I am a snail, oozing my way along a garden path,
The shell on my back gives me quick retreat
My vision is limited
I understand so very little.
But I am me. What else can I be?
There is no butterfly metamorphosis for a snail.
No hope of flight. No second life.
What good am I?
Good thing snails are not very self-reflective, huh? Continue reading
I must admit that I was a bit taken aback with a phrase in my last post and its implications that I might find God annoying. At such times, I am torn between honesty and the threat of heresy. Somehow, I think that God prefers honesty. In any case … in all cases … I must rest upon that very grace that sometimes seems annoying. Continue reading
Moishe the Beadle, in introducing the young Elie Wiesel to the ways of mystery, insisted that, ‘every question possessed a power that was lost in the answer.’
How so?
If I follow his lead … I don’t answer this question. I let it work its power in my heart.
(Not easy, is it?)
[Wiesel, E. (1958). Night. (2006 translation by M. Wiesel) New York: Hill & Wang. p. 5] [photo adapted from ‘Rabbi Avrohom Osdoba‘ by Joe Goldberg per cc 2.0]
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[The beating of my heart
lub-dub; lub-dub
pulls forth my words.]
Big pit
No hope
No strength
No joy
My fault
Again
I cry
And wait
For you
I step over a fallen log as I make my way across the meadow. It is nestled beside a giant oak near the top of a hill and provides a quiet place to rest a bit.
As I sit down, a small brown stone catches my eye and I pick it up. It sits in my palm like a little leaden weight, pressing down – solid, sure, real. I roll it around in my fingers and move it from hand to hand, feeling its substance. Continue reading
Thumbing through my photographs,
I stumble upon a sunrise.
Its golden glow of hope
rises again within my heart.
Or was it, perhaps, a sunset?
Same golden glow –
but where’s the hope?
The tenor of my heart is changed.
“I am the vine and you are the branches. If you remain in me, and I in you, you will be fruitful.” – John 15:5
If …
It seems a simple thing. Just stay with me. Just let me stay with you. And life will blossom.
It’s what I want. It’s what you want. And then my day begins and all clarity disappears.
What do you want of me today? What does fruitful look like?
I am a sweet potato, stuck with a few tooth picks, hanging on the top of a pint jar. My 
toes are in the water and my face is toward the sun and here I sit. I can feel the slight itching of the stem that reaches out from my side and unfurls its leafy fingers. My toes have grown into roots, slipping into the water and curling at its base. The sun is deliciously warm. And so I grow. I don’t plan the strategies for leaves or count the roots or calculate the candle power needed for a stem. I do enjoy the breeze and the alternating light and shadow. My woody heart is content and grateful. I’m stuck here, for a bit, but my leaves continue to unfold more and more across the window sill. Perhaps that is enough for now.
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[photo cropped from P1030348 by Jessica Reeder is licensed under cc 2.0]
Quiet Hope 