Families get into and end up having food fights. Usually, the mess happens behinds close doors. Over the past week plus, Singapore has been watching a very public one play out. It is not pretty. By most accounts, it is not that important. In short, it is a debate that could and should have been resolved amicably between brothers, sisters, and kids behind closed doors. Instead, everyone seems to have a view
In this case, I do not have anything that I want to say in addition to what is already being said. Like a lot of things in life, it is hard to those stones at the glass house in which I live. My memories of conversations and the lack of, words used and not, expressions of intent and of ignorance from days gone by remind me of how human I am.
The natural regret that comes from this is often debilitating. As I talk with others, even as I find myself lamenting with them, the hard reality of it all strikes at one’s heart and mind. It feels as if my energy is draining even as I try to rationalize how it is all in the past.
Recent experiences remind me that there are many types of healing actions and responses. In the mix, the impact that words of compassion and hope have is surprising. The psalmist words still ring true; “These words hold me up in bad times; yes, your promises rejuvenate me.” (Psalm 119.50)
Most mornings I ride past a street hawker selling cigarettes. Besides the fact that I do not smoke is the intriguing fact that his product is likely illegal due to the avoidance of tax and duties. We have never spoken yet we communicate with a wave, a smile, and thumbs up save. It is a simple act that leaves me smiling, energies, and more hopeful.
I believe we are responsible for how we use the compassion and love we are gifted with. I pray these two words and the ideas they represent dominate our thoughts, voice, and actions.
