Southwest Conference Blog

How We See Each Other

by Rev. Lynne Hinton

There is a German folktale that goes like this: There was once a man whose ax was missing, and he suspected that his neighbor’s son had stolen it. The boy walked like a thief, looked like a thief, and spoke like a thief. But one day the man found his ax while digging in his valley, and the next time he saw his neighbor’s son, the boy walked, looked and spoke like any other child. (Feldman, Christina and Jack Kornfield, eds. Stories of the Spirit, Stories of the Heart, 1991).

Have you ever thought about how you look at someone else? Do you meet them and size them up as this thing or that thing? Do you hold the image of someone in your mind based upon their worst action or maybe just the worst action of someone they remind you of? Or are you able to look at others with grace?

And how about yourself? Is it possible to imagine how God must look at you and find yourself using that lovely pair of mercy glasses?

I confess I tend to make judgments on others based upon what I think I see, what I choose to remember, what I imagine to be true. Sometimes I forget that more than one thing can be true about others, about myself and that maybe I have chosen the wrong thing to hold in my heart while in conversation, while at work, while in a relationship.

I like this folktale because it reminds me that too many times I make a judgment about another person and I hold that judgement to be true. Maybe they did steal my ax or maybe I just think they did; regardless, I greet them, speak to them, think of them based upon the narrative I created or cling to.

Sometimes I have been surprised. Sometimes I am face to face with my prejudice, my too-quick sizing up of another, my misguided perception, when someone altogether different from my expectations shows up.

This week, I invite you to try and look at yourself and at others with a new pair of glasses. I invite you to see yourself, other people, other beings, as God must see us all, with love, acceptance, and delight.

You might just be surprised at how wrong you have been. And you might finally recover or find the very thing that has been missing.

Too Many Beets in the Bucket

by Rev. Lynne Hinton

“You got too many,” I tell him. “I know,” he replies, “that’s why I’m thinning them out.”

I watch my husband as he pulls out the tiny red threads from the bucket of soil. A few weeks ago, he threw a handful of beet seeds in a blue plastic bucket and now they’re all springing up. It’s kind of miraculous to bear witness to life bursting from seeds; but it’s also not very productive; it’s not good to plant that many seeds in such a tiny plot of earth.

Beets are one of several cultivated varieties of Beta vulgaris, plants grown for their edible taproots and leaves. We mostly just eat the roots; and if you want a good beet root, you got to give it space. In fact, you need as much, if not more space, to have the root grow into a delicious red ball as you need for the leaves to spread out on top of the ground. Thinning is required to grow this plant.

Author Wayne Muller writes about the need for thinning in his book, Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest. He writes about a friend sharing what she learned about thinning and pruning a garden in a letter she wrote him one spring.

In one of the Sabbath practices found at the end of every chapter, Muller tells the reader, “Frances writes to me: We have an abundance of growing vegetables…I couldn’t believe how you could plant seeds and then all this stuff would just come up with abandon. I knew I needed to thin those turnips and carrots – but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I thought maybe they’ll grow anyway. So I never did thin or prune… They also never did grow. Not one turnip did I get – although there were tons of greens.”

Muller goes on to say that “thinning is, as Francis says, making space for life. We plant so many seeds, and they seem so small, so benign, they take up hardly any space at all. But everything, as it grows, needs space.”

Spring is a great season for planting. It’s a wonderful time to throw out seeds and dream of a plot of land teeming with life. It’s the great season of growth.

But it’s also a great time to be intentional about what we’re hoping to accomplish, what we want growing in our gardens. It’s the season of plenty but it’s also the season of discernment.

As you enjoy the warming of the earth, the green bursting around you, the flowering trees, the blades and stems of bulbs breaking through ground, remember not to try and do too much, plant too many seeds, involve yourself in too many projects. Remember that thinning and pruning, discarding, letting go, is also a part of a healthy garden. Just remember and pay attention to everything you’re agreeing to do; and don’t plant too many beets in the bucket.

What kind of day is Palm Sunday?

by Rev. Paul A. Whitlock

It’s the observance of a tragedy. It’s not a day of simple optimism. We know all about optimism; we’ve tried to be optimistic while the various countries of the world, including our own, position for war. We’ve tried to be optimistic while our government is falling apart and lacks the moral leadership to dig us out of this hole.
Palm Sunday is the observance of a tragedy, but not a day of despair.

Palm Sunday is one bright and glorious moment in human history when we proclaim the courage and the integrity of God in Christ. Palm Sunday isn’t a day when we throw up our hands because Jesus was killed. It’s not a day of pessimism when we condemn the people of the first century, the crowds which later became ugly. It’s not a day when we get morose over the money changers in the temple and declare that nothing ever turns out well.

Palm Sunday, rather, is a day when knowing…

People are fickle and get tired of parades and go home
Religious leaders like things neat and tidy and kill reformers
The humble truth teller is walked upon
People will sell their souls for a handful of silver
Even good friends will sleep while we suffer

Knowing all of this, Jesus still came riding into town.

Palm Sunday is a bright and glorious day when love turned into courage and integrity and became a small parade headed for the gallows. It’s the day that Jesus the Christ, knowing the facts of life – the truth about our person, and the truth of what we do when we get together – knowing all this Jesus loving does what he is called to do, and does it without bitter and ill feeling towards us. It’s so tragic that it had to come to this. It’s so tragic that God had to do that for us.

Palm Sunday is a tragedy, but a tragedy worth celebrating.

photo credit: Rev. Paul A. Whitlock, Church of the Palms UCC

Put it to death

by Rev. Deb Beloved Church

“Sometimes things need to be destroyed so that something new can be created.” So my spiritual director said to me on the first occasion of our meeting–a meeting I had sought as I desperately tried to make sense of my growing understanding that my marriage was coming to an end.

I recently came upon that same idea in the book we’re discussing in our Sunday morning Adult Education class, [Where We Meet: A Lenten Study of Systems, Stories, and Hope, by Rachel Gilmore, Candace Lewis, Tyler Sit, and Matt Temple]: “Sometimes things must die so that something more in harmony with the (kin)dom of God can emerge.” (Where We Meet, p. 50)

Certainly, that idea is not new, nor is it limited to those two occurrences! Indeed, those statements encapsulate a central tenet of the Christian faith: that resurrection comes only after death. That new life comes only after something dies. That rebirth into a new way of being comes only after the old way of being is no more.

And while we might long for that resurrection while it’s still far off, and welcome that new life once it comes, and celebrate that new way of being once we’re in it–we generally do not like the prospect of “it” [the thing that needs to die, whatever it is] being no more; we’re typically quite resistant to the process of it dying; we’re quite uncomfortable with the reality of its death…

And yet…it is only through death that we get to resurrection.

And so, in these remaining two weeks of Lent, I invite you to join me in considering, what is it that needs to die in our lives so that something new–and more in alignment with God’s desires for peace, for healing, for joy, for reconciliation, for wholeness, for justice, for abundance–and all of that for all of God’s creation!–might be born?

Perhaps we need to put to death a grudge, or a desperately-held, long-harbored hurt. Or our certainty about what’s right and who’s right. Or a hurtful relationship or a self-destructive habit.

Perhaps we need to put to death a diminished view of ourselves or others, or possibly, a grandiose view of ourselves or others. Or the lens through which we look, that judges others as less than–or more than–based on their education or ethnicity or religious affiliation or lack thereof. Or our blindness to our privilege or our secret and subtle self-righteousness.

Perhaps we need to put to death our secret, soul-sucking excesses–alcohol, shopping, fault-finding, Facebook, working, gambling, people-pleasing, eating, or simply endlessly comparing ourselves to others.

What would you add? What needs to die in our lives, both individually and collectively, right here and right now, so that something new and more in alignment with God’s desires for each of us and all of us and for all of God’s creation might be born?

Where do we need death, so that we might prepare for and truly experience resurrection??

Peace and courage be with us all.

Pastor Deb

You started out as dirt

by Rev. Deb Beloved Church

“You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” (Genesis 3:19b)

Some version of that verse is typically said as the sign of the cross is being made with ashes on someone’s forehead on Ash Wednesday.

For example, as I was “ashing” folks who came to White Rock Presbyterian Church last Wednesday, I said this: “Remember–you came from dust, and to dust you will return…”

[Each year I think maybe I’ll use the late Rev. Eugene Peterson’s interpretation as found in The Message: “You started out as dirt, you’ll end up dirt.” That strikes me as even more powerful! It is, in fact, what I said when I blessed the horses of a friend the next day, using actual dirt from the ground on which we were standing… Maybe next year I’ll use it with the two-legged creatures, and see how it lands for us all…]

“Tempranillo, remember that you came from dirt,

and to dirt you will return…”

And since this year Ash Wednesday happened to also be Valentine’s Day, here’s another way to think about it:

At first glance, it seemed strange to have those two holidays (or more better, perhaps, holy days) fall on the same date, but looking back, I can’t help but reflect that perhaps it was truly a gift…

Might the occurrence of our cultural celebration of loving and being loved on the same day that we who are people of faith intentionally acknowledge our mortality, somehow enhance both of those central aspects of our humanity–the relational albeit finite nature of our existence?

None of our human loves—whether of a child, parent, partner, sibling, cousin, friend, etc., or a non-human companion—will last forever. We will all someday die, and those loves in their present form will come to an end. All living things are mortal and finite.

And while that truth can be heartbreakingly painful to acknowledge, might it also make our loving more sweet? Might it make our time together more cherished? Might it make our conflicts more critical to resolve? Might it generate more urgency for us to show up more fully and more authentically? Might it make us more grateful for the opportunities we have to love and be loved?

Hmmm…

We are approaching the second Sunday of Lent already; Ash Wednesday feels like a distant memory. Perhaps as we move further into this holy season, we can not only consider our mortality, not only allow greater recognition of our sin, not only attempt to see with greater clarity the ways we hide our true selves, not only make more deliberate efforts to turn back to God… But we can also hold on to and celebrate that in the midst of our flawed, finite, and finicky humanity, we love and are loved by the humans and non-humans in our lives, and by God.

Yes, we are dust and to dust we will return. Yes, we started out as dirt and we’ll end up dirt. Yes, we were born and we will die. We. will. die.

And…in the midst of that—and before that, and after that, and beyond that—we are loved. We are loved absolutely, and unconditionally, and unceasingly, by the God who created us out of dust, and who created the dust.

Thanks be to God!

“Seen by [the James] Webb [Space Telescope] in unprecedented detail, Sagittarius C is a star-forming region about 300 light-years away from the supermassive black hole at the Milky Way’s center. (https://www.flickr.com/photos/nasawebbtelescope/53344798019/in/gallery-zexonaz-72157720865766128/)

Return to the deep sources

by Rev. Talitha Arnold, Senior Pastor, United Church of Santa Fe

Return to the deep sources, nothing less
Will nourish the torn spirit, the bewildered heart. . .
Will teach the stiff hands a new way to serve,
To carve into our lives the forms of tenderness.

“Return to the deep sources,” wrote poet May Sarton. “Nothing less will nourish the torn spirit, the bewildered heart.” The seasons of the Christian calendar—Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Easter, and Pentecost—Lent can lead us back to such deep sources. Whether we live in New Mexico or elsewhere, the Christian seasons call us to particular places—a stable in Bethlehem, a wedding in Cana, the courts of Herod, and a hill called Calvary. Sometimes the journey to such places can be hard. But, it also holds the promise of healing and strength, even new life.

In the Middle Ages, Christians went on pilgrimages to the holy places of the Christian story, like Jerusalem or Rome. For those who couldn’t undertake such treks, cathedrals had labyrinths as a way to go on pilgrimage without leaving home.

The liturgical year of the Christian church offers us a “pilgrimage in time.” Like those medieval journeys to Jerusalem or the labyrinth’s path to the sacred center, the Christian year calls us time and again to find our place alongside people like Moses in the Sinai wilderness or Mary at Calvary. With them, we find our way home to God, be it from the slavery of Egypt or the grief of the cross.

Lent in particular calls us to return to the deep sources. Step into the sanctuary and you know you’re in a different world from the week just past. Gone are the colors and candles of Epiphany and Mardi Gras, replaced with a purple banner with a thin red cross in its center. Just as we give up things for Lent, the sanctuary itself is stripped-down to its essence this season.

The same is true musically. For six weeks, we neither sing nor say “Alleluia” or “Hallelujah.” Monastic chants, spirituals from a time of suffering, hymns from the heart—the music is often in a minor key, sometimes a cappella. Services end with no postlude.

We use ancient prayers of confession, with phrases like “lost and strayed” or “erred from thy ways.” They sound harsh and unfamiliar, just like the barrenness of the sanctuary and the dissonance of the music.

And that’s the point. When we come to worship in Lent, we know we are in the wilderness and we’re going to be there for a while.

But when we come to this Lenten wilderness, we also know we’re not alone. Lent begins with Jesus in the desert, where he wrestles with his demons, faces his temptations, and finds his angels. He also finds the deep sources of his courage and hope. May we find the same this Lent.

As writer Frederick Buechner says about Lent, “if sackcloth and ashes are at the start of it, something like Easter may be at the end.”

This Lent, let us take that life-giving journey together.

Informed, Balanced, and Not Saturated: Self-Care During This Election Year

by Kay Klinkenborg, member, Church of the Palms

The American public has been ‘saturated’ by the news of the upcoming political party primaries and the 2024 presidential election for over a year. If you are like the majority of US citizens, we have been experiencing election induced stress since 2016 ^3,4,5. It is not a formal diagnosis ³, but these are intense times in our country, and I recommend we be intentional about taking care of ourselves emotionally and in doing that we can be balanced with ourselves spiritually and physically. (I don’t separate spiritual care from emotional care…some people do).

Saturation…an experiencing to the boiling point; something about to run amok; can’t hear anymore and don’t know what to do with the information I have already. Oxford Dictionary describes it “as much as can be absorbed”. I am recommending we learn to set some boundaries, be pro-active in this election year and not reach saturation; and when we recognize that is beginning, we activate choices to keep ourselves informed and balanced.

In our capitalistic world, self-care is often seen as selfish…not true. Jessica Young Brown Licensed Clinical Psychologist writes in Duke University’s Divinity School “News & Ideas” blog:

“Self-care is a multifaceted act of stewardship, which attends to multiple life demands. Self-care entails building a system of practices to support our living the rich and satisfying life that Jesus talks about in John 10 … ‘I have come that you may have life more abundantly’. It is an evolving process, in conversation with the Holy Spirit, that honors the whole person.”¹

I researched self-care during election years … nothing new has shown up since 2022. This tells me … we have been living in a ‘constant state of stress’ for several years. Most people reading this article understand self-care: diet, exercise, sleep, etc. I am offering some new ideas to consider and you decide what to incorporate.

STOP DOOMSCROLLING: PUT THE PHONE DOWN.

A relative new word in our culture, Cole Arthur Riley, author of Black Liturgies: Prayers, Poems and Meditations for Staying Human has a chapter in this book “For Those Who Doomscroll”. She writes: “God … remind us that there is much the world needs, including our attention to atrocity—but if we watch the world burn for long enough, the fire becomes our only reality.”^2,3,4

Set boundaries on scanning for updates on your phone. It becomes addictive to need the newest update of the news. Remember before cell-phones, we got news one time a day in the evening, or through the daily newspaper. This abnormal attachment creates an unconscious anxiety, constant vigilance and apprehension if we aren’t up to the minute on the latest development. In fact: “The excessive consumption of news and social media predicts poorer long-term mental health during times of crisis.”³

CONTROL COMPUTER, TV, and PRINT CONSUMPTION

Limit how many news shows you watch a day. In reality, why would need an hourly check-in … ? We don’t. We have been unconsciously conditioned to think we are going to miss something if we don’t stay up to date. It is recommended you select two times a day to watch a portion of news. It is also recommended you not watch news at least one hour before going to bed. The last thing you put in your mind influences your quality of sleep and dreams. Screen-light of phones, I-Pads, computers is not good for getting to sleep and staying asleep. One hour disconnect prior to bed is recommended.

When reading ask: ‘Is this article helpful?’ and ‘Is this article real (or reflective of my own truth)?’ If you answer ‘no’ to either of those questions, give yourself permission to move on from it.⁵ Also ask, is this making me more anxious? If so, lay it down. You know the information you’ve gleaned thus far, trust yourself.

AVOID ‘WORSE CASE SCENARIO’ THINKING

Good news doesn’t bring customers to the TV, media or networks. Bad news, sensationalism, repetitive telling of news increases viewership. ‘Worst case scenarios’, or ‘what if…’ keeps us wired with adrenaline and living unconsciously with anxiety. A personal opinion, news shows do a lot of speculation, bringing in experts attempting to predict the next scenario. We can think for ourselves, draw conclusions and questions. Why sit listening to continuous speculations about events … that is not stewardship of our time.

Catastrophic thinking is a learned behavior for many of us. Previously in our life it served a purpose to help us be emotionally prepared for the ‘worst case scenario and not be caught off guard.’ We can change that thinking. We can learn to stop catastrophic thinking and thus significantly reduce the anxiety we are unconsciously living with. That type of stress is not good for our bodies. It creates a lot of ‘cortisol (adrenalin) dumping’ that is physically harmful.

KNOW YOUR ‘RANGE OF INFLUENCE’

Being informed voters is our responsibility. We can accomplish that while doing self-care.

Each of us determines with our physical and emotional energy what we can do to be involved politically. We need to honor each other’s choices of how to stay engaged. We might be actively working a phone line, writing emails/letters to state and federally elected officials, we might be lifting our concerns in prayer, or making financial contributions. It matters not what you do … it is that you make a choice.

We cannot control politics at large; BUT we have voice. That is our democratic system. Not having control of the outcome personally is hard for most of us. Learning to live with ambiguity is a spiritual practice. Living without knowing … we call that practicing faith. We come learning how to do that; thus we need to continue practicing.

“Most of the political climate is not controlled by us nor can we change other’s beliefs or feelings around it. Accepting the idea that we can only control ourselves and change things for us is a powerful reminder to not get caught up ruminating on the unchangeable and the uncontrollable. It is important to point the finger inward and ask, ‘What about this can I change and control?’ before you get caught up in the stress of it all.”⁵

MOVE

One of the more important things I learned as a counselor helping others under stress, what ever the cause … movement changes thinking. If you get up and go to another room, you have activated new neurocircuits … you see things differently because you literally aren’t in the same location. You interpret things differently because you have created a surge of fresh oxygen through your body. Do a different activity. Go for a walk. Raise your arms in the air ten times in a row. MOVE. It will shift something within you, and you can regroup. (Resources 2-6 suggested this as one of their priorities in self-care during election times).

CONNECT

Reach out to trusted friends. Find a discussion group or create one. Do not go this year of stress alone. The US and the world are at a heightened level of stress and concern like our generation hasn’t witnessed before. Community is vital to stay grounded, in touch with self, receive feedback, and receive compassion from others.

GRATITUDE

If you are not in the practice of keeping a gratitude journal, or at least verbally lifting up gratitude once a day … it a marvelous time to start. Things are tough right now. It is hard to know the reality of what is happening in the world, our country, our state, our county, etc. Plus, we are living our own personal experiences we are processing in the midst of this year. Gratitude owning keeps me more balanced quickly than almost any other tool I use for self-care. Own our blessings, lift up thanksgiving.

We are all more blind to what we have than to what we have not. –Audre Lorde

We can do this hard year. We will find our way. We can walk this path. We are not alone.

“I can do all things through {the} Christ who strengthens me.” –Philippians 4:13 (KJV)

My prayer for us this year:

Dear God, may we challenge ourselves this year to stay informed of the critical issues. Guide us in practicing stewardship with balanced and wise use of time, energy and self-care. Guide us to catch when we are reaching saturation with the noise of the naysayers, too much media. Remind us to intentionally move to positive choices; not trapped in catastrophic thinking or mistrust of our own truth. May we claim the inherent good within each of us and lean into our faith and humankind’s capacity for compassion and justice. Amen

¹ Young-Brown, Jessica (2023). “Self-Care is Not Self-Soothing”; May 2, https://leadership@divduke.edu.

²Riley, Cole Arthur (2024). Black Liturgies: Prayers, Poems and Meditations for Staying Human.

³ “Mental Health and Wellness: Coping with Election-Related Stress”. Berkeley University Heath:

https://uhs.berkeley.edu/mental-health-and-wellness-coping-election-related-stress

⁴Stieg, Corey, (2020) CNBC Report:

https://www.cnbc.com/2020/10/07/study-american-adults-report-election-stress-anxiety-tips.html

⁵Managing Your Mental Health in An Election Year”, (2020).

https://blog.umd.edu/terpstakecare/managing-your-mental-health-in-an- election-year/ Univ of Maryland.

⁶“Self-Care Tips for an Election Year”; (Updated: May 20, 2022). Colibri Collective:

https://www.thecolibricollective.com/post/self-care-tips-for-an-election-year

Spiritual Director; Member Spiritual Directors International; Author & Poet

Retired: RN; LMFT; Clinical Member AAMFT

Living A Different Story: A Message From Jerusalem

Kay Klinkenborg at Church of the Palms UCC sent us this article and knows Elie Pritz, the author of this piece, who lives and works in Jerusalem. She was raised there and is a Christian who, 10 years ago, founded a NGO to work on peace curriculum in teaching children K-12 non-violent options and peace building. Elie has lived her entire life in Jerusalem, has an American father and Swiss mother. Her pain about the issues in Palestine/Israel is palpable. She wrote this for her December newsletter.

It was about a month after the war started that I walked into Hand in Hand—a Hebrew-Arabic school in Jerusalem. We had originally planned to meet on October 9th, which clearly didn’t happen after the war broke out on October 7th. I was surprised when, a month later, they contacted me and asked if we could try again. Wasn’t their plate already ridiculously full, trying to keep a school like theirs running during a war? But we set a date and time, and two days later I was sitting inside the principal’s office, preparing to talk to her and one of the English teachers about our Peace Heroes program.

Bilingual schools (Hebrew and Arabic) are very rare in Israel. The vast majority of schools are sector based: secular Israeli Jewish schools, religious Jewish schools, Palestinian Israeli (Muslim and Christian) schools. Schools don’t integrate. The nine bilingual schools dispersed throughout the country are an anomaly—a place where Jewish and Palestinian Israelis can learn together in one another’s languages.

Peace Heroes' founder and program director, Elie Pritz. — Peace Heroes’ founder and program director, Elie Pritz.

I could only imagine how recent events would have greatly strained this mixed school community. So I asked the Jewish Israeli principal how this war has affected them.

“Look,” she said, “we’re in a war. And our students represent both sides of this war. It’s hard. But unlike some other organizations, we don’t have the privilege of going into ourselves right now, to reflect on the situation and decide how to move forward. Our students are coming to school every day. We have to figure this out every day.”

The English teacher, a Palestinian Israeli, said: “After October 7th I didn’t want to come in to work. But I chose to come anyway. Every day I wake up and I make that choice all over again—the choice to be here…It’s not easy, but it’s my choice. It’s the choice every single one of us in this school is making.”

We spent the next hour talking about Peace Heroes, brainstorming ways they could make it part of their school program. It was the first time in a month I felt inspired and even hopeful. Here is a school that is doing the hard (hard!) work of figuring out how to live life together. Here is a school that understands, at an existential level, how crucial it is to raise the next generation of leaders in this land to be pursuers of peace and mutual thriving. They loved the idea of using stories of Peace Heroes from all over the world—as well as from the region—to not only model to their students how to navigate really hard things while still upholding the dignity of all people, but also to open up difficult conversations around identity, justice, and security within the safe space of storytelling.

At the end of the meeting the principal told me that our hour together felt like oxygen to the soul. I understood what she meant. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe again, even if only for a moment. To be in the room together with people who, like me, were making a supreme effort to swim against the tide that in this moment is dividing not only the people of this land but also of the world, brought me to tears. Tears of relief in feeling that there are others who are doing what is possibly one of the hardest and most isolating things to do in a war: fighting to stay united, to be in relationship, to be mutually empathetic to and supportive of one another’s identity as well as experience of the nightmare we are all living through.

October 7th and its aftermath is changing our landscape in a way that will take us years to fully understand. In the days following the beginning of the war, people everywhere asked me to tell them how I was doing, to explain to them what was happening. It felt impossible. I was stunned into silence, completely unable to articulate the chaos, trauma, fear, and grief we were all suddenly plunged into. And yet, even while I sat in this stunned silence, I was completely taken aback by the onslaught of divisive and damaging words being spewed out by people around the world, aimed at one or other of the communities in this land. This tsunami of hate-filled words quickly spiraled me down into a despairing depression. I felt as voiceless as I’ve ever felt, and so alone in my desire to push forward another narrative, to tell a different story.

But slowly, I began to hear other voices speaking the words I could not speak—local peacemakers, both Israeli and Palestinian, whose stories I had written, whose organizations I had been following since the days I had started my journey with Peace Heroes more than a decade ago.* These people were articulating what I could not: the unbelievable pain of the moment we suddenly found ourselves in, AND the absolute necessity of upholding the dignity of all the people in this place. Their voices anchored me the way nothing else could. They gave me solid ground to stand on and brought me back to myself and to what I knew to be true: that violence is our common enemy, and that taking a stand against violence and its dehumanizing effects is the only way we will ever come out of this moment with our humanity still intact.

Words matter. They matter so much. Words can break our world or they can remake it. It took me a few weeks to connect the dots (blame the war—it messes with one’s ability to think logically), but it finally dawned on me that I do have life giving words. I’ve been writing them for a decade, telling the stories of people from all over the world—as well as from Israel and Palestine—who have faced devastating situations and have chosen to be a light in the darkness, a force for healing rather than division, hate, and fear. Voices that will never stop trying to remake our world.

Hand in Hand school is one of these voices. They understand the toxicity of the space we are living in, and the urgency of raising our voice to tell (and live) a different story. Peacemakers are often the first to be sidelined in a war, but I believe it is precisely these people who are doing the hardest work of all: the work of daily choosing to live out a different reality. A reality that says to people across the divide: “You matter, and I will live my life in a way that manifests this conviction and upholds your dignity as well as mine, no matter what.” This is the only reality that promises any kind of viable and shared future in this land.

As this year comes to a close it is my deepest hope that we will all follow in the footsteps of these peacemakers. May we live a different story–one that daily chooses to remake our broken world.