We arrived seconds before being late. At our church, that basically meant we were late.  With my little legs doing triple time to his adult strides, Dad and I scurried up the long, tall staircase into our Ukrainian Orthodox Church, as the big doors closed behind us, only to be blocked by a wall of bodies, at least 10 or 15 deep.  Dad grabbed my hand and pulled me through several layers of dark suits until we could go no further. There I stood, surrounded by a sea of well dressed legs, butts, and hairy, clasped hands clutching bibles.

That’s the view when you’re a 6 year old late for Ukrainian Catholic church.

I looked up at my father, bewildered by his urgency of being here. With head bowed, his expression turned from my smiling loving Daddy, into a solemn, sad man, with a far away gaze cast deep into the creaky wood floor.

This must be very important! I thought to myself.  At six years old, it’s hard to understand a room full of people all facing the same direction, heads down, all looking so dreadfully serious.  Especially when all words are spoken in a mumbo jumbo language you don’t understand.

Yet those words were so very powerful.

I peered between some legs to get a better look inside the church. A squatty old bald man, clad in white silky draping robes with shiny gold designs, was heading up the center aisle to the front alter carrying a book and a gold incense burner on a chain.  He chanted softly with a hypnotic, monotone, serious voice that occasionally ended with a quick rise or fall in pitch on the last word.  He set the book down on a pedestal and moved about the alter slowly, while dispersing smoke from the incense burner around the alter and out to the rows of kneeling, solemn worshippers.  He reached to the sky, then out to his sides, then with head bowed down he chanted further, making hand motions in the air.

This must be very important! I thought to myself.  At six years old, it’s hard to understand an old guy in a robe swinging a smoking vase on a chain looking so dreadfully serious.  Especially when all words are spoken in a mumbo jumbo language you don’t understand.

And then it began. Soft, sad humming that seemed to be resonating all around us, yet was nowhere visible. The hum was deep, earthy, and eerie sounding.  Slowly it grew louder and louder, until a thundering cry of forlorn melody wept through the walls and stained glass windows surrounding us, reaching for our very souls. Deep base vibrating in my chest.  Controlled, lilty, wispy soprano, and delicate, articulate tenor voices chanting something I couldn’t understand a word of, yet I found myself breathless hearing it.

I was captivated. I was scared.  I was drowning in it.  Is this what the fear of God is?  I was ready to obey my mom and dad for the rest of my days—and for sure eat all of my vegetables.  I will be a good girl!  The best daughter!  I promise!  The heavy smell of incense, the pungent smell of men’s cologne and the eerie desolate chanting melody echoing all around me was profound.  It was thick. It rattled in my ribcage.  It hung in all of the legs and butts and clasped hands around me.  It was engulfing my very being.  Pulling me in.  Pulling me in.  It was….it was…..it.  Was.  I.  Am…so.  Very.   Tired.  And…….

 

I opened my eyes to find my father’s face inches from mine. There he was, cradling his little girl in his arms on the front steps outside of the church. “Oh my honey baby!”  He purred as he rocked me in his arms.  I’d fainted.  He felt so bad.  This was church for me at six years old.

Trips to church were few and far between after that day. I went through 3 painful months of unsuccessful bible study in Ukrainian before I was finally placed in an English speaking class. We celebrated my First Communion, and I earned right-of-passage to be a Catholic.  Then things got complicated.  Boy, do I have stories!  Over the years, I eventually ran from the church and became one of the many non-practicing Catholics out there in the world searching for my truth.  In college I dove head first into Philosophy of Religion for an entire year, and studied every option that existed—embraced each, and landed on none.  Eventually I found my truth.  My religion became nameless and private.  It was basically the “Do The Right Thing with Grace and Compassion” faith. That was okay with me.  I had a strong foundation of faith, morals and ethics to work with, which has continued to serve me well for many years.

Recently I went to an ethnic food festival hosted by an Orthodox Catholic church in town. What good Ukrainian girl wouldn’t attend? You can take the girl out of the church, but you can’t take the girl……..

Anyway, I even purchased my own “Got Perohi?” tee-shirt. (I could insert a Polish joke about spelling here, but I won’t).  It was 80 degrees outside as I wandered around looking at all the exhibitors.  Ethnic folk dancers, a Polka band, lots of tasty foods, exhibitors with trinkets to sell, and a bake sale.  The activities program said the church choir was performing shortly.

 

In the church.

 

Of course.

Throwing caution to the wind,

I did it.

I went.

My first time stepping into that kind of space in ‘a lifetime’.

Not to say I’m not a person of faith today. I am.  My faith is strong, albeit not one that follows organized religion.  I snuck into a pew towards the back of the church, eyes closed, listening.  I was transported to another time and place, back when I was six years old.  Yes, that same feeling of sadness, pain and woe filled the room.  But this time, the deep, earthy, and sad chanting brought me through that somberness to something new; to profound feelings of gratitude.  Of thankfulness.  Of humility, and grace. The rumbling bass, the lilting soprano, the articulate tenor chanting’s. It grew louder and louder, until a thundering cry of forlorn melody rattled  the walls and stained glass windows surrounding us, reaching for our very souls in triumph, in celebration, in resolve and devotion.  Although I still couldn’t understand a word, I found myself just as breathless hearing it.

Is this what feeling the grace of God is?

Perhaps so.  A powerful message we can only translate in our own mind, invoked by the hypnotic, lulling melodies of an Orthodox choir.  Tears came to my eyes.  Tears of comfort.  Tears of compassion.  Tears of profound understanding.  Of acceptance.   Of simple love.  I feel so blessed every day of my life, and yet right here and right now, my gratitude is risen ten-fold.  Re-energized faith in some un-definable positive melodic force far bigger than my own self.

I left that Church feeling ignited, inspired, alive and hopeful. Wanting to reach out to my elders, and cook up a big pan of food to share with the world.

What an unexpected gift that day!

It saddens me that our society seems to lump the entire Christianity faith into a category forced to take a back seat in our ever evolving culture, conforming to a world where celebrating God out loud is “politically incorrect.” What a tragedy. With the melting pot of diversity and personal beliefs our society supports, why in the heck has it become actually “offensive” to celebrate God out loud?  Come on now, people.  Seriously?

It’s quite obvious to me, most people need something to believe in.  A foundation of morals and ethics to be raised with in life.  When I was young, God and the bible was our mirror; our example for growing up making wise choices, and developing grace, compassion, and integrity.  A safety check for policing ourselves.  “Thou shalt not kill….  Thou shalt not commit adultery…..Honor thy mother and father”…..we needed a solid reason—a story to believe in.  It was a good, impactful story.  We lived it daily and it taught me right from wrong at an early age.

For me, I choose to believe that God, (which can mean from the Bible, the Koran, the Goddess, the Universe or anywhere else you find that supreme higher power connection), isn’t confined to any one place or version. I would never tell anyone of any faith (well….excluding extremist terroristic beliefs) that they cannot practice their faith openly—or that they have to agree with me or mine.  I believe in being respectful and supportive of all—because when you get right down to it, there are many Deities, and at the end of the day, they all provide the same basic thing—a good foundation and starting point for being a decent human.

The key for me reaching this belief is that I was provided a foundation first. A path.  A blueprint to follow.  A starting point.  From there, as I matured and developed a rounder sense of the world and my place in it, I better defined the path that made the most sense for me.

“Nothing creates a home for worship in our lives better than the realization of our humble part in all that is.” —  Judith Hanson Lasater

Frankly I don’t care what a person believes in. Just believe in something positive. Have faith in the idea there is something positive to strive for.  Look beyond yourself and your own views.  Live and let live with grace, compassion and kindness to others.  There is plenty of room for all of our beliefs.

The bottom line is, “in God we trust” is what our culture–our society–was first founded on. That foundation did, and still does, provide a starting point for countless individuals looking for something to believe in, have faith in, and a positive path they can aspire to follow.

I will gladly take a knee and say “amen” out of respect for that. I will gladly pledge my allegiance out of respect for that. As my higher power is my witness, I stand firm and insist there’s not a thing wrong with allowing public expression of that.

And if you can snag a few “perohi’s” in the process, all the better.

Thank you for reading my post. Did it strike a chord for you or did it seem far and away from your own perspective?  I’d love to hear your thoughts!  All comments are greatly appreciated.  You can read about all sorts of ideas, opinions and feelings from the heart and soul of an outdoorswoman… there are lots of topics covered in my blog category, “Girl Outdoors”.  If you like what you see, please let me know by “liking” my website.  You can even join my tribe to automatically receive new postings ‘hot off the press’.  As always, please feel free to share my information with others who may find interest and value in PR Brady AdVentures!  Thanks again!

 

 

What? That can’t be right?  How rigid!  OH, now I see, part of the title is missing.  It should have said:

“Less Tolerance for Intolerance!“

One day while I was waiting for my Doctor appointment, two women were having a conversation across the seating area from me. Hard as I tried not to, I couldn’t help but hear every single word between them.

……”and he lets his dog out before he goes to work, and it barks and barks at the squirrels until he lets it back in, at least a good 5 minutes every morning, and then the girls bird starts squawking! ”

“ Oh I can’t stand birds. No one should be allowed to have birds.  They don’t belong in cages.  And they’re so dirty and noisy!”

“Yes, well there’s no sleeping in, that’s for sure….”

“ And dogs. Oh! You know, there should be a law against having dogs in the city.  I don’t even like dogs.  They lift their legs on everything and dig and chew and smell!  Oh, he wouldn’t like living next to me, I’d be reporting him every day!”

“Well you know, I think it’s a rental there, next door.”

The other woman turned to a man seated in the corner.

“So, do you live in the area? Do you have rentals next to you?”

“Um, no, actually we’re in the condo’s by the lake.” he responded, clearing his throat.

“Oh, well, that’s got to be nice! I’m sure you paid for THAT location, right?”

The man shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“I bet I know who you voted for, too. You know, we just pay property taxes through the nose, and others just clean up the benefits…and…..”

“Mr. Jones?” a nurse appeared just in time—the man scrambled out of his seat and scurried away behind the office door.

“Well. He sure wasn’t going to admit he voted for a loser!”

“And they let friends stay over and they park their cars in front of our house…I mean right in front of our house!” The other woman continued.

“What? Well I’d be stopping that right away! Why can’t they park in front of their own house? That’s your space!  Good grief, disrupting the neighborhood!  And they are probably having parties and making noise until all hours, too?”

“Oh yes, they do get loud sometimes on the weekends…”

“I don’t know how you stand it. I wouldn’t stand for any of it.  I like my quiet and space.  You need to say something!”  You need to put a stop to all of it.

“You know what? I just might.  And I’m not even sure if that girl works.

“Oh great.  So he’s shacking up with riff-raff?  Probably on welfare. There goes our tax dollars!”

And it just kept going on, and on, and on. I was trapped.  The waiting area was too small to get out of hearing range.

Don’t make eye contact. Look as sick as you can.  Pretend to be sleeping.  Just don’t, don’t, don’t look up!

They were relentless in their damning attack of the neighbor, some clerk at a store, a couple politicians, and some guy talking about gun rights on the news.

Then…apparently….they ran out of topics to rant about, because suddenly they both turned and looked at me.

“So, what are you being seen for?”

 

Yikes.

 

I have three dogs.

I have two chickens.

I have a rabbit.

And guns.

And I shop at the store they were complaining about.

And we do not share the same political views.

I was pretty sure they didn’t need to know anything about what I was being seen for.

“Oh! I just realized I left something in my car!  I’m going to run get it real quick if the nurse comes.” And I made my escape.

There was a time when I’d relish jumping into the conversation and try to debunk their nasty outlook and assertions. Kill um’ with kindness, and blow down their house of dark cards.  But it was 7:30 in the morning, and I hadn’t had my coffee yet, and their “bitch session” was so intense, I simply did not want to engage with them on any level.

More specifically, I had no interest in putting a foot into their “ring” because I’ve entered the world of “Less Tolerance for Intolerance”.

This area of LESS was one of the easiest for me to settle into. It was easy to implement yet very complex to think about if you really want to wrap your head around the axel and ponder it—which I absolutely don’t care to do.

For me, intolerance is simply another word for Extremism, or Puritanism, or any “ism” that would define an individual as being so firm in their own perspective that they refuse to consider or respect another point of view.

Who are they? Surely you’ve seen some. They walk among us.  They are scattered everywhere—stores, schools, offices, places of worship, public gathering places, on television, the radio, the internet.  They could live next door, or down the block, be in the cube next to yours, or in their cars, on the bus, in line at the coffee shop.  You may not notice them at first, as they could be quiet until they’ve identified something to take issue with.  They demand, they judge, they victimize, villainize.  If you don’t agree with them you are basically damned.  If you don’t take action with them against whatever their issue is, you, too, become part of the problem, open for verbal attack, and yes, you become the enemy.  If you don’t make the same choices, see things as they do, you are clearly not worthy of their acceptance.  Hyper sensitive, name calling, finger pointing, ridiculing, badgering, and bullying.  Some, with a sharp tongue and intimidating tone, others, with a cocked eyebrow, looking down their nose in disgusted disapproval.  I’ve seen it all.  Have you?

In a nutshell, I have no tolerance for that.

Especially in the last couple years, it seems our culture has become so narrowly focused and driven to extreme perspectives. Families have been torn apart over polarized views.  Relationships, friendships, careers have been destroyed over differing views.  That overbearing insistence that what they believe is the “right” thing, and everyone else should forgo all else and join them in their belief.  “My way or the highway”.  If you don’t…well…..things definitely go downhill from there.

Heck, I’ve been called out for what I eat, who I know, what I believe, or what I don’t.

In a nutshell, I have no tolerance for that.

They say ignorance is bliss, but frankly, extreme behavior is totally ignorant, and anything but blissful. What makes a person believe they can be imposing their perspectives on others?  “If you’re not with us, you’re most certainly against us.”

In a nutshell, I have no tolerance for that.

Now let’s be clear, I’m not saying they can’t have their point of view.  They most certainly can.  We all have the right to think what we think.  Believe what we believe.   In the case I just described, hearing those two ladies was quite interesting.  I found myself full of questions.  At times I was sad, offended, and even concerned for them.

 Would they complain about soft rain falling on the garden because their steps got wet? All the nasty things they said about that politician–what if he was their son? What if I was their neighbor?  What if she needed help from that neighbor? Where do they get all this negative energy?  Do they have people in their lives that are there for them?  What in the world do they find joy in?

Yes, they are absolutely entitled to their opinions. Everyone is.  But for goodness sakes, don’t expect me to agree with you.  They were about the most intolerant women I’d witnessed in a while.

I have no tolerance for intolerance.

I’m blessed with a life that includes all sorts of amazing souls. A true rainbow spectrum of personalities, choices, beliefs, and directions.  Despite our differences, there is understanding, acceptance and appreciation among us for the good we all have.  I’m honored know people who are able to have their own view, follow their own path, make their own choices, yet live and let live with those who do not share their beliefs.  They show grace.  They show compassion.  They are thoughtful.  They see beyond their own selves. They look for common ground.  They carefully pick and choose their battles and even then, rarely go to the mat, choosing instead, a far kinder, more eloquent means of expressing their disagreement.   They can agree to disagree and still work, live and play together.

In the grand scheme of things, nothing is perfect. Nothing is permanent.  In the end, our time here on earth is about a blink of an eye long.  We can spend that time being agitated by things, trying to impose our own way, and basically suffering over everything that’s “wrong” with everyone and everything. Or what if, perhaps, we consider opening our minds and hearts to expand our perspective, be understanding of others, allow for and appreciate our differences, find things to be grateful for, experience the contentment that comes from living life with compassion and positivity?

“Ultimately we have just one moral duty; to reclaim large areas of peace in ourselves, more and more peace, and to reflect it to others.   And the more peace there is in us, the more peace there will also be in our troubled world.”   Etty Hillesum

I choose to spend LESS time exposed to the fist shaking, finger pointing, judging, damning, and intolerant view. I choose to calmly turn away from the fanatic, the aggressive demander, the insister and the disparager.  I choose to not engage in that which doesn’t allow for a peaceful ‘live and let live’ environment.  I barely watch TV any more, as it’s so loaded with twisted, one-dimensional view points.  There is not one single solitary “thing” in our world worth getting all up in a bundle about.  Not one.  The proverbial saying “This, too, shall pass” pretty much nails it. History repeats itself.  Where we are, we have already been, and will be again someday.

If your view is the only one you can see, if you are unable to agree to disagree, and see the greater good, that’s okay. Pardon me when I don’t participate in your rant, your cause, or your acute opinion. Call me names if you must; say what you will, that’s your choice.  My choice, quite simply, (and to my delight) is to have less tolerance for intolerance.

Thank you for reading my post. Did it strike a chord for you or did it seem far and away from your own perspective?  I’d love to hear your thoughts!  All comments are greatly appreciated.  You can read about all sorts of ideas, opinions and feelings from the heart and soul of an outdoorswoman… there are lots of topics covered in my blog category, “Girl Outdoors”.  If you like what you see, please let me know by “liking” my website.  You can even join my tribe to automatically receive new postings ‘hot off the press’.  There’s a place to do that right on my website homepage.  As always, please feel free to share my information with others who may find interest and value in PR Brady AdVentures!  Thanks again!