The intent of my soul toward my god.
The intent of your soul toward yours,
Finds us leaning deeply upon each other.
It makes me smile.
Neither of us have a handle on the almighty,
Neither can hold the Whole within our minds or hearts,
But when the spirits’s fruits grow up between us,
I count it as a confirmation.
[photo by United States Mission Geneva per cc 2.0]
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]
My faith is less a conviction, grasped tightly
And more the whisper of grace resting lightly on my open palm.
It is not something I accomplish or hold on to;
It is a sweet gift continually opening itself in my heart.
My heart is opened in return.
It is not so much ‘my’ faith
As it is your assurance deep within me,
Singing a lullaby of love
That bids me rest my soul in you.
And when I do,
That peace,
That love,
That assurance,
Flows beyond the boundaries of my being
Into my small corner of the world.
I have faith in you
(when I am within you).
You have faith in me.
(You placed it there.
It will not be contained.)
Thank you.
As a child I always unwrapped my gifts slowly,
Cutting the tape with a slender knife,
Trying not to tear the paper,
Preserving the ribbon.
It was my way of making the anticipation linger.
My sisters used to laugh at me.
Now, sometimes, they join me …
Extending the moment,
Making the process a part of the gift.
This morning, I hold within my hands
A small gift, as yet not fully opened.
Indeed, as I carefully remove the wrapping,
I find another layer underneath.
I cut a piece of tape
And the paper on that corner pops free.
I turn the box and touch the knife to the edge of the tape
Another corner, freed.
The gift, I realize, is the gift of attention.
To feel the crinkle of the paper,
The release of tension as it opens up,
To see, with sweet surprise, the beauty of each layer.
I look to the first wrapping, now at my feet.
It still holds the creases of the box,
Curled up, as it is, into a shape
That echoes its earlier embrace.
It is not the box, but it hints of its presence.
Just as the practices of my faith
Hold and convey a form that is very like the gift inside
They help me see its shape.
I am grateful for the wrapping
And the treasure, deep inside,
Not yet fully revealed,
But happily anticipated.
When you open sleepy eyes this morning
And remember that it is Christmas,
May your heart lift with joy.
May the first gift of your morning
Be the deep contentment of being held in love.
May you see all the gifts that grace this day,
Knowing that the tinsel gifts of your childhood
Were just the shadow –
A pattern of the kind of gifting
That flows from one to another, to another,
One gift begetting the next,
Until all are giddy with the exchange.
May you see the world with Christmas eyes,
Where the true economy – the economy of love – takes root.
Where it really is more blessed to give than to receive,
Where we can rest our hearts, our lives,
In the sure confidence that love will triumph,
That, at the end of the day, empty wrapping paper on the floor
It not a sign that it is over
But the promise that it has just begun.
May you greet the Christ, newborn into your heart this day.
May that Christ, the very essence of God made manifest,
Shine forth in every leaf and blade,
In every smile and hug,
In every gift that brings the giver’s heart close to your own.
May you see the exchanges of love made manifest.
May you give and receive in joy this day.
Merry Christmas.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you for the morning quiet.
Thank you for a fuzzy robe, pulled round my frame.
Thank you for a cup of coffee, warm inside me.
Thank you for a long deep breath.
Thank you for the words that rise in my heart when I am quiet.
Thank you for the words of others that stir my thoughts and tilt my soul.
Thank you for plants that grow, for life that sings.
Thank you for beauty, and for beauty’s call to my heart.
Thank you for your abundant grace, for your quiet peace.
Thank you, O Holy One,
For pulling the world into your embrace each morning,
For calling the future to a new awakening in you.
Quicken my soul.
Energize my work.
Let me be a conduit of grace into this day.
Thank you, Holy One.
Thank you.
Thank you.
[photo by Kristina Alexanderson per cc 2.0]
Beauty 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]
May your days be filled with the fingerprints of love,
The quiet, almost imperceptible affirmations
That keep you steady in the midst of bustle:
The cup of coffee shared on grateful mornings,
The hug when you are weary,
The hand you reach for in the presence of beauty,
A sigh at the end of a long day,
Your heads upon a common pillow.
May these small moments coat your days
With the tangible presence of grace – of lived affection.
May the wonder of this day’s celebration,
Echo far into the future’s future
As you grow in each other’s presence,
And find your true selves, truly held,
Within your heart’s true home.
[Celebrating E&M 11 26 16]
Giving thanks is part of a pervasive human activity: gift exchange. … So important is the pattern of give, receive, give back that some thinkers identify it as crucial for holding societies together. People who knit interconnections via gift exchanges create more stable communities than those whose only glue is external rules.
Ours is an age dominated by the contract not the gift. Contracts are engaged only when specific mutual benefits can be identified. Once the specified exchange is completed, the relationship ends. The gift and gratitude context, by contrast, assumes asymmetry and continuation. – Raymond Boisvert
This brief reflection changed my (thanksgiving) day. That dance of grateful joy – giving, receiving, giving back – is a reflection of the Trinity that Richard Rohr is introducing to me. An understanding of ‘god’ as a solitary, all powerful, all complete, separate being is just not big enough to express the mystery of love. It takes the dance of Trinity to help me see. It takes the dance of relationship – of giving and receiving and giving again – the very heart of the Trinity – to help me understand.
[photo by Adam Baker per cc 2.0]
GRRR! I am so angry at myself, at the system, at the continuing unfairness of work to reward, at my own inability to control my emotions about this. I need a gift of grace. ‘Seek first the kingdom,’ you say. I must not have been seeking the kingdom very well, because “all these things” seem to be going to someone else.
I know, I have no room to gripe. I know I have been deeply blessed. What right do I have to be mad? Still, I must admit that I am mad. I have poured myself out on an altar whose god does not care.
The greater irony – that false god did not make me do it. Once I gave him the minimum, he stopped even looking. So, the waste I have made of myself is all my fault. Now, I can’t seem to gather myself back together enough to find what matters.
This world’s prince doesn’t care about fair. In fact, unfair suits his purposes much better. Fairness will never be achieved through his means. And from God, the true God, I do not want fairness. I want mercy. I want grace.
So, why can’t I shake loose from this burden of anger? I reach inside myself an try to pull it from my heart, but it is wrapped too tightly. I fear I will pull my heart out, as well, if I tug hard enough to dislodge it.
It is not just clinging to me, it is consuming me; feeding on my heart, crowding out all else from my mind and my spirit. It is a cancer which must be removed, even at the cost of my heart. So, I do pull it out, and, along with it, the unconsumed fragments of my heart, bleeding in its claws. I throw it from me as far as I can manage and then I slump to the ground in a heap. I am hollow inside. All my energy, all my effort drains out onto the ground in a puddle of red.
Then, the Holy One is beside me. She gathers me up in her arms, wraps me in a cloth and carries me to the well. She washes me, wraps me again in a clean towel and sets me on the ground before her.
“This is not a battle lost, she says. This is a fruitless battle ended.”
“Listen to my voice. I have a better struggle for you to enter in. Not a battle, but a dedication of effort to something better than the tasks that others have selected for you. Do not despair the efforts you have made, but do not trust them for the building of your life. Your life lies not in them, it lies in who I have called you to be.”
“And do not look for confirmation in comparison with others. Their path is different from your own. When you measure yourself, your success, by other’s standards, you are not measuring yourself at all. Such measures will never satisfy.”
With this, from another small towel, she unwraps a new heart. It is not like my old heart. Instead, it is a piece of her own heart that she gives to me.
“Listen. I have placed myself within you. Listen. You will begin to hear, to know, and then to follow.”
She turns to go. Then, almost as an afterthought she says, “Don’t worry about letting go of your anger. Let go, instead of your misguided heart. The anger clings so tightly to that, that when you remove it, the anger will be removed as well.” She smiles. “Listen for my heartbeat, deep within.” Then she is gone.
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Quiet Hope 
