I took a stroll down memory lane this morning, walking through the Gilman and Bryn Mawr campuses on my way to work.
So much has changed … and … so much remains the same: the fields (some now turf, where there used to be just grass) … the buildings (old, familiar nooks and crannies peeping behind newer, brighter additions) … the trees (that sweet tree planted in memory of a fallen classmate still blooming green by the Owl Gate) ….
As I walked by Bryn Mawr’s lower field, I remembered what it felt like to try and scoop up a ball for the first time with a lacrosse stick. I recalled voices cheering from those silver metal bleachers on the sideline and noticed the same orange pipe-frame of the lacrosse net. I saw again, in my mind’s eye, the carpet of autumn gold gingko leaves covering white and grey stones along the driveway by the science building.
And I thought of my mother, where she was born, how she entered the world: in the middle of a world war halfway around the world, her family fleeing from invaders. I thought of her coming to America by herself, what she did with her life, all she accomplished, and all she and my father made possible for me and my sister. I thought of her legacy to us, to me. I thought of her joie-de-vivre, her acts of caring, her faith.
And then, continuing up Melrose, across Charles Street, to our church campus, I thought of our Redeemer community and the times we are living in. I thought of our city and our work together. What shall my legacy be? What shall our legacy be? Shouldn’t all children regardless of zip code, and not just in north Baltimore, have green fields to play on and blooming trees to walk by? How can I, how can we, use our education, power and privilege to serve, love, and live the way Jesus commanded? How shall I spend the time I have left on earth, however long that may be, in a way that my own children, when grown and strolling down their own memory-lanes, might remember me fondly, with love, gratitude, pride, and a sense of legacy, themselves?
There is a Jewish saying, echoing sacred scripture, that goes something like this: Let us not be overwhelmed by the enormity of our world’s grief, the enormity of the tasks before us. Do justly, now (… here, where you are, today …). Walk humbly, now (… here, where you are, today …). Love mercy, now (… here, where you are, today …). We are not obligated to complete the work but neither are we free to abandon it.
So wherever you are, whatever you are doing, however you are feeling, today: Breathe in the air, deeply, because you can. Lend a hand or your heart to someone else who could use a lift, because you can. Be kind and gentle with yourself, because you can.
And remember, always, that you are loved and treasured beyond measure.