I have been spending this week amid the rough and spiny beauty of Big Bend. Watching the sun rush into the morning sky from behind the ridge, listening to the birds as they wake the breeze. Seeing the thorny limbs of the ocotillo silhouetted against a streak of sunlit cloud.
This is wild and lonely country, with a hardened grace that is recorded in the adobe history of common striving. None could make it here, alone. Continue reading
Luke 2: 36-38 There was also a prophet, Anna, the
daughter of Penuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, and then was a widow until she was eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem.
That whispered voice that speaks with deep authority
The voice that speaks to my inner ear, that warms my heart
That sense of the Almighty, shielded sufficiently so that I can bear its coming
That Presence spoke to me today when I arose from my mat.
Hey! Did you notice the dawn this morning?
Huh? Is it dawn? (yawn)
Did you catch the energy of that inexhaustible furnace of light – the daily eruption of fire across the rim of morning?
Ah … yeah … I guess so. My eyes (and my heart) are a bit heavy. They are not stirring yet today. Continue reading
[photo “Ragged Coneflower 01” by Al per cc 2.0.]
The first breath of this new day eases out before I wake – grace dusts my pillow.
[photo ‘ana’ by Paulo Magalhães per cc 2.0]
The door opens and the innkeeper kicks a couple of old sacks aside and pulls some extra straw from a loft and leads the donkey to another corner of the room. He throws a rough wool blanket at the young couple and hold out his hand for a payment. He rubs the coin and stalks away.
“Joseph,” Mary whispers. “I think that it is time.” Continue reading
“I am the vine and you are the branches. If you remain in me, and I in you, you will be fruitful.” – John 15:5
If …
It seems a simple thing. Just stay with me. Just let me stay with you. And life will blossom.
It’s what I want. It’s what you want. And then my day begins and all clarity disappears.
What do you want of me today? What does fruitful look like?
I am a sweet potato, stuck with a few tooth picks, hanging on the top of a pint jar. My 
toes are in the water and my face is toward the sun and here I sit. I can feel the slight itching of the stem that reaches out from my side and unfurls its leafy fingers. My toes have grown into roots, slipping into the water and curling at its base. The sun is deliciously warm. And so I grow. I don’t plan the strategies for leaves or count the roots or calculate the candle power needed for a stem. I do enjoy the breeze and the alternating light and shadow. My woody heart is content and grateful. I’m stuck here, for a bit, but my leaves continue to unfold more and more across the window sill. Perhaps that is enough for now.
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[photo cropped from P1030348 by Jessica Reeder is licensed under cc 2.0]
Quiet Hope 