Five Things That Moved Me

What good shall I do this day?

Hi friends,

Here are five things that moved me. Please don’t hesitate to let me know which resonated with you by replying to this email or dropping a comment below :)

1. On my friend’s door hangs a sign that, if placed on everyone’s door, would likely serve the whole world well. What a powerful mindset of service for others when you consider this question as you walk outside each morning:

The quote is attributed to Benjamin Franklin

2. A short lesson about kindness and generosity, via author James Clear:
   

   "I heard my mom asking our neighbor for some salt. We had salt at home so I asked her why she was asking. She told me, ‘They don't have much money and they sometimes ask us for things. So I asked for something small that wouldn't burden them. I want them to feel as if we needed them too. That way, it will be much easier for them to ask us for anything they need.’"

3. This week, Alfie Jacques, a Native American lacrosse stick maker in upstate New York, died of kidney cancer. He was 74. While near the Onondaga Nation Reservation at Syracuse University, I wrote about Jacques a few times, including this 2019 story in The Washington Post.
   

   What moved me was Alfie’s attention to detail in hand-crafting each lacrosse stick with great care. His place of work was a cinder-brick barn that lies at the bottom of a hill, off a dirt road in the heart of the reservation just south of Syracuse. Down the road from the local smoke shop, inside the barn, the air smells of wood. There was no plastic, no music, no TVs, no signs of assembly-line production. There was just Alfie, his wood, his equipment, and his devotion to a technique — a way of life — that lasted nearly six decades. It was a magical site.

   

   Photo by Alexandra Moreo for The Washington Post

   
   Alfie used a knife — made in 1832 and passed down to him by his father — to remove bark and carve the stick to its final form. Each stick has a custom inscription, especially if the stick serves as an award or gift. One stick read: “Leader, friend.”
   

   “It’s therapeutic,” Alfie told me. “You have a wood stove on, pot of coffee, just make chips all day. When you’re done, the floors are covered with chips. It’s a relaxing thing to do. Everything you do in this work has purpose to the end product. There’s no gravy. You don’t just cut for cutting sake. You cut with purpose. You saw with purpose, carve with purpose, drill holes with purpose.”
   

4. Chilean writer Greta Matos writes “to notice that something as simple as our full presence for one another and for this world is an act of love. Our smiles and laughter given so generously and genuinely are our shared love language. We can weave our love into our work, into the words we choose to use, into the relationships we cultivate, and into the art we create. Our love can be a key ingredient in the meals we cook and in the conversations we have, simply with our decision to make it so.”

5. The other day, my therapist, Christian, observed, “We tend to our stresses and obsessions, rather than living…we are beautifully and wondrously made. Our work is to find the place within us that just is — connected and whole.”

Parting thought: “In appreciating our neighbor, we’re participating in something truly sacred.” — Fred Rogers

Celebrate your gifts,

Matthew

P.S. — Thank you for reading and trusting me with these words, a privilege I don’t take lightly. If Inner Peace has helped you in some way, please consider forwarding this email to someone you care about.