Banff National Park, Alberta, CA
Do you ever get the feeling that someone is trying to tell you something? Maybe it’s the voice of the universe; maybe God is trying to get your attention, or maybe it’s just a shout from the wee small voice inside yourself trying to wake you up. The message is right there in front of you, staring you in the face, but you totally miss it. You don’t see it, understand it, or recognize its significance until finally, like a smack to the forehead…you suddenly get it, and it seems so obvious you wonder how you didn’t see it in the first place.
Let me tell you about the recent tap on the noggin I received from Canada.
Port Huron to Sarnia…Michigan to Ontario
photographer unknown
Crossing the Bluewater Bridge from Michigan into Ontario, I chose the shortest lane for customs and immigration, eased my car into the line, and waited for my turn. Moments later, I politely handed my passport to the official and answered all the necessary questions.
“Have a safe trip,” he said with a smile, as he returned my document.
“Thank you, “ I replied. With a lump in my throat, but without much thought or hesitation, I added, “And…I’m sorry about Donald Trump.”
“Oh,” he responded in a sympathetic tone. “We know who’s to blame. We know it’s not you. That is not your burden to bear. Put it down. Don’t carry that. It’s not yours.”
As I pulled away from the booth, unbidden tears began to stream down my cheeks. I was touched by the kindness of this stranger who could obviously feel my pain. In our brief interaction, in very few words, he had done what he could to lift the guilt I was carrying from my shoulders, giving me the peace and courage to carry on.
I believe that everyone we meet is bearing something. We just don’t know what the person beside us is carrying. Sometimes what we are schlepping around fits easily into a tiny, nylon, nano bag; at other times, we could stuff an 80-pound backpack. Sometimes, we are dragging so much through life that we need a full-blown steamer trunk. The problems, worries, and burdens are uniquely our own, often weighing us down, at times making it difficult to go forward…or…even move at all.
Some months later, on a trip to the Canadian Rockies, I arrived in Calgary a day and a half before the rest of the tour group. I had plenty of time to wander the city exploring on my own. I found myself in the new library… a truly amazing space, by the way…where I came upon an interactive art display. It was a large white bird nearly as big as me, with outstretched wings sculpted from bent wire. Next to the framework was a table with pencils and slips of paper bearing the outline of a feather. The instructions read: These feathers are for the public to leave affirmations or positive thoughts and encouragement for the community.
“Eagle Sculpture 2026″…Darren Weaslechild…Indigenous Artist in Residence
I approached the sculpture intending to read what people had left for others to discover. As I got closer, a single paper feather fell from the bird and landed at my feet. As I collected the slip from the floor, I was astonished by what I read. How did someone I’ll never meet know just what I needed to read, and of all the paper feathers, why did this particular one fall at the very moment I approached? Serendipity…the universe..a message from above? Written boldly in pencil, a combination of print and cursive were these words: Ask yourself if what weighs you down is your to carry. OX.
Calgary Library… Calgary, Alberta, CA
Was I being weighed down by things that weren’t really mine to carry? Did I really have to concern myself with everything? All the time? I’ve been struggling like so many these days; I am feeling the oppression of the world in addition to the personal struggles of self and family. That simple paper feather prompted me to pay attention and take a hard look. Was it really necessary for me to carry such burdens? If indeed it turned out that they were mine, was I required to shoulder them constantly? Do you suppose someone could help me lift some of the heaviest ones? To give myself time to rest and regroup, could I simply put them down and walk away for a while?
The next morning, I took an Uber across town to the UU church. It was one of those Sundays when I knew I was right where I was supposed to be. The pulpit was filled by a First Nations Elder. Her words and singing touched my heart. So when it was time to light candles or place stones in the bowl for joys and concerns, I comfortably joined the others and offered my prayers alongside theirs. To conclude this part of the service, rather than “Spirit of Life,” which is usually the go-to song with UUs, the words of a song that I didn’t yet know were projected on the wall.
Loosen, Loosen, Baby.
You don't have to carry the weight of the world in your muscles and bones.
Let go. Let go. Let go.
Holy breath and Holy name
Will you help me ease this pain?
It certainly seemed that I was being sent a message from somebody.
I was so tired when I arrived in Vermont after my adventures in Canada; it was midnight. Two days before the end of the trip, my wallet had been stolen or, more probably, lost. I no longer had a credit card and was concerned about how I’d be able to free my car from the parking garage. I spent several minutes sorting out how to pay for parking with cash. Pretty easy as it turned out, but when I went to the luggage carousel, all the bags had arrived…alas…mine was not there. There was a suitcase similar to mine…but…it wasn’t mine.
It was then that I noticed an older woman sitting with what looked a lot like my bag.
“Excuse me, “ I said. “I think you might have my bag.”
“Oh, no,” she replied confidently. “My husband just brought this to me. It’s my bag.”
“Would you mind if we unzipped one of the pockets to check?”
“Sure. That’s fine,” she responded as she began to open the pocket.
“See,” she said. “There are my shoes.”
With only the soles of the shoes visible, I was fairly certain that those worn out tennies were mine.
“Em, I think those are my shoes. Let’s open another pocket.”
We slid the zipper over, revealing my medicine case and my socks. “See, this is my bag. I think yours is over there on the carousel.”
“Well,” she said, “That one looks…kinda beat up.”
“I’m sorry, but that one’s yours.”
You Can Always Just Let it Circle the Carousel
Photo by Dimitri Karastelev on Unsplash
So…ask yourself whether what weighs you down really is yours to carry, or if you can just leave it circling the carousel as you exit the terminal. On the other hand…sometimes…whether we like it or not…we have to face the fact that, beat-up or not, that baggage is ours.
Originally part of an evening chapel service on Star Island.
One Wild and Precious Life 