Quiet, quiet, quiet
Quiet as a mouse
I am the quietest
One in the house!
Our old patterns sneak back into our lives with unyielding persistence. We can’t keep them quiet. We don’t even see them coming till they are shrieking in our ears and we find ourselves back in the same old conundrums.
Sometimes it seems that when I turn toward you, I must first unclench the muscles of my soul. I must tell my heart to put down its shield, and open, just a bit, to your music.
I suddenly realize that I have been straining to hold the quiet at bay.
Why would I do that?
Is it because I cannot be open without also being at risk? Until I remember that you love me, the risk is far too great.
Every time I turn toward you, it seems I must push aside the dogma of the world – a dogma that pits me against all others, in a fight I’m sure to lose. The messages in the litany of the world are deeply imprinted on my soul. I cannot easily shake them off.
It is as if, in that moment of turning toward you, I cross into another world, another culture, where everything works by different rules. Where things seem upside down, and I have to listen hard to understand even the simplest things.
Yet, even with its strangeness, I am more at home in this space than in the world of my daily existence. My old clothes no longer fit. Nor do my old excuses. Yet, somehow, I do fit. Somehow this is my soul’s true home.
Is that what ‘salvation’ really means: finding my true self, suddenly at home in you?
[photo by Crystian Cruz per cc 2.0]
I push open the door, slowly.
It seems dark inside and quiet, and somehow holy.
I hope that it is holy – for it is You I seek.
My fingers tremble on the frame.
My eyes strain to see, my ears to hear.
All is quiet and dark.
But still … that faint sense of the holy keeps me here.
‘Please come,’ I whisper.
‘Please come.’ I hear in reply. Continue reading
I love the gift of words.
They romp and cavort around reality, giving me a tool to see its form.
They light the crevices and illuminate the vastness of truth, stretching my mind to new horizons.
True words, words of life, bring me closer to the wonder of what is. Continue reading
What is the good news?
Is it that the very deepest truth of creation is joyful love?
That you invite me to join you in the process of loving creation?
That it is ok to open my soul to life, because it will not destroy me, despite what I fear?
That I can trust your goodness to keep me safe?
That ‘safety’ is really only the first step? Continue reading
It is ok to seek to understand
Even though it seems a futile task
Since the infinite is . . . infinite
The seeking breaks the smaller shells
Skin by skin the snake can grow
And growth is good
So long as I remember there is more
And so long as there is room for laughter
[cropped and filtered photo by Luis Sarabia per cc 2.0]
And see, once more I am tangled in my own web.
Silly little spider – can’t quite seem to get it right.
I follow the threads as they unfold,
But they keep folding back upon one another.
My feet get stuck in my own glue.
I get wound around the axle and soon I cannot move.
I forget a spider’s web is dependent upon finding the framework on which it its suspended.
It bridges gaps between the limbs of trees or the corners of an eave.
Flat surfaces will not do – there must be a space to bridge.
That’s where you catch ideas: where gaps are open,
Where differences almost converge – and then, on a whispered thread, they do.
It’s when I focus on the web and not the gap that I get tangled –
When I watch myself too closely,
When I worry about the beauty of the web,
Rather than the beauty of connection.
Silly little spider.
This quiet morning
I know I am blessed.
I know that few have ever lived with the opportunity and convenience given to me. I know that few have known such steady love of parents, family, husband, children, friends. I know that few have been able to trust their minds and bodies to work so well, and without due attention.
I know that my rare bubble of life is a gift. Continue reading
I hold the first stone I my hand, turning it over and over.
I feel its heft, notice its edges, understand its power.
I know the anger swirling in my chest,
Sensing that everything I honor has been violated.
I want to strike out – to protect what I see as the very anchor of my soul.
I want to throw this stone.
I want to use it to quiet, even if by murderous force, the voices that I hate.
And didn’t the Psalmist say we should hate those who hate you?
Didn’t he brag about it?
Well, I want those bragging rights, as well.
I want to be seen as a defender of truth – to use what power I have in my hand
To win the day, to force obedience to what I see as your commands.
I want to throw this stone.
… but something constrains me
Perhaps it is the vision of all those cloaks at the feet of Saul,
As he watches the stones hurled to silence Stephen.
Perhaps it is the line in the Psalm that follows the hate-full bragging,
Where the Psalmist hesitates, trying to weigh his own motives.
Perhaps it is the understanding that true obedience
Can never, truly, be forced.
Or, perhaps it is that encounter with the woman
Caught in the act, as they say (though apparently by herself).
I want to throw this stone,
But according to your criteria, I don’t qualify.
And the One who does qualify … refuses to throw it.
Instead that One uses a different power.
A power that can actually change the heart
And free it for joyful obedience.
The quick and angry fix is not a fix at all.
I put down the stone.
I place it on a stack of other stones
Released by those who have, with you,
Chosen love over rules as the first step toward
The world you are calling to yourself
Your kingdom come on earth as it is … heaven.
“By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” – Jesus
Is this how we are known? By our love?
By that love that is patient and kind; is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. By love that does not insist on its own way; is not irritable or resentful … that love?
The love without which I am nothing? … that love?
…
And must I show that love toward those who are ready to push their convictions down my throat?
Geez.
[check out this reflection on the topic by a Thought Pastor friend]
Quiet Hope 