Patient Trust
Above All, trust in the slow work of the Spirit
We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end
Without delay.
We would like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown,
Something new.
And yet it is the law of all progress
That is made by passing through
Some stages of instability—
And that it may take a long time.
And so I think it is with you,
Your ideas mature gradually –let them grow,
Let them shape themselves, without undue haste.
Don’t try to force them on,
As though you could be today what time
(that is to say, grace and circumstances
Acting on your own good will)
Will make of you tomorrow.
Who can say what this new spirit
Gradually forming within you will be?
Give yourself the benefit of believing that the Spirit is leading you,
And accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
In suspense and incomplete.—Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ
My friend’s son just turned 14 yesterday. I was invited to dinner with him and his mom, my good friend. We donned plastic bibs and gloves at one of those crab boil restaurants, and went to town, enjoying rice and crab and corn and clams and mussels and shrimp. It struck me as soon as they got in the car that his voice is in that crackly intermediate place of deepening. He has fuzz on his upper lip. He’s a kid in the middle of transition, of life, and I was happy to celebrate him. I remember when his parents got married, when his mom was pregnant, and I remember him as a cute baby. All these things about his young life. One year for his birthday I made him a big surprise chocolate birthday cake, one of the ones where you cut it and candy comes cascading out of the middle. I must have been vying for favorite Aunty status back then, just a few years ago.
In 2021, another friend was facilitating a circle with our longstanding Building the Beloved Community Cohort with Aunty Pua. He proposed to us the idea of a 200-year present. We were advised to read the poem above, and the poem at the end of this post, and then do the following:
- Think about one of the oldest people who held you when you were a child. Tell us what year they were born. Tell us about this person — focusing particularly on one or two simple, ordinary things they did — and how these actions contributed to the person you are today or the community we live in today.
- Now think about one of the youngest children you yourself have held — a child you love. If they live a long, healthy life, tell us what year they would pass away. Tell us about one or two simple, ordinary actions you’re taking (or would like to take) to make their future life and their future community a beloved one. Tell us what kind of life you hope this child lives.
- Share one piece of happiness and one piece of sadness that came out of this exercise.
In thinking about the oldest person to hold me, I think about my baaba. In my notes I can see I must have asked my mom about her, my great-grandmother. My mom wrote me an email:
Maushii Teruya 1887-1982 from Oroku Okinawa
I don’t know what she did in her younger days, but I know she was a hard worker. Before I was born, she took care of a garden and chickens (I believe). She spoke no English. She communicated with me in Japanese, I understood what she was saying, altho I could not converse with her. She cooked a lot. She used to cook pumpkin and eat it. She made Kandaba Jushi, with sweet potato leaves from her small garden in our Kaneohe back yard. She had a small shrine that she would burn senko (Japanese incense), and put food on. I wish I was able to keep it. She was a smart lady. She took care of Junior, my brother. My mom took care of her till she had to go to Maluhia, where Uncle Bob was. She sewed. She made some of those blankets that I have. I should mend one of them and send one to you so you can have it. She used to sing to me. I’m not sure if Okinawans had their own language, but I believe they had their own lingo. I can remember maybe 2 songs of the songs she sang to me…
It strikes me that my baaba was one of the kinds of people who inspired the Blue Zones Project. Resilient, she lived to nearly 100 years of age, she grew her own food, she sewed, she moved to a new country and started a new life; she saw so much in her may years on this earth. There’s a picture of my baaba in a wheelchair, old and frail but strong, her few thin strands of hair like wisps of smoke sticking up from her head. She’s holding me, a small, awkward baby. One of the patchwork quilts she made was always my favorite, stitched with vintage fabrics and a flannel backing. and I’m sitting with it now. She indeed lived longer than my own grandmother, who died when I was 11 months old. She was an ordinary woman—she worked hard and sacrificed for her family, she immigrated to a new land, she had hopes and dreams just like everyone.
About five years ago or more I found her grave—I asked my mom where she was buried, because I wanted to visit. It turns out she and other family members are in the old Japanese cemetery in Mō‘ili‘ili. I went with my friend Gordon and we wandered the whole place until we found her and other family members.
For the second prompt in our circle, I wrote about my friend’s son, the one I saw yesterday. This kid has been all over—to Japan a handful of times, going to Europe this week with his mom for an event with his soccer team, and more. They’ve been through a lot together, and he’s a cool, resilient kid.
As for the other questions, I didn’t write down my answers. But I wish I could know more about my baaba and her life, what made her come to the plantation in Pepe‘ekeo, what she liked to grow, cook, and eat, and more. I wish I could learn her songs. And I hope my friend’s son gets to grow up, for the rest of his youth, without pressure to perform and conform. That he has the opportunity to be and become, unfettered. That he contributes to making the world a better place and is able to enjoy peace throughout his lifetime.
What would your answers be?
Mahalo,
Dawn
Make the Ordinary Come Alive
Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is a way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples, and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.
Photo of the famous dragon mural at Kenninjin temple, taken 2/17/26 in Kyoto, Japan.