Shining Spirit

It’s a puzzle and an irony. The puzzle is the formation and development of human life submerged in water. Amniotic fluid is the nutrient home of all human life, the starting point. It is where we begin, a necessity until we move from amniotic to atmospheric. After a nine-month swim, we discover another ocean, the ocean of air. Wouldn’t you think that, given our watery start, each of us would love to splash around in swimming pools, do cannon-balls into familiar water? But such is not always the case. Thus, the irony. It is an irony that, once established in the ocean of air, in our post-birth years, some of us are not interested in water. You would think that I might want to jump into every swimming pool I pass. Memories of home! But we’ve all known people who are afraid, if not terrified, of being in or going under water. The point?

Living a spiritual life, a life of spiritual consciousness, is much like being in that water. My friend who is afraid of swimming, looks at the water as an enemy, something to overcome. She splashes and thrashes until she finally sinks. If she would only relax into the water, treat it as friend not foe, she would discover that the water is willing to hold her up, that she could float, relaxed and at ease, instead of floundering.

The fundamental invitation of the Christian faith, and perhaps of other major faith traditions, is to get into the water, allow it to be your friend, let the Spirit sustain you and buoy you in trust. More than one story has been told about swimmers who, having drifted out to sea, relaxed into the current and allowed it to carry them back to the shoreline.

There is much to be said for floating in the Spirit instead of struggling and contending for spiritual awareness. The Spirit waits with open arms for those who are willing to trust everything, even life, into a relationship with The One who formed us. Give up those spiritual water-wings. You really don’t need them. Press on…in trust.

“Yes, Rabbit, we’re home,” I said. “This is home?” he asked, with a rather puzzled look on his face. So began the conversation.

“Remember, Rabbit, you’ve lived in a cardboard box for three months.” “Oh,” he replied, “that’s right. I guess that’s why everything looks so different. It’s very bright here. Cardboard boxes don’t have windows, you know.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. So, Rabbit, tell me what you think. Isn’t this a nice place?” “Well, it’s very nice, but…” “But what?” Rabbit looked toward the bedroom window. “What’s that sound, that rumbling I hear. Don’t you hear it, too?” Rabbits have very sensitive ears. I moved closer to the window. “I think you’re talking about the sound of the train. I’ve heard it now for several days and it has become a background sound.” “A what?” Rabbit asked. “You know, like cars going down the street, the hum of tires on the road. “Oh,” Rabbit said. Remember, Rabbit has not had as much experience as I have in blocking out things I don’t want to see or hear. “Do you think, in time, that I won’t hear the train or the cars? They’ll be there, but I won’t hear them?” “That’s exactly what I mean,” I told him. “Give it a little time and you will be insensitive to the distractions.”

Rabbit looked puzzled. “That’s too bad,” he said. “Human beings seem pretty good at blocking things out, not hearing or seeing. For example, did you see Hummingbird outside about an hour ago? She flew all the way from where we used to live just to say ‘hello’ and you looked right past her.” I didn’t remember seeing a Hummingbird. “I guess you were so busy putting that bookcase together that you just didn’t see her, “Rabbitt added. “Is that what you mean about the sounds outside? Even though they are there, I won’t hear them?

I thought for a moment, and before I could reply, Rabbit concluded: “I don’t think I want to be ‘insensitive’, and have you seen my sunglasses? It’s very bright here in our new home. But, maybe I’ll just get used to it.”

Clever Rabbit.

The Grandfather Tree, eighteen-hundred years old, knows what it means to be serene in the midst of the storm. Winds from all directions…fame or obscurity, wealth or poverty, success or failure, happiness or sadness…and still the massive tree is unmoved. One reason for its stability in the midst of storm is flexibility. It literally flexes, sways, bends in the assault of high winds, but bending and breaking are two different things. Grandfather is anchored but not rigid. And each part of the huge tree benefits the whole. Canopy, trunk, roots. Each is necessary for the survival of the whole. Grandfather’s “treeness” is defined by the parts working together. Sound familiar? We can debate the question of which part of Grandfather’s structure is most important for survival and growth, but high on the priority list has to be roots. Grounded (quite literally), anchored.

Some of us wonder why we get buffeted and knocked over with every passing storm. Shallow roots. No anchor. Little depth. And don’t overlook the exact opposite. Wealth, fame, applause, success. They can be as vicious as the “bad” things that happen to us.

Storms are inevitable. Rigid things break. Rootless things can’t withstand. Exclusivity is a very narrow street with a sign that reads: No Way Out. A very long time ago, at the end of his teaching or story telling, Jesus would say “let those who have ears, hear.” A contemporary translation: So, what do you think about that?

The last cardboard box is open and almost out the door. The Amazon delivery man said he hopes to never see me again. Forwarded mail is unforwarded, which means it’s out there in the ether somewhere. Sue and I have sore backs from bending and lifting. And we like our new apartment home very much. (A plug for Album Marana, the 55+ community). I’m happy to say that through the move into storage for three months, out of storage and delivery to Album Marana and unpacking, we have found no breakage or damage. Remarkable! I certainly credit the professional packer who wrapped everything so carefully. Her name is Sue and she has moved the Pierce family 28 times in 62+ years of marriage. Truly remarkable!

As I was setting up my little office, I came across the items pictured above. They came together quite by chance on the top shelf of a bookcase, and this morning, at 4:00 a.m. it occurred to me that together they bring a word of thanksgiving. The candle, the chalice, and the woman lifting her hands in prayer. Yes, I know the candle is not burning, but it’s sitting right under a smoke detector and it is 4:00 a.m. A fire alarm is not the way be introduced to the community. So, receive the blessing of the candle and let your light shine throughout this gifted day, the blessing of the cup and all that it means in this Lenten season, and the blessing received from hands raised to the heavens in petition and praise. The peace of Christ is yours. Press on.

Wake me in the morning
by the gentle touch of love
in hands that lift tenderly
and embrace.   I know no 
words to speak, but I will
smile, and she will smile,
and the day will begin.

Wake me in the morning
for I have places to go and
things to do.  Wake me 
with a good morning kiss
and a cup of hot coffee.
Responsibility awaits as
the day begins.

Wake me in the morning
with a sweet kiss and then
I will drift back into sleep.
The rush of life is behind
me and in these quieter 
days I step more slowly
but I love more deeply.

Wake me in the morning.
Soothe my fears, not so much
for myself as for those I love.
Wake me from life into life,
Lord.  Hold my hand for I
have never beheld glory as
I see it now in the light of
your face.

Wake me in the morning,
and the morning,
and the morning.

Amen

My friend told me:
"Yesterday is gone.  History.
Can't change things now.
Let it go."

In one way, she's right.
But, Lord, I have some unfinished business.
There are some footnotes I need to revisit.
Before I close the book on yesterday,
I need to...

Apologize to her for what I said casually
but carelessly.  I need to think before I speak.

Talk to him about his son and the pain the family
is experiencing.  I was too busy yesterday when
he asked.  "On the run; I'll call you."  But I didn't.
I forgot.  I need to be more thoughtful
about how I spend my time.

Call her and just talk.  She's lonely and she
reaches out to me once in a while.  What's more
important, cleaning the oven or listening
to a friend?

God, I know I'm not clever enough to
go back and do yesterday all over again,
but I can tidy it up a bit.
For the things I didn't do but should have,
and the things I did and shouldn't,
my heart feels regret and
my spirit reminds me
to be more thoughtful today.
I know that even having these thoughts
about repairing yesterday is the prompting
of your kind Spirit.  I will hold today in grateful hands
and treat it with dignity and compassion.
May it be so.  Amen.

I am who I decide to be,
not what you imagine or think of me.
I have a sacred choice, you see
to live my life that others may be
drawn to the Truth that sets people free.
God give me courage that I might be
the genuine, authentic, honest me
who lives in the light of eternity.

Who are you on this fine day?
Are you simply what other people say?
Please don't let them take away
the you that loves to dance and play.
The cost is far too much to pay
to be what other people say.

My identity was never meant to be
a mere opinion, what you think of me,
and knowing that is really the key
for I am who I choose to be
in the light of the man from Galilee.

I lived, I live, and I shall live
in order that I might freely give
a word, a thought, a caring hand
to help my neighbor rise and stand
in confident hope and simple trust,
something that every person must
acknowledge and attempt to be
in order to claim an authentic me.

Yes, we are who we decide to be;
life is ours, but it's not free.
To live is neither pomp nor show,
but living in ways that others may know
the joy that life was destined to be,
the fulness of Christ in a person like me.

Thanks be to God for this glorious day,
for the chances that will happen along the way
to lend a hand, to let people see
the purpose of God lived out in me.

If you Google search “crow intelligence,” here’s what you get. “Crows are some of the smartest creatures in the animal kingdom. They are capable of making rule-guided decisions and of creating and using tools. They also appear to show an innate sense of what numbers are.” Amazing birds! And, they can square dance. I’m not sure if that skill is inherent or if they have to take dancing lessons. You ever taken dance lessons? In late elementary school, maybe fifth grade, it was determined that I needed to know how to dance. I wasn’t part of that conversation. I had no input. If I had gotten wind of it, I would have run away…hopped a freight or joined the circus. But, the arrangement was made and I was told to show up at Mrs. Whitson’s house on a particular day, at a particular time. I did, along with four or five other mortified boys and a like number of shy, but cute, girls. We didn’t learn square dancing, just ballroom stuff, which meant that I had to touch a girl. In time, I got over my reluctance. When I took the picture of the dancing crows, I thought to myself: they’re squawking and jumping and having a grand old time. I would have joined them, but they flew away at my approach. In my human experience, joy and love and peace all make me so happy that I could just dance! Today. Right now. I hope you Do-si-Do through this day, giving thanks for your blessings. Wanna dance?

There is a place I know
where dreams are dreamed
and hopes are hoped,
where forgiveness is served 
fresh daily and patience
is usually plentiful.
Home.

This place is not bound by location,
not defined by boundaries or borders.
It is a launching pad and a secret
refuge, a place where memories
are made and failures forgotten.
Home.

No matter where I roam, I
carry it with me, the hallways,
the fragrances, the sound of the
screen door banging shut,
colors, textures, that squeaking
floor in the bathroom.
Home.

There is a dining room in my mind,
a black wooden table set for eight,
covered by a white lace cloth, the
smells of fried chicken, seasoned
green beans, mounds of mashed
potatoes.  Laughter.  "Here, have
some more.  There's plenty."
A chair for me.
Home.

So nice of my friends to put out the welcome home sign. It’s not that Sue and I have forgotten, but the reminder is appreciated. Home! What a glorious word. To make the welcome home complete was the sound of coyotes chattering just before dawn yesterday. They were a bit out of tune, but, again, the effort was very nice. Thinking of home in the final days in Manzanita and even during the drive home, I was drawn back to the opening words of Psalm 90. Remember? “From generation to generation, God, you have been our home…” Home…not just dwelling place. Home is much greater than a place to sleep at night or a drop-in between work and pleasure. Home is where I find meaning in relationship. It’s the give-and-take of family life, hardships faced, successes celebrated, dreams born, values gained and developed. Dwelling place is lodging; home is heart. And for the spiritually minded, for Christ followers, home is much, much bigger than location. Wherever you are, at any time of night or day, you and I are at home in Christ Jesus, at home in God’s great heart. I appreciate the welcome home sign, and I will listen carefully for the sound of hiss or rattle, but I will listen with great joy for the greetings of friends…here at home.