Tag Archives: beauty

dawning

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seeing more

 

The chief thing that separates us from God is the thought that we are separated from Him. – Thomas Keating

 

As I wake to this new day,
As I yawn and rub my eyes and peer into the breaking dawn,
I begin to see the edges of things, coming clear.
And, today, there is a subtle shift in vision.
I begin to see the heart of things, as well.

Within the frame of morning,
I begin to see a shimmer of your presence.
I begin to imagine your smile upon the dawn,
Your fingers brushing the edges of the grass,
Your hope rising upon the horizon.

And it is here that I begin to know
That imagination is not mere fantasy
But the early sign of the gift of entrainment
The fruit of practice
The pattern behind the patterning.

Rote practice is not the key,
But a continual turning of the heart toward you,
The intention – not to do the work, but to be open to it –
Has begun its work in me.
And that is what dawns on me this morning.

I am so grateful.

[photo used with permission from Mike Bizeau’s beautiful blog – nature has no boss]

beauty

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blue heronBeauty is to the spirit what food is to the flesh. – Frederick Buechner

Indeed!
All the beauties of this scene sing to my heart:
The imagined rush of wings,
The crisp, cold kiss of snow,
The delicate colors of feather on feather,
The bright eye, focused on flight.
The wonderful balance of it all.
Hurrah for beauty, as it feeds my soul.

[photo by Mike Bizeau from his wonderful blog, Nature has no Boss, used with permission]

deep circle of grace

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blessing

May your heart find peace this day.
May you breathe in the holy breath of hope.
May it strengthen your soul and fortify your step.

May you know, deeply know, that you are not alone.
Just for a moment, may you feel the embrace of deepest love,
Circling round your very being, holding you tight.

May you know with deep assurance
That you will never fall,
Except you fall into those arms.

[photo by Demetrios Varoumas per cc 2.0]

Small Wonder

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Lichen itThis morning, this photo and its clever title (Lichen it) shook me with a smile. That simple smile allowed me to realize that I had, once again, been holding tight to serious duty.

Like a sudden breeze on a sultry day, it woke me to a bigger reality – one full of surprises in the tiniest places.

In a world that holds such wonder, I am continually surprised at my ability to place blinders on my own eyes, trying to avoid the very ‘distractions’ that would feed my soul.

Small wonder I am tired and dry.

Small Wonder and once again I find the whisper of life in simple beauty. It waits with lovely patience for my glance.

Thank you.

[photo used with permission from Mike Bizeau, the author of the lovely blog, nature has no boss.]

Thank God for hiccups

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light breaks throughDid you ever wake from your day with a start? Did you ever find that you have been so caught up in the urgency and buzz that you were only responding, not really living – not even really aware? It’s like a hiccup, or, for those of us old enough to remember, it’s like a skip in a record.

You happen to notice a cloud, nestled in a blue, blue sky. You hear the tail end of a song, stirring your soul with its fading echo. Or you walk through an oasis of shade and the cool brushes across your face like a curtain. Someone’s hello holds more than the perfunctory greeting. There is a real question in the ‘how’s your day?’  You actually encounter a person, and not just a shadow. And in that moment, you realize that you are a person, too.

At those moments, when life breaks into existence and my soul sighs, I find a smile upon my lips.

I thank God for hiccups.

[photo I took this week, during a hiccup]

Play with me

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playing on the beachI 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]

Like a Child

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blowing a bubble

To enter the kingdom of heaven, turn and become like a child. (see Matthew 18: 2-4)

This morning, I am a child.

I see the world with child’s eyes.
I hear the rumble of thunder
And remember being snuggled in my mother’s lap
Looking out the big windows of my childhood home
Counting the seconds between flash and sound.

When the skies clear a bit,
I run outside to play in the mud
Fascinated that a little moisture can turn dirt
Into something to be molded and shaped
Making ant highways with a twig.

And when one of those ants stings my finger
I run back in to find my comfort in a hug.
A kiss and a smile are deep medicine for my soul.
This anchoring process – going out and coming back
Stitches my days with love and adventure.

She blows the hair back from my face
And gives me bubble-soap and a wand.
I run out again to fill my world
With tiny orbs of dancing, translucent color,
My breath within them carried high.

This is, indeed, the kingdom of heaven.
Held in comfort, sent in wonder,
Coming and going, both anchored in love.
Feeling God’s breath upon my face
Breathing it back into the world.

I am grateful this morning
For a moment of childlike grace.
For the whisper of your consolation
For your gifts of beauty
For the burst of life within my soul.

[photo by Stuart per cc 2.0]

Are there two Christianities?

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twoYeah, I know there are lots of denominations … and non-denominations. I know that everyone of us holds life with different hands. But it seems to me, of late, that there are two main branches. One is worried about the sorry state of our souls and the world at large. One sees beauty and the imprint of grace in each encounter. One sees the foundational story of the world as ‘the fall.’ One looks a bit earlier to ‘God saw that it was good.’

My soul has gravitated … or perhaps fled … to the hope of beauty. It has fled to the assurance of God’s creative love, to a redemption that does not deny that things can get ugly – but knows that everything, everything can be turned to good – that ‘all things’ can be turned to work in that direction. In fact, that all things are in the hands of one who can do – is doing – that turning. That ‘all manner of things will be well.’

Is it my own state of privilege that allows me the luxury of that view? Is it that I have not suffered the abuse that makes the ugly so evident? Is it that I have not borne the scars of hate upon my soul?

The thing that mitigates against the conclusion that this hope is a privileged mirage – is the cross. There is no travesty that can keep God’s love at bay. God loves the world that murdered the son. The son promised immediate paradise to the one who hung beside him – and prayed forgiveness to those who drove the nails.

There are some basics, here – faith, hope and love – these three.

The basics do not include guilt or fear. In fact, the trio, above, works to mitigate the fears that would hold me captive. Perfect love, you know, casts out fear. Faith is counted as righteousness.  Hope does not disappoint.

The starting point of my faith is not ‘all have sinned,’ as true as that may be. Instead my faith is born in ‘nothing can separate us.’

[photo by Rev Stan per cc 2.0]

Resurrection of hope

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sunrise

These words, whispered in my ear this morning:

Do you see, my little one,
The ribbon of red along the horizon?
Do you feel the rush of mystery,
Touched by the fingers of the sun as it rises?

Do you not know, deep in your soul, that my love for you
Is too deep for hope to be forever lost?
Take heart. Take my heart.
My hope for you will not stay in the tomb.
My hope for this world cannot be contained.
There is no crucible from which it cannot rise.

The depth of pain,
The nails of hate,
Even the denial of friends
Cannot hold the folds of darkness so firmly
That they refuse the new day,
Which is rising, even now.

And so, here is my blessing for you, this Easter morning:

May you rise from the many deaths you have encountered, strong and full and free
For this is the path I have opened for you.
My you hold my light of hope for the world to see.
May your fingers join the sun in searching out the mystery.
May you grasp hope as your talisman, as the abiding assurance of my love
That each day, each day, reaches out to you from the far horizon.

It is time for a resurrection.

Take it into your heart,
That I might live in you
That you might live in this world
And live it into resurrection, too.

[edited from photo by Sean MacEntee per cc 2.0]
[see also DONE! and Done]

magnificent heart

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spring flowers

 

We are silly little creatures.
Why would you concern yourself with us?
Why turn your magnificent heart toward such tiny trinkets?

 

It’s not the pull of the trinkets.
It’s the nature of your magnificent heart
To touch the soul of each little thing
And bring it to
Its full and glorious self.

Life calls to life.
Love calls to love.
Beauty calls to beauty.
You call to me.

[photo by Mike Bizeau from his wonderful photo blog, Nature has no Boss, used with permission]