Shining Spirit

Just when you think the journey will be calm, smooth, effortless, you round a corner and there they are. The dreaded rocks, big ones and little ones. And everything changes. Hold on! It’s going to get bumpy. One minute, your little boat is drifting on the serene surface, then, without warning, you’re dodging the rocks that are seen and the ones unseen. In matters of health, in relationships, in the stock market, in the practice of faith principles. Rocks are out there. As a general rule, don’t forgo the journey because of the possibility of turbulence. Everybody hits the rapids once in a while. Just be smart enough to deal with those rocks when they come along. Navigate your little boat carefully and you will come out on the other side, back into smooth water. At least, for the time being. A friend of mine told me that when rocks pop up to ruin his journey, he just turns everything over to God. Let God handle it. He called his approach simple trusting. Commendable. But that tiller back on the stern of your boat isn’t there for decoration. Trusting in God’s deliverance is good. Keeping your hand on the tiller and your eyes on the obstacles is better. Our faith tells us that God is always near but it doesn’t say that God will drive the boat.

The benediction pronounced,
the last hymn sung,
greetings exchanged,
sad farewells shared,
we drove away from the church
leaving behind pieces of our hearts
and the body of my father.
Only in our memories would we
ever again smell the fragrance of
his aftershave lotion, hear his laugh,
see him at his desk crafting a sermon
for preaching next Sunday.

Dreary days passed before I could muster the
courage to open his desk drawers
and rummage through things he had
touched and treasured.
He wrote with a fountain pen…who
uses fountain pens anymore?
As I pushed scribbled notes aside,
I uncovered a small cloth bag,
a draw string at the top. It was not empty.
I looked at it for several minutes
before gently pulling the draw string
open, turning the bag upside down and
watching the contents tumble onto
the dark wood.

A slip of paper, a small pocket cross,
and a rock, a common backyard rock,
ordinary in every way.
I think I skipped a breath when I saw my
name on the folded paper,
addressed to me, left for me to find,
waiting to be discovered.
Here’s what I read.

My son, I left this little bag
for you. Maybe in time you will find it
and appreciate the contents. These two
items will influence how you live the
rest of your life. I carried the cross in my
pocket to remind me that love is so much
more than sentiment. Love is the will power
to sacrifice for the welfare of the other,
willing sacrifice for the welfare of life. Willing
sacrifice…say those words right now. Less
than that, love is a marketplace commodity.

The rock has worn holes in my pockets over
the years. It’s like the stone the man carried when
he was about to fling it at the woman caught in adultery.
Do you remember the story? Just when he was
poised to throw it at her pitiful body, he heard a
voice say: “Let him who is without sin cast the
first stone.” In sudden shame and embarrassment,
he dropped it on the ground, turned and walked away.
What you don’t know, my son, is that same voice
was heard again…”Come here my brother.
Yes, brother…lift your head, don’t be ashamed.
You are forgiven. You are a child of my Father.
You are my brother, and you are forgiven.”
As he said these words, Jesus slipped the
stone back into the man’s trembling hands
and told him to carry it as a reminder
of the moment when anger and hate
were overcome by grace and mercy.
They embraced and the man
walked away weeping.

There were times, son, when I wanted to use
that rock for revenge, but each time I reached
into my pocket to find it,
I felt the little cross
and I became the man whose anger turned
to shame and whose shame became rejoicing.
All because of a pocket cross and a rock.
Imagine.

Time. Friend or foe? Too much to do and not enough time? Or, too much time with nothing to fill the hours? How do you manage time? Or, maybe it manages you?

Remember the biblical story of Queen Esther? Uncertain about what to do, what decision to make, she was counseled: Be strong and have courage, for perhaps you have been called for this very hour…for such a time as this. There is a great lesson here. Have you ever felt that you were called “for such a time as this?” That somehow life has come together and is just waiting for someone to speak truth, or act courageously, or stand for justice. And maybe you’re the someone.

One writer put it this way: “The way we spend time defines who we are.” You can’t put it in the bank. You can’t hoard it in the closet. You can’t capture it once it’s gone. Spiritual discernment allows us to examine the moment and respond in the character of Jesus, to hear those words in your ears: Maybe you have been called to the Kingdom for such a time as this.

Be alert to the moment, sensitive to the circumstances, and courageous in addressing the moment with Good News. Ben Franklin: “Lost time is never found again.” Don’t waste it. Make the most of it. Time is a gift from our Creator. Spend it wisely.

Only when a building collapses,
only when the relationship crumbles into ruin,
only when the city street disappears into a vicious sinkhole,
only when the beachfront house slides down the embankment,
only then do we wonder about foundations.
When all goes well, and everything looks fine,
appearances are counted as successes,
and facade passes for substance,
then we feel good about
the moment, the meaning, the mission.
Foundations are forgotten.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Invisible until the inferno
redefines reality.

What we don’t remember, or
never knew, or have lost concern about
is that foundations are
structural imperatives.
They are purposeful,
often laid by unknown hands,
often designed to support something
far prettier, more compelling,
supposedly of greater significance.

Foundation builders should get the awards.
Foundation builders are the anonymous backbone of a culture
madly in love with toys and titles.
Stability and strength are at the heart of any
reputable foundation.
And, too, in the makeup of all
who in obscurity shape the cement
and think beyond the
immediacy of now.

I used to think my prayers went out and up,
like a skyrocket or a sleek airliner at take off,
rising, lifting, faster and faster, higher and higher,
flung into space with hope and a trajectory.
right into the mind of God.

But time and experience taught me that God is
right here…in our midst, among us, incarnate and
that skyrockets create beautiful explosions that
last a few seconds and then are gone.

Now, in these years of reflection,
I watch the sun set over the ocean,
a glowing ball hovering on the horizon,
creating a display of shapes and colors that
will fade and disappear into night.
I am stirred deep within my self.
No rising to reach the remote.
No more out there.

I talk to myself.
To a deep inner place where ideas start,
dreams are born, a fertile place. Holy
only because life’s essence resides there,
catching falling skyrockets ad planning
tomorrow’s sunset.

I am not God and God is not me,
yet there exists within me a
mysterious merging of up and down,
in, out, here, there and a final clarity
reached only through the interior
landscape of human wonder and
sacred wisdom.

I no longer throw my prayers into a
remote heaven. I plant them in the
soil of my soul where each is tended
by the One whose wisdom is greater
than mine, whose love extends beyond
the boundaries that I have set, whose
forgiveness far exceeds my limitations.

The garden of my soul, a place where
prayers are planted and nurtured
in trust and hope.

Do you see it? Look closely…very closely. I’ll give you a hint. Look in the middle of the photo and look for something colored yellow. Now do you see it? Yes, that’s it. A little yellow wildflower refusing to be swallowed up by chaos and confusion. The ground rock is very thick in this part of the landscape, and the randomly placed rocks cover the soil almost entirely. Then add a layer of those white beans shaken from the local trees in the most recent violent wind storm. But in spite of it all, one little yellow flower said to the world: “Even in the midst of the storm, when the trees shook until they broke, limbs littered the streets…even then, beauty will not be denied.”

Good lesson to learn, don’t you think. Beauty thrives under any circumstance. It’s all in the eye of the beholder. In tough times, frightening times remember the yellow flower and the life-giving message of Jesus. “I am with you always…” Don’t be afraid to bloom. And do so with a grateful heart and a prayer of thanksgiving to your Creator.

A flashlight doesn’t make the darkness go away.
In fact, it makes the darkness darker.
Turn the bright light off and it is
blacker than before.

Eyes don’t adjust quickly. It takes time.
Time in the darkness. Time within the darkness.
Time as part of the darkness. Patience, too.
You don’t rush seeing in the dark.

Hazards and obstacles live in darkness.
The chair leg whispers to the ceramic pot:
“Here he comes. Watch this.”
It’s hard to muffle a scream caused by
a twisted toe caused by a chair leg in the dark.

But if you can make it from the bed to the sofa
without twisted toes or bruised legs,
sit in the darkness, eyes open, looking into
black nothingness, and wait.

It will happen. Black turns to hazy gray,
silhouettes appear, indistinct lines define
boundaries, maneuvering is manageable,
chair legs sigh with disappointment.

Things become clearer when you wait
in the darkness, become more fully
aware of surrounding circumstances,
look, listen, take it all in, sometimes even
redefine routes and routines.

Hurrying through darkness blindly
usually produces bad results. There
may be land mines out there.
Seeing in the darkness, on the other hand,
is the result of conscious waiting,
tolerance of the moment
and redefinitions about
the way to proceed.

A very fine day is about to be born,
away with all malice, hate and scorn.
You take my hand and I’ll take yours,
fling open the windows, unlock the doors,
let’s welcome in this Mysterious Guest
who brings in her hands the very best
hope we have in this broken world.
Welcome our guest with banners unfurled,
music and dance, a feast for all,
picnics and parties, a formal ball.
Do you understand what’s happening here?
A remarkable moment is drawing near.
A very fine day is about to be born.
Blow the whistle, sound the horn.
No day has ever been like this before.
O, the joy we have in store!
Fling open the windows, unlock the doors.
Dawn is about to appear!

Sight unseen and yet everywhere.
If I cannot see it, is it not there?
So often my eyes are not able to see
the Presence that dances and swirls around me.
Is it Love that fans the flame in my heart?
From where did it come? When did it start?
Why are there days when I feel so alone,
my heart is heavy, the weight of a stone.

Sight unseen and yet everywhere.
The Mystery moves on a longing prayer,
hands raised to God, my desperate plea.
It’s then I sense something close to me
like a warm wool blanket on a cold winter night.
I am held by arms beyond human sight.
A new heart beats within my chest,
courage, like a shield, confronts the test.

Like a child who sits on her mother’s lap,
curls up, contented, for an afternoon nap,
I trust in that which I cannot see
for at times it is so real to me.
So real that I could touch and feel
the hand in mind, love now revealed
in the sweet taste of life, Spirit air.
It takes eyes of the heart to see God everywhere.

Skyshapes. Celestial art. Creative imagination.

Gratitude