Your lullaby is the secret melody of my soul
Singing me through the night
And into the arms of God.
Your whispered prayers,
The ladders to heaven
Where angels come close enough to touch.
Your eyes,
A mirror of my very self
Framed in love – reflecting only beauty.
Your arms,
A ready haven, melting hurt
Into a puddle of love.
For these gifts of intentional mothering,
I am so very grateful –
They gird my soul with grace.
[image cropped from photo by Maria Grazia Montagnari per cc 2.0]
Do you every find yourself wishing, hoping, praying
That you could figure out just what you should do
With this one precious life you have been given?
Do you ever, like me, feel as if you are lost in a fog,
Discouraged and distracted because you cannot see the next step?
You wonder what you should do.
You look for a path, or for a project.
But the fog clouds your vision and your heart.
And so, you stop and sigh,
And you take in a deep breath, preparing for another sigh.
And, surprisingly that intake of breath is an intake of hope.
You find within your lungs, the fresh whisper of God’s spirit.
You hold it within you for a moment,
And then you breathe it out into the fog.
And pause to see what it might do.
And for several moments you continue that cycle, over and over –
Breathe in the hope
Hold the wonder
Breathe out a blessing
Rejoice in its grace.
Breathe in the hope
Hold the wonder
Breathe out a blessing
Rejoice in its grace.
Breathe in the hope
Hold the wonder
Breathe out a blessing
Rejoice in its grace.
It becomes a wordless prayer.
Repeated with growing joy
Which takes root quietly within your soul
And lifts the fog, just a bit.
Breathe in the hope
Hold the wonder
Breathe out a blessing
Rejoice in its grace.
As the wisps of fog begin to clear
Within your heart
You find, to your surprise,
That there are, indeed, things you know to do.
They are not grand projects or torturous paths to take.
They are kindnesses offered and small tasks accomplished.
They lighten the load for those nearby.
There may be big things for another day.
But today, today, is well spent in kindness.
Those small things that come your way
Are bigger than you think.
And can help to clear the fog.
Today I breath.
I take in your hope
And hold it quietly within my soul.
I breathe out your blessing
And let it do its work.
I think, for just a moment,
That I have found what I should do
With this one day I have been given.
And I smile.
We smile.
Thank you.
Amen.
Holy One,
Lift my heart from fog
Lift my life from shadows
And touch me with your sun.
You do.
You lift me and I am glad.
You hold me and my heart rejoices.
You kiss my head and peace anoints my soul
Your holy gift,
My joy at receiving,
These complete for just a moment
A full circle of grace.
Amen
9-7-01
[photo by chocolatsombre per cc 2.0]
We learn to praise God not by paying compliments, but by paying attention. Watch how the trees exult when the wind is in them. Mark the utter stillness of the great blue heron in the swamp. Listen to the sound of the rain. Learn how to say “Hallelujah” from the ones who say it right. – Frederick Buechner
I walk down the hill to a shimmering grove of aspen, whose leaves dance together with each breeze, whose very trunks seem to sway in reverent unison, humming in silent tones a melody of wonder.
I step inside the grove. Even the air is different here. It is a crystal essence through which I walk, almost touchable, caressing me like water in a cool steam. The trees have formed a temple, more holy, more pure than any that could be made by human hands. The trunks of the great trees form living columns and the canopy of dancing leaves become the roof. The ground, the floor of this living temple, is a patterned tapestry of grasses, growing lush and resilient, too much for the shady space within a wood. Fed by the crystal air and held in harmony by the holiness of the place, the grassy floor spreads forth its beauty.
I stand at the edge of this temple of trees, full of wonder, drinking in with every breath a little of the essence that makes the very air glow. I am filled with worship, with praise, with wonder at the majesty and grace of God, with this perfect harmony, the almost crushing presence in each leaf and blade. The whole earth trembles, barely able to hold the essence that has poured itself into this form. The God of all creation, the God of each blade of grass, the God who formed my very soul – this God inhabits this place in a way that is more real than I have yet seen. Here worship is not an obligation, it is the overflow of wonder too big to be contained within such a small space as one’s own heart.
I drop to my knees – not in shame or even humility — for the glory of the place has driven out all preoccupation with self. I drop to the ground because I am overwhelmed with — what words are there? – more awesome than joy and not so selfish as gratitude, I am wrapped with an all encompassing love. It calls me into being; a being beyond who I could ever hope to be. It calls not for duty, not for obligation, but for creation itself.
Even worship is not a gift I give, but a gift to me. I never knew.
What can I give to the One who has created all? Only that which has already been given to me – and which I can withhold or offer, as if I, myself, had made it. I give my heart, and in the giving, I participate in its creation – in its recreation.
In this crystal moment, the Holy One reaches down into this temple of trees and lifts me to herself, hugs me to her own heart. There my heart is bound with hers and beats in timid rhythm with her own.
Oh majestic wonder, I feel it still, quietly beating inside me as I begin my day.
1/18/95
Hello
Do you remember me?
I used to come to talk to you most every day,
Leaning across the back fence of your mind,
Picking at the splinters in the rail,
Looking up at the clouds with a cocked eye,
Wondering with you about the rain.
Do you remember
The sweet release of walking across campus on a spring day
When the sun was intense and the breeze cool?
When the sheer joy of being engaged in a project worth doing
Hung playfully in the air
And the energy of shared purpose kept us fully engaged?
Do you remember
When movement felt good?
When arms swinging, backpack singing, legs reaching,
Were part of the joy of the journey?
When the caress of walking through waist-high wildflowers
And their gentle, moist presence
Brought a soul-deep green into your day?
Do you remember
The sleeping child upon your lap
Whose unconscious move to snuggle deeper into comfort
Was also a deep comfort to you?
When the flash of curious question in their eyes
Fed your soul with wonder?
When spontaneous smiles erupted for bugs and stones and anything fuzzy?
Do you remember
The comfort of sitting quietly together
Watching the sunset?
When the palpable sense of belonging to each other
Made words redundant?
Do you remember the touch of love?
Do you remember me?
I still come to talk to you most every day,
I still pick at the fence and look at the clouds.
I do remember. Thank you.
I am grateful, today, for the call to remember the richness of my life.
I am grateful for these whispered memories
For each small glimpse of wonder and connection.
They feed my soul with grace, again,
Just as they did before.
[photo by Bunches and Bits {Karina} per cc 2.0]
Yeah, 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.’
It seems I am continually befuddled.
I question myself and I question my questions.
I gaze at my navel and I wander around the corners of my mind.
And it seems I go nowhere.
So …
I am thankful that the world is not held together by my understanding.
I am glad that the mystery of love is actually … a mystery.
I am grateful that my fidgeting soul, like a small and restless child, can be held
And held, and held,
Until I can fight no more
And I put my head upon your shoulder
And sleep.
[photo by FUMIGRAPHIK-Photographist per cc 2.0]
If any of you is lacking in wisdom, ask God, who gives to all generously and ungrudgingly, and it will be given you. – James 1:5
I’m still overwhelmed. Even consistent meditation cannot extract me easily from over-obligation. I wonder if I can ask for wisdom, retroactively?
The foolishness I reel from today actually rolled out of my mouth nine months ago or more, when I said yes to too many projects. When my calendar pages looked so clean and clear. I forgot that they really, already, had obligations attached – like PTA meetings, and science fair projects, and a mother-in-law’s birthday, things that should carry the joy of relationship, but, in the context of too much, become one more burden that I might drop. Silly me, foolish me… to think that I might forget that I would be living day-to-day realities in even the unmarked calendar months ahead. Continue reading
I am deep within the woods, encompassed by green and damp and shadow. The quiet hum of nature surrounds me and the path I walk opens up just a bit to a small clearing with a stump in the middle: a forest altar. I have not seen this particular one before, but know their holy purpose.
I bring myself – I bring my heart – into this place and try to let go of the rush of my day and the noise of my encapsulated life. I try to drop the urgency of the routine so that I can be here. Whatever else, a moment’s touch with truth is necessary for my day. There are many layers I have put up around my soul to keep it from this touch, yet the touch is life. Continue reading
As long as my breath is in me and the spirit of God is in my nostrils, my lips will not speak falsehood, and my tongue will not utter deceit. – Job 27: 3-4
‘Honesty is the bare-bones expression of faith.’ – Jack Levison
Honesty.
I admire an honest struggle. Even if the truth you bring to the struggle seems, to me, to be somewhat askew. None of us have a corner on the whole, untattered truth, anyway. But, if we come to the encounter all dressed up in pretense and pretext, we have not really come at all. Continue reading
Quiet Hope 