Shalom, Divine Peace
Great Source whence all folk have come, Christian and Jew, Muslim and Hindu, Black, White, Yellow, Brown, all manner of shapes and sizes, beliefs and unbeliefs, truly You, Shalom, have made a planet big enough, fruitful enough, where bounteous beauty shines even in a lazy mote of dust drifting circles down a shaft of sun. Praise be!
I confess it, God of Peace: I do get twisted up betimes with fury, and I want to whistle loud, like Thy servant Sister Barbara Mencl– Y’all forgive me, I have long envied Sister Barbara her fearsome whistle — and shout, Be still! until the clamor ends, and then I’d want to shake my head at the assembled multitude and whisper:
Why can’t y’all just get along?
That makes me no better, don’t it, that’s still Us and Them, and like Y’all’s servant Daniel Goleman has said with great simplicity and perspicacity, each one of us needs to swell the numbers in Thy creation that we consider to be Us, and make as tiny as that mote of dust the Them part of the populace. And take no pride in it, for it is as Y’all made us, after all.
Shalom, Creator, God of Peace, I need to reconcile as greatly as the next, as I set here snug on my hilltop porch and I do believe I sometimes judge the street gangs and the wealthy (be they selfish or showy in their charity), and the whiny women who call Dr. Laura with their petty problems, and the Clintons and Obamas with their slap, slap-back campaign to LEAD the NATION, for heaven’s sake.