Stephanie Rutt's Blog

And they laugh. Clap. Egged on by Donald Trump’s bullish aim to disparage, mock, poke, intimidate, silence anyone who dares confront or challenge him, in this case a stutterer, President Joe Biden. Like good foot soldiers, they fall in line exactly as they did when Trump mocked New York Times reporter, Serge Kovaleski, who has a disability called arthrogryposis. Some news outlets tried to spin the action as though it was similar to some of Trump’s previously enamored displays. Watch the video. Judge for yourself.

Yes, it seems no matter how egregious the action: inciting insurrection to interfere with the peaceful transfer of power; how morally repugnant, separating babies and children from their parents at the border; how demeaning, ascribing cutesy names for adversaries; how dangerous, cozying up to world autocrats while casually turning away from our NATO allies — to name just a few examples — the MAGA base, good foot soldiers as they are, stand proud and clap unabated.

I suppose they truly feel this is all emblematic of how they’ll make America great again. After all, their leader says so and many believe he’s a kind of prophet sent by God to right America. Too bad few seem to notice how many, just like them, sit behind bars, the price for doing his bidding, while he continues to live fancy free, claiming immunity.

Admittedly, Trump was right about one thing: “I could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters.” (January 23, 2016). At the time, many thought, even critics, this was just a blowhard display of narcissistic enthusiasm. Bad enough. But now we know, it’s absolutely true.

For eight years, we’ve allowed Trump to stretch and redefine the boundaries of decency. But this time, finally, I believe he’s gone too far. Mocking someone, anyone, with a disability, is going too far. While some may question the mocking of Serge Kovaleski, there is no spinning Trump’s mocking of President Biden’s stutter.

The critical point here is that the clear lack of empathy needed to do such a thing should sound an alarm, loud and clear, because such behavior is a key characteristic of sociopathic tendencies and is a personality trait of all powerful autocratic leaders who have casually silenced, in one way or another, those they perceived as enemies, threats, or those they deem to be inadequate, inferior or weak.

Such a person so void of empathy cannot possibly relate to the depth of fear, rage, pain, terror that often consumes those living with something that makes them different, something visible they can’t hide or change.

I know because I’m a stutter. As a child I remember the children’s faces, the laughing, jeering, mocking. Today those faces belong to Trump and his followers who proudly exploit any weakness they perceive. Wake up America! We’re living in a fourth-grade classroom where the self-appointed bully is in charge and he’s running for class president—again.

I was lucky. It was only by the grace of God that I was able to largely overcome my stutter. So, I gladly and gratefully stand with and for all those who live with — I won’t say a disability — but some difference, particularly some visible difference, because we know that laugh, the mocking, and how others can sometimes interpret that difference as damaged goods.

We are not damaged. Serge Kovaleski is not damaged. President Joe Biden is not damaged. I’m not damaged. We wake up every day and make our way the best we can with as much grace and courage as we can muster— just like each of us for, in truth, everyone carries something—seen or unseen.

As a former mental health counselor observing his apathetic behaviors, I could imagine feeling a measure of compassion for Trump—if he were an ordinary citizen. He’s not. As a result, the stakes are too high, time too short, to get sidelined there. I, we, must focus on the prevailing threat at hand and we must not remain silent!

Ask yourself America, do you really want to risk giving the nuclear codes (again) to someone who won’t think twice or care about the magnitude of suffering such a weapon may inflict upon those he feels are “vermin,” to use his word, and therefore dispensable? Do we want to hold up as our leader someone who maliciously takes down anyone not willing to bow and kiss the ring? Fragile egos, in a position of power, can be the most perilous weapon of all.

Wake up America!

“In my soul there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church where I kneel in prayer. Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist.” Rabia of Basra

It “was” beautiful. Tender images meant to transport us to a place of acceptance and compassion—the “He Gets Us” Jesus commercial run during the Super Bowl. Yet, even I, an interfaith minister with deep Christian roots, an author who’s examined the Lord’s Prayer through the lens of Aramaic, the language of Jesus, a devote who on any given morning may be found praying the Christian Orthodox Jesus Prayer—yes, even I knew it was inappropriate and, because it felt completely out of context, came across as uninvited proselytizing.

Want to test it out? Let’s rewind and imagine for moment you’re watching the Super Bowl and an AI generated ad comes on displaying depictions of the early female Sufi Saint Rabia reciting the quote above. We can only imagine the fallout!

“What?” “Inappropriate!” “Blasphemy!” “We’re not a Muslim country!”

And there you have it. In addition to the not-so-subtle attempt at proselytizing, the creators and promoters of the “He Gets Us” commercial clearly were making the assumption that this was totally fine because, of course, we’re meant to be a Christian nation, right?

Those promoting this presumed normalization of Christian nationalism would certainly have us believe so and that, indeed, the very founders and framers of the U.S. Constitution meant for us to be a Christian nation. It seems a basic civics lesson is in order here.

First of all, while many of the founders did aspire to Christian values, nowhere in the U.S. Constitution do we find the word “Christian.” In fact, many framers having experienced religious persecution, fiercely defended the right to religious freedom and expressed this clearly in the first line of the First Amendment ushering in the Bill of Rights: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof…”

I find it hard to believe that, had the founders really wanted us to be a Christian theocracy, they would have chosen to hide behind such universal, inclusive, dare I say “woke” language. No. I believe they would have said it straight out: “Congress shall establish that we as a Christian nation shall be governed by the beliefs and values therein.” They did not.

In addition, the Pew Research Center, Sept. 13, 2022, “Modeling the Future of Religion in America,” reports that in 2020 the number of Americans identifying as Christian was about 64%, a sharp decline from just thirty years ago. About 30% were identified as religiously unaffiliated, and the additional 6% identified with other non-Christian religions.

I’ve found myself wondering how it felt to the roughly one-third non-Christian U.S. population to get highjacked into a “He Gets Us” Jesus commercial right in the middle of the Super Bowl? “What’s this? I’m not religious,” or “Where’s a commercial about my faith?”

Clearly, we’re in a national identity crisis. Do we want to continue with our experiment in democracy or do we want to become a theocracy under the banner of Christian nationalism? Today, I can still drive down Broad St. in Nashua and find the Nashua Baptist Church right next to the Hindu Temple of New Hampshire. A short walk from downtown, I can still find the Islamic Society of Greater Nashua, Temple Beth Abraham and the Unitarian Universalist Church of Nashua—just to name a small sampling of the diverse houses of worship. However, in just a few months, should the election usher in a new era of autocracy and Christian nationalism, I find myself wondering if all houses of worship will be required to close except those identifying as Christian. It’s a fair question.

It’s important to note that currently all of these houses of worship exist side by side with no problem or controversy. In our great democratic experiment, it’s understood that we each have a responsibility to hold the tension in such diversity. No, it is not important that we believe alike or worship alike. It is only important that we allow each to exist in peace.

Sadly, what’s missing in this tug-of-beliefs for our national identity is recognizing the unity within our diversity. In 2006, the Souhegan Valley Interfaith Council sponsored a conference, “The Golden Rule Across Faith Traditions.” Educational. Inspirational. Designed to bring people together to listen, to share, to work together to create communities that honor and support “all of us” whether you kneel to pray in temples, mosques, shrines or churches.

Pause a moment and imagine how our world, indeed our very lives, would be different if each faith tradition simply encouraged its followers to live the Golden Rule. Perhaps then we could imagine a Super Bowl ad showing ordinary citizens, mixed in with representatives from varying faith traditions, simply practicing random acts of kindness toward one another.

Now that would be something to cheer about.

I’ll never know her name. Yet, she’ll live in my heart until my last breath. It started with one of those warnings from a newscaster, “The images are disturbing.” Then, amid the overwhelming devastation, I saw a little girl, maybe three or four years old, lying on a makeshift stretcher. Over her small body her dress lay limp, covered with blood and filth spewed from the ravages of war. But it was the blindfold tied around her matted hair that I could imagine left her feeling the most scared: viciously trapped, panicking, frantically groping for any escape out of the dark, crying out, pleading, again and again, “Mama. Mama.”

It was an image from Gaza but to ask where, whom or even why, is to have already lost the moral compass. Perhaps better a question would be, “What if it were my child? My daughter. My son. And what if I remembered that, just a short time ago, she or he was roaming free from concern, likely being messy, clothes soiled from fun due to all kinds of imaginary shenanigans.

Pause. Feel. What if it were my child?

I know many of us are grateful each night, regardless of our particular challenges and circumstances, that we, at least for now, live in a country that’s not being decimated by war. Most of us have a warm bed out of the cold. We’re spending an unprecedented amount for gifts this Christmas and will have to do some serious dieting come January due to our holiday feasting. We can’t even imagine losing water, food, sanitation, safety, with no back-on date posted on our smart phones. We can’t. Or maybe we can so we quickly offer our passing, “That’s so sad,” and escape into the holiday classic, “It’s a Wonderful Life.” I’m no different most of the time.

Until, I heard, “Mama. Mama,” and something in me stirred, deep.

And as I’ve sat with it, it’s made me hold more closely the teachings of the one called Jesus, this Holy Week in particular, as we anticipate the celebration of his birth on Christmas Day. Yes, I’m an Interfaith minister but I also have a long, endearing, familial relationship with Christianity through a small country Methodist Church in the deep south. And I sense that, if Jesus were here, he’d be quite dismayed with how those who call themselves the faithful have come to practice his teachings.

It might serve us all well to remember that Jesus was not a Christian. He was a Jew. The religion of Christianity was founded generations after Jesus’ death by those who could still hear, across time, the ecstatic cry that just his simple presence could elicit. They did, however, manage to record many of his teachings which, by any standard looking at events today, should give us all pause.

For example, Jesus was one who preferred to live on the fringes of society and hang out with those people others would not. Judging from his words, I believe today he’d be at our boarders tearing down walls and welcoming all who yearned for safety and comfort. I can imagine he’d be washing their feet and making sure they were properly clothed and fed for, as we read in Matthew 25:40, “I tell you whenever you did these things [fed, clothed and invited in the stranger] for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did them for me.”

Similarly, I don’t believe in the middle east today he’d stop to see any distinction between Jews, Muslim, Arabs, Palestinians, before serving any and all who were in need. He’d certainly not be concerned with whether or not they’d found him or loved his Holy Father through the proper religion. Today, he’d most likely look with bewilderment at those who’ve claimed him as their own such as those Christians who say God revealed to them that they should care predominately for Israeli Jews. No such hierarchy of worthiness is revealed in Jesus’ teachings, in fact, quite the opposite. “Just as I have loved you, you must also love one another. (John 13:34)

Perhaps, as expressed in the beautiful hymn, “Oh Holy Night,” this Christmas we should all hope to experience the unconditional love Jesus taught, to better live as he did so we too could feel, “A thrill of hope,” as our, “weary world rejoices,” remembering, “He taught us to love one another,” and that, “His law is love and his gospel is peace.”

Most of all, I pray we all may have just a moment when we too find ourselves consumed by that ecstatic cry, so when we sing, “Fall on your knees, O hear the Angels voices,” we can do nothing else.

Maybe then, we could hear, a world away, a small voice crying, “Mama. Mama,” and know the true meaning of Christmas.

On the eve of December 7th, our Jewish brothers and sisters lit the first candle in celebration of Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights. Four years ago, I posted, "In Celebration of Hanukkah: The Great Shepherd-King and a Modern-Day Shepherd Boy," on my blog shortly after the killings at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh. The story tells of my grandson, Sean, who has autism and an event I, myself, felt quite miraculous related to Psalm 23 in the Hebrew Bible. Today, I can imagine faith-filled Jews, enduring the ongoing war and destruction initiated by Hamas in the October 7th terrorist attack, holding the victims, as well as all those still held hostage, very close to heart. I offer this story again now as a simple, yet profound, reminder of how close the miracle of light is. May it offer us all faith, hope and love . . .

Tonight, our Jewish brothers and sisters will gather around the Menorah to light the final candle for Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights, in honor of the great miracle bestowed by God at the time of the re-dedication of the Second Temple in Jerusalem – a miracle that caused one cruse of oil, sufficient to light the candelabrum for only one day, to burn for eight days. I can imagine that as Jews are celebrating this particular Hanukkah, they have been holding close all those killed at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh making this an especially tender, sorrowful, yet deeply holy and faith-filled time for bringing the eternal light into the abyss of darkness.

Today, in honor of Hanukkah, I’m celebrating another miracle of light arising from the Jewish tradition, this one from the shepherd boy who would become a great king, David, and remembering how that light reached across time to penetrate the unknown darkness of a modern-day shepherd boy with autism enabling him to recite the beloved Psalm 23 in David’s own language, Hebrew. This story is dedicated, in particular, to my Jewish brothers and sisters everywhere.

Truly, had I not witnessed it myself, I would have never believed it. It actually started four years ago when my grandson, Sean, was nine years old. At the time, I was immersed in Psalm 23 in Hebrew and one day was playing a recording. Right away he took to it so I recited it with him a couple of times and then he was off to do other things. A week later, without hearing the recording, he simply started reciting the full Psalm again. While some of the words and phrases were slightly slurred, anyone familiar with the Psalm in Hebrew would have easily recognized it. I was astonished! In the following weeks, he’d extemporaneously just say the Psalm for, what seemed to be, his own enjoyment.

Now, fast forward four years to just last month. Sean, my husband, and son and I were sitting around the dinner table. We were talking about some of the speeches and addresses we’d had to memorize in school when, suddenly, I had the urge to ask, “Sean, do you remember when you could say Psalm 23 in Hebrew?

“Yes,” he said with great confidence.

“Adonai roee lo echsar…” I started. But quickly, he stopped me saying, “No, grandma.” Then, he proceeded to recite the full Psalm in Hebrew without error! I’m still amazed when I think about it!

Now, I’m aware that those having knowledge of autism might confirm that such instances are within the behavioral spectrum, but I consider it a kind of miracle that a young boy, largely non-verbal except for short directive sentences, could hear Psalm 23, in a language not his own, and then recite it without effort or practice. There is something inherently intrinsic, even captivating, about the Hebrew language. Each letter has its own essence and purpose and seems to hold close its own song reserved only for those ready to sing aloud. When strung together into words, the soul seems to effortlessly recognize itself becoming a kind of songbird involuntarily quivering to the sweet harmonies of the Creator. My grandson did not learn Psalm 23. He simply listened once or twice and then, without effort, became an instrument for the sound of God. And, for those of us blessed to hear . . . well, we were left silent and in awe.

So, as Jews around the world conclude their celebration of the Festival of Lights tonight, I am pausing to remember the miracle of light that shown though my grandson’s strong and certain voice as he, a young shepherd boy of today, found resonance with the Mizor L’David, the Psalm of David, and with that shepherd boy of long ago who would become a great king.

I am fully certain that they walk together in this valley of the shadow of death. And I trust that they will continue to be followed by goodness and mercy . . .

and dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

With so much division, manipulation, finger-pointing, and downright ugliness masquerading as civil discourse these days, it’s easy to lose site of the good. And then something happens, quite unexpectedly, that brings a ray of hope to where there was such challenge and despair. It was a simple thing really. Usually is. I’m fortunate to live in a large mill building with people of many ethnicities and it’s not unusual to hear multiple languages in the hallways.

A few days ago, I was walking up the ramp to our main entrance and passed a middle-aged woman and, what looked to be, her grandmother, both Muslim. The grandmother was walking behind slowly, hunched over, and seemed to have some visual impairment. I stopped at the door and held it open. When the grandmother got up to me, she paused, stared softly, and slowly bowed her head. I bowed back. Then, being shorter than me, she reached up and suddenly hugged me saying, “As-salamu alaykum,” a Muslim greeting that means, “Peace be upon you.” She held on for a few seconds as I was feeling oh-my-gosh, and then was finally able to whisper back, “And As-salamu alaykum to you.” Then, they went in and disappeared into our building. But as I write this, I know that somewhere in one of our 300+ apartments there’s a dear elderly Muslim woman who offered me peace that day, and for that I am surely blessed.

I know, like many, my heart breaks for the tragic war now consuming the Middle East. As I expressed in my 11/1/2023 article, “Middle East Peace,” I could respond in kind to the woman because I’ve spent time praying with both my Muslim and Jewish friends. I know that had the elderly woman I met at the door been Jewish, I’m sure she’d have blessed me with, “Shalom aleichem,” generally translated, “Peace unto you.” I could have responded in kind, “Aleichem shalom,” and there would have been no difference in the gift offered or received.

Funny how such a simple act of kindness can ripple and instantly soothe a heart overcome with turbulent fear for the future. We forget how powerful kindness is, too easily discounted, worthy perhaps only of a fleeting smile before getting back to more serious business. That is until an elderly Muslim woman spontaneously hugs you or you, again unexpectedly, have an opportunity to offer something in kind.

A number of years ago, at this time of year, I was standing in line at one of the quick checkout lanes in a grocery store in Milford. It was early evening, and the store was packed. The couple ahead of me had an infant who was becoming more and more fussy. Both parents looked completely frazzled and had that I-can’t-remember-the-last-time-I-slept look. As mom tried to calm the infant, dad was desperately counting out his last penny. He came up short and the cashier, regretfully, said he’d have to put something back.

Without thinking, I jumped in and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll cover the bill.” I’ll never forget the surprise, almost disbelief, mixed with deep gratitude, in their eyes as they left the store. But the good news is I’m absolutely certain that many of you reading this would have done the exact same thing.

But the story doesn’t end there. About a week later, I was in line again at the same store. This time, as I started to empty my cart, the woman in front of me said, “I’m paying for your groceries today. I was behind you last week and saw what you did for that couple with the baby. Now I’d like to do something for you.”

Who knows? Maybe this article will find her and she’ll remember that day and know that her kindness still makes me smile all these years later.

Kindness doesn’t need to know what political party you belong to. It doesn’t care what religion you are or how much money you make. No application is required. We offer kindness because something bigger than us, in the moment, compels us. It sparks an ember, long smothered, awakening an innate sense of our shared humanity, and ignites the fire of neighborly love even before we know what’s happening.

And it changes everyone and everything in its wake. Giver. Receiver. Witness. One and the same now. For the moment, it frees all from the shackles of drudgery, oppression and hatred to find hope and joy where no one would have thought to look. And even years later, just the memory can rekindle the ember again. Such is the power of kindness.

As-salamu alaykum . . .

https://becomeaforceforgood.com/2023/...

During these challenging times, seeing war raging in the Middle East, the terrorist attack of Hamas on innocent Israelis, and now the subsequent bombardment of the Gaza Strip, it’s easy to succumb to despair. I refuse. Even as I watched the shock and horror on the faces of those Israelis being suddenly snatched, taken prisoner in broad daylight, and now hear the cries of the innocent ones trapped in perpetual darkness in the Gaza Strip without the basic necessities for survival, I refuse.

Hope is only lost when we decide we can do nothing or remain silent. Silence leaves a vacuum for hatred that only escalates as a result of fear – fear of alienation and annihilation. Hope gives rise to conscious action, possibility, as a result of love – love not based on personal emotion but rather on a sense of clarity, that what we do to the other, in the end, we do to ourselves.

Certainly, as we determined after 911, any act of terror must be met with the swift sword of justice. Simply, evil, in any manner, cannot be allowed to prevail. Still, I believe it’s the hope of many that we not simply re-act arbitrarily, but, rather, strive for that conscious action when balancing the scales of justice. It’s a fine, some might say lofty, point but I would argue a critical one influencing the decisions we make.

For example, this distinction has risen as many are contemplating the plight of civilians, particularly those trapped in the Gaza Strip. It might serve us well to ask what happens to our collective psyche when we decide some innocent lives are more worthy of our care than others. It becomes all too easy, framing the argument as perpetrators vs victims, to lose sight that today’s victims are tomorrow’s perpetrators and vise-versa. And so, the wheel of re-active retaliation spins without end while the innocent on both sides continue to suffer and grieve as they bury their children.

Elenor Roosevelt asked, “When will our consciences grow so tender that we will act to prevent human misery rather than avenge it?” Herein lies an important key to stopping re-active retaliation. As I highlighted in my April 30, 2023 Opinion, Our Common Humanity, making opportunities to forge dialogue, expand understanding, and raise awareness is key to helping assumed enemies step off the perpetrator-victim wheel and, together, forge new pathways. Not easy. Messy and challenging for sure. But worth it? Ask the many helpless ones, this moment, watching their loved ones suffer and die and can do nothing about it.

Something happens when we move beyond the more superficial differences and see into our common humanity—that place where it no longer matters, we don’t notice, or forget to ask, what religion, ethnicity or nationality a person is—when we see someone in need. We respond because something bigger compels us. In that moment, if ever so briefly, we contact the common ground of our humanity. And it changes us.

As an Interfaith minister, I have hope because I’ve personally experienced that common ground, one might call our Oneness from a religious perspective, with both my Jewish and Muslim friends.

My Jewish friends practice the great message from the Talmud: “That which is hateful to you, do not do to another. That is the whole law. The rest is commentary.” I’ve learned from them the mysteries of the Hebrew script and where, for example, the first letter is “Alef.” It’s silent signifying the One behind all creation. As Lawrence Kushner writes in “The Book of Letters,” “It [Alef] also begins the most important thing about Him: ECHAD. One. Know that God is One.”

And it didn’t matter that I was not a Jew.

My Muslim and Sufi friends hold fast to the enduring message from the Hadith: “None of you truly believes until you love for your brother what you love for yourself.” I’ve danced in circle form many times to the sacred phrase, “La Ilaha Illallah,” generally translated, “There is no deity but Allah,” and points to the Muslim concept of “Tawhid,” the Oneness of God. I learned the 99 beautiful names of Allah and discovered that the infamous phrase, hijacked by terrorists, “Allahu Akbar,” simply means, “God is Great.”

And it didn’t matter that I was not a Muslim or Sufi.

It would not be possible for the Jews and Muslims I know to participate in any form of terror against others. Their religious practices bring them again and again to stand for hope, possibility and love.

Let’s not allow fear and hatred to dominate. Let’s strive for conscious action to balance the scales of justice. Let’s allow ourselves to imagine the possibility that we could stand together in search of freedom and prosperity for all.

And, above all, let’s choose hope that propels us to love.

Turn slowly toward what leaves you silent
Hold fast to what makes you breathless

Stand empty

Longing's sweet fragrance will soothe your skin
even as Love's fire consumes you

Stand still
and Dance

*From my upcoming spiritual memoir, Come Dance on the Moon: The Non-Ordinary Life I Never Saw Coming

The journey home takes you off the known way.

Follow.

When thunderclaps and chilly rain whip your face

Find your pulse . . .
the One who beats your heart.
Feel the rise and fall of your chest . . .
the One who breathes you.

Rise up bold . . . barefoot
and enter through Love's narrow gate
onto the field of wonder.


This poem is included in my upcoming spiritual memoir:
Come Dance on the Moon: The Non-Ordinary Life I Never Saw Coming

“But someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” C.S. Lewis

With so much whirling around us: the pervasive devastating effects of climate change, the didn’t-think-it-could-possibly-get-any-worse political divisiveness spurred on by megaphones and finger-pointing, the now normalized references to the need for some form of revolution to bring about a theocracy, autocracy, or just to maintain our democracy— is it any wonder some of us might find a short-term escape into fantasy alluring? If you’re one, I have just the thing for you: this short fairy tale story I wrote for my 8-year-old grandson, and for the child in all of us. Enjoy!

“Now, everyone who was anyone already knew that Jack was the Keeper of the Squirrels. He’d told his grandma so when he was only 5 years old the day they were watching the squirrels scamper across the street.
“I hope they make it across okay,” his grandma had said.
“Oh, they will. I know because I take care of them,” Jack said with great confidence.
“Oh, how nice,” his grandma said smiling. “So, is that your job?”
“Yes, I keep the squirrels safe.”
So, from then on, his grandma nick-named him the Keeper of the Squirrels.

But . . . hardly anyone knew something else Jack really liked to do was to collect acorns for the fireplace mantle at his grandparent’s wilderness camp, 3 Feathers. That was the special place for treasures from the land.

And absolutely no one knew of the mysterious visit he received one day from the Spirit of the Acorn. Jack didn’t tell anyone as he thought it was all pretty weird! It happened one day on the dusty, gravel, drive right in front of the old cabin.

He was out exploring when he heard, “Hey you! Up there! It’s me down here. I’m an acorn and have come to give you a special message. Listen up! I don’t have all day!”

Jack was startled and looked around to see if anyone had heard the talking acorn. But no one was around.

“Quick! We’ve only got a few minutes so pay attention,” said the Spirit of the Acorn.
Jack thought, “Oh boy, this is really looney.”

But the Spirit of the Acorn kept talking.
“Now. You may not know it but I’m going to grow to be a mighty oak tree right here in this very yard. I may be little now but, one day, I’m going to stand really tall and strong.”

“Okay,” said Jack not believing he was talking to an acorn, “but what about my little pine tree over there my Uncle Mitch gave me, the one I planted several years ago?”

“Dude! We’re gonna grow up together and be best friends. Cool. Uh?” Jack wasn’t so sure.

“So, why are you talking to me?”

“Because I want you to know that, just like me and your little pine tree over there, you were made in a special way by the Great Spirit who already knows all you can be when you grow up. You may be little right now, but the Great Spirit has given you all you need to grow tall, strong and kind. Who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll visit us and see how mighty we are too!”

“Anyway,” the Spirit of the Acorn continued, “work hard and learn all you can but always remember the Great Spirit has made you in that special way. No one can ever be just like you and be who you are. Pretty cool, uh?”

Suddenly, Jack heard voices. “Shhhhhh!” he said as he quickly picked up the acorn and tucked it into his pocket hoping no one had heard them talking.

But later that night he thought, “I’m gonna find a special place to bury this acorn to help it grow big and tall just like me. And maybe one day I’ll come visit and get to see the mighty oak tree and my little pine tree all grown up.” And Jack did think that’d be pretty cool.

And the Spirit of the Acorn smiled.”

James Allen said, “The oak sleeps in the acorn; the bird waits in the egg; and in the highest vision of the soul a waking angel stirs.” Does an oak yearn to be a pine; a pear an apple; a tulip a rose? No. Pause a moment and reflect how our world might shift if more of us were aware that we each have a unique part to play in in this thing called life.

Thank you, Spirit of the Acorn.