Look at the variety of creatures on earth. That demonstrates the wonderful imagination of their creator.
– Hildegard of Bingen.
Just look at the baboon’s butt and the spindly-legged spider and the iridescent humming bird and the waterfall and the mosquito – the mosquito? Hmmm. Why would that buzz through my mind? What wonder is there in the mosquito? Continue reading
A recent post by a thoughtful pastor friend reflects upon ultimate authority – and how it shapes our communities of faith. It made me wonder: when push comes to shove, what is my ultimate authority?
I’ve lived long enough, failed enough, deceived myself enough to know that I need an authority outside myself. I just can’t trust myself to be right all the time, even when I really, really think I am. Yet, there is no other human who meets the criteria, either. All are subject to the smallness of our own souls and our own perspectives. Continue reading
As I walk a cobbled street, I come upon the door of an old cathedral – slightly ajar. I walk up the stone steps and push it lightly and step into a cool, dark, quiet space. It is coated with the prayers of ordinary saints, the hopes of generations of work-a-day people. Continue reading
I ask what you want me to do.
But, you don’t really care about that.
It’s what I become that matters most
And I can become while doing most anything,
If I do it with you.
If you can show me how to do that – how to become while doing – I can do anything.
Is that confusing enough? No wonder I wander in circles. Or, perhaps, that is how I walk the labyrinth.
( Sinatra got it right – ‘Do be do be do’ solving the philosophical quandary of the centuries. It is about both – doing and being – one leading to the other, in turn: recursive grace.)
5 2 15
[color added to image from Wikimedia Commons]
I spent Friday night with friends and laughter. An accident of a party, really, cobbled together through emails, crossing in space and finally finding resolution in phone calls and hallway conversations. What started as a muddled mess became a confluence of smiles.
There were stories told around the table, some with more laughter than actual words. One story sparked another, one not quite finished before another one began, interweaving themes and characters.
But, really, it was the friendship, itself, that was the story of the night. The stories beneath the stories, built upon shared lives and common experience. New friends and old – all old enough to know the challenge and beauty that is life – and yet choosing to echo beauty. It was a feast of friendship; a sustenance of souls.
What a miracle – this thread of joy that binds my days and years; this tapestry of lives, woven together. What a gift to spend my days in the company of such vibrant, wry, witty, wise, gifted and connected souls.
Thank you. Thank you, my friends.
5 16 15
[cropped and filtered from photo by Steve McFarland per cc 2.0]
Heaven awaits you.
It will come at the very moment
that you are enfolded in the arms of God
with full assurance that you are,
indeed,
deeply loved and treasured
for exactly who you are.
God’s arms are open now.
They ache for this embrace.
Lean in, lean in,
and enter heaven.
There is no need to wait.
5 12 15
[photo by Manu Praba per cc 2.0]
stopping at Starbucks
buying time with my coffee
a jolt of relief
Can I do this? Can I find a meditative space in the middle of a Starbucks halfway to Austin? Can I be honest when there are other people nearby?
Its hard enough to be honest when I am alone in my closet – hidden from all eyes but yours. Yet, it is the commitment to find the time, to come, to wait in your presence that somehow, slowly molds my soul to the contours of your truth. So, I will give it a try and hope for a bit of grace. Continue reading
a focus on the world expands my vision
a focus on God deepens it
i need both
i was born into the tangible
to expand my soul sufficiently
to embrace the intangible
to embrace – and to be embraced –
by you and by You.
5 2 15
[photo by Kellar Wilson per cc 2.0]
There are so many things that concern me. They stand in line at the back of my brain waiting their turn to pester me. They push and jostle and twiddle their thumbs. They threaten and cajole. Like folks in the bread line in the scenes of the great depression – they stand in sepia-toned sameness, tattered at the edges, always in need.
And now that I have turned to look them fully in the face, I am overwhelmed. I, too, am in the photo. I, too, have ragged edges and a gnawing need. I, too, have my hat in my hand and my eyes full of empty want. I, too, am begging on the curb. Continue reading
Quiet Hope 
