There are days I yearn to make a difference at scale, the way my brother does, eliminating malnutrition, hunger, and poverty for thousands. Yet, I know my calling is different. My calling is to work with the two, three or four individuals we can house at one time at Dandelion House, or the 120 to 160 people who come to us for a hot meal on Fridays.

If we think of Hiroshima at all, we rightly think of all who died that day. I’ve been thinking more recently about all who survived. What was it like for my father to attend school with classmates, every single one of whom had lost siblings, parents, or relatives that day? What is the collective trauma of a generation that grew up in a nuclear wasteland?

I felt invited to a new way of seeing, and how learning the different names of birds is a path to intimacy, to entering into a more personal relationship with creation. It was as if I was getting to know my non-human neighbors in a similar way to how we first share our names when introducing ourselves to someone we don’t know.