Friendship is a beautiful thing.
It sings softly in the corners of the day.
It smiles quietly when you come through the door
And misses you when you are gone.
It is almost imperceptible at times, but then
It anchors your soul when storms come,
And rejoices in your joys, sending them soaring.
A simple hug from a friend can heal your soul.
I am so grateful for the gift, for the gifts, of friends.
[photo by Justo Ruiz per cc 2.0]
So, here’s a surprise for you:
I’m not perfect.
Never have been.
In fact, perfect isn’t so good,
‘Cause you’d have to stop right there.
Any move from perfect goes away from it.
And perfect –
Doesn’t have many friends.
Too insufferable; too lonely.
What I am; what you are
Is unfolding; growing; transforming,
All of which embrace imperfection at their start.
Like a little one,
Learning to crawl; learning to stand;
It can be a lovely, messy process.
What it requires is a loving environment.
Where each new step is cherished
And loving arms reach out to hold you through it all.
I am grateful to have such arms around me.
We fall together; we help each other up; we laugh.
Perfect! (not.)
May the cool fingers of morning
Brush your cheek as you arise.
May the deep peace of the meadow
Rock your soul in sweet embrace.
May the light of loving truth
Dawn upon your soul.
May you wake to the life
That belongs to you,
Seeded deep within your very self –
A gift of your creation,
The delight of all who love you.
May you find and live your areté.
[photo by Hafiz Issadeen per cc 2.0]
Any new beginning holds the seeds
Of a tiny resurrection.
Any turning of the corner
Or of the clock
Brings an end
And a beginning.
We mark the big moments:
A birth, a graduation, a retirement, a death.
But it is often the small moments
That mark our souls:
The warm greeting in the eyes of a friend,
The warm hug that follows,
The knowledge that they still hold you
Even when you are away.
My life is marked most deeply
By these small moments of resurrection,
And I am ever grateful.
[photo by Benoît Mars per cc 2.0]
[My thanks to Richard Rohr, who suggests that resurrection is not a one-time thing, but the revelation of the pattern of the universe – that ‘reality is always moving toward resurrection.’]
I am sitting on a log beside the edge of the woods. It is a cool, clear morning and I am waiting for something … the day? … a friend?
Yes, that’s right, I am supposed to meet a friend here, a good friend. As I remember, my heart warms and quickens. It is so easy to forget the comfort and completion friends can bring. They own a piece of you – take it with them when they go. It’s not that you begrudge it. It is a free gift and they leave a bit of themselves in exchange, but from that time forward, you are a little empty without them. Daily activities fill the void, and as you grow and change, that void may even fade, but a deep friend’s hole remains and only their voice, their smile, their presence can fill that particular hole.
So, who is the friend I am waiting for today? Whose presence will delight my soul?
After a moment’s quietness, I realize that the friend I’m waiting for is me. I’m a little embarrassed by the thought. How conceited to be waiting with such anticipation for myself! But deeper in, I know that there is reason to look forward to this return. The harried hurry of my days have emptied me of my better self, the one that had time to think, to contemplate, to let an idea rise and form itself before expression, the one who was connected to others and devoted to purposes which had depth. In dashing day to day I have lost that better self, have operated on scraps and vestiges of being, until this shell of me sits empty on this log.
At last my friend, this deeper self, approaches in the company of the Holy One. I find that I am sobbing, realizing how deep the hole has been. The Holy One and my friend stand beside me and place their hands upon my head. Their strength and silent power flows into me and suddenly I become one with that deeper self, standing beside the Holy One. The Holy One looks me in the eye and lightly brushes my cheek.
“There is time to be. Take it. Do not neglect your purpose here with busyness.”
Then she is gone and I am left alone – alone with myself, my full self – at least as full as I have come to be – and I rejoice.
4/8/95
[photo by Seth Wilson per cc 2.0]
Gift of strong friendship
Far deeper than the mountains
Feeds my very soul.
[photo is my own]
May you find peace, this day.
May you find the strength for what this day brings.
May your heart rest within the embrace of those who love you.
May your love cradle them in return.
In that palpable exchange of love,
May you find peace, this day.
I am on a catwalk that rings what looks like an operating theater – tall windows to my right, dark shadows to my left. I turn and place my hands upon the rail beneath the windows and look down onto a room that is inhabited by a great machine, all levers and valves and gears and boxes that hide deeper mechanisms, chugging away together, burping steam and dripping oil.
As I look I see myself. I am connected to this machine on what looks like an exercise bike. My hands are tied to the handles, my feet are tied to the pedals and strapped to my head is a device that holds a small screen in front of my eyes. On that screen plays a message that tells me what I must do, how I must perform, what is true and important and worthy.
I have been there for so long that I nearly believe it all. I am caught in a daze of duty and effort and urgency. Peddling away – sometimes out of my own energy and sometimes just because the bike still moves and my feet are tied to the pedals. On and on I go, blindly thinking I can see. Repeating in my heart the mantras of the screen.
The me at the window seems a mere shadow compared to the me at the machine. And we are separated by this glass and soundless space. I am sad, this me at the window, soul-sad and alone. Nearly empty. Nearly a vapor with an almost hand upon the rail and an almost prayer in my heart.
Then someone appears beside me – a friend whose eyes speak kindness. She quietly reaches over and places her warm hand upon the wisp of mine and looks down into the room and whispers to me, “There is more.” My heart almost hears her. “There is more. There is more.” Her hand hugs mine. She continues to stand quietly beside me.
And the me on the machine blinks.
I blink. For a moment the screen in front of my eyes flickers. I blink and begin to breathe. I blink and begin, softly, to cry and to feel the ache in my limbs. I blink and even the me on the bike hears the whisper, “There is more.”
I try to look around, but since the screen is strapped to my head, it does not change what I can see. Still . . . that blink . . . it has made a difference.
A deep difference.
Amen.
10 16 10
Sometimes – ok, often – grace appears to me in a conversation with a friend.
It happened again a few months ago, when a friend told me of her daily disciplines – nine specific intentions she uses to frame and shape her day.
The wonder of the conversation is that, as she walked me through each one, I recognized each discipline as part of her fingerprint upon my life. I have been the happy recipient of her faithful habits, of her intentional cultivation of grace within herself.
So, I thought I might try them on, myself.
Knowing how many times I’ve made resolutions and knowing how few of them I’ve kept, I decided to practice my way in, keeping one until it becomes familiar, before I add another. The first of her nine is to start each day with the expectation that something good will happen – and then to actively look for it.
So, this morning started off right, hands in the dirt of the garden, and looking up to see a fresh stalk of asparagus, pushing up to greet the sun. It tasted really sweet.
[photo is my own]
Quiet Hope 