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
I am seated back a bit from the fire. Around me are other travelers, all weary from the walk of the day, glad for a rest, glad to be together. We are an odd lot, tossed together by happenstance (if there is such a thing) and by the juncture in the roads. Now, nestled among the trees just off the roads, we sit together.
Those around me who are talkers are telling their stories and I, a listener, am listening. The stories weave in and out among each other and there are common themes and nods of understanding. We have opened our packs and bread has been shared. We nibble at the last of the crusts, for we are full but the crusts are good. Continue reading
Sometimes it’s not the thunderclap,
but the raindrop’s tap
that steals my heart.
To know that you are God enough to pay attention to the smallest detail:
The shiver of an aspen leaf,
the remembered smell of my grandmother’s perfume
the burst of a blueberry upon my tongue
the whispered beauty on a wrinkled face
my daughter’s sigh as she sleeps in my arms
These seal my soul in you.
Let me be the cricket,
singing praise upon your hearth.
10/2/11
[photo by Mark Robinson per cc 2.0]
Look at the variety of creatures on earth. That demonstrates the wonderful imagination of their creator.
– Hildegard of Bingen.
Just look at the baboon’s butt and the spindly-legged spider and the iridescent humming bird and the waterfall and the mosquito – the mosquito? Hmmm. Why would that buzz through my mind? What wonder is there in the mosquito? Continue reading
A recent post by a thoughtful pastor friend reflects upon ultimate authority – and how it shapes our communities of faith. It made me wonder: when push comes to shove, what is my ultimate authority?
I’ve lived long enough, failed enough, deceived myself enough to know that I need an authority outside myself. I just can’t trust myself to be right all the time, even when I really, really think I am. Yet, there is no other human who meets the criteria, either. All are subject to the smallness of our own souls and our own perspectives. Continue reading
As I walk a cobbled street, I come upon the door of an old cathedral – slightly ajar. I walk up the stone steps and push it lightly and step into a cool, dark, quiet space. It is coated with the prayers of ordinary saints, the hopes of generations of work-a-day people. Continue reading
I ask what you want me to do.
But, you don’t really care about that.
It’s what I become that matters most
And I can become while doing most anything,
If I do it with you.
If you can show me how to do that – how to become while doing – I can do anything.
Is that confusing enough? No wonder I wander in circles. Or, perhaps, that is how I walk the labyrinth.
( Sinatra got it right – ‘Do be do be do’ solving the philosophical quandary of the centuries. It is about both – doing and being – one leading to the other, in turn: recursive grace.)
5 2 15
[color added to image from Wikimedia Commons]
I spent Friday night with friends and laughter. An accident of a party, really, cobbled together through emails, crossing in space and finally finding resolution in phone calls and hallway conversations. What started as a muddled mess became a confluence of smiles.
There were stories told around the table, some with more laughter than actual words. One story sparked another, one not quite finished before another one began, interweaving themes and characters.
But, really, it was the friendship, itself, that was the story of the night. The stories beneath the stories, built upon shared lives and common experience. New friends and old – all old enough to know the challenge and beauty that is life – and yet choosing to echo beauty. It was a feast of friendship; a sustenance of souls.
What a miracle – this thread of joy that binds my days and years; this tapestry of lives, woven together. What a gift to spend my days in the company of such vibrant, wry, witty, wise, gifted and connected souls.
Thank you. Thank you, my friends.
5 16 15
[cropped and filtered from photo by Steve McFarland per cc 2.0]
Quiet Hope 
