Recipes for a Sacred Life: True Stories and a Few Miracles by Rivvy Neshama (best books to read for young adults TXT) 📕

with her group for their morning discussion and they were sharing how they felt about going home. Ellie told them she was scared that she wouldn’t be able to stay on a spiritual path but would fall off it and essentially fail.

“And right after I said that, I thought, How arrogant,” Ellie said laughing. “I mean, every saint and yogi falls, so of course I will too. But you know what? I think it’s the times I fall that I learn and grow the most. They’re a big part of the spiritual path.”

“They are?” I asked, kind of surprised.

“Yeah,” Ellie said. “Maybe that’s how you know you’re on a spiritual path—when you fall off it!”

I took her hand and held it tight. She’s my buddy.

ON THE “A” TRAIN

The silver-haired man who smiled at me on the subway was very old and poorly dressed, but wore his age and shabby blazer with elegance. It was a day so steamy hot and humid that people looked at each other more than usual, too wilted to bother looking away. Most of them just stared and sighed, without the energy to even nod.

The old man and I looked at each other in that enervated way, and then we looked again and started to smile. I got a slight sense of shining from all the gold in his teeth. I also got an instant jolt of connection.

“That’s half the battle,” he said. “It’s half won when you get one person to smile at you during the day.”

“What’s the other half?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, laughing. “I’m not old enough yet.”

Sometimes your joy

is the source of your smile,

but sometimes your smile

can be the source of your joy.

—THICH NHAT HANH

WHAT IS WANTED?

WHAT IS NEEDED?

My mother told me this story about her eighty-something partner, Len.

One night, Mom and Len were at a very nice restaurant enjoying a good dinner. At a table nearby, however, a young couple sat, holding their baby who wouldn’t stop crying. So Len finished his dinner and then went over to the crying-baby table.

“Did he reprimand them for bringing a baby to a fancy restaurant and ruining your meal?” I asked, which is something I might have wanted to do but would not have had the nerve.

“No,” Mom said. “He offered to hold their baby so they could enjoy their dinner.”

Wow, I thought. And then I thought of est . . .

Back in the early 1970s, when some people were trying out all sorts of things, I was one of those people and I tried out “est,” the lowercased acronym for Erhard Seminars Training. Founded by Werner Erhard, guru of the human potential movement, “est ” was supposed to help you find “it”—which was never defined and once found was soon lost. I never knew if I really found “it” and worried that I was the only one who didn’t. But then, maybe others were worried too.

The training became infamous for being led by ex-marines who wouldn’t let you leave for the bathroom until the breaks. Well, there were some strange things going on, but some good things too, and a few lessons I never forgot. One was Werner’s advice on how to relate to this world we live in. Simple advice, like a recipe: Look around and ask yourself, What is wanted? What is needed?

I think of that sometimes when I’m in a meeting, or with my children, or feeling restless or self-absorbed. What is wanted? What is needed? Then I go pitch in.

And just in case I’m feeling too proud of my deeds, I’m always humbled when I hear of people who go way beyond what I envision. People like Len, holding that baby.

CONFESSIONS OF A LISTAHOLIC

I’m addicted to making lists. I make lists of What to Do, Who to See, What to Research, and Who to Call. And when my lists get too long, I make lists from my lists: What to Do Today, What to Do Soon, What to Do in the Future. I write long lists in yellow tablets and short lists on index cards. I look over the relevant lists almost daily and use a highlighter to set priorities.

Yes, I know, over the top. But now and then, the value of lists becomes clear. You see, before listomania hit me, I’d often hear that a neighbor was sick, or a colleague lost a parent, or a friend was getting divorced, and I’d think, I should send a card, or drop off a meal, or call and make a date. But then my life would get too busy and I’d forget.

So now I write down my intentions as soon as I have them—send get-well card to Rita, give thank-you gift to Charlie, visit Katherine—and they’re there on a list to remind me until I do the deed and cross them off. (And for list makers, few things are more gratifying than crossing things off!)

Some things stay on my list far too long. Others I thankfully do just in time. Here’s one:

Our neighbor Jack had been very ill for months. I put his name on one of my lists to remember to pray for him and call now and then to see if I could help. One day, the list prompted me to take him something that might cheer him up, and I had just the thing: a CD called Facing Future, by a Hawaiian singer named Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. It’s so lyrical and uplifting that I bought a few of them to give to friends.

So I took one over for Jack and left it by the door. Later, his wife, KC, called to say that Jack had gone into the hospital a week before to have a stem cell transplant. The chemotherapy was making it hard for him to talk or read, she said, but the one thing that made him feel better was listening to music.

Thank you, list. Much obliged.

A ONE-MINUTE RECIPE

FROM MEXICO

We were on vacation in a small Mexican