Tag Archives: sufficiency

gift

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hand holding flower
What does it take 
To receive a gift
Graciously,
Fully?

It takes attention
And an open heart.
It means suspension of judgement,
Looking away from my gain
To your generosity.

The object in your hands
Is not the true gift.
It is the offer of your attention
Calling to mine.

It is your heart, whispering …
‘I want to connect.
I want to honor 
Your presence in my world.’

It is the open palm,
The heart extended,
That whispered longing,
That holds the beauty. 

And to give a gift?
You must release it, tenderly. 
It is an offer
Not a consummation. 

When a gift is truly given
And received fully in return,
Two hearts are exchanged.

photo by Eva retrieved from Flickr per cc BY-NC-SA 2.0

Comeuppance

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Are we getting our 
Comeuppance?
Or is it a 
Comedownance?

Are we finally understanding
That ‘exceptionalism’
Was just another way of saying
We’re better than you?

And can we finally let go
Of the myths that are destroying us
And find, instead,
A home within a community?

‘Above’ is a lonely stance.
‘Greater’ is not so great.
‘With’ holds a bit of hope
And a more flexible strength. 

It lets me, too, 
Off the hook
And back into 
The stream of life.

I am not required to be
Exceptionally good 
Or exceptionally brave.
Perhaps, now, I can be neighborly.

photo by byronv2 retrieved from Flickr per CC BY-NC 2.0

tribute

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There was a woman 
Who lived her gift fully
Whose fingerprints on the world
Helped to create the picture
Of light
Holding one sweet edge in place.

Whose breath 
Still brushes up against my heart
Though she
Herself
No longer breathes. 

There was a woman
Who did not let 
The voices of disdain
Stop her gift 
Even when her own doubts 
Too often echoed 
Those false frames.

She gifted her presence
Flaws and all.

There was a woman 
Who gratefully accepted 
The gifts of a broken world 
And counted them sufficient 
To sustain the fillagree 
Of glistening life
For just a while.

Counting her own brokenness 
Enough to offer 
In return

A reedy pipe 
With holes enough
To let the tune.
Sing through.

This is the anniversary of my mother’s death. She would have made it to 100 had she lived two more years but 98 was quite enough for her and she left us with a wink and a smile. The photo is my own.

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]