Best I can,
and it ain’t good,
I give myself to you.
To my surprise,
it makes you smile.
Me, too.
Bigger surprise …
you offer me
your very self.
This wild exchange,
you for me – me for you,
is what you seem to want.
A poor bargain
on your part;
my best hope.
Your recreation.
Again and again.
I thank you.
[photo by Adrian Lim per cc 2.0]
I’m trying to get my head to reactivate after vacation.
Nice that it turned off …
Now … how to turn it on?
That’s always the fear –
That if I put something down,
I’ll lose the capacity to pick it up –
Or I’ll lose it altogether.
Yet, like a backpack,
You can’t carry it forever.
Sometimes you gotta stop for a while.
Sometimes you need a rest.
And when the rest is over
You must pick it up again.
It’s the hardest part of the journey.
Always a bit awkward.
So, Holy One …
Are you there?
Where am I?
Touch my soul awake.
At last, I find your smile.
Like a Cheshire cat, I see that first.
Hovering in my imagination.
Eliciting my smile in return.
I lean my heart back into your presence
And find the echo of peace
That waits there for me
Hovering at the edge of possibility.
And, at last,
Sinking back into your yes
I find myself, again.
Thank you.
[photo by Ville Koivisto per cc 2.0]
Small flower, dark wood
Iridescent shaft of light
Gift of quiet hope
[Once again, Mike Bizeau‘s blog, ‘nature has no boss,’ inspires. Photo used with kind permission.]
I am at a loss for words.
And angry with myself for my own complicity.
For letting myself believe that I am somehow at a distance –
An innocent observer, sadly shaking my head.
Yet, I am also at a loss for action.
What can I do in the face of such anger and hate?
How can I respond without bringing the presumptions of my privilege
Thinking somehow I am a ‘fixer’ and ‘they’ need ‘fixing.’
Where is the opening for your grace
In this moment, and in me?
Let this common gash upon our souls
Create an opening for love.
Teach us another way.
Bind us in our common grief
Wake us to a common hope.
Help us find our way to resurrection.
And help me to recognize the steps I might take
Along that way.
God?
Are you there?
Are you worried?
Why don’t you just fix it all?
And can you fix me while you are at it?
God?
If I give you just a moment –
Can you give me one day’s wisdom?
Can I give you – can I give your world –
One day’s kindness?
Perhaps that is a start.
A tangible way to love God by loving my neighbor.
I might even be able to love my neighbor
Just about as much as I love myself today.
That skeptical much, that begrudging much, that hopeful much.
One day’s kindness,
One day’s suspension of angry judgment.
One day’s pause to be actually grateful
For breath, for friends, for family, for hope
For the life you have given me.
One day’s kindness to myself
As the starting place
The opening place
To nurture kindness that can extend outward
From a center strong enough to hold hope.
From a center where your love for me
Gives room
Takes root
Empowers kindness
Allows change to flower.
Yes?
God?
(Yes.)
All day long a little burro labors, sometimes with heavy loads on her back and sometimes just with worries about things that bother only burros.
And worries, as we know, can be more exhausting than physical labor.
Once in a while a kind monk comes to her stable and brings a pear, but more than that, he looks into the burro’s eyes and touches her ears
and for a few seconds the burro is free and even seems to laugh,
because love does that.
Love frees.
I am that burro.
You are that monk.
[image by Convivial Studio per cc 2.0]
[the passage is from Love Poems from God – compiled and translated by David Ladinsky – a book worth reading and re-reading many times.]
I sit quietly beneath the oak, looking out upon the meadow, waiting for the arrival of the sun. Here it comes, pushing away the rim of night, unfolding the morning. It rises, slowly, adding inch by inch to its presence, proclaimed by crimson clouds and wispy streaks of gold.
Then, though my eyes can hardly bear it, I see an image within the brilliant glow of the sun. A form, immensely bright: it is the Lord, the God of this meadow, the very one whose hand called it into being.
He walks forward to the well and sits upon its rim. The sunrise is behind him and he looks around his meadow, and up the hill to where I sit. He looks at me; into me. Then he nods at me and smiles, beckoning me to the well.
I rise and walk toward him, and as I draw closer, I begin to run. It is as if I am pulled by a magnet, the closer I am, the stronger the pull. I run to him and tackle him in my exuberance and together we fall into the well. He wraps me in his arms and I feel a low chuckle.
We are carried away by the waters of the well and are finally washed up on a beach – upon a warm and sandy shore. Together we run along its edges, kicking at the waves, tumbling in the sand, throwing shells into the water.
We play and play and play. We run in rhythm with each other, ducking and dodging, each anticipating the next step in this friendly game of chase. Finally, we stop to catch our breath. He hugs me close and dusts the sand from my cheek. I am a small child standing beside him as he sits upon the sand. He has wrapped his arms around me and rests his forehead on my chest. “Thank you,” he says to me.
I am astonished. “Are you thanking me for the romp?”
“Yes,” he replies, “Too often I come and no one is waiting for me. No one is ready to rejoice with me in the wonder of creation. I can usually find a serious servant to follow my instructions, but it is rare to find someone to play with me in the beauty of this world. I hope that you will come to me again, sometime, so we can play once more.”
“I will,” I promise. “Cross my heart.”
“And mine” he replies.
2/15/95
[photo by insiyah amiruddeen per cc 2.0]
Once again my heart is melted with gratitude
Once again I am engulfed with the wonder of friendship
Once again I know that such relationships are the stuff of life.
As we prepare to welcome a new life into this crazy world,
It is the weft of friendship that fortifies my soul,
Gifts within gifts – to help a new life blossom.
And what a grace to see two generations of friendship
In deep and easy communion
Welcoming a third.
When I count my blessings
These are at the top of the list.
Thank you, my friends.
[image from wikicommons, with translation as noted in wikipedia]
When someone is mean to you, it is way too easy to get locked into their mode of exchange – trading barb for barb. This is a particularly potent temptation in politics and religion, where the stakes seem so high. We shout at each other from different islands, each sure of our own stand and disparaging of the other.
George Lakoff and Mark Johnson tell us that we are stuck in this frame, in part, because of the metaphors we use. We think of an argument as a form of war – where we parry and thrust and go in for the kill. Even the title to this post is just a shade away from ‘strife.’ In war, it is win or lose, and the cost of losing is your life – or at least your way of life. Lakoff and Johnson wonder what it might be like if, instead, we thought of argument as form of dance.
And Julia Cameron suggests that anger is a signal that someone has crossed your boundaries. It provides a map to our psychological ‘safe space’ and tells us when its threatened. When someone makes us angry, they have crossed a line. When we see someone who is angry – they have revealed a bit of the map of their lives.
I wonder, with Martin Marty, what it might be like if we could approach our disagreements as a opportunity to deepen understanding. What if we treated our arguments as research – an adventure into the unknown?
What if we could learn to be non-mean in the face of disagreement? What if we could learn to dance? We seem so far from that today. Could you possibly start the music for me and show me a few steps?
[photo by Jake Miller per cc 2.0]
I want to thank my Daddy
For choosing me.
True, his first choice was my Momma.
And that choice has blessed my life as well,
Allowing me to grow up in the context of love.
But he also chose me – adopted me.
He gave me his name.
He gave me his time.
He gave me his love.
I was three when he came into our lives.
And, from that time forward,
He has been my Daddy, my Dad – ‘Poppy’ to my kids.
And a continual blessing.
Sometimes God’s love comes to us most tangibly
Through the smile, the hug, the steady presence
Of another, like my Dad.
Thank you, Dad.
Quiet Hope 
