instruments of peace

 

The paperboy was late this morning.

The digital paperboy, that is.

I have subscribed to my former home-town newspaper, The Oregonian, on my Kindle since I moved to Mexico, primarily to follow politics in Oregon. But, the headline in today's newspaper was not about politics. It was about another natural tragedy.

"Brown puts state on high alert."

At first, I thought the novel coronavirus had had its way with Oregonians, once again. When I was in Oregon less than two weeks ago, the virus was still a problem, as it is in Mexico.

But that was not the reason for the alert. During the last week of my visit to Oregon, smoke from two nearby forest fires had started obscuring the view of the Cascades from my brother's living room. The situation has worsened.

There are fires in the Coast Range and in the Cascades. One town on the road between Bend and Salem has burned. Some of my family members in Clackamas County have been evacuated. There is good reason for "high alert."

And, it is into that smoke and fire that I will be flying on Saturday. I need to return to Bend to tie up some loose ends on Mom's move to her retirement apartment. The big one is to help my brother get her house on the market.

A friend asked me this morning whether I was concerned about flying back to Oregon right now. She characterized it as "the whole state is on fire."

Well, it isn't. It is bad, but the Four Horsemen have not yet been loosed. It is bad enough. 

Fires in Oregon. The pandemic in The States and Mexico. Floods on the Costalegre. At times, I feel as if I am flying from one hot spot to another. A Henry Kissinger of plagues.

There is a bit of truth in that. But we humans are a resilient lot. And we are often at our best when troubles arise. Not always.

Today, a northerner commented on our local Facebook that he was considering not returning to Melaque because he did not want to encounter citizens of another northern country. It was a rare sour note in the discussion concerning the winter tourist trade.

It would be easy to strike out at such comments. But, for all I know, something terrible had just happened in his life that found its outlet in subtle bigotry. I try not to build windows into men's souls to test their motives. It is not profitable, and the result is almost always inaccurate.

I believe the first time I had St. Francis's "instrument of peace" prayer when Margaret Thatcher recited it upon becoming prime minister. It strikdes me as a good guide for all of us as we face the travails nature brings our way.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace;

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love;

for it is in giving that we receive,

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

     
Every time I fly Alaska Airlines these days, I miss the prayer cards on the meal trays. Maybe I should print out this prayer and take it with me on this trip.

We could all use a bit of reminder in tuning our instruments of peace.