Winds of Peace Foundation

Steve Sheppard | July 30, 2011

I really like salmon.  I’m not speaking about a dinner entre, but an amazing creature with habits and behaviors that defy conventional thinking and even science, to a degree.  Their early development, migrations to the sea, transitions from fresh to salt water and back again, and that amazing journey which they make upstream- theirs is a life story that is as cosmic and mysterious as the heavens.  I love that story.

Part of that fascination and admiration perhaps stems from the perception that these creatures have chosen to defy logic, prudence, even gravitational physics, in accomplishing their objective.  But in order for them to survive as a species, they absolutely must follow their evolutionary directive to not live their lives as most other sea creatures, but as salmon.   I doubt that salmon ever have the time or inclination to be jealous of, say, tuna, who spend their entire lives in the ocean swimming with the other fishes of the sea.  But if they did, they might look longingly at a life that seems much easier, outwardly more secure, and that requires less individual effort and determination.  Of course, if they chose such a life, they would no longer be salmon.

I sometimes think about the life cycle of salmon when working with some of our Indigenous partners in Nicaragua.  That may sound strange, but there are comparisons to be made.  The Indigenous, as original inhabitants of the land, see themselves as different from other Nicaraguans, and with a special history.  They know that their lives are different and perhaps even more difficult than their non-Indigenous cousins due to the changes they have had to endure over centuries of evolution.  They have an almost irresistible attraction to the places where they were born.  They have had to endure enormous changes and transitions in their ways of life.  They are subject to predators.  And most of the time, they are required to swim upstream to achieve what is most important in their lives.  Such are the tides of mainstream life.

In fact, for all of the tradition and richness of Indigenous history, theirs is not an easy life.  They are surrounded on all sides by encroaching societies that would gobble them up with ravenous appetites.  Identifying and then navigating the return to the home tide pools requires uncommon persistence and a reverence for that home space which defies obstacles in their way.  They do it for the sake of future generations, even if it consumes them in the process.  They challenge the waves of modern governance, political patronage, in pursuit of traditions which would restore them to an earlier, less complicated culture, all the while trying to remain ahead of sharks who would devour them.

Working with the Indigenous of Nicaragua has been an experience filled with fascination, satisfaction, pride, disappointments, friendship and inspiration.  I cherish the opportunity to work with the descendants of a culture which achieved amazing civilizations long before the arrival of European explorers. Today, they desperately seek a return to the place of their  heritage, to the way of life in which all the members of a community are “belongers,” where shared leadership provides for protections and provisions for all,  born of a certainty that every member of a people has worth and value to the whole.  It is an idealistic and honorable desire to go there, but a journey that is filled with obstacles made up of rocks and tempting side-tributaries and the real issues of gravity to bring them down to earth.  They are bound to be distracted, blocked and even wounded along the way.  But inherent wisdom forged over generations continues to drive them back to their native streams, their ancestry, their future.  Winds of Peace can wait with patience, respect and and a sense of partnership for the journey to achieve its end.  As is the case with salmon, I love the story….

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Steve Sheppard | July 25, 2011

A wonderful component of my summers over the past four years has been The Scandinavian Institute, an extended visit to Decorah, Iowa, and surrounding areas by residents of the Scandinavian countries.  These guests travel to Decorah and Luther College to learn about America in all of its dimensions through lectures by Luther professors, visits with surrounding societies such as the Fox Native American settlement and local Amish communities, interactions with local residents, dinners with host families, and an overall immersion in American life as experienced in the midwest.  Their weeks spent here are intended to be not only informational and broadening, but also to provide the fun and enjoyment of experiencing a different culture.   I have participated with these groups over the years as presenter, dinner host, participant and friend.  I have found new friendships and learned more about the cultures to be found throughout Scandinavia than mere books and myths can impart.  The point of the visit is to provide a learning opportunity to our guests, but in reality, those of us who participate are given an equal opportunity to grow culturally, socially and emotionally.

On Thursday evening my wife and I hosted a Norwegian couple for dinner at our home.  Jann and Marit are absolutely delightful people who are soaking up every moment of the experience here, during this, their first-ever visit to the U.S.  We dined outdoors on a warm summer’s night, escorted by the evening cheering of Cardinals and the phosphorescence of fireflies, a lovely local specialty.  We shared stories of family, cultures, careers, loves and losses.  There are few occasions when four hours pass by so quickly and richly.  By the time we walked them back to their campus quarters, a bond had been formed in this world which had not existed before; we made arrangements to attend church together on Sunday.

And now, the news from Oslo, Norway, where a gunman has destroyed government buildings and many young lives.  The pictures are difficult to watch, the anguish in parents’ eyes indistinguishable from past faces from 9/11 or from shot-up schoolyards across the U.S.  in recent years.  The news is eerily familiar although distant, but this time it has a new dimension to it.  It’s the homeland of not our own, but of new friends, who are forced now to grasp the enormity of this event from afar, to wonder and worry and anguish from here in the U.S. while those in Norway do so with each other.  The tragedy is a national and international one and thus is best absorbed and grieved over with closest family and friends.  But that will not be available to our summertime guests in Decorah.  They will have to use the good wishes and prayers of relative strangers for comfort during this crisis, tiding them over until their eventual return home.

The visiting members of the delegation have all expressed horror, of course, and have cited the surreality of seeing such a senseless act of violence occur in their own country.  ”That’s not something we experience in Norway,”  several have said.  ”This has been only something from the United States or elsewhere in Europe,” some have observed.  But unfortunately the carnage in Norway is all too real,  and, in a way, made even moreso to us by the presence of new acquaintances who live there.  The sadness has been made more tangible for us in Decorah.

That reaction is a universal one.  Naturally, we feel a greater intensity of emotion when we have a personal connection with a victim, as we recognize a closeness to the tragedy that otherwise does not exist.  It’s an outgrowth of the instinctive question, “How close did this come to me?”  or, “How will this affect me?”  We are, after all, very egocentric beings.

This summer, this day, the answers to these questions have become crystal clear:  every incident of hatred comes too close to us, every episode of violence affects each one of us, each injustice makes us less than we might be.  We do not escape the impacts of evil, only the intensity.  Whether the victims are family or friends, unnamed strangers from Nordic Europe or Central American Nicaragua, we hurt with our fellow human beings because they are us.  We are the same.  One only requires a simple meal with visitors from far away to recognize how quickly, how naturally, “one” becomes the “other.”  Today, the English in me is as Norwegian in character as if I had been born in Norway, as if the pale faces of the terrorized were those of my own children.

We have everything to gain by understanding that facet of our existence together, and everything to lose by ignoring it….

 

 

 

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Steve Sheppard | July 18, 2011

The weather has turned hot again in this part of the country, with predicted heat indexes to be over 100 degrees for most of the week.  Whenever the long winter months finally give way to heat, everything changes: moods, activities, habits, even expectations.  We like our winters in the Upper Midwest for the most part, but when summer finally breaks through, we are ecstatic.

Warmth generates an honesty that we miss in the wintertime.  People are outside both day and night, visible in their activities and even their shapes, as the bundled layers of clothing give way to minimalist drapery (which is sometimes good and sometimes not so good).  But it creates a freedom of feeling and movement regardless of the visual effect, and in a sense we feel as though maybe we can see people for who they are, without the subterfuge of hidden agendas.  We’re much more likely to see each other, walking, biking, running, just being.  There is a “coming out” that is the midsummer.  Backyard barbeques and community socials generate togetherness, a shared celebration of the return of warmth, and a closeness radiates among us as we jointly bask in the fervor of July and August.  Beaches, baseball, bare feet and fireflies light up a summer’s night as well as our own internal sense of bliss, no matter what the temperature extremes.  We become more mobile, and it seems as though we might smile and laugh louder and more frequently, though that could be simply because more people are out and about to hear it.  It’s as if we are somehow comforted at knowing our community is alive and well, that we can go about our daily work in the visual assurance that every one else is, too, and we just feel more like we’re together in this thing called life.  There is power in such belief that boosts our sense of well-being, even if in an obtuse way.  This week we will inevitably complain about the heat, just as we gripe about the cold in January.  But deep inside, we don’t mind it at all, because of its reassurances.  There is great solace to be found in warmth, and even the mere presence of one another.

The heat of a summer’s day is really more than 180 degrees opposite of winter’s cold.  The thermometer is but one measure.  In the winter the air is frigid and we normally don’t enjoy the daily presence of one another.  It’s more than the mercury that drops.  Spirits sag, as well, as we are hidden from one another in the confining clothes in which we surround ourselves.  Our immobility limits both our actions and interactions.  There’s even a medical condition that afflicts some during these dark and cold days, Seasonal Affective Disorder, that seems to embody at some level what is wrong with all of us who are cold.  We know the symptoms: slow responses, social withdrawal, unhappiness and irritability, loss of interest in activities and people.  It’s a list of symptoms that could be the mirror opposite of the positive phenomena described above, so it should be no surprise to learn the suggestions for treatment:  getting out, exercising and interacting can make the symptoms better. Keeping active socially, even if it involves some effort, has the ability to salve the symptoms.   It turns out that warmth is a pretty effective antidote for a lot of things.

I know that when I travel to Nicaragua I’ll be feeling the heat, no matter what time of year.  I marvel at Nicaraguans and their ability to live in the heat.  I know that warmth is part of their lifestyle and they embrace it as part of their heritage.  But I also know that they sometimes fear the frigid temperatures of the North, for cold can be a dangerous thing….

 

 

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Steve Sheppard | July 12, 2011

When I was a little kid (well, a young kid, since I was never that little), mealtimes were inevitably ended with the admonition from my mom that I should clean my plate of whatever items (usually vegetables) I had avoided during the meal, that there were starving children in the world who would give almost anything to have my unwanted food.  I used to ponder these guilt-inducing comments until I would realize that a.) there was no way that I could deliver the vegetables to my young Chinese counterparts and, b.) if there was a way, then the starving kids of China were welcome to whatever they wanted from my plate, but would they even want them?  This rationale never sat very well with my mom, but it usually deflected the issue of my unwanted food until I could get away from the table.

My mom never exactly conveyed to me the idea that those hungry children were my responsibility, but I grew up worrying about them nonetheless, especially since I could’t send my broccoli to them.  (And really, could an Asian or Indian child really get excited about Brussels sprouts or beets?)  These days, I don’t leave much on my plate, and I’ve become a devotee of most vegetables.  But I’m still trying to figure out what it means to be a “good steward” in life, so I still think a lot about those starving kids in China or wherever else in the world there is famine or poverty that threatens the well-being of children.

Whatever the real answers might have been back then in the 50′s, the answers are much different today.  In today’s context, we are capable of putting resources to work with pretty good precision in most corners of the world.  Cyber connectivity allows a ready awareness of where the needs are at any given moment (witness the post-tsunami response in Japan).  Internet technology makes for easy and instantaneous transfer of information and funding (recall the revolution in Egypt).  Airline access allows physical transport of goods within hours (just ask FedEx).  So the clever dodges that I employed as a kid are now non-existent for any of us.  The only remaining obstacle is my will, our will.

The reality today is that there are no hurdles to be overcome in cleaning my plate on behalf of others.  The U.S. philanthropic community may only show its largesse internationally to the tune of about 3% of all giving, but it’s not due to logistics, distances or even the tastes of hungry children in developing countries.  It has only to do with decisions about how and where we spend our money, and why.  International organizations with tremendously positive records of high impact in the countries they serve make it very easy  to actually pinpoint where a “cleaned plate” is going; in the case of an organization like Kiva, one can actually name the individual recipient.  It doesn’t get much more personal than that!

When our own children were young, my wife and I never used the old bromide about sending uneaten food to starving kids overseas, even though by then I had a response to the old excuses that used to work for me.   Instead, we tried to help them know how to actually share some of what they had, and in places other than the U.S.  Armed with that, they at least had the chance to become good stewards for others, though we admonished them to eat their greens nonetheless….

 

 

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Steve Sheppard | July 5, 2011

I watched a network news story the other day that was quite moving.  At least, it had me until the end.  Then, with a single concluding statement, the correspondent lost the magic of the tale, or at least with me.  Now, maybe you’ll think I’m being way too critical on this, but it’s been irritating me ever since I saw it on June 27.

The story is captivating because it reveals the loving heart of a woman who is compelled to make a difference to orphans in Vietnam.  Tracy Foster has begun her own foundation, Project Being There, to raise funds for assisting St. An’s orphanage, which is run by some very poor nuns.  Her help ranges from crayons and candy to scholarship opportunities for kids to remain in school.  She admits to being a “rookie” in this philanthropic work, which makes her story even more admirable; she is out of her comfort zone in order to make a difference in the lives of these kids.  She’s simply a mom who feels the tragedy of little kids without families.  As the adoptive mother of three Vietnamese children herself, Tracy openly wonders whether anyone would be there for her children had she not adopted them.

The news story touches upon her work, her motivations and the loving care that she brings to this newly-adopted endeavor, and how she has come to see her own kids in the faces of those in the orphanage.  As the story closes I found it difficult not to be moved myself.  And then, the final line of the story is delivered in the words, “…giving us all a lesson in American generosity.”

I looked up at the TV and said aloud, “What?!”  This lovely, feel-good story is about a lot of things: it reveals the caring feelings of a mother, the perseverance of someone who is determined to act upon those feelings even outside her comfort zone, the easy connections that we make with other human beings when we simply allow ourselves to do so, the universality of a loving heart, the universality of all children, and more.  But the suggestion that somehow this story reveals some uniquely-American characteristic of generosity left me cold.  American?  Generosity?

A major part of the attraction of this story is the “everyman/woman” element, that it could be any one of us affected in this way if we could just allow ourselves the opportunity to become so.  Tracy Foster went to Vietnam on a presumed one-time basis and found herself transformed by the experience.  It could happen to anyone.  Even you or me.  And that’s very uplifting news, to know that even you or I could somehow put ourselves in a position to impact the lives of little children.  What could be more giving, of greater value, than that?  Tracy Foster happens to be a U.S. citizen, but the very point that she makes in this story is that there are no boundaries, no nationalities to be considered here.  There are only children in need.

To suggest that Tracy Foster is acting out of generosity diminishes her motives, in my mind.  If she sought to simply be generous she could raise money for her favorite charity.   What is fueling her passion is something far deeper than generosity; it’s not why one would adopt a child and it’s not why one would commit herself to helping so many others.  No, the real motive is to be found within the real lesson of the story.

The lesson to be gained from this tale is that we belong to the same family, no matter where we may live.  It’s the human family, and we are made up of brothers and sisters and moms and dads who are all very much alike, despite how different we may look and sound.  When we give ourselves even the slightest glimpse of that reality, our motives, our priorities, our actions, our very lives can be changed.  The caring to be found in the human heart is not North American or Nicaraguan or Vietnamese, but human, that’s the real point of the story.  Tracy Foster allowed herself to experience the reality of that, and it has made all the difference to both herself and the little children she serves.  I doubt very much that she views her newfound passion as an act of generosity, American or otherwise.

There is deep within the psyche of each of us a tangential thread that links us irrevocably to one another.  Sometimes we choose not to acknowledge it. Often it manifests itself inconveniently and at just the wrong moment.  It is not a fact of expedience or ease.  But is has the power to grab us at the most unsuspecting moments and to turn us around, to re-direct us in ways we might never have anticipated.  That’s both the storyline and the lesson from this news segment; I only wish that the reporter had understood it that way.

Maybe I’m making a mountain out of a mole hill.  Maybe I need to get out more.  Or maybe it’s the news correspondent who needs to….

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