Softly, I brush your forehead with my fingertips.
I curl my finger and wipe the tear that forms at the corner of your eye.
I kiss the lips that will speak My truth.
I brush your hair to soothe your spirit.
I fill your heart with a wellspring of joy and love.
Push now. It is time to give it birth.
My Spirit lifts it as a fountain that splashes with joy on all those who draw near.
I have called you by name. You are mine. Isaiah 43
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Contemplative Dawn
Contemplative Dawn
A red finch and I watch from my second floor deck as God’s dawn alights with the softest pastel colors on an array of bulbous clouds. Low, flat-bottomed clouds carry the blue-grays; the cumulus proudly reach their necks up to catch the later sunrays, receiving a brilliant spotlight, like tree tops peaking above early valley fog. In between, the barest of mauves and pinks gently kiss cloud surfaces, like a mother bathing a newborn, slowly lingering in enjoyment of the intimate moment. The bay’s waters ripple softly like the pattern in my shower glass door, carrying the bright whites and pastels from sky to earth in shimmering ecstasy.
The morning is full of happy birds chirping and flitting about. They gather on the bird feeder they emptied yesterday, almost as if to say, ‘Can you not see it’s empty and we’re ready to eat?’ Like a dog pushing its empty food bowl noisily around, I am reminded of a duty to perform, but not yet. It is too deliciously still. The silence is so delicate that I can hear the rapid f-f-flutter of the feathery wings of each nearby bird as it flies to its next perch. Tiny schools of fish skim the bay’s calm surface, while punctuations occur here and there from a breakfast morsel getting nibbled from some sea creature below.
The Choctawhatchie Bay stretches itself before me and I try to imagine for a moment all of the life below its surface, serenely awakening and undulating their sleek bodies through the depths and shallows.
The cypress tree stands its guard as usual, its stalagtite-like roots as sentries below it. The birds disappear securely behind its leaves, or perch momentarily on its lone peak, a leafless branch offered generously for such overviews.
Morning glories are singing silently below in the wetland area by the sea wall. I can’t wait to get to heaven to hear their melodies. Even muted, they make me smile.
Thunder greets me as a heavy-laden cloud inches its way overhead. It will pass without a drop here. Skies are mostly blue still and the wind hasn’t shown itself on the water’s surface yet. I scan the bay for signs of dolphin but no fins break its surface.
Another rumble from the thunderhead reminds me to avoid grumbling this day and maintain a peaceful inner sanctity for the benefit of those around me.
Oh my! The rumble I hear causes me to look up. Greeting my eyes is a most magnificent cumulonimbus cloud. Fat, full and still climbing in altitude, it hurts my eyes to loop upon its brilliance reflecting the rising sun’s light. The description of Jesus’ transformation comes to mind on the mountain with Peter, James and beloved John witnessing and reporting to us. It is so dazzlingly white! I try over and over to look upon it for its brilliance transfixes one’s gaze. It is too much. Each time I must look away in pain from ocular overwhelm. The powerful reflective light is too much. Another reminder of the exquisite levels of blissful exhilarating joy, beauty and sound that await us in our heavenly home. Not yet, my soul, not yet! We have much work to do and joy to spread before to this life we are dead.
It’s time for coffee and later, for black swallow butterflies to gather the sweetness of my flowers that lift their stamens to their loving Creator and me. I offer my heart to you, Lord, this day in love and joy and gratitude for this gentle, tender, contemplative dawn so full of your masterful touches.
A red finch and I watch from my second floor deck as God’s dawn alights with the softest pastel colors on an array of bulbous clouds. Low, flat-bottomed clouds carry the blue-grays; the cumulus proudly reach their necks up to catch the later sunrays, receiving a brilliant spotlight, like tree tops peaking above early valley fog. In between, the barest of mauves and pinks gently kiss cloud surfaces, like a mother bathing a newborn, slowly lingering in enjoyment of the intimate moment. The bay’s waters ripple softly like the pattern in my shower glass door, carrying the bright whites and pastels from sky to earth in shimmering ecstasy.
The morning is full of happy birds chirping and flitting about. They gather on the bird feeder they emptied yesterday, almost as if to say, ‘Can you not see it’s empty and we’re ready to eat?’ Like a dog pushing its empty food bowl noisily around, I am reminded of a duty to perform, but not yet. It is too deliciously still. The silence is so delicate that I can hear the rapid f-f-flutter of the feathery wings of each nearby bird as it flies to its next perch. Tiny schools of fish skim the bay’s calm surface, while punctuations occur here and there from a breakfast morsel getting nibbled from some sea creature below.
The Choctawhatchie Bay stretches itself before me and I try to imagine for a moment all of the life below its surface, serenely awakening and undulating their sleek bodies through the depths and shallows.
The cypress tree stands its guard as usual, its stalagtite-like roots as sentries below it. The birds disappear securely behind its leaves, or perch momentarily on its lone peak, a leafless branch offered generously for such overviews.
Morning glories are singing silently below in the wetland area by the sea wall. I can’t wait to get to heaven to hear their melodies. Even muted, they make me smile.
Thunder greets me as a heavy-laden cloud inches its way overhead. It will pass without a drop here. Skies are mostly blue still and the wind hasn’t shown itself on the water’s surface yet. I scan the bay for signs of dolphin but no fins break its surface.
Another rumble from the thunderhead reminds me to avoid grumbling this day and maintain a peaceful inner sanctity for the benefit of those around me.
Oh my! The rumble I hear causes me to look up. Greeting my eyes is a most magnificent cumulonimbus cloud. Fat, full and still climbing in altitude, it hurts my eyes to loop upon its brilliance reflecting the rising sun’s light. The description of Jesus’ transformation comes to mind on the mountain with Peter, James and beloved John witnessing and reporting to us. It is so dazzlingly white! I try over and over to look upon it for its brilliance transfixes one’s gaze. It is too much. Each time I must look away in pain from ocular overwhelm. The powerful reflective light is too much. Another reminder of the exquisite levels of blissful exhilarating joy, beauty and sound that await us in our heavenly home. Not yet, my soul, not yet! We have much work to do and joy to spread before to this life we are dead.
It’s time for coffee and later, for black swallow butterflies to gather the sweetness of my flowers that lift their stamens to their loving Creator and me. I offer my heart to you, Lord, this day in love and joy and gratitude for this gentle, tender, contemplative dawn so full of your masterful touches.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
No words
Prayer, like love, needs no words. There are exquisite moments, silver quick and piercing, that lovers' eyes exchange. Wordless sentience flashes with laser beam intensity. Long after the flash, reverberations resonate and are replayed deep within the mind and heart and spirit.
No words are needed. There are no words for certain moments. And yet, something deep within human nature presses for expression. What is that energy that relentlessly whirls and pushes and cries out for release? A tea kettle must whistle or it will blow its lid. Food overheated in a microwave spits itself out in reaction to the intensity of over-excited molecular agitation.
Some race, some wage war, some paint, some sing, some build, some destroy, some drink, some dance, some text, some tweet. It is human nature at its core that is driven to express itself. It is the very Creator of the universe within each human being continuously expressing herself to all of creation. When stimulated, the essence of love expands. The more open one's heart, the lighter the touch necessary to trigger the reaction.
It is worth the effort to endure the pain and conflict in life that purifies our hearts, each such moment granting God access to excavate the hardness of our hearts and fill them with Her/His light. Our hearts become like Morning Glories, opening obediently, happily and lovingly to the daily dawning of the Light of the World within us.
No words are needed. There are no words for certain moments. And yet, something deep within human nature presses for expression. What is that energy that relentlessly whirls and pushes and cries out for release? A tea kettle must whistle or it will blow its lid. Food overheated in a microwave spits itself out in reaction to the intensity of over-excited molecular agitation.
Some race, some wage war, some paint, some sing, some build, some destroy, some drink, some dance, some text, some tweet. It is human nature at its core that is driven to express itself. It is the very Creator of the universe within each human being continuously expressing herself to all of creation. When stimulated, the essence of love expands. The more open one's heart, the lighter the touch necessary to trigger the reaction.
It is worth the effort to endure the pain and conflict in life that purifies our hearts, each such moment granting God access to excavate the hardness of our hearts and fill them with Her/His light. Our hearts become like Morning Glories, opening obediently, happily and lovingly to the daily dawning of the Light of the World within us.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Sky Openings
The photo at the bottom of this blog is from my deck in Sandestin. I like openings, like this one in the evening sky.
Thomas Merton's photography makes an interesting study. I like his God's Hook photo of a barn hook hanging idly which reminded him how God got His hook in him.
When I was on retreat a few years ago at Our Lady of Grace (IN), I took a photo of a silo with its top door open toward the sky. It reminded me of how I wish to always keep a part of me open to God and His love/grace/outpourings/Spirit.
The opening in the clouds of the sunset below had the same effect on my mind... opening to His love, His presence, His healing, His will.
Thomas Merton's photography makes an interesting study. I like his God's Hook photo of a barn hook hanging idly which reminded him how God got His hook in him.
When I was on retreat a few years ago at Our Lady of Grace (IN), I took a photo of a silo with its top door open toward the sky. It reminded me of how I wish to always keep a part of me open to God and His love/grace/outpourings/Spirit.
The opening in the clouds of the sunset below had the same effect on my mind... opening to His love, His presence, His healing, His will.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Late night driving
After a long 10 days of packing and purging 25 years of accumulated "stuff," my husband and I finally headed home. Two hour rain delays got us back to Florida around 5 p.m. and we still had a 6 hour drive ahead of us.
We split shifts of driving usually, and I took the second shift. The toll of emotional and physical tiredness caught up to me about 1 hour from the end of our drive. I asked my husband how he was feeling - he was the victim of food poisoning at the wedding the night before we left - and he said he was alright and that I'd better pull over. He could see my eyelids were dropping.
He took the last shift. I am sure he felt pretty wasted, but one pulls strength from God when all your resources are tapped. Or perhaps that's when we finally slide over and let him drive our lives a little.
We split shifts of driving usually, and I took the second shift. The toll of emotional and physical tiredness caught up to me about 1 hour from the end of our drive. I asked my husband how he was feeling - he was the victim of food poisoning at the wedding the night before we left - and he said he was alright and that I'd better pull over. He could see my eyelids were dropping.
He took the last shift. I am sure he felt pretty wasted, but one pulls strength from God when all your resources are tapped. Or perhaps that's when we finally slide over and let him drive our lives a little.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Clouds and Correlatives
I was struck this morning in reading Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander by Merton's use of the word correlatives referencing pilgrims (of the early American kind) and Indians. It reminded me of how I see correlatives everywhere with secular/spiritual interrelatedness.
Correlative: so related that each implies or complements the other.
Big, puffy, cumulus clouds graced this morning's sky and as the sun rose, I was drawn to the water's edge to see their pinkness and peachness that the sun blushed upon them. A few moments later, they were simply white clouds again as the sun rose higher in the sky. We are clouds, no? Glorious to behold when the grace of God shines upon us...
One cloud was not pink. It was hard to see, slightly behind our house, but bright in its reflected golden light from the sunrise. It never gained the pink hues of the other clouds in the distance. (Perhaps it did, viewed from a different perspective than mine!) It was simply bursting with radiant, golden light. I couldn't take my eyes off it. Very softly, like a parent sneaking into a sleeping baby's room to check on it, a delicate rainbow appeared across the face of this bulbous cloud.
God can say Good Morning in so many exquisitely tender ways.
Correlative: so related that each implies or complements the other.
Big, puffy, cumulus clouds graced this morning's sky and as the sun rose, I was drawn to the water's edge to see their pinkness and peachness that the sun blushed upon them. A few moments later, they were simply white clouds again as the sun rose higher in the sky. We are clouds, no? Glorious to behold when the grace of God shines upon us...
One cloud was not pink. It was hard to see, slightly behind our house, but bright in its reflected golden light from the sunrise. It never gained the pink hues of the other clouds in the distance. (Perhaps it did, viewed from a different perspective than mine!) It was simply bursting with radiant, golden light. I couldn't take my eyes off it. Very softly, like a parent sneaking into a sleeping baby's room to check on it, a delicate rainbow appeared across the face of this bulbous cloud.
God can say Good Morning in so many exquisitely tender ways.
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