Tag Archives: sufficiency

a word trip

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You don’t ever know where a sentence will take you, depending on its roll and fold.   -Mary Oliver
I’m truly surprised 
That I can surprise myself.

My fingers on the keyboard,
My eyes closed,
In that safe space 
I can let myself go.

I usually start with some word or phrase or image.
I take a moment to embrace that kernel
And then I drop it to the earth
And let the soil blow over.
The soft rains come.
The sun’s warm cuddle
Holds it close. 

And I wait.
It takes time.
It takes release. 
(Ok, it takes time to release it.)


But, after a bit,
It starts to grow.
It pushes tiny leaves 
Above the earth’s crumble. 
They lift and expand
Searching for the light
That will touch
The life within themselves.

That tiny seedling
Grows within the soil 
Of who I am.
It seeks a light 
To lift my life
And connect it all:
The earth, the sun, 
The tiny leaves of hope. 

And so, it is surprising
To find my thoughts 
Have gone somewhere unexpected
And discovered 
Also, a surprise,
That they are back
Where they started
But somehow richer
Fuller, more complete. 

I follow my words
Down the path of my imagination
And find myself
At the end of the loop
Smiling in surprise
At a tiny seedling
Growing 
Here
Within.

Quotation from Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver (p. 257). Kindle Edition.

Photo by Samuel hosted by Flickr and used per CC BY-NC 2.0. 

love is a balm

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Love is a balm.

Pull it up to your chin 
Like a blanket.
Even the memory
Of its smile
Can keep you warm.

And when you get the chance
Wrap it around the shoulders
Of a friend.
One tender touch 
Is enough to bring a softness
To their day.

Photo by jameliah e. posted to flickr and used per cc 2.0

a thread

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In all this hubbub, I find that
I’ve folded my small world around me
Drawn in tightly
Hunkered down.

My protective stance is to withdraw 
Rather than strike out.
Yet that, too, is hurtful.
A withdrawal from life diminishes 
More than just me.

I think of myself as too small.
What use am I among the vastness
A silly, mistake-prone, appendage, 
An intrusion in the flow?

And so, I discount myself.
I think that any contribution I make
Must somehow be perfect
Or it is useless.

I forget that ‘perfection’
Is a process.
It never starts at its culmination.
Growth, itself, is one of the beauties of life.
The unfolding is, itself, 
A slow and stately dance. 

There is, you see, 
A humility that withdraws
Ashamed of its very self
But there is also quite another - 
A humility that offers itself
Even knowing it is not perfect.

That is the gift of vulnerability.
And mine invites yours.

My own thread
Does not add much
To the tapestry of life
But I do love 
The flawed and nubby
Pattern we make together.

Photo and tapestry by Fiona Dix posted to flickr and used per cc 2.0

Of forests and trees

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Sometimes, so they say, ‘you can’t see the forest for the trees.’ 
As of late, I think I have the opposite problem.
I need to look, really look, deeply look
At a single tree, a single branch, a single leaf.

I’ve been trying to figure it all out.
But the forest is much too big for me. 
One tender leaf, with veins outspread to touch each cell
Is, perhaps, the correct perspective for me
At this one, perfect moment
In your universe of time and space. 

I’ll leave the forest to you, just now.
And reach my tiny veins to those cells near me
 -
The ones that I can touch.


[photo by eltpics per cc 2.0 hosted by flikr]

May Blessings

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I receive the blessings of May
•	Thundering rainstorms healing the cracks in the dry ground
•	An unexpected cool spell following unseasonal heat – both reminding me that, thankfully, my sphere of control is limited and the choice to respond is where my heart can find peace
•	A four-generation picnic, with cascading delight, heart to heart to heart

I offer this blessing in response
•	May this very moment whisper life into your heart as you stop to take a breath – in and out – and find that there is time enough for gratitude, even today


[Photo by Ian Sanderson on flickr per cc 2.0]

risk the dance

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dancing in the rainMy dear one,
Thinking about dancing is not dancing.
Those perfect spins and turns in your head
Do not even stir the dust at your feet.

It is the faltering steps, themselves,
That bring the dance to life.
It is in dancing that you learn to dance.

But I know I’ll get it wrong, 
And step on your toes, 
And bump into others. 
What then? 

Then … you keep dancing.

It is not the choreography
That delights the soul.
It’s the soul’s delight in moving together
That fills our steps with life.

I can redeem every bump and bruise
But I do need to start with something.
Until you begin to move, I dance alone.

Remember – I came teach you to dance,
To come to joy within my arms.
So, won’t you let your feet dance with me?

Let my movement take the lead.
Let me direct your feet, your heart.
Your head can follow, later.

We will already be laughing together
By the time it comes around.

[photo by Heather per cc 2.0]

 

grace embodied

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women in prayerWhen we think of you,
We remember how your faith unfolds into works of love;
How you persevere in hope, even when times are tough.

Your hope gives us hope;
Your joy brings us joy
Your faith inspires faith;
Your life shines life into our lives.

No wonder we give thanks to the Holy One
Whenever we remember you.
You embody the Spirit of grace
Who makes us one within the One.

No one can say, ‘Look! I made the candle burn.’
Instead what burns in you lights up another
And it goes on and on.

[a meditation on 1 Thessalonians 1:2-3]
[photo by Gregory Gill per cc 2.0]

too patient

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patient as a sunsetSometimes
I think that the Holy One
Is way too patient:

Too willing to let the world
Find its way;

Too tolerant of the anger and vitriol
That floods the hearts of those
Who cannot find the universal love
That is right there with them, ready to embrace;

Too able to bear their destructive fury,
Yes, even to the point of death
(His and theirs and those they trample).

How can such infinite patience
Really be what is right?
How can the Holy One wait on us,
All the while enduring the evil we create?

So, I am often convinced that the Holy One
Is way too patient with everyone.
(Except with me, of course,
The patience toward me is just about right.)

It is as if the end is sure,
Despite the length and terror of the trail.

It is as if the moments of love that we return along the way:
The moments we see the beauty;
The moments we use our creativity to bring joy;
Are all a part of the culminating grace
That will bring us home, at last.

It is as if the Holy One
Has enough patience
And enough love
To bring us all
Every one
Through the fray
And into the deepest heart
Of eternal love.

It is as if
No price were too high
To bring us all
Home.

 

[photo by Marlon Malabanan per cc 2.0]

a moment without time

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a moment without time

There are moments that catch your heart between beats
That catch your breath; that catch your soul.
Such moments whisper of a wholeness that cannot be broken,
And you know, oh, you know, it is so.

 

[photo by Mike Bizzeau, from the wonderful blog, nature has no boss, used with permission. The title of this blog also comes from his caption on this photo.]

Can These Bones Live?

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dry bones

Ezekiel 37: 1-3

The hand of the Lord was upon me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the Lord, and set me down in the midst of the valley; it was full of dry bones. And he led me round among them; and behold, there were very many in the valley; and lo, they were very, very dry.

And he said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?”

And I answered him, “No way!”

And he said to me, “Whatever you say.” And he walked away.

And I was left with the bones and my faithlessness.

Many days later, he returns to me and he asks again, “Can these bones live?”

And I answer him, “I wish they could.”

He sits down beside me and asks, quietly, “Where do you send those wishes? How do they find substance?”

I kick at the dirt and reply, “My wishes have no substance. They appear before me like a wisp of smoke and then they are whipped away by the wind. If I try to grasp them or shield them from the wind, my own movements make them dissipate. The bones are very, very dry.”

Do you know the difference between wishes and hope?”

I look at him blankly and shrug.

He waits a moment longer, and then he answers for me. “Wishes have no anchor. Hope is anchored by faith. It springs from desires that I have planted within you and rises to my listening ears. It is a call for us to work together to bring righteousness to life.”

I look up at him. “How can I work to bring righteousness? I am nothing but dry bones. There is no righteousness in me.”

“I bring the righteousness.” He smiles at me. “You bring the bones.”

I start to grin. “I can do that.”

So he asks me again, “Can these bones live?”

“Lets see.” I reply.

“Yes, lets do.”

4/7/00

[photo by kaelin per cc 2.0]