With the death of Edward Kennedy at 77, we have lost the voice of a man who was not afraid to speak his truth. Not everyone will agree with his truth or like his truth, but he voiced it all the same. He fought for what he believed was right, continuing a somewhat perilous family legacy of speaking from the heart. His brothers, John and Robert Kennedy, bravely voiced their truth during a time of great change in this country, a time of fear. Speaking your truth in such times, pushing for change, is never easy, and both men were felled by assassins as a result. Telling your truth can be dangerous. Just ask Mahatma Gandhi or Martin Luther King, Jr.

But Edward Kennedy was the brother who lived, and no doubt he learned to temper his truth just enough to remain politically viable—politics is all about compromise, after all—and still be a force for the good he hoped to achieve. Speaking your truth is important, but respecting the truth of others is also essential. And even change for the good—however you define that—can be a very scary thing for most people. Change makes people feel insecure, and many will choose an uncomfortable present over a happier potential future that requires them to change.

It takes courage not only to speak your truth, but to find out what it is. We think we know, but a lot of what we think of as "our truth" is actually thoughts and ideas that we inherited from others, and these usually lie near the surface of who we are. They are the thoughts that we consider to be part of our personality, but our real truth lies somewhere far deeper. Our truth isn't political; it isn't about liberalism or conservatism. Our truth is about who we really are, and who we want to be. It's about our purpose here on the planet. It's about what God needs of us.

When Edward Kennedy spoke his truth, he was speaking from his sense of compassion, from his heart. The Kennedys were a privileged family, but they understood that yes, we are all our brother's keeper. Or to quote Charles Dickens, "Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business." Not everyone will agree with how Senator Kennedy and his family chose to help their fellow man, but they were following the message of their hearts to the best of their ability. This is all anyone can do.

While some celebrate the life and works of Edward Kennedy, his detractors will no doubt point to his failings as well. He might have been President had not the Chappaquiddick scandal forever closed that door. And it's true:  he was not a perfect man. He made mistakes—big ones. Who among us has not? But in his career, in his works, in his life, he did his best to do what God needed of him. And he succeeded:  there's the miracle. He succeeded simply by trying. He didn't succeed through perfection. In the end, he didn't even live to see what he called "the cause of my life"—some form of universal health care coverage and reform—come to fruition. And yet, success. The miracle of perseverance, of taking little steps every day, of following the calling of our hearts, whatever that is. This is our truth, and we cannot fail.

Senator Kennedy's legacy may not shine as brightly over time as the short ones left by his brothers, punctuated as they were by gunshots and a sensational end. But it will endure, and he will be remembered as a great man, a compassionate man, a servant who did the best he could to help those who could not speak for themselves. We are greater for having known this boisterous spirit, and may we all find our truth and act upon it, bravely and courageously. The threat of violence or rejection should never prevent us from speaking our truth and fulfilling our purpose. When we act from a place of love and compassion, we can change the world.

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