Redemption. There are a few things that redeem humanity for me. Two of these things being kindness and respect. I have encountered a few different wonders over the last few weeks that have forced me to smile for blocks and blocks, while breathing in deeply the possibility of hope.

I was walking home from work one day a few weeks ago and passed by the El stop down the street from my house. This stop also happens to be the biggest drug corner in Philly (so the story goes). For some reason, the dealers were pushing hard that day, and in a matter of 20-30 seconds I got asked to buy drugs roughly ten times. “Works, works, works…” “Good times, good times, good times…” My frustration was building with every offer, and by the seventh or eighth time, my “no” was very short, and very firm. It was then that one of the men offering looked at me for a long second and said, “Ah Baby, I'm sorry,” as if he were completely aware of the misjudgment. The way he said it, the tone of his voice, so regretful, and sincere, made the next two or three offers bearable. I realized in that moment that good men sometimes do destructive things, and that the world is full of them. I thought of the Sufjan Stevens song--- “In my best behavior I am really just like him. Look beneath the floor boards for the secrets I have hid.”

It wasn’t but a few days later while I was taking a walk with Olivia that I was taken back again by the raw beauty of humanity. We were walking down Girard, when all of a sudden I hear a very loud, very pronounced, “FUCK!” I was caught a bit off guard and all most immediately, before I could judge the poor truck driver for cursing around such innocent little ears, he apologized exceedingly. With his hand over his mouth, almost childishly ashamed, he said, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you coming.” He turned around sheepishly, while I forgave him and absorbed the sweetness of his apology.

Last week we took a little bike ride over to the Village of Arts and Humanity, here in North Philly. It’s a span of a few city blocks with beautiful mosaic murals on huge building sides, gardens, and sculptures. It’s really a beautiful urban oasis. Danielle and I were standing outside of “Meditation Garden” when an older man came walking out of the garden. “I’m sorry ladies, I didn’t mean to be rude, but I really needed to go.” He was referring to relieving himself in “Meditation Garden”, and was sorry he had done it in front of us. Men relieving themselves anywhere and everywhere are rather common place to me, as I’m convinced there is always a man in India urinating on the street every second of everyday. However, an apology for such things is not so common place and I found myself feeling touched by the notion of a respectful apology.

Last Thursday Nikki, Danielle and I went to West Philly for the morning. Danielle and I enjoyed a nice walk in Clark Park, and a cup of tea at the Green Line. West Philly is somewhat of a haven for me, with its beautiful trees, and homes. The morning seemed to be one of peaceful thought and conversation that continued on into the afternoon. Nikki took us to this beautiful cathedral that she had gone to the week before. We were just in time for the Eucharist. We sat together, the three of us, two women from the church, and the priest. We shared the bread and the wine, prayers, and a passage about the Israelites coming out of Egypt. The service was very sweet and very intimate, however it was after ward, as we were “passing the peace” to one another that I was really moved. I was moved in fact to tears, which these days does not happen as easily as it once did. It was the priest I think who did it. Richard. He was just a lovely man, full of kindness, grace, and joy. He was welcoming, and excited about people, love, and God. All of a sudden as he was talking about something so trivial and fleeting, something I cannot even recall now, I began to feel a swell of emotion rise up in me. In that moment I realized how wonderfully connected humans really are. As I watched kindness pour from this man's face, I glimpsed a depth in him that I longed to see in all people. It was a depth that seemed to prove to me that we all go so much deeper; that we all are truly connected for some odd, mysterious reason; that our souls are all so similar- searching, longing, hoping, waiting… drug dealer, truck driver, urinater, priest, me, you, my neighbors, my family, my friends, young, old, rich, poor, black, white, brown, pink… we’re just here, existing together… on the same earth, at the same time, just living… It’s wild how painful and how beautiful that reality is.