It all started with nothing clean sheet blank page emptiness and a Word spoke into existence clouds and creatures and canyons and caterpillars and cauliflower and it was good.
Today begins with nothing not yesterday or last week not the maybes of tomorrow just nothing. Today is a new page clean sheet blank it waits to receive your word scribbles and symphonies
At the end of this day the page will be full, full of you and all your children.
In his excellent book titled The Creative Act: A Way Of Being, Rick Rubin writes: “In Japanese pottery, there’s an artful form of repair called kintsugi. When a piece of ceramic pottery breaks, rather than trying to restore it to its original condition, the artisan accentuates the fault by using gold to fill the crack. This beautifully draws attention to where the work was broken, creating a golden vein. Instead of the flaw diminishing the work, it becomes a focal point, an area of both physical and aesthetic strength. The scar also tells the story of the piece, chroniciling its past experience.”
Contrast to my childhood friend, Humpty Dumpty, who fell from a wall and couldn’t be put together again. “Throw that thing away! We’ve got a schedule to meet.” Perfection is a hard task-master. Or, “If it’s cracked, just turn it around and nobody will notice the flaw.” Sometimes pretending leads to pain. Or, “She’s made some dumb decisions in her life. Do we really want to offer her the job?” Have you ever heard of learning from experience? Becoming strong, wiser because of life’s circumstances?
Here’s the point: Someone who lives creatively, courageously…faithfully…most often has a lot of gold filling the broken places. Gold. Not mud or duct-tape or even super-glue. Sometimes we get broken when we try…try to be thoughtful or merciful or honest and something happens to cause the crack. And when we look at our cracked selves in the mirror we settle for the Humpty Dumpty has-been pile. Wrong. Living fully means challenges, and challenges mean cracks, and cracks can be/should be marks of learning, insight and new strength.
God, give me strength and wisdom today to recognize value in the totality of my life, not just the sweet moments. Jesus, seal the cracks in my life with golden forgiveness, grace and courage. Holy Spirit, guide me today away from the walls of foolish extravagance or fearful retreat, and if I fall, patch me up with the gold of your graciousness. A thought for your Wednesday morning. We press on. Cracks and all.
When the little fragment of feathers we call a Hummingbird spies that red color in the tree branches, she knows by instinct that something nourishing, refreshing and tasty might be inviting her for a stop. She investigates. And, sure enough, the drink tastes wonderful She perches on the red railing, aligns her long beak with the small hole that is the opening to the sweet liquid, and then, bowing low to make sure her long tongue touches the sweetness, she takes her fill. She bows, as if she knows to be appreciative, to say thank you. I’d like to think that her bowing is not just a physical necessity, but also an inherent recognition of how life provides for her blessing and welfare. The red feeder did not appear in the branches all by itself. It was put there by hands and a heart of caring, and she “bows” in gratitude for the common thoughtfulness that connects all living things.
The source of that benevolence and caring? Practically, someone who appreciates and admires these tiny fragments of life, someone who prepares the feast and hangs it in the tree. More than that, though….did you notice the hanger that holds the feeder. What does that tell you?
This is the story of a wandering man who found his way across the land in search of himself, what his life was about, what values he treasured, ones to leave out. He inquired of strangers, passers-by the source of their joys, what caused them to cry. What touches the heart? What intrigues your mind? What prompts you to live as one truthful and kind?
He collected responses, sorted them all, looked for the places his eye would fall as he found the common hopes and dreams, the deepest desires of human beings. And high on the list, compiled that day, was the common word he heard them say: “Love like you’ve never loved before; when you reach your limit, offer more. Give what you have until all is gone; offer the world a new, different song. Live in peace; think with our heart; where there is need, be the first to start efforts to address the sorrow or pain: do it once, then do it again and again. And you will be a happy man.
So the wandering man, in search of life’s joy, began to live, to think, to employ all the responses that filled his notes, and then, in summary, he humbly wrote: “Do unto others as you want done to you.” This is the treasure; my search is through.
He is no longer known as the Wandering Man. He decided there is just one single plan to determine the deepest meaning of life; that each day was a measure of goodness and strife. That there was one way to see him through: just ask of life: “What would Jesus do?” The answer would address all days and nights, moments when truth was challenged by might; when honor was left in the hot desert sun, when streams of mercy refused to run. To all who wander in search and quest, there is only one way, one that is best: Love without thought of profit or gain; love without limit, let love be the same for every person, no restrictions apply; love until you understand why doing to others as you wish done to you is the ancient word that is forever true.
Wander no more. The quest is done. Now simply wonder at all God has done. “Do unto others…” is the perfect way to encounter life’s meaning day after day.
Yesterday my wife sat on the patio just after sunlight began to chase away the darkness of a calm Sonoran Desert night. I think what she sought in those first minutes of light was a peaceful beginning of the new day, a slow start. What she got was the song of a bird in the mesquite tree, then another sound from the woodpecker on the very top of the tall saguaro in the neighbor’s yard, then the almost harmony of wrens and finches and doves and quail. The amazing app on her smartphone identified 19 different bird songs; each bird thought she had come out to listen specifically to its song, so what started out as peaceful porch time became a convergence of chaos. Lovely chaos, yes, but still. I must add that she loved every minute of the patio performance. What a wonderful way to welcome the new day.
I, on the other hand, write this note in the still-darkness of the night. It’s black outside. Few lights are on in the neighborhood. My clock says 4 a.m. and here I sit, alone, at my computer waiting for inspiration to fall out of the sky. And then I noticed it. In the background of my waiting and hoping, I hear a single bird song out there in the blackness. One song. Same notes over and over again. One bird who doesn’t have to have light to sing. In fact, maybe he or she prefers the darkness. That’s clearly the case this morning. One little voice in the enormity of night, perhaps calling the other birds to this day’s performance, maybe just beating the crowd so that his song could be heard distinctly, maybe the bearer of a gift just for me. I can’t see him, but I know he’s there. Even the darkness cannot blot out his insistence on singing. Between you and me, this bird doesn’t have a professionally trained chirp, but you can tell he loves to sing.
The curse of being me after all these years is that I wonder about the meaning of most of life’s strange little encounters. Why nineteen birds in yesterday’s early light and one bird in today’s pre-light darkness. I can only conclude that the invisible singer just loves to sing, feels the almost compelling necessity to make music whether anybody listens or not. The value of the song doesn’t depend on the presence of a hearer. The song is one bird’s gift to the sleepy universe.
An aside: a news item just flashed on my smartphone screen. It says that unless specific demands are met in the U.S. – Iran war, a “whole civilization will be wiped out.” That comment is followed by a quotation from a former U.S. President: “It’s amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit.” Stunning: one little bird releases a song in the darkness, anonymous bird that blesses the hearer. Or, a sinister threat from war’s blackness that speaks of destroying a civiliztion. Two voices emerge from the darkness. Sing, bird. Don’t stop. Sing us into the Light. Sing us back into humanity.
Is it true what I hear? It’s the talk of the town. Has anybody seen him around?
The stone is rolled back. His body is gone? Is this fiction or is it bone fide fact? I’m not sure how to react.
I bumped into Mary a few minutes ago; her cheeks were streaked from tears. She swears it was Jesus whom we all know. But the man was dead three days ago. There must be some mistake.
But look! Just there by the city gate. Does he look familiar to you? He resembles the Jesus we once knew. Same size. Same height. I simply can’t wait. I must see for myself if this is true.
As I moved slightly closer in order to see, cautious at first; timidly, I heard the voice; I saw the smile, and then his eyes fell directly on me.
All doubt disappeared. He lives once more! He has conquered death. He has opened the door. And he knows me! That’s the best part of all.
I don’t understand. How can this be? and then, as if a light illumined me, I thought to myself: Don’t question the fact. Don’t ask “why? or “when?” Dry your eyes; take his hand and begin again to follow his steps; to bear his name. Because he lives, life won’t be the same. Dare to trust what Jesus has to say. This is, indeed, a remarkable day.
By the way…
He told me one thing and I’ll share it with you. He asked me to tell you that he loves you, too. That he’ll always be just a word away; today, tomorrow…every day. This is amazing, astounding and true. What do you think we ought to do?
Shining Spirit 
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