, “In the end, it is the reality of personal relationships that saves everything.” I am ever grateful for the gift my Haiti-sister and savior gave to me: a life of ever-present redemption through relationship, a life lived in reverence of the oneness that connects us all.
posted by Interfaith Paths to Peace at 3:50 PM
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