For the redemption of my days
For the times when my fumbling attempts at kindness
Hold a tiny hint of true grace
And the words that stumble from my lips
It is God’s warmth,
But my lips.
I am grateful for the gift of connection
That comes from such an offering:
Connection with my friend
And the connection of us both
With the love-beat of the universe.
This small offering
Is but one thread in the great tapestry.
But it is one thread
And the full tapestry is made of threads
[photo by marc falardeau per cc 2.0]
May you rest your head, this evening, upon a pillow of rich and beautiful dreams – where your imagination runs barefoot across a meadow of delight.
May your heart be set free from the concerns of the day.
May your soul find its home in the hollow of God’s hand.
May you receive and return that primal love
That calls the universe to life and sustains its every breath.
[image cropped from photo by angrylambie1 per cc 2.0]
May the soft breeze of God’s whisper
Lift your heart as you arise.
May God’s dear smile
Play across the faces of your friends,
As you greet each other along the way.
May you find yourself joyfully engaged
In those tasks most suited to your gifts.
May you deeply know, even in the midst
Of troubles and questions and seeming failure,
That you, yourself, will never be abandoned.
May you see that any gift,
Given in love into the hand of God,
Softens the edges of reality,
And widens the flow of grace.
Each act of love
Is a step
In the redemption of the world.
[photo by Styleღwithღattitude per cc 2.0]
The missing puzzle piece,
The skip in the record,
The broken thread,
My part is small
But if it is neglected
It can impact the whole.
[photo by Jenn Vargas per cc 2.0]
The mirror of my mind’s eye
Is much more flattering
Than the one framed on my bathroom door.
My imagined goodness, too,
Contains all the contemplated kindnesses,
Not just those actually done.
My projects are better when I plan them
Than when they reach completion,
With all their wrinkles and flaws.
The problem is
When I am content with imagining
Nothing really happens.
I must embrace the flaws
If I am to love the life that is,
If I am to live at all.
Like raw silk,
The slubs are part of its beauty.
They add richness and grace.
Those cracks, dear Lenard,
As you knew so well,
Are where the life gets in.
[photo by mary per cc 2.0]
So, here’s a surprise for you:
I’m not perfect.
Never have been.
In fact, perfect isn’t so good,
‘Cause you’d have to stop right there.
Any move from perfect goes away from it.
And perfect –
Doesn’t have many friends.
Too insufferable; too lonely.
What I am; what you are
Is unfolding; growing; transforming,
All of which embrace imperfection at their start.
Like a little one,
Learning to crawl; learning to stand;
It can be a lovely, messy process.
What it requires is a loving environment.
Where each new step is cherished
And loving arms reach out to hold you through it all.
I am grateful to have such arms around me.
We fall together; we help each other up; we laugh.
[photo by wrk per cc 2.0]
A list of things that will pass:
- The soft sighs of a sleeping child
- Spring’s cool mornings
- Flowers that wake after a rain
- The ache of yesterday’s exercise
- The strength of my resolve
- The urgent demands of this day
- The current political mess
- The opportunity on my doorstep
- This, this, this, too.
A list of things that will not change:
- God’s love in all of this
At last, I can breathe again. Nothing is too precious or too painful to be outside the realm of the embrace of love. I am grateful.
[photo is my own … already she has changed]
[Thanks to Brene Brown for her work on foreboding joy.]