Source: Google Images Creative Commons

“I do believe we’re all connected. I do believe in positive energy. I do believe in the power of prayer. I do believe in putting good out into the world. And I believe in taking care of each other.”
Harvey Fierstein

Early this week, my youngest son came down with strep throat. Like most illnesses, it came at a rather inopportune time. We were out of town, a meeting was scheduled for that afternoon, and I had about a million other work obligations and chores that I should have been getting done.

But when my son awoke with a fever and complained of a sore throat on Monday morning, the schedule and to-do lists were thrown out the window. Adjustments were made. Plans were cancelled. Projects fell further down on the to-do list.

Instead of sticking to the plan and accomplishing what I had set out to do that day, I spent the day schlepping my kids to urgent care and the pharmacy, giving extra hugs, doling out medicine, and drying tears. Add a flat tire to the mix and the day just continued to unravel.

Throughout the day, one word kept coming to mind: unproductive.

I – like many others in our technology-driven, multitasking, busy-is-a-badge-of-honor society – tend to measure the value my day through the yardstick of productivity. How much did I accomplish during the day? How many items were crossed off the to-do list? How work obligations were met? How many projects moved forward?

We all have our own goals and dreams – not to mention our obligations and responsibilities – so we make our plans, write our lists, and schedule our days – and we should. Goals give us direction, helping us work to make things better. Schedules keep us on track, giving us a tool with which to allocate our time. Plans give our day and life purpose, creating a path to get from where we are to where we want to be.

But could it be that there is something more tucked away amongst all those plans and schedules and to-do lists? Could there be some quieter, calmer purpose hidden within all the busyness of our days and of our lives? Is purpose and achievement really meant to be measured by all that we accomplish in a day, in a lifetime? Or could our purpose actually be that we just take care of each other? Could our divine calling be something as humble, yet challenging, as taking care of each other in any way and whatever way we know how?

Does accomplishment lie in our own personal successes? Or does it lie in our ability to build someone else up so that they can achieve theirs? Does efficiency lie in a busy calendar, scheduled to the minute? Or does it lie in deeper relationships, a calmer mind, and knowing that we have made someone else’s day just a little bit better? Is productivity measured in the number of completed projects and tasks accomplished? Or can it be measured in back rubs and uplifted spirits?

I know myself well enough to know that I will always rely on my lists and my plans. I will always strive to be busy, to be doing more. And I will forever have projects, goals, and agendas. I will always strive to be productive.

As individuals and as religious communities, productivity is not only worthwhile and valuable, it is also essential. In order to grow and learn, to do better and be better, to build bridges and promote social justice, we need to continually strive to move forward, accomplish the impossible, and aspire for the unattainable.

But, at some point, the how becomes more important than the what. As the ever-wise Maya Angelou has said, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

So, at some point, while we’re busy making our plans and working toward our goals, as a beloved community and as persons of faith, I think we need to ask ourselves: How are we taking care of each other? Because that, my friends, is really the measuring stick that we should be using.

Finally back at home on Monday night, when I tucked my sick-but-on-the-mend son into bed, drawing up the soft covers and smoothing his tousled hair, I knew that by all objective measures my day had been highly unproductive. Yet, I also knew deep-down that I had accomplished more in that day than anything that I could have put on my to-do list.

Still later that night, my husband came home from his own busy, hectic, and stressful day, filled with his own important meetings, difficult clients, and an ever-growing to-do list. He spends workdays being productive (in the objective sense) and providing for the family (in the traditional sense). Nonetheless, when he walked in the door that night and hugged me long and hard, when he said “I’m sorry you had a rough day” and then listened attentively and sympathetically, when he smoothed my hair before I fell asleep, I knew in my heart, that those minutes were – by far – the most productive and purposeful things that he possibly could have accomplished in even the busiest of days.

So here is an item that we should all put on our to-do list, today and every day: Take care of each other.

It’s that simple. It’s that hard. It’s that important.

A version of this post originally appeared on the author’s website at www.christineorgan.com.

Stained Glass at Children’s Hospital, Chapel

I have learned a thing or two about asking for help these past two weeks. I’m not sure why I’ve long been hesitant to ask for help, but I’ve got my theories. Maybe I’ve wanted to prove to my parents or to myself how much I could accomplish “All By Myself” (hear that 6-year-old voice within? I do!). Maybe because I was raised an only child with no cousins and we moved all over, a lot, I just got used to not knowing enough people nearby to bother asking. Maybe I simply grew up in a culture that puts too much of a value on privacy and independence, on “dealing with it ourselves.” Maybe I just haven’t been connected enough—haven’t prioritized getting connected, enough—to community to have people to call upon in times of need.

My partner Cathy has really been teaching me to ask for help. Most recently, our little Robin has been hospitalized twice in the past month for an infected congenital cyst and we have been right there with her at every moment. That means that all our other routines have been put on hold—all our routines: work, bills, laundry, groceries, cooking, e-mail, even refilling the cat’s water bowl (sorry, cats!).

In the big picture of our and Robin’s lives, we are fine. This is Life! I expect life (and parenting especially) to be filled with both joy and challenges. In the short-term, this cyst thing is, quite literally, a pain in the neck. We have to obsessively watch and clean R’s neck while we wait for the infection to completely subside, treat her for diarrhea caused by the infection-fighting antibiotic, and count the days until we can hopefully have another surgery to remove the cyst entirely.

In the meantime, I have learned a lot about the grace, goodness, laughter, kale, quinoa and polenta tamales that can come with asking for help. During times of stress, thank goodness for friends who cook. Thank goodness for neighbors who bring brownies and air mattresses to the hospital, for colleagues who set up meal delivery schedules online, bring daffodils in biodegradable cornstarch cups, and remind a worried parent to step outside for a little sunlight. Thank goodness for building-mates who bring accumulating newspapers and fresh diaper deliveries inside. Thank goodness for family friends who come over to visit and listen, hold the baby and happily eat whatever smorgasbord of leftovers can be assembled and heated up. Thank goodness for healthcare providers who gently say “she’ll be okay” and reassuringly repeat “you’re good parents.” Thank goodness for new friends who don’t hesitate when asked to do loads (and loads) of baby laundry.

At some point a neighbor-mama sat in our living room with me and spelled it out: “These days…when we’re all so busy…we need a reason to connect. An impetus. We need to be asked…but we all want something to do, a way to help each other out. Caring for each other through a crisis…however ultimately minor…helps us all have a stronger community.”

A couple of hospitalizations quickly puts my usual, day-to-day worries and to-do lists into perspective. One of the things I’ve re-learned is that cultivating time with friends—“hanging out”—is actually much more important than a lot of the stuff I usually feel like Must Get Done. Cause it’s the friends who are lasting, it’s the friends who are flexible and can change their schedules around and show up, it’s the friends who are going to be there to help during the rough times. It’s the friends who make us laugh, who dance to Teenage Dream in the hospital room while the baby is on “contact precautions” and can’t leave the room for days, it’s the friends who keep us company (and help keep us grounded, healthy, and sane) while we deal with the inevitabilities of life.

Thank you to all of you. We’re washing out your tupperware, your Pyrex and your Calphalon, and looking forward to returning each and every favor. Just, please: let us know what’s going on in your lives. Ask for help. Be specific, say “quinoa,” say “laundry,” say “cat food.” We’re on it. We’ve got recipes. We’ve got daffodils. We’ve got dishsoap. And we know that we need you as much as you, at some point, might need us.

I recently conducted a memorial service for a young woman who had taken her own life. She left behind a loving husband and her five year old daughter, as well as her mother and siblings. It was, in every sense of the word, a tragedy.

I had only met this woman briefly on a few occasions, but she made a big impression in a short time. She talked about having just received an advanced degree and starting a new job. She said she was looking forward to becoming a part of our congregation and enrolling her daughter in our religious education program. She was one of those people you wanted to be around. She seemed so full of life and hope and dreams. That’s why I had such a disconnect when I received a call from her sister, telling me what had happened. “How could someone like that do something like this?” I asked myself. It made no sense. And then in conversations with her family, I discovered that she had been waging a life-long battle with depression and bipolar disorder, and I realized that all was not as it seemed on the surface.

As I have reflected on this woman’s life, and her death, these past few weeks, I’ve reached a simple, but perhaps profound, conclusion: All of our lives are incredibly complex. Each of us has much more going on than we like to admit, to each other and perhaps to ourselves. Every one of us has a story that we hold deep in our hearts, that is ever unfolding, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, and we are much more than we appear to be. We all wrestle with our demons, and yet we present brave faces to the world. And even when we think we know someone well, there’s a lot we don’t know.

Knowing that every one of us struggles, every one of us hurts, every one of us is so much more than meets the eye, we must, in our every encounter, treat each other with kindness. Kindness is the healing balm of the soul. Kindness must be our “default” mode of interaction, because we don’t know what the other person is really going through.

In her poem “Kindness,” the poet Naomi Shihab Nye writes:

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

With this young woman’s death, I realize that it is “only kindness that makes sense any more.” It is kindness that we have been looking for. Kindness is the only gift we can give each other that will ever really matter.

This day, and every day, I wish you peace.