Displaying Everyday Courage
LAST WEEK I PICKED UP STEVE KIESLING (who had been my editor at Spirituality & Health for 20 years before the publication merged with Unity Magazine) at the airport a few miles from my home in Gqeberha, South Africa. On the way to his B&B, I outlined the fun things I had choreographed for our two and a half days together: going to Addo Elephant Park, a long hike up the coast, a trip to the penguin sanctuary, and joining my family on some scouting activities at the beach.
“Paul, I want to see what you do,” he told me. Feeling like the proverbial “husband who does not listen,” I told him that my wife, Amy, had said the same thing. “Steve’s coming to see your work,” she’d said. “Take him to some local schools, the townships, squatter places—show him why we are here.”
Nevertheless, the next day we drove around Addo Elephant Park and saw many elephants, zebras, and warthogs, and we stopped four times to let turtles cross the road. But the next day, after the 15-kilometer hike up the coast, I took him to a local lunch place above the South End Museum and then to see the apartheid exhibits inside. I love our small museum because it reminds me that South Africa’s racial struggles are not confined to Johannesburg and Cape Town any more than America’s struggles are confined to a few Southern states. He read the many enlarged press clippings about how issues of the mixing races, nationalities, and tribes were exacerbated during apartheid because Gqeberha, the new name for Port Elizabeth, is a large port town, and people from all over the world got off ships and built their lives here.
We then drove through the nearby township of tiny cinderblock houses, shipping containers, and metal sheds that people live in. Our destination was Mosaic Community Development (mosaicsa.org), an organization that serves kids who are orphaned or whose families have abandoned them. On the Friday before Steve showed up, I’d conducted an all-day “Teaching with Love” seminar for Mosaic’s staff and a few educators from other local schools and NGOs interested in learning to come from a place of love rather than violence and fear. Then, the day before our visit, Mosaic’s donor relations liaison, Nicola Stap, happened to run by on the beach. She was training for a marathon but stopped long enough to invite us for a visit.
“Yet even more inspiring than nature, if the social scientists are correct, are acts of what is called “moral beauty.””
When we arrived, a new fence enclosed the administration building, and Nicola explained that three weeks earlier, five young men with guns broke in during broad daylight and demanded their laptops, money, and phones. I asked why she didn’t mention the robbery at the seminar. She smiled and said, “Oh, we were fine. The funny thing is that they took our car and ran out of gas not too far from here and then just ran away on foot.” She also mentioned that she didn’t lose her phone. It was on her desk, but when she saw the guns, she sat on it.
The orphans “adopted” by Mosaic get an education that sometimes includes the very best schools in the area as well as the after-school programs the center runs. For those kids, Mosaic is like winning the lottery. For the women in the office, running the programs takes resilience, creativity, and real guts.
After Mosaic, Steve and I hung out with my kids. We visited the penguin rescue shelter and climbed our local lighthouse so Steve could see why Gqeberha exists (it is an excellent harbor). Then we dropped him off at our small airport, not well rested but happy for the visit.
A few days later, back on his farm in Oregon, a jet-lagged but well-caffeinated Steve sent me this note:
I wondered about the wonderful women at Mosaic, the burglary, and the apartheid museum. Young men with guns breaking into the place that serves orphans, stealing the car that has no gas because there’s no money for gas ... Geez. Nicola sitting on her phone to hide it, and getting a new fence built and pressing on without skipping a beat—teaching kids to dance after school. The best of faith and resilience. The museum, meanwhile, was built by a committee throwing stuff against the wall to see what might stick—and yet the pride of those
[volunteer] women from the spa [next door helping out] were undeniable. It is all about grounding people in stories that are real and empowering them. Could be a cool column …
I was already on it.
In our transformative education and literacy work, we use the book “A Boy Named Justice” to help kids learn about peacefully resolving conflict. The book has a note after each story about different kinds of courage. Physical courage is doing what you think is morally right without worrying about your physical safety. Diligent courage is when you stick to your beliefs and don’t give up even when told your efforts make no difference. Moral courage is displayed both when we stand up for what we believe in, even if it is unpopular, and also when we give up a belief when giving it up will cause us pain or loss of status.
The courage to give up a belief is often the most challenging type of courage to express. And then there are acts that inspire—that generate awe. When we think of awe we tend to think of nature, like encountering a herd of elephants up close. Yet even more inspiring than nature, if the social scientists are correct, are acts of what is called “moral beauty.”
When the bandits burst into Mosaic waving their guns, fear was likely the overriding emotion for the five women and one man inside. Yet Nicola smiled easily as she told the story of saving her phone—saving her connections—and then everyone getting back to the business of helping kids who desperately need it. A story so quietly remarkable as to inspire awe.
I would love to hear your thoughts about Displaying Everyday Courage. Contact me here.
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