Tag Archives: hope

Prayerful encounter

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coals

Come.
Please.
Come.

Please do.
I wait for you.

Is it true?
Are you hoping that I come?
Can the turning of this one small heart toward you
Make any difference at all?

It can.
Let me show you how.
Come.

So, I do.
Best I can
I turn my heart toward you.
I sit in the anteroom of your great court
With anxious anticipation, hoping to be called.
So many others sit with me in this dark and quiet place
Their petitions in their hands, twisting them, folding and unfolding
Frantic hopes scrawled on scraps of paper
Or carefully worded bargains, expecting a price for any favor.

And then, in a far, dark corner I catch a glimpse of you.
This is no anteroom – this is the room, itself
The very place of encounter
But these scraps of paper are our barrier – the veil between.

There is a small brazier in the middle of the room.
Ash-dusted coals glow faintly in its metal frame.
I walk to it and push my own papers through the grate.
I cry as I let them go – they carry my desperation and desire.
When they catch flame, it is my heart that burns.

Yet when my focus is on them, I see you only dimly.
When I have let them go, I find myself within your arms.
You rock me slowly, crooning in my ear.
And, when I have, at last, relaxed a bit
You hand me a small package, wrapped in fragile whiteness.
Within it beats my heart, purified and tempered by the fire.
It glows in response to your touch.
It beats more slowly, more firmly,
Anchored in you.

It is not that my petitions are devalued.
Instead, they have been transferred from my hands to your heart.
You know them deeply; hold them close.
They find their true expression in your warm embrace.

Somehow, for just a moment, I know
That they are more deeply felt
More deeply honored in your hands
Than they would ever be in mine.

Your response is not simply an answer,
But a fulfillment
Not held at arms length, but drawn deeply in.
All is exactly as it should be, where it must be –
Held in an irrevocable, irrepressible love.

May it be so.
May I know the whisper of that truth.
May those I hold in prayer
Know it, too.
Deeply, fully, truly know.

Amen.

[photo by Matthew Peoples per cc 2.0]

 

Hope Stew

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image of blessing baby

Simeon … was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit rested on him – Luke 2:25

Hope Stew –

  • Take 4 parts of deep devotion
  • Pour it into a base of quiet, faithful prayer
  • Stir in a heart that eagerly listens for the smallest urging
  • And, when the moment is right, add the confirmation of the spirit.

Yield –

  • A patient impatience that will sustain
  • A clear confirmation of God’s presence, revealed in the sleeping form of
    an infant resting in the arms of his mother;
    an infant whose father hovers close by
    an infant whose very presence brings the promise and gift of peace.

Me … I read the newspapers and let their false prophecies invade my soul with despair. Too easily I abandon the hope that it would take to recognize the spirit’s work and hear the whisper of promise. Without hope, my hands lie fallow, my heart sinks low.

It is my own recipe for inaction.

Forgive me, Holy One.
Wake my soul.
Bring your peace – to me and to the world.
May we trust your prophecies, rather than all the voices of manipulative fear.
Let us not lose hope.

[photo edited from ‘Grandma’s Touch‘ by Kolby per cc 2.0]
[This meditation was sparked in response to ‘Day 2’ in Forty Days with the Holy Spirit: Fresh Air for Every Day by Jack Levison.]

See also: Anna’s Blessing

the way out of quandary

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clearing the fog

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.

[image by Jan per cc 2.0]

Are there two Christianities?

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twoYeah, 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.’

[photo by Rev Stan per cc 2.0]

Resurrection of hope

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sunrise

These words, whispered in my ear this morning:

Do you see, my little one,
The ribbon of red along the horizon?
Do you feel the rush of mystery,
Touched by the fingers of the sun as it rises?

Do you not know, deep in your soul, that my love for you
Is too deep for hope to be forever lost?
Take heart. Take my heart.
My hope for you will not stay in the tomb.
My hope for this world cannot be contained.
There is no crucible from which it cannot rise.

The depth of pain,
The nails of hate,
Even the denial of friends
Cannot hold the folds of darkness so firmly
That they refuse the new day,
Which is rising, even now.

And so, here is my blessing for you, this Easter morning:

May you rise from the many deaths you have encountered, strong and full and free
For this is the path I have opened for you.
My you hold my light of hope for the world to see.
May your fingers join the sun in searching out the mystery.
May you grasp hope as your talisman, as the abiding assurance of my love
That each day, each day, reaches out to you from the far horizon.

It is time for a resurrection.

Take it into your heart,
That I might live in you
That you might live in this world
And live it into resurrection, too.

[edited from photo by Sean MacEntee per cc 2.0]
[see also DONE! and Done]

Irrigating Prayer

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cracked earth
Prayer irrigates the earth and heart
– St. Francis / Love Poems from God – Daniel Ladinski

 

How does prayer water my soul?
How can it soften the cracks that have yawned so wide?
How can it fill those holes in me that echo with despair?

What part of the whole am I?
What is diminished when I turn away?
What holes do I leave in that leaving?

When will I learn to listen to your voice?
When will I open to your presence?
When will you come?

Where is the quiet space that lets life blossom?
Where are the thin places in my life, in my soul,
Where I can find you, if I’ll seek, knock, ask?

Why does my prayer sound echoes in my soul?
Why can I not connect to your grace and fullness?

Why won’t you answer me, this morning?

Does prayer answer my questions, or, in acknowledging them,
Do I open myself to the rain of your grace?
Can you sneak up behind me and catch me with a hug?

I so need your embrace, and with my prayer, this morning,
I embrace my need as the very opening that makes the space for you;
The crack in my soul where you can enter.

Will you enter?

[photo by Anjan Chatterjee per cc 2.0]

 

for Larry, now

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Larry's tree at sunriseA sigh at the heart of the universe;
A goodbye to a good friend.
And, for you, my friend, an unexpected hello
On the other side.
And then …
Another sigh,
One of sweet surrender into joy
And into a brother’s arms.

This is my hope for you.
Not because a life of love is not enough,
But because I wish you more.
I wish us all more when our turn comes,
And your wry smile awaits our welcome.

[photo of Larry’s tree – from Facebook]

hold on (in times of change)

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chaotic storm clouds

This is one of those times when the world is changing so fast that about all we can do is hold on …

Hold on and watch the miracle of new creation,
For we are witnesses to a new reality being born out of chaos.

It is of some comfort that the last creation started with chaos, too.

We hold on in hope … and hope does not disappoint, because even this new world is held in the hands of ultimate, intimate love.

Or, maybe, there is just a bit more we can do. Perhaps we can let go of our own efforts to control, and use our time, instead, to receive and pass on that love.

That we can do – even in the midst of chaos.

[photo by Jo Naylor per cc 2.0]

epiphany, defined

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gifts of the wise ones

Epiphany: (noun)
A sudden awakening
A flash of intuition and deeper understanding
An awareness that comes after a long and arduous journey from the east,
Where you first saw the star.
An insight that is accompanied by worship
And the giving of your most precious gifts,
In grateful recognition that there really is hope for the world
And for us all.

[photo, filtered, by Waiting For The Word per cc 2.0]
[reformatted and reposted]

starting 2016

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Can you re-ignite my soul? That’s a venture worthy of 2016.

tiny fireI am in a cold wood. The wind is brutal, but I’ve found a small enclave where the rock and brush surround me close enough to form a shield. I hunker down and hold myself close, burying my head between my knees, leaning back against a large tree. I breathe. Once. Twice. Now a deeper breath. My heart slows a bit. I begin to relax. Continue reading →