Why do I pray for things to be different – for myself to be kinder, for the world to value the least and lost, for strength and wisdom to move from folded hands praying to boots on the ground praying? Is prayer meant to change me or to change something and somebody beyond me? Do I trust that my prayers are heard by a loving creator, or is it all so much whistling in the dark?

I trust that there is more good than evil in this world, and that most people are kind when given the chance. I am not self-created, and I trust the life force that brought me and everything else into being. I know that sincere prayer has changed me, and that the prayers of others have blessed me in ways I cannot comprehend. I know that no one becomes her or his best self in isolation, that no one makes it through life without the loving presence of others. Or, as Jane Goodall puts it:

Can we live in a way that honors all life?

We can, with God’s help.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Phil. 4:4

We pray that we may learn the peace that comes with forgiving and the strength we gain in loving; that we may take nothing for granted in this life; that we may learn to see and understand with our hearts; that we may learn to rejoice in our being. We pray for these things with humility.

Rejoicing in what is, finding joy in the messy here and now that I do not and cannot control, is an impossible task if I require all things to align with my own wants and needs. Joy is a response to seeing the world as the amazing place that it is; it is not accomplished so much as it is glimpsed and fallen into. I can’t make it happen, I can only accept that it can arise wherever I am, in whatever circumstances I find myself.

Every time I take a walk on Barnumville Road, I rejoice in the beauty of the mountain in front of me, the hydrangeas across the way, and the birds flying all around. I didn’t create any of these, and I have no part in their flourishing. Yet, whether I am happy, sad, tired, satisfied, or hurting, they bring me joy. I can’t earn that joy, and I can’t take credit for it: I can only pray to God to be aware of it, regardless of my own condition and the condition of the road I’m walking.

Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?

That question came up every so often in the neighborhood, usually spoken by an older sibling. Picking a fight with someone who didn’t have a fighting chance wasn’t something the kids in the neighborhood accepted; the bully faced a crowd rather than a single, smaller victim.

How would you like it if…

someone hit you…someone didn’t take care of you…you were forced to fight or carry heavy loads without rest…the people around you treated you like garbage?

Bullying and cruelty end when we put ourselves in someone else’s shoes. Empathy, compassion, action: these come only when we can see value in the lives of others – especially in the lives of those with fur, feathers, and fins.

Most come from Afghanistan, but a few are from Haiti, Mexico, and Guatemala. I see them walking in Bennington and Manchester, and hear their mysterious, beautiful languages. They are here because they cannot stay at home. The reasons are many and full of sorrow – oppressive regimes, religious fervor, no way to make enough money to survive.

As a Navy brat, I grew up moving every year and a half – new schools, new accents, and new homes. But I always knew the local language and my family could always go back to our home community to visit family and friends. It wasn’t always easy, but it was quite an adventurous way to grow up.

With the climate bringing destruction and violence common in many places, the number of people forced to make their home among strangers is only going to increase. I pray that I can find ways to make my new neighbors feel welcome, not as permanent guests but as family.

From Jane Goodall’s A Prayer For World Peace; Hong Kong: Minedition, 2015. For more on this and the rest of the series, click threeP’s above.