For several years now, I have been listening to the broadcast of This I Believe. The current version of the show, aired on NPR, is a revival of an idea from the 1950’s. Edward R. Murrow hosted the show in those days. Murrow introduced the show like this:

“This I Believe. By that name, we present the personal philosophies of thoughtful men and women in all walks of life. In this brief space, a banker or a butcher, a painter or a social worker, people of all kinds who need have nothing more in common than integrity, a real honesty, will write about the rules they live by, the things they have found to be the basic values in their lives.”

The 1950’s were a time of significant uncertainty and upheaval. Religious leaders cautioned about the rapid rise of consumerism and the loss of spiritual values. The entire world lived under the threat of atomic warfare that threatened to destroy the planet and all life on it. Still, the original essays were filled with hope. The original essays featured essays by famous people such as Eleanor Roosevelt, Jackie Robinson, Helen Keller and Harry Truman. But it also featured everyday people, corporate leaders, cab drivers, secretaries and scientists.

In 2005, Jay Allison and Dan Gediman revived the series and invited people to write about the core beliefs and values that guide their daily lives. The project has since grown to an exciting movement of people writing and sharing their essays. The website, thisibelieve.org features ways for churches and schools, individuals and communities to participate in the national dialogue. It operates as a non-profit, asking those who listen to make modest donations to keep the project alive.

The essays are remarkably powerful. It seems to me that a person of faith ought to have the ability to say something about that faith. I am well aware that there is a big difference between believing and having language to express that belief. Writing and reading are intellectual skills and talking about one’s beliefs is not the same thing as talking about them. No doubt there are people of great faith who have never written an essay about what they believe. On the other hand, I call myself a writer. Surely a writer ought to be able to put some beliefs into words that can be shared.

The process seems easy, but is deceptively challenging. Over the years, I have started a dozen or more essays, but have very few that I deemed worth saving. I have, however, been inspired by the essays of others that I have heard in the podcast and read in the books published by the project. I think the discipline of writing a short essay about one’s core beliefs is a worthy challenge. So yesterday, as I was recovering from some minor dental surgery, I began to formulate an essay in my mind. When I started to write, I discovered that my initial idea was too complex for the format. A This I Believe essay is only about one third of the length of my usual blog. I am used to writing 1,000 word essays. A 350-word essay is a significant challenge for me. My first instinct was to write long and edit the piece down to the desired length. My skills as an editor were, however, insufficient. My edited essay seemed butchered and lacked the flow that would make for a good essay.

Furthermore, I have spent decades of my life teaching myself the difference between written and spoken language. When I write something to be read, I use different grammar and language than when I am writing a piece to preach or read out loud.

My next attempt was to recall my old radio days and write a script. The result was an essay that was more to my liking. I haven’t submitted it to the This I Believe project yet, but I am considering doing so. Whether or not I do, you get to read the essay. Here is at least one thing that I believe:

I believe in the wisdom of community. When I was younger, I thought that I was capable of discerning the solutions to problems, choosing what is right and planning the course of my life by myself. It was not an easy lesson for me to discover the difference between what I want and what is best. I thought that my educational achievements made me smart and that intelligence was sufficient. A wonderfully successful marriage has taught me that mine is not the only perspective and that the rewards of listening are incalculable. Long before our marriage had stretched to decades, I learned the value of a partner I can trust and who has the courage to be truthful even when the truth is not what I think I want to hear.

The arrival of both of our children left me awestruck. Being awestruck is a good way to learn. I found myself staring at these tiny people and early in their lives I gained the ability to watch, listen and pay close attention - skills that proved to be critical as they grew from infants to adults. There are few things in life that are as effective as a crying baby when it comes to teaching me that I am not the center of the universe. I am not even the most important thing in my own life.

At least twice in my life, I was convinced that I was called to a particular change in my career. At the time I was incapable of believing that there could be anything positive about not getting the job that I wanted completely. Now I know that not getting what I want can be a precious gift. The wisdom of the process and of the community that formed that process was greater than my own.

Now as I slide into the role of elder and revel in the role of grandfather, I have discovered the wisdom of youth in a way that I was not aware when I myself was young. I belong to a group of people who together are far more than I can be alone. I believe in the wisdom of community.

Copyright © 2012 by Ted Huffman. I wrote this. If you want to copy it, please ask for permission. There is a contact me button at the bottom of this page. If you want to share my blog a friend, please direct your friend to my web site.