To choose love over hatred requires change. It means letting go of our hurt and fear in favor of the higher calling. Generations to come will reap the harvest of our choices, for good or for evil. Hate breeds hate; love breeds love. Love, though met with hatred, will ultimately prevail. What will your legacy be?
Source: Two Fires
Hatred will only perpetuate hatred. As a seed begets its corresponding fruit, so hatred results in destruction and death. The seeds of love bring forth healing and life.
Source: Two Fires
Photo Credit: Peace | Peace and sunset in the wind flickr.com by Moyan_Brenn
it was a world of hatred, a world of strife
where hearts grew bitter and numb to life
but ignoring the pain
the people still sang
it’s a small world, after all
multitudes lived out their lives of ease
while others were lacking their basic needs
though the poor cried in vain
all heard the refrain
it’s a small world, after all
wealthy men’s dumpsters were filled to full
while the hungry were starving outside their doors
the rich entertained
while they sang and they sang
it’s a small world, after all
humans were bound in captivity
greedy appetites funded their slavery
hungry for more,
oppressing the poor
it’s a small, small world
nations went bankrupt, destroyed by greed
though warnings poured forth, they failed to take heed
corrupted, they spent
until drowned in their debt
it’s a small world, after all
children with guns killed potential friends
reports of destruction were without end
the suffering went on
yet still, came the song
it’s a small world…after all
cultures destroyed due to race and skin
terrorists blinded by mortal sin
innocence failed
while hatred prevailed
it’s a small world, after all?
battles were fought, countless lives were lost
still, they neglected to count the cost
fighting wars uncontained
until no one remained
it’s a small, small world
Photo Credit: ignorance | ignorance | Z S | Flickr
He came barefoot to church every Sunday morning. Unaffected by the questioning glances, he stood quietly in his ragged clothing. Emma was drawn to him, and she determined to find out why.
When service ended, Emma hurried out the doors and waited until she spotted his bare feet amidst the flood of Sunday shoes. Head down and hands in pockets, he walked toward the alley. She followed.
“Excuse me. I have something to give you.” She held out a small envelope.
He looked up, brows furrowed above his warm brown eyes.
“This is for you…so you can have some shoes to wear to church on Sundays.”
His lips curved into a smile. “You’re very kind. But, I don’t go to church on Sundays.”
Emma tilted her head and looked from him to the building and back.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. Name’s Joshua.” He held out his rugged hand.
“I’m Emma. But…I’ve seen you in church. Every Sunday.”
“Oh, the building? Yes. But if you want to see my church, follow me.”
He proceeded down the alley, and Emma followed until they came to a series of row houses surrounding a small, dusty playing field where children ran barefoot.
Joshua turned to her. “Meet me here tomorrow.”
And she did. Each day that week, Emma came to the field and watched as Joshua delivered shoes to different families. He’d spend the day making shoes and the evening passing them out. By the end of the week, many of the children were wearing brand new shoes.
Emma watched as they played. “I don’t understand. Why…”
He smiled gently as the children ran happily across the field. “I like to give all I have, and to remember all I have to be grateful for.”
The next Sunday, Emma saw one of the families from the row houses walking in to church. The mother was wearing the Sunday shoes Emma had given her; the father and their boy were wearing the shoes Joshua had given them. Emma smiled, savoring the feeling of the cold floor beneath her bare feet.
Photo Credit: File:Barefoot on red dirt.jpg – Wikimedia Commons
at first glance he’s just a beggar…
a blur in the background
of my immutable schedule
an unwelcome disruption
to my carefully laid plans
his greedy hands reaching out
for my hard-earned wealth
unworthy
of my well-deserved luxuries
unequal to the value
of my precious time
but when i take a closer look,
i see a mirror reflection
helpless eyes that could be mine
if hope had escaped my grasp
desperate hands that would reach out
if opportunity had eluded me
hardships i would bear
if fate had dealt me another hand
he is no beggar
he is a reminder of what can be lost
he is a messenger
of what has been forgotten
he is a friend
inviting me to find my humanity
Source: More than a Neighbor
Photo Credit:BEGGAR | Street Photography © 2014 www.r… | | by richardovertoom
I used to love the snooze button. It was my early morning friend, allowing me a few extra minutes to enjoy the comfort of a warm bed before launching into a busy day. My daughter helped break my snooze-button habit for a short while. As a baby, she was up all hours of the night and morning. It was a glorious day when she finally learned to sleep past five. After that, mornings were blissful.
Until my son came along. He’s the enhanced model of the “Alarm Clock No Snooze” system. With him, there’s no in between. In a matter of seconds, he shifts from deep sleep to extreme awake. And once he’s up, I have no choice but to get up with him or there’s no telling what he’ll get into.
As for my daughter, she’s now progressed to where she claims to be “allergic of” getting up. To make things easier, I try to sing her awake. She opens her eyes. She smiles, she giggles. But still, she’s under the covers, comfy and on the verge of returning to dreamland. She’s awake, but she’s not up.
Observing my kids’ morning habits makes me realize a deeper reality. There’s a difference between waking up and getting up.
We hear about school shootings, terrorism, gang violence, racist acts, and more on a daily basis. The increasing amount of disturbing news has served as a wake up call to multitudes. Something’s wrong, and something needs to change. If we don’t deal with the root of the issues before us, things will only get worse.
The problem is, we’re awake, but we’re still in bed. We’re awake, but we’re not getting up. We’re aware that our world is in turmoil, but we’re still comfy under the covers. We’ve responded to the wake up call, but we haven’t heard the get up call just yet. It’s quite possible we’ve become “allergic of” getting up.
Waking up involves opening our eyes and ears. But we still haven’t moved from a position of comfort. Getting up requires action. It requires moving our feet and stepping away from our place of comfort and into the realm of movement.
We’ve come to the point in our lives when it’s not enough to wake up anymore. It’s time to get up. It’s time to do something. And that something begins with change, and the change begins with us.
What’s one of the first things we do when we get up? We look in the mirror. We see what needs to change, and we change it. In this case, the change begins in our hearts once we finally hear the get up call.
I’m struck silent as I consider statistics on child poverty, abuse, and injustice. 143 million orphans. 1 billion children worldwide living in poverty. Over 3 million children abused each year. 150 million children engaged in child labor. 400,000 children trafficked across the borders each year. Reading these facts, I lament: these children need a hero. Actually, they need heroes to rise up and become a voice in our world of injustice.
In light of the grave suffering our world’s children endure, it’s a farce that our culture would attempt to re-define heroism according to a person’s investment in their own sensual fulfillment. Really? Would we call a hero one who would spend millions in pursuit of self-gratification? Is courage now dependent on one’s commitment to self-indulgent personal happiness? Is bravery now equated to one’s ability to acquire millions for squandering on selfish fantasies?
There was a time when a hero was one who sacrificed all for the good of others. Courage came in the form of laying down one’s life for a friend. Bravery meant facing death that others could live.
Our flimsy re-definition of heroism is but a symptom of deep-rooted issues. We’ve suppressed the truth of who we are and whose we are. We’ve forgotten why we’re here. If each would live according to our greater purpose and higher calling, how much of today’s suffering would dissipate? And how quickly.
Instead, we live ignorant and bored, ever in search of the latest diversion, however costly. And we read the headlines, shake our heads at the devastation and praise the man-made-woman all the while pointing our fingers at God in blame for the suffering.
If there is evil, it’s not because God is silent and inactive. It’s because we are. And we’ve traded the greater good for the empty cistern of selfish gain.
This Life & Beyond 
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