Can I even do this?
Can I jump from work to meditation in a heartbeat?
What besides a heartbeat can hold room for meditation?
Yet, it is a challenge to get inside a heartbeat – to hold the moment open.
That infinite, small space; that timeless time; that inward journey toward the universe
It does not bend to my command, and yet it is, somehow, within my reach.
The rain today is a slow drizzle
The kind that sinks gently into your soul
Filling the deep cracks that have yearned for its coming
Drawing the broken pieces whole
As I go about my day
Doing the dailyness; tidying and futzing with the debris of my week
The rain is there, in the background
Filling my holes.
What persistent grace you give
Working its way when I notice, and when I do not
Seeping down between each grain of sand
To firm it up, to allow it to hold its shape
You are the rain of my soul
The filler of my holes
The holder of my tiny fragments of self
The moisture that feeds the dry with hope
The tiny wildflowers that sprout across the pasture in delight of drizzle
Give testament to that persistent grace
And to the seeds of gifts within my frame
That you call forth within the quiet patter of an afternoon.
[photo by jenny downing per cc 2.0]
There was once a tiny flower
Peaking up through a crack in the sidewalk
Seeking both sun and the modicum of soil that such a space provides.
My roots are cramped in this small space.
I am, like all rooted beings, unable to move into the sun.
I must wait its coming, turning toward its grace at the moment of its arrival.
I am planted here by the breath of the wind
That carried my seed to this place and time.
My DNA has opened deep blue petals to the day.
There is little ‘me’ of my own making
But there is this:
The grateful tilt of my heart,
The addition of my blue to the gray of the sidewalk,
And, yes, a bit of nectar for that small bee.
I am glad to rest in grace within this small space and span of life.
I am glad to feel the sun upon my face.
I am glad for the fragrance of your joy, unfurled upon my petals.
I am glad for the whisper of the breeze
And for this small bit of soil that feeds my soul
And holds me tight, in you.
[photo by anastasiaphotography per cc 2.0]
This quiet morning
I know I am blessed.
I know that few have ever lived with the opportunity and convenience given to me. I know that few have known such steady love of parents, family, husband, children, friends. I know that few have been able to trust their minds and bodies to work so well, and without due attention.
I know that my rare bubble of life is a gift. Continue reading
I hold the first stone I my hand, turning it over and over.
I feel its heft, notice its edges, understand its power.
I know the anger swirling in my chest,
Sensing that everything I honor has been violated.
I want to strike out – to protect what I see as the very anchor of my soul.
I want to throw this stone.
I want to use it to quiet, even if by murderous force, the voices that I hate.
And didn’t the Psalmist say we should hate those who hate you?
Didn’t he brag about it?
Well, I want those bragging rights, as well.
I want to be seen as a defender of truth – to use what power I have in my hand
To win the day, to force obedience to what I see as your commands.
I want to throw this stone.
… but something constrains me
Perhaps it is the vision of all those cloaks at the feet of Saul,
As he watches the stones hurled to silence Stephen.
Perhaps it is the line in the Psalm that follows the hate-full bragging,
Where the Psalmist hesitates, trying to weigh his own motives.
Perhaps it is the understanding that true obedience
Can never, truly, be forced.
Or, perhaps it is that encounter with the woman
Caught in the act, as they say (though apparently by herself).
I want to throw this stone,
But according to your criteria, I don’t qualify.
And the One who does qualify … refuses to throw it.
Instead that One uses a different power.
A power that can actually change the heart
And free it for joyful obedience.
The quick and angry fix is not a fix at all.
I put down the stone.
I place it on a stack of other stones
Released by those who have, with you,
Chosen love over rules as the first step toward
The world you are calling to yourself
Your kingdom come on earth as it is … heaven.
And so I sit, a small golem-like creature in the dark cavern of myself, hiding from you, even as I long for connection. I shiver in my hidey-hole – cold and alone, peaking out from the crevice and then quickly withdrawing, lest I be seen.
My fingers are as cold as the stone they touch. My heart has lost its beat, my eyes, grown large, are still afraid to see. I huddle in my corner, closing my eyes and holding my hands over my ears, until I can stand it no more. Continue reading
I enter the warehouse where the shelves are filled with boxes and bundles. I have a long list in my hands and as I walk down the rows of shelves I take a box here and there and place them in a shopping cart.
Yet, these are just boxes: brown cardboard, wrapped with tape or string, or bundles wrapped in brown paper. I cannot see what is inside of them, nor does my list reveal the contents. I am just selecting numbered boxes from the shelves and stacking them in my cart and moving on. Continue reading
That moment where exertion and rest
where stimulation and ease
find their center point –
balance held within a sigh.
Beer at the end of a long hike.
Quiet with your toes in the water.
A moment’s peace. A grateful heart.
[Tim calls this ‘vacation nirvana.’]
I can’t seem to keep my mind from wandering without my fingers on the keys. Something about watching the letters fall upon the page helps me focus. Somehow watching what has just happened lets me see a tiny bit into the future – thinking my way to the next word as the last one falls into black and white.
So I put myself in that space – in that little place of ‘nexting’ – letting it open up a focused opportunity for encounter. I am hoping for Your interference. Will You come? Are You there?
Quiet Hope 