Wood Chips
From the shores of Lake Superior (The Third Coast)
In times of fear and panic, random acts of kindness carry extraordinary power and serve as signs of hope, resilience, and courage. A couple of years ago I spoke one winter afternoon with an older woman living with a severe mental disorder that threw her off balance, preventing her from finding any regular source of employment or income. She told me this story after arriving the day before from downstate.
“I was about to drive my car to cross the Mackinaw Bridge which, because of my fear of heights, always has frightened me. I was coming home from Detroit to my apartment here in the Upper Peninsula, located on what has been left of an abandoned air force base. The heater in my car was working erratically, on and off. I barely had enough money for gas. It was snowing. I sat alone at the restaurant, huddled in my coat and stocking cap. When I got up to pay the bill, the waitress said with a smile that somebody, a few minutes ago, had paid for my bill. You can’t believe what I felt.”
If you choose to offer some help to someone in a similar way during these days of the unpredictable course of this unfolding pandemic, my suggestion is to keep it anonymous. Such acts contribute, spiritually and practically, to a reservoir of hope for others, part of a deeper mystery, unbidden, that keeps the world turning in gentle, powerful song.
Jon
The Cedar Tree Institute
“Wood Chips” is a series of brief reflections written by Jon Magnuson, Director of the Cedar Tree Institute.
