Shining Spirit

Poor thing! His legs are too long for his body. His ears are too big. He’s a bit awkward. Gangly. Those words used to describe a lot of my friends when I was a young teen. Me, too. But, as I was reminded: “Well, his mother loves him.” And that’s because love doesn’t look at the outside. Love has eyes that see beyond the externals…right into the heart. My teen years are long gone, but I recently stopped in front of my bathroom mirror and did a quick analysis. Quick. My hair is just about gone, my feet are flat and my middle is out of proportion to the rest of me. If “gangly” describes the little one in the photo, what’s a good word to describe me right now? Never mind. Bad idea. But the good news is “his Father loves him.” I know that for sure. That’s the message of my faith. That’s the good news of the “Good News”. Want to know something else? Maybe you’d better sit down first. Ready? So are you! In spite of…because of…because you are you. How about that!

Round and round it goes, and where it stops…well, it doesn’t. It never stops the eternal cycle of transformation. What you’re looking at is a cloud reflection in a puddle of wonderful rain. Cloud. Rain. It’s all the same. It just changes names. The cloud I see in the morning sky is going to churn for a little while, and then it’s going to fall out of the sky onto my head, all over my just-washed car, onto the potted plants struggling with thirst, onto the deer and coyotes roaming the mountainside, onto all living things that cannot survive without a drink. Onto the earth that will become a ball of dust without the silver droplets of cloud. Everything is connected. Everything belongs. I know exactly what these words mean: earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. And I take great comfort in knowing that I am a small part of forever, forever in the mind, the heart, and the presence of the Creative Source I call God. Just now a little hummingbird paused at my window long enough to wink and wave, and in the distance a somber, gray cloud is turning pink right before my eyes. It’s going to be a good day. We, you and I, belong. Thanks be to God!

Mother of the Mountain, watch over us as we sleep tonight and smile upon us when we wake into the gift of the new day. May we share the tenderness of your heart with all who struggle, your unflappable courage with all who fear, your wisdom with all the inhabitants of this earth who look to the heavens for help in discerning right from wrong, truth from error, faith from self-serving indulgence. Mother of the Mountain, bless us one and all and cause us to smile when we see your lovely countenance in the evening sky. This is our prayer tonight as shadows lengthen and darkness drifts across the land. Amen.

Mr. Hummingbird and I have something in common. We’re both waiting for the dawn. We’re watching for the morning’s arrival. Waiting. Watching. Being still. Listening to the silence. Looking here and there for signs of darkness retreating. It’s almost like putting yourself into a contemplative moment, settling in for an experience of The Holy. What if we treat this day as the bearer of the Sacred, the means by which The Mystery lives within all the good creation? Makes the dawn extra special, doesn’t it. So, pull your chair over to the window and watch. Something remarkable is about to happen. The gift of today is arriving and it bears a presence and a promise: with you always. I think it’s getting lighter outside.