This past weekend, Henri threatened to make an unwelcome visit, crashing upon our shores unwanted, threatening to bring monsoon-like rains and destructive winds to our well-ordered lives. It was a difficult time for me, but in the preparation for the storm - and in riding it out - I learned a little bit more about myself, who I am, and just how far I need to go, still, in becoming the person I want to be.
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August is a month that brings me back and takes me home to a time when life was a bit simpler, the pace bit slower, the summer a sweet interlude of suspended time (and I know it is a blessing to even be able to say that about one’s childhood); these fleeting weeks of heat and sun that sing to me of gardens overflowing, blueberry and blackberry bushes drooping with prodigal abandon. The glow of this month goes beyond the hot rays of sun on a scorching August day, —beyond to the marking of place and time; a place where deep roots and deep love really did exist in a time that was real and sure
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I believe when God wants to talk to us, He will do whatever is necessary to get our attention, to cause us to really see, to really hear what He has to say. He will use whatever is at hand. It might be your best friend, or a donkey, or a burning bush. It might be in the belly of a big fish. Or it might be a tiny black bird.
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The stories of those who’ve gone before deserve to be shared with our grandchildren. They are our most precious legacy. In them, and in their understanding of who they are and where they came from lies the hope and destiny of their future. Of our future.
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Our culture isn’t set up that way, for the most part. We are a people of “doing”, not a people comfortable with the simple “being” of life. And I suspect it’s not just an American thing; Shakespeare aside (“To be or not to be, that is the question”), the struggle for balance between the demands of always doing with the gentler art of “being” has likely plagued mankind for millennia.
But perhaps for this week? We can just “be” and not “do”?
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How much stuff is enough? How many pairs of jeans, or pairs of shoes, or bags or coats are enough? How much food is enough in your pantry? your freezer? How big a house do you need? How big a car? How many cars? How many books?
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There’s much that’s been written about prayer; millions of books over the centuries, to be sure. How to pray. When to pray. Where to pray. Effective prayer. Meaningful prayer. Sacred prayer. Contemplative prayer. Centering prayer. Good grief. Clearly, prayer is not an easy thing to define, never mind to practice. We clearly believe that there must be something to prayer, or its meaning and worth wouldn’t continue to haunt us.
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Post-Pandemic, why are we rejoicing at returning to “normal”? What was so good about our “normal” that we would happily rush back to that place of being? What if we were to celebrate this new place, these new norms? What if we were to invite in the “new”, embrace the change? What if we, like the caterpillar in the cocoon, were to learn that life on the outside, as a butterfly, is so much more beautiful?
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It is a sad truth that we rarely see what is in front of us with any accuracy. There is always bias, a predetermined conclusion reached by our brains, based on upbringing, schooling, and years of culture and stereotyping. Our bias is also formed by our wounds, our triumphs, our fears. Our minds are well-programmed to see what we want to see, what we expect to see, or what we have always seen.
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Trees teach us much about life, about us and our own life-cycles; about our hearts and souls, about the good and strong things of life.
Read MoreThe most beautiful of bouquets consist of unexpected riots of color, gathered wild together in riotous, joyful glory. As in flowers, so with people. As it should be.
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True silence is hard to find in our world. There is noise everywhere we go. Even in a quiet seaside neighborhood, it can be difficult to find a lack of noise; trucks beeping as they back up; mowers whizzing, chainsaws grinding, cars and boats and trains and planes. Dogs barking. It is just so much background noise. Until it isn’t.
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I think simple daffodils and their companion blooms of early spring reflect an inherently divine characteristic of the Creator: He delights in creation, and splashes His creativity throughout heaven and earth with wild and unrestrained abandon. To contemplate the divine, to meditate on the sacred - one only need sit and stare at a daffodil. Or an emerging crocus. It truly is that simple. That sacred.
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Sometimes, it is the “empty” of a thing that is most convicting.
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Not to put too fine a point on it - even in the midst of these overwhelming difficulties, as well as the tradegies of lives lost, and ongoing health issues, there remain so many things in our privileged corner of the world that we can remain thankful for. Yes, it’s been a difficult year indeed- and yet. I believe that each of us can point to some things we’ve learned during this past year that have made us better people: better parents, better spouses, better citizens with a broadening understanding of social inequality, of our world’s ecological fragility. Simply stated, I think we can be thankful - and hopeful - that we’ve become better human beings.
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To imbue our ordinary days with the wonder of the holiness of things is to rescue us from the dreary, to bring technicolor into the black and white of the “normal”, to elevate all acts - no matter how small or insignificant - into a sacrament of blessing.
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