Shining Spirit

Who knows the secrets of the great deep?
The hiding places of ancient life still unknown
to the human eye? The outer reaches of space
are not the only discoveries yet to be made.
You and I play on the beaches with buckets and
shovels, sandcastle makers who watch the tides
roll in and out, churning and smoothing,
churning and smoothing, fashioning its own art while
laying low what we thought indestructible.

Who knows the thoughts, the mind, of the great deep?
The wave? Perhaps. It is not the ocean of itself,
it is a single note of the eternal song,
one word from the encyclopedia of life,
a single taste of the sweetness that seems
inherent in the great mystery.

There was once a revealing of the Silent Deep,
a wave upon the shore where children play and
build their castles. For a moment, we frolicked
in the wave’s charm and invitation, but then
it was gone. Back to its source. Back to the
place of sending. And yet, mystery of mystery:
the wave returns again and again,
bringing a hint of the deep, a glimpse of
a deeper consciousness that reaches out in an
eternal rhythm, something we call life.
We play as children on a shifting beach, always
aware of the wave’s revealing, joyful in its song,
unfulfilled in its absence, renewed when it returns,
sent by the benevolent depth
that blesses again and again.

I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it.
A couple in their 80s, walking quietly hand in hand,
turning to smile into each other’s eyes: that’s Love.

The wide eyes of a little child who sees the
big red balloon for the first time; the giggle:
that’s Wonder.

The homeowner bringing a glass of cold water
to the delivery person as she stands at the door:
that’s Kindness.

The willingness to say NO, that is not right, to
power or pressure: that’s Courage.

Always setting the dining room table with one
extra plate and one extra chair: that’s Hospitality

The smile in the face of adversity; the calm word
when people are shouting; that’s Hope.

I may not know how to define it,
but I know it when I see it.

And when I look at you:
a Friend.
Priceless.

Can there be anything more horrifying that searching for your child in the debris of disaster? Take time today and walk the Texas streets with those parents; be there with them. They need us right now. We are their family, too. Extend your hand and your heart into the hurting. This is who we are.

i’m Life isn’t perfect; don’t expect it to be. That said, try to find something that makes you want to sing today, or dance, or throw a party. The dancing flower people at the Botanic Gardens in San Diego have it right. Find a song and sing it. Find a dance and kick up your heels. Hum a tune. Write a poem. Call up a friend. Here’s an idea: how about remembering something good about the nation. I know. We don’t all agree on what’s happening or not happening in the world. Granted. But isn’t there some way that common gratitude can hold up a light for all of us to follow? Sky rockets and fireworks burst and then fizzle. They are gone in a flash. But gratitude is the perpetual light that shows us the next few steps along the path. For those of us who are pleased with currents events, be grateful. For those of us who are not, be grateful. Eventually we will find common ground on which all of us can walk together. Life isn’t perfect. Don’t expect it to be. And neither are we. But we can choose the common trait of gratitude, undergirded by hope, as the sign of our willingness to envision a future that honors the diversity of our dreams.

On the day before the big show, before the first Skyrocket streaks into the July 4th night, maybe it would be a good idea to remember who we are: “one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” One nation, not many defined by cultural or political boundaries. Under God, the Source of our diversity, the Advocate for our commonality. Indivisible: united, bonded, committed to a shared oneness. Liberty and justice: two words that define our community. For all: no interpretation needed.

Say a prayer today that the varied colors and shapes and designs of tomorrow’s fireworks will remind us of the essential meaning of unity in the midst of diversity. It’s the variety of color and the creativity of design that make the fireworks beautiful. So it is with all of us who look up to the heavens in hope. All of us. Amen.

In the garden of my imagination
there is a small stone bench, just big enough for
two, a place where we can sit and find
delight in conversation and watch the flowers grow.
Yes, you are correct. My garden grows without the
details of manicure. Pink flowers spill onto the
lovely stone walk. Vines are heavy with blooms that
might otherwise be snipped or sorted. The fingertips of
one plant reach out to those of another.
Too much, do you think? Too animated?
Oh, no. In the Garden of My Imagination, life flourishes.
Come, sit with me on the stone bench.
Watch. Listen. In time your heart will smile
at the sound of laughter hiding among the clumps
of green grass, or at the song the wind sings as she tosses yellow
blossoms into the morning air, blossoms that fall
like confetti at our feet.
Welcome to the Garden of My Imagination.
It is a special place where all lines flow and curve,
where blending replaces boundaries.
I’m glad you are here.
You make it even more beautiful.

In case you haven’t noticed, I love to photograph birds in flight. Some of them don’t look exactly coordinated walking around on the ground, but when they spread their wings and take off…it’s magnificent. This graceful Hawk is an example. I remember “Gooney Birds” on Midway Island. Large, sturdy birds, they are comedians when they take off…running and stumbling, falling this way and that until those large wings catch the air and they glide smoothly into the sky. It’s the same way when a Gooney Bird lands. Glide so smoothly and effortlessly until its big feet touch the ground. Crash landing! The bird rolls and tumbles, sometimes beak over feet, then finally collects himself to waddle off to his nest. In flight, birds are beautiful to behold.

It’s the same way with people like you and me. When the Wind of Spirit lifts us, motivates and informs us, we can soar. So many times Jesus talked of Spirit and life and encouraged his listeners to spread their wings…trust and follow His way. Once you try, you will notice that the view in flight is life-changing. You’ve never really experienced the wonder of life until the Spirit becomes the wind beneath your wings.

Looks like a good day for flying, don’t you think?

What a wonderful illustration of individuality. There is not another tree exactly like this one in the whole world. How refreshing it is to see uniqueness instead of cookie-cutter similarity. And the tree’s gifts to its surrounding are just as special. Come on, climb up into those asymmetrical arms and look at the world around you. The view is really good from up here. Or sit in the abundant shade provided by thick leaves. Or take out your sketching pad and capture uniqueness on paper. Take a nap. Write a poem. Create the lyrics of a never-heard-before song.

The point is: glances won’t do. You have to stop and make friends with life. Today you will see or hear uniqueness more than once. At least, you will have the opportunity. Be on-guard for the beautiful, alert to the alternative. In those moments, it is likely that you are in the presence of The Holy One who so often comes to us in disguise. Maybe like a tree whose undulating arms reach out to us in love and remembrance. Maybe like the man on the corner who is hungry or the woman who grieves the loss of her loved one. No “maybe” about it.

I’ve just returned from San Diego, my escape haven when summer heat tries to choke the life out of Arizona. There’s a limit to the number of 110 degree days mind and body can tolerate. Many years ago, I lived in San Diego and since those days I have visited the beautiful landscape dozens of times. Balboa Park, the Botanic Gardens, wonderful seafood, and Cabrillo Point high above the city in Point Loma always offer relaxation and joy. Did I mention magnificent beaches? So, having just returned, and re-living the charm of the Southern California city, I have begun to wonder why I am drawn to the Cabrillo National Monument site. It provides a stunning view of the entire city, overlooks the San Diego ship channel with its commercial traffic and the U.S. Navy vessels sailing in and out, and it is adjacent to the Cabrillo National Cemetery.

And I think that’s the answer. I am deeply moved by the peaceful beauty of that sacred ground. Hundreds of rows of white marble headstones follow the contour of the undulating hillside. Thick green grass, manicured carefully, blankets the grounds. It is starkly beautiful, especially when you drive slowly along the narrow streets and read an assortment of human history. A military member and his wife rest side by side. Who was the young Lieutenant whose name is etched in the stone? The Corporal who came back from Viet Nam to this quiet sanctuary? World War II, Korea, View Nam…so many places from which they returned, having offered themselves in service and sacrifice.

And this year, the trees dotted through the grounds have decided to bloom bright red and to offer shade under their wide-spread arms. Morbid? No. Melancholy? Maybe. Moving? Without question. I love the seaside city with its delightful variety of attractions, but I am irresistibly drawn to the hillside, a holy place of silent rest. Upon my return from this recent visit, I sit, at this moment, in the darkness of the early morning and I pray with genuine thanksgiving for all who rest in the beautiful hillside, a chorus of courage. And I end my prayer with these words: Please, God, no more.

The sailboat watches as two rather strange looking boats pass. No, not excursion boats. Not somebody’s houseboat. They are tugs sailing out of the San Diego channel to meet a huge Navy ship entering the port. Tugs are a welcome sight to the Navy ship’s CO because they are going to come alongside and help guide the bigger ship along the narrow channel and into a berth at the Naval Station. Could the Navy ship go it alone? Probably, but risks are much higher without the tugs to lend a hand. In some circumstances, a Harbor Pilot would be onboard one of the tugs and would go aboard the big vessel and actually relieve the Office of the Deck. The Pilot now has the ship under his control for a safe journey to pier side.

I’m thankful for tugs and Pilots who brought my ships home during the Navy Chaplaincy years. They remind me of caring friends who “come alongside” and sail rough seas with me. In times of distress or deep disappointment or death, I know they are with me. They are a steadying force, a source of calm. They help me through the challenges and into the safety of the harbor. And I know The Pilot is standing beside me, the One who has sailed these waters before and knows the way home.

In these days of national and international upheaval, in times of personal turmoil or grief, it is comforting and encouraging to feel the hand on your shoulder. The channel is narrow, but the Pilot knows the way.