The green of the leaf,
The heat of the sun,
The laughter that bubbles up
When good friends meet
After a long absence,
The sweet satisfaction
In a sip of cool water,
The uncomplicated giggle
Of a small, dear child,
These are evidence of you.
These are embodiment of you.
These are where, again, you create life.
Theology is good.
The pulse of life is better.
I rejoice in them both.
[photo by Mary Beth Griffo Rigby per cc by nc nd 2.0]
May you find the melody your heart was made to sing this day
May it flow softly, surely, out into the world
Giving hope those who wander close enough to hear.
May your soul know its part within the whole,
The part that makes it whole,
And sees that wholeness glistening in others.
May you wake beside your dearest love
And see them smiling at the sight of you
And feel their love enfold you.
May you hear the melody of God’s own dear song
Playing in harmony with yours
As it opens your ears to the symphony of life.
May it grace your way
And fill your day
With deepest healing and abiding joy.
[photo by Mark Moschell per cc 2.0]
There is life in the chimes outside my window
As they ring their solemn joy into the dawn.
There is life in my grandmother’s rolling pin,
As it makes the pies that have fed the family celebrations across the years.
I hold that life in my hands as I shape the dough.
There is life in the rocks that we gathered to build our fireplace.
They hold whispers of that gathering
As we gather, again, around their warmth.
If chimes and rolling pins and rocks can come to life – can I?
[photo is my own)
There are some images that speak for themselves.
As soon as you try to nail them down with words,
You make them smaller.
You tighten your focus, and lose the fullness.
Analysis can be good
But sometimes grateful acceptance is even better.
[photo is my own – you many use it under cc By-NC-SA 2.0]
There are moments
– far too few –
when I remember to lean my head back
and feel it rest upon your shoulder.
Then I feel you kiss the top of my head
and your spirit gathers me like a beloved child
upon your lap,
surrounded by your embrace.
The rise and fall of your chest
quiets my soul
and I know that
all is well,
all is well,
all is well,
[image by Bill Rogers per cc 2.0]
I am on the deck of an old wooden sailing ship, conjured up from memories of pirate movies. It dips and sways in violent motion and I cannot stand without great effort. I am thrown against the mast and against the railings. I stagger and slip. There is a howling wind around me. It whips my hair and blows great sheets of water over me, drenching me with cold, wet saltiness. Then I am thrown again. I raise my voice to cry out in the storm, but though I am shouting, no sound can be heard above this turmoil. No one can hear my cry.
And I have no idea how to use the ship, how to steer, how to guide its passage. I am stuck here till the storm subsides. So I retreat inside the cabin and shut the door behind me. Two steps inside and I stop to listen. I had expected the same violent movement within the cabin – after all, it is a part of the ship in this storm. But it is calm in here. The lantern hanging from the ceiling sways in a comforting, slow rhythm. The wind is not whistling through the cracks. I look out the window and see that the storm is still in progress, but it cannot penetrate the quiet of this cabin.
I sit down at the table to rest and to take stock of where I am, of what is happening. There is a meal spread simply before me: manna and cool water. I begin to eat. My first bite stops me. A prayer of relief tumbles from my lips. I put my head on the table and sob with release from the pounding of the storm. I cry until there is no more tension within me and then I move to a bed which is secured to the wall and fall into its billows. I cannot move. Just before I slip into sleep, I whisper. “Thank you. Even within the storm, you provide an inner room of comfort and of rest. You give me peace, without which I am overcome.” I release myself to sleep, without fear of the storm, which I know I must face again tomorrow. Its bluster can wait. Today I rest.
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[photo by Greg Moore per cc 2.0]
May the cool fingers of morning
Brush your cheek as you arise.
May the deep peace of the meadow
Rock your soul in sweet embrace.
May the light of loving truth
Dawn upon your soul.
May you wake to the life
That belongs to you,
Seeded deep within your very self –
A gift of your creation,
The delight of all who love you.
May you find and live your areté.
[photo by Hafiz Issadeen per cc 2.0]