Spending a week backpacking in the mountains of Colorado with four good friends is an exercise in being present: captivated by beauty, disciplined by the power of the mountain, focused on each step along the path. The rain and hail sent us into our tents for three hours one day and four the next.
Rain was my Yogi, saying, “Sit, wait, be. There is no next. There is only now. Be. Now.” Continue reading
Is this ground unfamiliar because I have been too long away – neglecting my times of reflection and prayer?
Or is it unfamiliar because faith is never satisfied with familiar ground, because it fades too quickly to rote memories of faith rather than the red-blooded variety?
And if faith requires movement into unknown territories, how do you ever know if you are right?
Is right even possible?
Is it about being right?
Or is it about being alive?
That nudge out of the nest seems cruel . . . until you find your wings.
So, enter with me into this unknown day, oh Holy One, and help me to find you within it.
Amen
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[photo by AWholeLotofSpinky per cc 2.0]
I am walking the ridge of the mountain – at the very edge of the sky – and I am wrapped in cloud. I feel its pinprick coolness on my face. I watch it swirl and move around me – never quite within reach, but never far away. I can see the path in front of me – but not the end of the trail – not the depth of the valley below, nor the crest of the ridge further ahead. I am constrained to knowing the next few steps, and leaving the rest to faith. Not a bad lesson. Continue reading
My heart has been in turmoil all weekend
Because I want to respond in anger and righteous indignation to a statement that is a clear affront to the loving will of God.
The trouble is, the very statement I want to respond to is a response in anger and righteous indignation to what that writer believes is a clear affront to the will of God.
And I am caught. Continue reading
I come today to a schoolroom: wooden floors, old wrought-iron desks with wooden tops and inkwells, a slate black board, like a room from a museum. This room carries the echoes of an even older classroom with rows of benches, a pot of clay for tablets, and a stylus by each seat. They are quiet now, no students squirming in their seats, no teacher rapping on her desk or master tapping his foot on the floor. But there is an echo of the grand enterprise that inhabited such places – the task of wrapping minds around fact and turning it into knowledge. Continue reading
The deep roots of faith
Support the suffering, grieving souls
Who are redeeming tragedy with forgiveness
That mirrors the unfathomable love of God.
Unbelievable belief
Faithful faith
Honoring the beloved ones who are now held close
In the very arms of the One who conquered death
… for them and for us all.
[photo by Hannah Swithinbank per cc 2.0]
Little girl dances by the side of the ocean
Releasing the music of her soul,
Leaving its footprints on the sand,
Celebrating the greater dance that engulfs her,
Immersing herself in that joy.
Like turtles in the ocean,
She has found her natural home.
[cropped from photo by Sarah Horrigan per cc 2.0]
I am a young girl playing on the beach. I run from shell to shell and dreg to dreg, washed up upon the shore, picking up one thing and then another.
Bending low, squatting on my haunches, the wet sand makes shiny rings around my feet. The receding waves suck at my footprints and smooth their edges.
It seems, oh Holy One,
That you are tapping me on the shoulder
That you are whispering in my ear
If I were to stop and listen
… what would I hear? Continue reading
Quiet Hope 