That bright spirit

This magnificent statue stands outside the Museum of Science and History in Fort Worth. I love the sense of pride and courage she conveys; love, too, the peacefulness of that sleeping baby on her back.  I've placed her against an urban background because I'd like to think such virtues haven't expired just because the times have changed, and because I know we need those virtues still if we are to continue to thrive in this challenging economy and this divided country.

I'm particularly thinking of this today because I've recently been in contact with a musician friend in whose band I used to sing. Despite the decline of performance opportunities and the rise of health problems -- cancer, diabetes, amputated toes, a stroke --  he took the time to call and tell me he'd found an old videotape of one of our performances, and made a point of telling me he treasured those times together, felt privileged to have worked with me, and missed my presence in the band.

I was deeply touched, moved to tears in fact; I haven't really sung since I left that island, some 15 years ago, and I miss singing, miss the exhilaration of those performances, the giddy fun we shared with our audiences, and the total acceptance he managed to shower on the four or five of us who shared the stage with him.  He was a consummate, gifted musician who welcomed us amateurs into his space and created a climate where we could shine: my husband always says that's when I really came into my own, when I began singing with John.  I admired him then, and admire him still for his willingness to share his incredible gifts with us and with the world without a trace of ego beyond what was necessary to keep him employed.

In my reading from Anne Lamott's Help, Thanks, Wow this morning she's talking about how spiritual experiences change behavior, and her questions sounds like the questions this statue awakens in me: "Have you become more generous, which is the ultimate healing? Or more patient, which is a close second? Did your world become bigger and juicier and more tender? Have you become ever so slightly kinder to yourself?"

And so, as the holiday season approaches, I ask myself -- and you -- what could you and I do today to bring more of that spirit , that fragrance of generosity into the world? How well do we model this kind of willingness to take what comes and keep that bright spirit alive despite the challenges we face? How -- and what -- will we give back today, and what bright hope of peace are we determined to carry into the future?