Love is a balm.
Pull it up to your chin
Like a blanket.
Even the memory
Of its smile
Can keep you warm.
And when you get the chance
Wrap it around the shoulders
Of a friend.
One tender touch
Is enough to bring a softness
To their day.
Photo by jameliah e. posted to flickr and used per cc 2.0
In all this hubbub, I find that
I’ve folded my small world around me
Drawn in tightly
Hunkered down.
My protective stance is to withdraw
Rather than strike out.
Yet that, too, is hurtful.
A withdrawal from life diminishes
More than just me.
I think of myself as too small.
What use am I among the vastness
A silly, mistake-prone, appendage,
An intrusion in the flow?
And so, I discount myself.
I think that any contribution I make
Must somehow be perfect
Or it is useless.
I forget that ‘perfection’
Is a process.
It never starts at its culmination.
Growth, itself, is one of the beauties of life.
The unfolding is, itself,
A slow and stately dance.
There is, you see,
A humility that withdraws
Ashamed of its very self
But there is also quite another -
A humility that offers itself
Even knowing it is not perfect.
That is the gift of vulnerability.
And mine invites yours.
My own thread
Does not add much
To the tapestry of life
But I do love
The flawed and nubby
Pattern we make together.
Photo and tapestry by Fiona Dix posted to flickr and used per cc 2.0
It is not about winning
Nor forcing the world into your frame
Nor fixing another’s broken ideology
Nor being right
Or even figuring out what’s wrong.
A tight fist can never hold
The true wonder of the world.
Only when you release
Your hold,
Your fierce determination,
Your very self
Can you let the dream begin.
Only when you release your breath
Into the greater sigh
Can you hope to notice
That you are a tiny part
Of something vastly more.
It is within the interplay of your desires
To be both apart and a part
Where you begin to dance
Where the hand that is yours
Can touch the hand of quite another
And wholeness begins
To knit your soul to life.
photo is my own
Rather than a New Year's resolution
I'm opting for a word to guide my year
A mantra of sorts to help me orient
"Enough' is what I've chosen
I think that is enough.
photo by Joss Rogers used per CC hosted on Flickr
Sometimes, so they say, ‘you can’t see the forest for the trees.’ As of late, I think I have the opposite problem. I need to look, really look, deeply look At a single tree, a single branch, a single leaf. I’ve been trying to figure it all out. But the forest is much too big for me. One tender leaf, with veins outspread to touch each cell Is, perhaps, the correct perspective for me At this one, perfect moment In your universe of time and space. I’ll leave the forest to you, just now. And reach my tiny veins to those cells near me - The ones that I can touch. [photo by eltpics per cc 2.0 hosted by flikr]
My Mom turned 97 this year and her memory for daily interactions is tenuous. Sometimes when I visit, she asks me five times about something I brought. We write our comings and goings in her guest book as a memory tool. But here’s the thing: when I walk in the door her face lights up. When she speaks of my dad, her voice is full of gratitude even when it holds some grief. When she mentions my sisters or my aunt, she is quick to say how much she appreciates their care. The other day, she told me that she woke during the night and could not go back to sleep, so she decided to count her blessings. She had a long list. Her life has been lived with an emphasis on relationship. She consistently chooses the path of love. Rules are important, but love comes first. If you don’t deeply love, you don’t have the authority to impose a rule. It’s not a Pollyanna view. She has buried two husbands – one when she was 27, one last year. She always believed that it was best to face things head on and to talk about them, truthfully, quietly and with grace. Hers has been a life of determined joyful gratitude. This is not an accident. It is a practiced pattern. So well-practiced, that she doesn’t forget it.
Fear keeps me from you, my holy friend Not fear of you but fear of you seeing me, knowing me Fear of your disappointment and your deep sigh Fear of the recognition of myself within your eyes Ashamed and sad. How can I flee the love that would bring me to life? Why turn my heart from dear embrace? Like a small child, covering my eyes so you can’t see me I plug my ears and hum, forgetting that every molecule is sourced by you. Oh, hound of heaven, chase me down Until I turn at last to find you dancing in delight Until you lick my face in joy Willing, again, to humble yourself in incarnation Whatever form it takes to free my love.
I receive the blessings of December • Deep cold and warm sun, scattered across my days • Baking cookies with my mom and sisters • A fire in the grate and the warmth of family beside it • The true gifts of presence – of hugs and smiles and openhanded generosity And offer this blessing in response • May your heart receive the gifts that come your way with joy. • May you spill your own gifts into the world with abandon - and there find even deeper joy.
I receive the blessings of November • Taking time with family, with all the bustle and with moments of quiet relaxation • Rediscovering gratitude as part of the glue that binds hearts to one another • A beautiful fall in Texas, right outside my door. Full of red and yellow, full of quiet joy. I offer this blessing in response • May you find the time to see the interrelatedness of all creation, where each heart’s gift calls another into the dance.
I receive the blessings of October • The birthday gift of presence from my family, willing to join me outdoors despite the wind and unexpected heat • The whimsy of encounters with armadillos and cows • The crunch of leaves underfoot I offer this blessing in response • May you catch the eyes of a friend, this day, and see within in them a reflection of your worth to them – and give in jubilant response, the confirmation of their worth to you.
Quiet Hope 