"and you will hear a voice
behind you saying: 'this is the way,
walk ye in it..."
where is She?
should I be looking over my
shoulder,
listening for
the soft scuff of
footsteps
coming up
behind me, but not
quite there?
should I be
slowing down,
leaning back,
keening an ear towards
where
I've been...
or is it more like having a
climbing partner...
someone who
has you on
belays,
holds you,
encourages you
to keep on climbing
to reach for the next hand hold,
to place your foot
a little to the
left,
a bit higher,
to center yourself over
your core...
this Someone
doesn't taunt you from
a place far
out in front
like an over-exuberant
running partner...
no,
She urges you to
take one more step,
to reach for the next fingerpost,
to push through the
resistance...
moment-by-moment...
and from a position
beneath,
below,
behind
you...Her eyes never leave your
back,
She bears your weight
without faltering,...
never pulling you
up
so that you scrape your knees along
the way...
but with an almost imperceptible
hand at the small of your
back...
She whispers,
"you can do it...I am here...
let go,
I will not let you
fall..."
"Thy kingdom come..."
She comes bringing
all that She
is
and all that Her kingdom
contains...
She comes
to establish Her reign
within us...
She comes on the wing of
a prayer....
She comes in the darkness of
weeping
she comes when the
demons dance heavily on your
heart
and taunt you with
remorse
and regret...
she come in the
hour just before the
blue light of dawn
brings promise
of
the day
she comes...
she comes to the child
huddled beneath
a thin blanket
on the
edge of a barrio
in Rio
She comes to the
social worker
who
thinks she cannot see
one more
atrocity and
still
have hope
She comes to the
athlete
just before a race,
game,
chucka,
match...
She comes to
the sweetheart waiting
for a letter from
Iraq,
Afghanistan,
Pearl Harbor on just another
day in December, 1944.
She comes to her
parents, waiting for
the results of
a test that
will
change their lives
forever...
She comes to me in the
hunger of
my morning prayers
my longing for
Her gentle hand at the
small of my back,
Her softly whispered,
"I am here..."
in my hour of need,
Her message of
enduring mercy and
infinite,
endless,
immutable,
ceaseless,
immanent
grace...
She
comes and
carves a
home
within my heart...
She comes
Her kingdom
always
comes...
"inevitable grace..."
- Wm.Wordsworth
the promise of
inevitable grace
is the voice of divinity,
speaking
to
humanity...
in a
language so
ancient and pure
that
the earth melts,
clouds part,
and
men
kneel, bending their heads...
waiting to hear
its music
because within the shelter of
its primal promise
there is
a sure,
sweet,
reliable
peace...
and
it comes
as
grace...
amazing
inevitable
grace...
it comes unbidden
to the heart
that
seeks
redemption,
forgiveness,
peace...
it comes on
the wings of mercy
it comes in
on soft footsteps,
through the storm...
unbattered by waves of fear or
douubt,
unmoved by cold
indifference or disdain...
it comes
unrushed...
bourne on
the gentle currents of
humility and
hope...
it comes to the
mother,
the child,
the king and the
servant,
the sage and the
simple...
it come without
trumpets or
fanfare...
it comes in the quiet blue of
morning...
it comes when the inner
sky is hushed with
the wonder of a day's awakening,
and the only sound is
the coo of a dove...
it comes with a touch so
tender that
we stand in
absolute
stillness
waiting
for more...
it comes and whispers
"you are mine..."
it always comes
inevitable and
reliable...
it comes as the
silent utterance of
Love...
grace...
open your hand...
go ahead...just open your
hand and
let
it
go....
let it go
let it all go...
every plan you've
held so tightly,
every small want
you've clutched to
your breast
like a love letter
filled with promises and
shared dreams...let it go...
the torn pages of
your planning,
the tattered lists,
the "first this, and then that"
steps which are dissolving
right before your eyes..let them go
let them slip from your
tired fingers and
flutter to the ground
only to be
scattered by Spirit and
rearranged
according to His
holy design...
let them go...
don't try to help...
to pick up the pieces and
frantically
put them back into
the old
order...to recreate the
former
dreamscape...
let go
let them go...
let them all go...
and you will begin to
see them fall,
piece-by-piece,
bit-by-bit,
pixel-by-pixel
into something that will
take your breath away...
each ragged-edge
of a Love-torn puzzle
transformed into lovely
slender fingers
reaching for its companion section
until
hand-in-hand
those
pieces...
perfectly positioned...
join in a conspiracy of
blessing,
a pattern of
beauty
layed out before you
in divine
syncronicity,
the flawless harmony of
Truth,
Life,
and Love...
"Love's work
and love..."
that "must fit...."
must always
fit...
so
go ahead,
open your
hands...and
let it fall
"sacrament: an outward and visible
sign, of an inward and spiritual grace..."
this
is the
holy, sacred ground
on which we
walk
in hushed wonder...
it is
filled with
burning bushes
and forgiven sinners,
floating axeheads
and
acts of grace so
amazing
that slaves are set
free
and the mute come singing
songs so sweet that
the lark
holds her breath in
awe
it all begins in
the place where men
and angels
meet
barefoot...
a space so intimate,
so infinitely
deep,
so fathomless
and yawning
that the echo of
its growing
is heard before the
first burst of
it appearing...
cleaving the ground as it
searches for a sun
it has never seen, but
aches to know...
grace cannot remain
unseen....
love cannot hide in closets of
demure,
remain in
abstract, or
resist the birth
of its form
Mind longs to
hear itself echoing through the
corridors of learning,
see its words in print, and on the
lips of poets...
Principle realigns, adjusts, orders and
reorders creation
according to a divine design...never
tiring of
neat columns, ciphers and
variables,
carefully sorted
thoughts,
perfectly summed up
conclusions...
Soul bursts forth in song before the
morning dove awakes,
paints the sky with rainbow
hues so saturated that flowers bow
in deference...
Spirit dances through a field of
sunflowers so deftly that
the clouds part and
the seas
retreat at her command...
everywhere the blush of Love sits on the
cheek of a maiden or
washes the feet of the forgotten,
everywhere that Truth
lifts her voice in
justice and
comforts sorrowing
there is
the sacred,
the holy,
the breath of heaven
painting
a frosted blessing on
the window pane
of humanity
with the
hand of grace....
they were never ones to
care about
their colors matching...
socks
sweaters,
hats with gloves...
they never seemed
to
dream of tulle or lace,
princess crowns,
or fairy wands adorned with
ribbons, glitter,
sequins...
they were not the kind of girls who
wanted new clothes
for the first day of school,
had a desire for
baubles,
and
bows...
they were always just a bit
"off the cuff"
willing to wear last year's
outgrown hand-me-downs,
the same shirt
every other day,
shoes that serve a purpose,
if not a particular
trend...
soccer cleats,
court shoes,
slippers to keep warm,
boots that stay in stirrups,
flip flops
for wiggling one's toes...
but...
when
crossing
the chaparral
in a dusty t-shirt,
jeans that could stand up on
their own --
stiff with corral grit and
stable grime --
a polocrosse helmet for a crown,
and
a racket for a scepter,
they are
perfectly tailored
for
chasing
a cowgirl's dreams
of
rodeos,
ranching,
a cloud of dust,
and
a horse to
call
a friend...
a pair of
roughriders
each beautifully
outfitted...from within
the perfect match of
heart
and
soul...
girl
and
horse
[photo credits: Ted Gast - Adventure Unlimited c. 2011]
"the storm may
roar without me..."
- Mary Baker Eddy
she sweeps in from
the west like
a severe maiden aunt
in starched
black taffeta and
pointy-toed black shoes that
lace up to a
place just above the
hem of her
stiff
skirt
that thrashes the air
around her....
i hear her coming...
a rumbling
under her breath, and the
flash of stern eyes
seeking out
a stain on my pinafore,
or hoping to catch me
napping over my
lessons...
in an instant
she is standing
over me
and with a thunderously
sharp
rap of her
heavy signet
ring on the edge of the
desk
i am awake
i cower and
shake,
wishing I could cover my head
with my books,
a sweater,
anything that will hide me
from her
disapproval...
that is,
until I see just the tiniest
sliver of a lace-edged petticoat
poking from beneath
her hem...
and I remember...
she is like me.
she was a girl...
and we both love
books,
and lavender oil,
and the color
of clouds
just before the storm...
and more importantly
I remember that
we are
both His daughter...
and within me
there is
a great calm...
the darkness parts
ever so slightly
and
a shaft of
kindness, the barely-there
smile that
surprises and delights
slices the
sky with an
unbidden beauty
that is
not
so different from
my own...
I rush to hug her
waist, and
she begins to cry to
softly silent tears of
surrender...
then the blackness of
her stiff taffeta
rips and
her arms open
and she takes me into a
place so pure and
clean that
torrential tears drown out the
pride of
something held back
and aching
for release....
I am the space she
needed
to rain her
pent-up hopes
upon....and
I am blessed
"...that our daughters may be as corner stones,
polished after the similitude of a palace..."
- Psalms
she was not
the kind of bride that
asked to be a
princess for a day...
and yet, she was...
she was never the
center of her own universe,
the eye of
any storm...
she was,
simply,
grace...
loveliness of spirit,
a joy to behold,
and
there was
kindness in her smile...
even when our eyes were
riveted on her,
she didn't leave us there...
we were pulled into
her vision, and there
our hearts could see only what
she saw...a lens
so clear and
pure that the love she
held within her was
reflected in every
thing she touched...
his arm,
her mother's smile,
a brother's affection,
the poet's song,
our tears of joy...
mingled with hers,
seemed to pour over
us like
liquid beauty
from a
cup she held gently
in her
heart...
she
moved through the moments
with the spiritual stealth of
a doe in the forest...
delicate steps that never
left a mark of self
upon
this day that was
hers to have...and
yet,
she gave it
willingly,
generously,
lovingly,
graciously
to us...
and we
were blessed
by her...
blessed by a woman of substance
clothed in the purest of hearts...
blessed by a gentle woman,
a virtuous woman
a woman so lovely
that her face
refused to absorb the spotlight,
but reflected it with such luminance,
such radiant love...that
we felt its warmth
and
knew we were in
the presence
of grace...
sterling,
grace...
"they must peck
open their shells..."
- Mary Baker Eddy
peck
peck
peck
peck
peck....
every day
something comes along...
a small
injustice,
the harsh word
i long to take back and
swallow,
a feverish fear of
the unknown....
calling me
forward from this
self-centered
space of
me,
me,
me...
pushing me to
find a way
out of
the
cramped hollow
of the
self
it is the
deeper hunger,
the longing to be good
and true
that
urges me on...
encourages me to
gather all
my
strength and
peck away
at this
ego that seems
to be
all around me...and
yet,
just beyond the hardness of
that
myopic self,
I can see the light
it is not always
bright,
but I know
that it
calls to me
piercing what only seems
a solid,
intractible
self-centeredeness...
that I somehow
know is
never me...
and so I peck,
peck,
peck away at the
hard dome of
where I am tired of
sitting as the center
of my universe,
waiting
for
a crack...
and when a sliver of
light, through that
delicate
fissure,
breaks through,
i close my
eyes and
let the warmth of its
first morning beam
touch my
face
with the
tender
hand
of
God...
and I feel
it awakening something
deep within me
that stretches into
this new
space...
and wants more
peck,
peck, peck,
peck....
"There is within each one of us
a potential for goodness beyond our imagining;
for giving which seeks no reward;
for listening without judgment;
for loving unconditionally."
— Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
who am I
when the
lights go out
and the last lullaby
has been
sung
and the girls are
sleeping
soundly in their
little beds
under the eaves...
i think
i am a sigh
cherished in
the heart of God,
a song that drifts across the tall
grasses of
a moon-washed Colorado
meadow...
i am the silent breath
of my
waiting in
rapt wonder
for the voice of
God,
the the first strains of prayer,
a symphony of stanzas waiting
to be played
upon the empty page...
I am the scent of chocolate
and lavender...
the lingering
echo of something softly haunting
that whispers across the
nape of my neck and in the
hollow of my throat...
I am as still as a church mouse
waiting for the
floorboards to settle before
she scampers
deftly towards the
pantry doors
for cinammon and
nutmeg and
the the Joy of Cooking
resting on the
shelf
I am a child tiptoeing
though the forest
waiting in the hush of twilight
hoping to
find a band of fairies
singing around a
campfire after
a long day
of
pollenating flowers and
dusting the sky with
fireflies...
I am more silent than
a star and
more hopeful than
a question,
more endless than a
moonbeam and
as peaceful
as
the dawn...
who am I
when the day is
sighing in
her sleep...
i am
content...
she plays against the
backdrop of
a cloud
as subtle as the
grays and
blue of
twilight on
a midsummer's night
in Maine...
she is the call of the loon
and the whisper of
the wind through birch trees
on a granite ridge...
when the sea sings through the
sheets of a tall ship
rising the
crest of a storm and
the taste of salt
lingers on your skin
she is the
heaving breath of an ancient
mariner, the
rocking motion of
a night on deck
all the beauty of a starlit
night is reflected
in the fathomless depths of
her fresh water
ponds scattered along the Appalachian trail
where she
traces a path of
discovery....a maze of
delight
she is a jar of fireflies
to read by,
the familiar creak and slap of
screen door on the
kitchen porch,
splash and giggle of
children at the shallow end,
the
scent of coconut oil and the
feel of hot sand between
your toes,
the buzz of horseflies and
the nickering of
mares across a moonlit paddock....
she is lemonade and
clinking ice, the sticky sweetness of
watermelon juice down your
forearms,
crickets, and sunflowers and
the tall, dry grass of
a south dakota
afternoon...
she is summer...
they are
executing the
intricate steps of
an ancient
dance...
a few steps towards
the lake
and one back into the
shadows...
a circling pattern of
girls and boys
on a
wide lawn of grass and
dust and a small
stream that
sings
a melody of
passage...
it is summer and the stars
are held above us
in a deep bowl of blue velvet
scattered with diamonds
in their cabins
they rest upon days
so full that
hours feel like minutes and
a week is like a day...
each hour
one less
to go...
until september comes
and they dream of
june again and
days of listening to
the voice of God whispering through
the aspens, and summer dancing
on valerie lawn
"bless the Lord
oh my soul
and all that is within me
bless His holy name..."
i start with You,
Father
I always start with You..
You are the center
of my life,
the starting point on my
vector,
the core from which all
things radiate, and
glow, and
light my path out of
darkness, out of
self...
there is nothing within me
but Your fullness,
nothing informs me...
my thoughts,
my decisions,
my conclusions...
but from the depths of the
unseen,
i hear
Your voice..
i spring from the well of Your
infinite Selfhood
i am poured out...a blessing...
from the heavenly
expanse of Your
heart....
i am pregnant with Your
promise,
bursting with
possibilities,
alight with
the dawning of
all that You are....
a glimpse of
divinity
that bathes the earth in
the colors of
heaven
is this how it felt when
the earth shook
and the waters parted
and a man
born blind
came seeing....
darkness
dissolution
shattering
uncertainty
release
surrender
i am not ready
i cried out
alone and frightened
car radio
playing one
old Journey
love song
after another
as I drove through tears
and rain
and the sweet ache
of it all
the darkness rushes
past the window
as I fly through
the silence
of a Kansas prairie
the color of ravens
surrounding
my cocoon of
steel and song
will I emerge from this chrysalis...
this casing.... like a
butterfly
transformed by
a midnight journey through dark
cornfields and sunflowers
take me in Your arms
wrap me in
Your promise
Father
hold me close to You and breathe
Your message of grace
into my heart...
i serve You
i love You
i long for You in my life
if You are at the core
of this
shattering
let me
yield to it
and
have the patience to
let You
and only You
put me back together
in Your way
according to
Your plan
full of
You
only You
can
eclose me from
this tight
swaddling
of
darkness and
despair, uncertainty
and doubt
into....
what...
I do
not yet
know
so I ask
through the lens of
a my
weeping:
can prayer
really
look
like
a tear...
wept
do butterflies
cry
"comparisons are
odorous..."
- Mary Baker Eddy
when we
compare ourselves
to someone else, or them
to yet another...we
send up a
scent so odorus that
everyone
is
offended...
stop it.
it stinks...
it just stinks.
and the sad part is we don't need
to do it
at
all...
each of us is perfectly,
uniquely,
wonderfully
original...
you are incomparable
and so is
she,
he,
him,
her...
me
when we compare
ourselves,
or others,
we
are not beholding
we are
looking in the periphery
where
nothing is clear,
and everything is
out of focus
in convex distortion
we
need to
stop it...
we
must begin to
look straight ahead...
behold our
neighbor, our friend,
our sister,
ourselves through the
clear,
clean
lens of
a single
focus...
each of us is completely
beautiful,
good,
strong,
graceful,
courageous,
honest,
kind,
worthy,
deserving...
and so is she...
celebrate your
wholeness
and hers,
and his...
there is no competition
when each includes
all, and each is undoubtedly,
absolutely
gloriously whole
just as no two snowflakes
are ever the same,
and yet each
has the same makeup,
consitution...
H2O
so you, and I,
and he, and them
are all made up of,
contain,
include,
are defined by...the
indivisible wholeness
of God's character and
nature...
Principle,
Mind,
Soul,
Spirit,
Life,
Truth,
and
Love...to the infinite
quality
and
quantity...
All that God is,
in all of His creation...
we can't compare
what
is
exactly,
identically
perfect...
the All-in-allness
of divine
reflection...
so let's just
stop
and begin to
celebrate
the
absolute
wonder of
one
another...
