The Lightkeepers

Sometimes, my brain gets crowded, and my heart cowers in fear of being trampled beneath the weight of my thoughts.

And with good reason. It all began with a small fire that destroyed a resident's tent, resulting in material loss and inconvenience, but fortunately nothing more.

But that was followed by another fire - one that claimed the life of My Dyn, who was not only a very sweet, friendly man, but who really was trying to get himself together.

Then, more tragedies: learning of three men - two incarcerated in Burlington County and one up in New York - who suffered from mental illness and lacked the capacity to care for themselves. They were met not with compassion, but with cruel indifference. And they lost their lives as a result.

And then came the news of the motel fire in nearby Point Pleasant that killed, injured, and/or displaced so many people - many of whom were already homeless due to Superstorm Sandy.

All these people - My Dyn, the three men, the Sandy victims - were told to wait. To have hope. To be patient.

They died, still waiting.

Yesterday, I went to Tent City and was met by the sight of Lakewood's bulldozers yet again, tearing down now-abandoned tents. Mike McNeil from STEPS had come to camp, and was subsequently flanked on all sides by homeless people in the midst of panic and despair. With unsubstantiated rumors that Tent City would be completely demolished within the next month, they were demanding to know how much longer until the Township of Lakewood followed through on their promise.

How much longer, indeed. For some, it would be a week. But others - namely those whose ability to care for themselves independently was called into question - will have to wait longer. Perhaps indefinitely.

They are being told to wait. To have hope. To be patient.

Those are the people for whom my soul weeps.

But even in the midst of all this doubt, with time, self-care, and encouragement from the people around me, the mental traffic jam dissipates, and my heart finds peace. And my mind finds wisdom.

For example, I'm learning a great deal about what it means to love unconditionally. And how to best call upon that love so that I may serve as a beacon of light, warmth, and hope, even when every ship in sight is being thrashed by storms of uncertainty. In a conversation I had with Minister Steve yesterday, there was a mention of boats, and the notion of living on the water. Having spent nearly every summer of my life at the shore, and having had somewhat of a love affair with the ocean almost from birth, the thought of navigating a house boat has always intrigued me.

But in terms of personality, I must confess that I see myself as less of a sailor, and more of a lightkeeper.

Calling to mind the song "Turn, Turn, Turn" (based on Ecclesiastes 3:1) I am learning that there is a time and a place for patience - and yes, for waiting - but also a time and a place for action. A time to listen, carefully and without interjection, and a time to make our collective voice heard loud and clear. Like a foghorn calling to sailors far and wide.

May we find the strength to face the raging sea, lift our voices, and shine our light.

Peace and love, my friends!