"the sky opened..."

"The lightnings and thunderbolts of error
may burst and flash
till the cloud is cleared
and the tumult dies away in the
distance...."
- Mary Baker Eddy

We watched it approach
dark and
lowering...

black clouds that
moved
with the relentless
persistence of an ancient
legion

warriors on the
cusp of
a primordial
stronghold
just within their
grasp

ominous and
undeterred
striking fear into the
heart of
a people...transfixed
on what
might come,
what could happen,
what
they fear...

closer and closer
the thunder of
hooves,
nearer and nearer the
flash of
armor,
the flicker of light
along the
sharpness of a two-edged
sword...

the rhythm of their march
towards a paralyzed
village
until...

the darkness breaks
and out of the pounding,
from within the clamoring threat
comes a soft song,
a gentle rain...
a surging promise of life
the waters of
redemption, and hope
and a river of
Love to
quench all that
was once
transfixed with fear...

"we are here
to help,
to feed,
to save you from
the barrenness
of thinking you are
alone in this
world..."

we are not of your tribe,
but we are
not your enemy
either...

we are the legion
of Love
sent
for the promise...

let us weep
with you and let our
tears be
for the healing of
the nations...

not our nation
or
your nation...

but all
nations,
families,
peoples...

brothers
and sisters
of one
Father
Mother
God...

we are the
gentle rain
upon the
tender
herb...

refreshing all
hope...

with bright
with imperishable
views

with
Love



"Then the raindrops of divinity
refresh the earth.."
― M. B. Eddy

"something borrowed..."

"something old,
something new,
something borrowed,
something blue.."
- Anonymous

"i have something for
you to carry
with you down the aisle,"
she said to
me
with
wise eyes and
just a hint
of
mystery.

I'd been hurrying
between the florist and
the caterer
when I felt
the iron tenderness
of her
fingers at my
elbow
that day...

"come, sit..."
she
insisted,
this quiet sage
I'd thought would be
no more
than an admiring observer
from the
sidelines...just as she'd
been at every recital and
soccer game of my
childhood...
watching
as I let a gown of white
slide over arms
and hips...
a waterfall
of tulle and silk pooling
around me
like her
love...

but she was
asking...

and so
I sat with
her
while time
once rushed,
stood still...

and she
whispered...

here is something old,
from
oh, so long ago...

it is my dream of
who you
would be on this day...

I imagined you a stronger "me"
one who would say
"yes" to the best in herself
and "no" to all that
would
take the light from
her eyes...

and here is something
as newborn
as this morning's dew...

it is the wonder I feel
seeing you through
the lens of
his eyes...

I thought I knew you
as a babe,
a girl,
a student,
a companion...
but today
you are the
someone he looks
at just the way your
grandfather
looked at me...
a look like
that
will never
change...

now for something borrowed
I hope you will
take this
prayer...it is the one
I've carried with me since
the first day I held you
in my arms --
my daughter's
daughter..

"bless her with
enough love to banish fear,
enough hope to sing
when disappointment
looms,
and enough faith
to never lose her way..."

and finally
something blue...

may you share the blue
light of morning
in gratitude for another day together,
may you
know the blue of your
baby's eyes
the first time she looks into
your own,
the blue of a summer
sky,
the blue of the ocean...
and if you must know
the blue song
of a broken
heart,
of sorrow,
or regret,
I pray it never leaves you
where it found you...
but deepens into
a sapphire compassion,
a cobalt kindness,
the rich blue of
a life impelled
by Love...

this is
my gift...

something old,
something new,
something borrowed,
something blue...

my hopes,
my dreams,
my prayers,
my wishes...

for you.



"I carry your heart
with me,
I carry it
in my heart..."
― e.e. cummings

"a symphony of silence..."

what do you hear
in the silence
that is not...

silent

rain dripping from
the eaves
after a sudden
evening thunderstorm

one that sent us
scampering to
take cover under the
shadow of a
chapel's wings...

a babbling brook that
sings her song
without invitation...
a message of constancy
that comes
unbidden from somewhere
higher than this
place...

barn swallows that
swoop and dart...
dark silhouettes against
the changing colors
of a storm-washed dusky
sky

the soft stir of
aspen leaves
brushing against one another
as an unseen breeze
sets them quaking
with the
evening's chill

a hummingbird
whirs as
she makes her last visit
of the day
to trumpet flowers,
poppies,
and spires of lavender
along the porch  rail...

i am not alone
in this not-so-silent
quiet place of
listening

i am companioned by
the music of
angels....hieroglyphic
notations of divine beauty written,
played,
sung along a ceaseless
tributary of
divine Love...

where Soul's
symphony
joins a chorus of
silence and
all i hear
is,

"you are blessed..."

"Now in the place where he was crucified..."

"Now
in the place where he was crucified
there was a garden..."
- John

what grows
in this
garden

where tears fall
like rain,
mothers watch
their son beg for mercy,
and murderers
repent?

what seeds of
surrender,
and
shame,
and
sorrow
are sown on this hillside,

what
tender hope
is borne by
Spirit on the wings of
a dove,
carried
through the
streets
under a crown of
thorns

and
from
what
soft soil of
a woman's
broken heart
does the
seedling spring?

a
garden

Golgatha,
Gethsemane....

the redemption of
Eden?

Where a man chooses
courage over
self-preservation,
humility
above
blame,
and his naked
heart is
bare before
his God
without
the
scar of
shame

Into the soil of
this honest heart
the seed of
trust
was sown,

the sky breaks open
and
faith gives birth
to
understanding...

faces
lifted to
receive
its
gift

and
In the place
where he was crucified,
a cry
breaks forth from
tender lips
"into Thy hand
I commit my Spirit..."
and
there is a
shattering

the seed
releases it's promise

his
Father
whispers
"I have not
forsaken thee..."

this was just the
chaff,
the husk,
the chrysalis
that held
the promise,
the gospel,
the kingdom
of heaven
you told them
was within...

come forth
but
not from a stony tomb,
a rock-ribbed cave,
a silent sepulchre...

those are only
symbols of
the sacred stillness
where the
fruit is
stored...

come forth from the
lie that you
were ever just
a seed...

for in the garden
the seed
must release its promise
when
watered by
tears....

but
you knew that
all
along...

Love
always
blossoms and
bears its
fruit
in this
holy
sacred
space



"...Patient woe;
the human yielding to
the divine;
love meeting no response,
but still remaining
love."
― M B Eddy