Recipes for a Sacred Life: True Stories and a Few Miracles Rivvy Neshama (best short books to read .TXT) 📖

wintry Sunday evening, I wondered who it could be. When I opened the door, I felt the darkness and the cold. A man in his thirties was standing there holding a clipboard.

“We’re in the middle of a party,” I said, with a dollop of self-righteous anger. Then I felt bad. He probably just needed me to sign some petition—to clean the rivers, or save the prairie dogs, or some such Boulder thing. So in a kinder tone, I asked, “What do you want?”

“Do you need any patio glass or door panels?” he said, and my anger revved up again. How rude to knock on our door on a Sunday night to try and sell something. “No,” I said in my original tone. “Good night.” Back at the table, I relayed what had happened. “Poor guy,” Annie said. “He must be really hard off to go out on a night like this.” Ellie muttered something about how this recession was hitting everyone. And guilt whisked in to replace my anger.

“You’re so much more compassionate than I am,” I said.

Ellie laughed. “Well, we’ve been practicing it lately,” she said, “using Buddhist teachings.”

“We read something out loud every day from our favorite teachers,” Annie said.

Sensing that my own compassion needed a lift, I asked them to cut to the chase. So they offered me this guidance that came from Pema Chödrön, the beloved Buddhist nun who brings it all back home.

“With everyone you meet and every encounter,” Annie said, “you can say to yourself, ‘Just like me.’ Especially if you’re feeling judgmental. So with that guy you just met, you could say, ‘He’s trying to make a living the best he can . . . just like me.’ Or, ‘He needs money . . . just like me.’ Or, ‘He’s self-focused . . . just like me.’”

I like this. It’s simple, it’s basic, and it works: Buddhism for Dummies—just like me.

Nasrudin walked into a bank. The teller asked

if he could identify himself. Nasrudin took out

a mirror, looked into it, and said, “Yep. That’s me!”

—A SUFI STORY

SERVING (PEOPLE) (DINNER)

One nearly freezing Christmas Eve, John and I volunteered to help serve dinner to the homeless at a restaurant in downtown Boulder. I was a little nervous, afraid we’d seem condescending, or that the people we’d be serving would be depressed, crazy, or angry, or that I’d be my usual klutzy self and spill cranberry sauce all over their laps. But it turned out not to be that way at all.

The place was festively decorated with silver garlands and red poinsettias. Christmas songs were playing over the loudspeakers, and the excitement shown by our guests inspired me to be the very best waitress I could possibly be. “Would you like more coffee, sir?” “Is everything okay, ma’am?”

Some of the people looked truly impoverished, just wearing thin sweaters on this very cold night. Others looked like old hippies, not that different from our friends or us (a thought both comforting and disconcerting). And while many were elders, there were also young families holding babies on their laps.

One woman seemed disgruntled and complained that her roll was hard—which it was, so I got her another. And one man made it clear that I was being overly solicitous—which I was, so I toned it down. But the main feeling was joy, simple joy: among the homeless, among the servers, and among the kitchen help (including John), who were cooking green beans and yams and filling plates with abundance.

Rushing from the kitchen to the tables to give everyone their turkey dinner and seeing their smiles widen as they received it—“More gravy?” “Oh yes!”—made me want to spend my whole life doing just that.

It also made me see that under all the details of our lives, we are simply learning to serve each other, no matter what we do. To practice it this clearly was a lesson, and a gift.

HAVE A GREAT DAY! NOT.

When I’m in a mood and people tell me “Have a great day!” I want to mutter, “What’s wrong with a nice day or a fair day? Why do I have to have a great day, grumble, grumble . . .” This “great day” greeting is rampant in Boulder markets, most often heard at checkout.

But one day at Whole Foods, a cool young guy stacking the shelves helped me find rice cakes and said, in parting, “Have a grateful day!” Whoa, that stopped me. Have a grateful day.

Some people say that gratefulness is the key to a sacred life. Others say it’s the key to happiness. There have even been studies that correlate gratitude with good health, less depression, and a good night’s sleep. Well, yeah. But how do you have a grateful day?

I think it starts by saying “thank you.” And when I begin each morning with these words, it helps set the tone (at the least, it mollifies my morning blues). It could be as simple as giving thanks for another day or the sound of the morning rain.

To expand my gratitude, I might follow the lead of Michael Bernard Beckwith, founder of the Agape International Spiritual Center. He suggests that now and then, we pick one day, find something to be thankful for every hour, and express it. I tried this and was surprised that just by having the intention, I actually remembered to do it. Every hour, more or less, I looked around or within, found something to be thankful for, and said it: “Thank you for this peaceful day” “Thank you, blackbird, for that lovely song” “Thank you, John, for mowing the lawn.”

Since then, whenever I feel a swelling of gratitude or appreciation, I often say it out loud. Sometimes I say it right to the source: “Thank you, trees!” “Thank you, sunshine!” And sometimes I go to the source beyond: “Thank you, Great Spirit, for all this beauty!” “Thank you, Lord, for helping Mom get better.”

It also helps, I find, to spread my thanks around, even to those anonymous ones who offer tech support on the