Tag Archives: sufficiency

‘I know you …’

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walking togetherBe still and know …
Be still and know …

I know you …
You are the one who I knit together in your mother’s womb;
Who I have loved from your very beginning.
You are the one I have walked beside each day.
You are the one who (sometimes, when you think to do it) leans into my arms.

You are the one I have called
Into this moment, this day, this place.
You are the one I have gifted
With gifts matched to those of your peers
So that, together, we may love the world.

Be still a moment and know.
Know that I know you.
Know that you can know me;
That figuring it all out is not a prerequisite;
That trust is the first step in knowing.

Take my hand.
Walk with me.
It is in the walking that we will deepen our knowing.
We will make the path as we walk together,
And in the walking, you will know.

So … how can I be still while I am walking?

The stillness comes when you release the outcome into my hands.
The stillness comes when you know, fully know,
That you are not judged by what you do.
Judgment is reserved for the work. The better word is discretion; wisdom.
It’s not that anything goes … but that all is in my hands.

When you are still,
When your heart opens to my whisper,
Then you will know.
You are known.
You are loved, and held, and gifted.
And we are walking, together.

‘The Spirit is the durable presence of God from first breath to last.’ –  Jack Levison

[photo by Thomas Mues per cc 2.0]
[This meditation was sparked in response to ‘Day 4’ in Forty Days with the Holy Spirit: Fresh Air for Every Day by Jack Levison.]

You coming?

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fresh strawI’ve got the straw ready in the manger.
I’ve mucked the stalls and moved the donkey to the back corner.
I’ve done my best to hide the mess of my life.
Why won’t you come, already?

I sit at the entrance to the stable-cave.
I look out at the night, at the stars.
I listen to the quiet of the town.
I push the noise of my own heart to the side.

And then the donkey brays.
His raucous voice invades the night.
He graces the stable with a fuming pile of crap.
Isn’t that the way it goes?

I think I’ve fixed it all, but it won’t stay fixed.
I’ve plotted and planned and futzed.
But the mess won’t go away.
Life is just that way.

And isn’t that the message of the manger?
It wasn’t pristine straw.
It wasn’t picturesque.
It was the middle of life as it happens.

Yet you came.

As a mother I should remember
That there is no control in pregnancy.
It doesn’t come when you want or wait till you are ready.
I should learn Mary’s lesson, and rejoice.

I don’t know how your gift can be accomplished.
After all, I am just me.
But I’ll trust your word and give you what I can.
And let you do the rest.

And you do.
Thank God.
You do.
Amen.

[photo by SuSanA Secretariat per cc 2.0]

gift of words

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pool reflecting the sky

Just as the pool cannot reflect the full sky, just as the rocks that sit at the bottom of the pool may distort the image, my words are shaped by who I am, but they are also yours. You seem to actually enjoy the fact that we do this together. You seem to delight in sharing the act of creation. Part of your creative gift is the gift of creativity, itself – you placed the seed within itself.

I delight in it, as well. I love to play with you and with my friends, to feel your compassion rise in my heart and see the words form in my soul. I love to watch you enter the space between us, among us, when we are all in conversation.

The creation that happens in the whispered space where souls connect – is beautiful; is full of grace; is full of you. It fills us all and more; shaping our souls to the contours of your very self.

Ah, this is your kiss upon this day.
This is your symphony within my heart.
This is your confident hope for the world to come.

This is your kingdom.
Come. On earth.
As it is in heaven. As it is heaven.

where faith runs free

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believe written on a stone

He did not work many mighty deeds there because of their lack of faith. 

What would you do, oh Holy One, if we would but believe?

I would stir the wonder of the world and awaken hope.
I would make your time a blessing
And call you to play with me in a joyous dance of recreating love.

I would feed the starving child and cuddle up the lonely.
I would give comfort to those who grieve and dissolve the bonds of the fearful.
I would make room, in every heart, to bear the gift of life’s communion.

I would make your imagination a gift for all,
And extend the vision of my immanent love into the crevices of every life
So that all my people could feel my breath within their lungs
And the heartbeat of my compassion in their deepest soul.
I would touch their hearts with the finger of your words to stir up a living faith.

Oh, Holy One. Is this really so?

It is.

Then, help us have faith . . .
in you,
in you in us,
in us in you.

Amen.

8/2/02

[photo by *BlueMoon per cc 2.0]

reflection

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reflectionCan your love be true?
Do you really love me,
Despite my silly, scary self?

Then let me snuggle down
Within your arms,
Within your deep embrace.
Let your love shape my heart.
Let your wonder call my soul.
Shape me to reflect your gentle kindness
To the world.

Let me be a sliver of hope
That finds its way
Into the life of my community
Borne upon the whisper of grace
That flows from your lips
Through my words
Onto the page of my life.

[photo by Adventures of KM&G-Morris per cc 2.0]

You have no right

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you have no right

You have no right to speak my truth for me;
To choose the words or set the cadence.
It is mine … it is me.

You have no right to tell me who I am, who I should be,
Based upon your own determined ‘truth.’
‘I AM’ does not belong to you, either.

That said, I cannot presume to know your truth
Or deeply understand the place from which it springs.
It belongs to you, shapes you, as mine shapes me.

Given that we are in this together,
Would it be better to start from questions
Rather than presumptions?

I mean the kind of questions that are, themselves, true;
The gentle, inquisitive, persistent questions that actually want to know;
The ones that lead to true understanding.

I mean the kind of questions that acknowledge
That the bigger truth cannot be held within one small frame;
That my small truth is never big enough.

I mean the earnest search for truth that calls each of us
Into the deepest expression of our own true selves.
I mean the truth whose source is love.

I AM calls each I am into being.
I AM loves each I am along the way,
Fully, at every point, without precondition.

And I am learning, slowly, to relinquish my hold
Upon my small definition of truth, my small definition of me.
I am learning, instead, to be held, in truth.

[photo by Andy Hay per cc 2.0]

Rock, scissors, paper

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tumult of waters

I sit, trying to still the waters of my soul,
Trying to find myself within their flow,
Even as the howling storms around me
Threaten to split the very stones beneath my feet.

But the water is not threatened by cracking rock.
It merely flows into that space as well.
And with sweet relief I see that the level of my pool is not diminished.
The source of that water is not within me.

The spring that feeds my soul is unlimited.
And even when a deep crevasse opens up before me, the water fills it all.
I do not have to fall into the abyss.
The water holds me up.

Sometimes the contours of the change make it whitewater – full of crash and spray
But if I will trust the ride, and leave the end within your hands,
It can be an adventure.

A rainbow rises in the mist that floats across the tumult.

Pull me into this reality, oh Holy One, I pray.
And help me hold firm to your buoyant grace.

Rock, scissors, paper … water covers all.   You win.

[photo by Laura per cc 2.0]

rainy day

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light rain on grassThe rain today is a slow drizzle
The kind that sinks gently into your soul
Filling the deep cracks that have yearned for its coming
Drawing the broken pieces whole

As I go about my day
Doing the dailyness; tidying and futzing with the debris of my week
The rain is there, in the background
Filling my holes.

What persistent grace you give
Working its way when I notice, and when I do not
Seeping down between each grain of sand
To firm it up, to allow it to hold its shape

You are the rain of my soul
The filler of my holes
The holder of my tiny fragments of self
The moisture that feeds the dry with hope

The tiny wildflowers that sprout across the pasture in delight of drizzle
Give testament to that persistent grace
And to the seeds of gifts within my frame
That you call forth within the quiet patter of an afternoon.

[photo by jenny downing per cc 2.0]

sidewalk flower

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sidewalk flowerThere was once a tiny flower
Peaking up through a crack in the sidewalk
Seeking both sun and the modicum of soil that such a space provides.

My roots are cramped in this small space.
I am, like all rooted beings, unable to move into the sun.
I must wait its coming, turning toward its grace at the moment of its arrival.

I am planted here by the breath of the wind
That carried my seed to this place and time.
My DNA has opened deep blue petals to the day.

There is little ‘me’ of my own making
But there is this:
The grateful tilt of my heart,
The addition of my blue to the gray of the sidewalk,
And, yes, a bit of nectar for that small bee.

I am glad to rest in grace within this small space and span of life.
I am glad to feel the sun upon my face.
I am glad for the fragrance of your joy, unfurled upon my petals.
I am glad for the whisper of the breeze
And for this small bit of soil that feeds my soul
And holds me tight, in you.

[photo by anastasiaphotography per cc 2.0]

Promise and Fulfillment

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julian of norwichI want to be Rumi or Julian of Norwich.

You want me to be me.

I don’t want to settle.

You smile, thanking me for agreeing with you. Continue reading →