There are moments
– far too few –
when I remember to lean my head back
and feel it rest upon your shoulder.
Then I feel you kiss the top of my head
and your spirit gathers me like a beloved child
upon your lap,
surrounded by your embrace.
The rise and fall of your chest
quiets my soul
and I know that
all is well,
all is well,
all is well,
regardless.
[image by Bill Rogers per cc 2.0]
Would that I might age so gracefully,
leaving seeds for the next generation to grow.
[photo from a wonderful blog, nature has no boss, by Mike Bizeau used with permission.]
The hall of mirrors where I wander
Gives reflections of the broader world.
Yet, those reflections are often distorted
By my own attempt to fit them in a too-small frame.
Still, despite distortion,
There are truths that can be seen.
Whether stretched or compressed,
My hair is still turning gray.
My eyes still look back at me,
No matter how quickly I look away.
There is no way to look in the mirror
Without looking back at myself
I need other eyes
To catch another angle;
To expand the frame.
Can you help me out?
What can we see together?
I think we are both stuck in this fun house, anyway.
[photo by Lauren Coolman per cc 2.0]
Is a bird self-aware?
Does it see its own quiet beauty?
Does it know the part it plays within the whole?
Or does it focus on the beauty that surrounds it,
Making it all the more beautiful,
In its unstudied grace?
Sometimes, I’d like to be a small bird.
Not so much for the flight,
But for the ease of finding the wind.
[photo by Mike Bizeau from the wonderful blog, nature has no boss used with permission]
Her greatest wish
Was that her touch
Would leave the fingerprints
Of Jesus.
She got her wish.
Ruth Williamson – Jan 21, 1923 – August 8, 2002
Fifteen years later, her touch remains.
My greatest wish is that my words will echo the whisper of the Holy One.
What is your greatest wish?
What do you see … the grass or the light?
And how do you see the grass without the light?
Or the light without the grass?
See?
[photo by Jean-Marc Linder per cc 2.0]
The missing puzzle piece,
The skip in the record,
The broken thread,
My part is small
But if it is neglected
It can impact the whole.
[photo by Jenn Vargas per cc 2.0]
Wonder in her fingers,
Curiosity on her tongue,
She explores the world
With eager eyes
And lifts the veil of years from mine.
The world, made new,
With the touch of a tiny hand.
[photo is my own]
One of the realities of summer
Is squash.
One day it is a blossom
The next a fingerling
The next, almost too big.
Ask me if I’m growing squash
And I’ll likely say yes.
But, really, it grows on its own.
My part is minimal.
The rest is miracle.
Sun, water, dirt, seed –
Become an edible delight.
I can barely keep up.
I am grateful for these quiet miracles.
And the fact they don’t depend on me.
A list of things that will pass:
A list of things that will not change:
At last, I can breathe again. Nothing is too precious or too painful to be outside the realm of the embrace of love. I am grateful.
[photo is my own … already she has changed]
[Thanks to Brene Brown for her work on foreboding joy.]
Quiet Hope 