As I sat on a picnic table on a beach one afternoon, enjoying the shade from a tree, I noticed an injured bird nearby. Its wing was twisted and it sat awkwardly on the ground. It seemed heartless to just leave it there but I resisted taking on the responsibility of caring for it. I can’t take it with me, I don’t have anything to carry it in, I told myself.

Then I noticed a cardboard box nearby. Well, cardboard is so smooth and slippery and there’s nothing to cover the bottom with. As soon as I finished the thought I saw a patch of grass in the sand that could make good bedding. Still resisting, I thought, I have no idea what the bird eats. It would starve if I took it with me. On cue, the bird struggled to reach one of the many pods full of seeds that had fallen from the tree and were scattered in profusion on the ground.

Recognizing that I was out of excuses I started to accept the idea of taking the little bird home with me. As I surrendered my resistance the bird looked at me, stood on its feet, and gracefully unfolding its crumpled wing, flew away.

As I watched in surprise I was reminded of a story Peace had told. It had taken place during a period of prayer and fasting that she had undertaken for forty days. While in a state between wakefulness and sleep, she had a vision of a dismal cross above her and understood that someone had to take up the burden. When she reached up to accept it, she was lifted above the cross where all was beauty and light. All that had been needed was her willingness to accept the burden and she was raised above it. I knew I had received an important reminder through the little bird.

I walked many miles along the beach as the days passed, enjoying the warmth of the sand under my feet and mulling over the principles and ideals Peace had talked about and demonstrated. I knew how powerful her teachings were. I also knew how challenging it was to really live my beliefs. Part of me was still a doubting Thomas, thinking that these higher spiritual laws worked only for saints or sages. While I struggled to understand, the universe moved in its own way, creating the experiences I needed to test my convictions and forcing me to confront my fears.

One test was fairly simple. As I walked a quiet stretch of beach a barking dog came out of the trees in the distance, charging at me. All I could do was stand my ground, using the commanding attitude Peace had demonstrated in Alaska, when she found me cowering, as three wild dogs blocked the way – and commandingly told them “Be gone!” as she pointed to the woods. They had turned and ran with their tails between their legs. Admittedly, I spoke with less authority than she had shown, but the dog stopped in its tracks and walked away. This small feat perhaps gave me the courage to face my next and biggest challenge.

As I walked along a remote dirt road toward the beach one early morning, I noticed three large native men moving toward me. They were walking with a kind of swagger that a friend laughingly named “the macho walk.” They were speaking loudly and their voices carried in the breeze. With a sick feeling I realized they were talking about molesting me.

I knew I couldn’t run away and even if I tried they would easily overtake me. Fear rose up in my chest. At the same time I heard the words Peace had spoken when talking about the young girl she had defended: “You attract to you the very thing that you fear, and I knew the girl was in great danger.”

Immediately I began to imagine lifting the fear up out of my body. Then I imagined lifting myself and the three men into God’s hands. As I let go, knowing I couldn’t control the situation or the outcome, a calmness took over. When the men were close enough I made eye contact with each of them and, in the cheeriest voice I could muster, I said, “Good morning!”

The men who had seemed so scary suddenly looked like three schoolboys. Their eyes dropped to the ground and they stumbled over their feet, mumbling “Good morning,” in response.

Their reaction took me totally by surprise. I walked by without looking back. I had not expected to walk away unharmed. “No one walks more safely than one who walks humbly and lovingly,” Peace’s voice echoed, “for they reach the good in the other person and the person is disarmed.”

Cheryl Canfield, CCHT, 2024