Easter Dinosaur

I see you there on the grocery shelf

among all the other half-price items,

which today consist entirely of Easter candy,

looking simultaneously fierce and forlorn, out of place.

What brought you to this, you who are no

chick or bunny, no fluffy traditional Easter creature?

You possess a story unknown to me;

I am left to create my own story about you,

Easter dinosaur.

Overflowing Joy

At that very moment, Jesus overflowed with joy from the Holy Spirit and said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because You’ve hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and shown them to babies. Indeed, Father, this brings you happiness.”

                                                                                                    Luke 10:21

I would have loved to see Jesus overflow with joy. I don’t recall having read such a description of Jesus elsewhere, but I can imagine it. Can you? 

This verse is part of the story of the seventy-two who have been sent out and have now returned to share their experiences. Imagine the excitement they brought, and Jesus, in the thick of their excitement, exclaiming with joy to God! It is a glimpse, surely, of what heaven must be, and the overflowing joy that is part and parcel of eternal life. 

I’ve had those moments of overflowing joy, and I’m sure you’ve had them too. Last weekend, I was in the North Georgia mountains, and one morning, as I sat outside in the crisp, cool air, I saw the sun strike the mountain in front of me. It brought tears to my eyes, a moment of overflowing joy. We experience such moments, and most of them take place in events of everyday life. Something clicks, and we are present in a way that is hard to describe. If we do try to describe it, we cannot adequately convey why it is such a moment for us.

Maybe such moments are when we actually experience the world with childlike wonder. Jesus speaks of things being hidden from the wise and intelligent and shown instead to babies. To overflow with joy requires that we lay aside being “reasonable” and embrace imaginative delight, that we receive God’s kingdom, which is everywhere, all around us, as a child.

Are you open to experiencing overflowing joy? Are you willing to let go of stiff, stuffy adulting to see the ordinary as extraordinary, with the eyes of a child?

Praising Plants

Even the mountains and the hills will burst into song before you;
    all the trees of the field will clap their hands.                                                       Isaiah 55:12

Anthropomorphic descriptions are plentiful in scripture. Maybe you’ve watched a tree sway in the wind and imagined it clapping its hands.  As fall colors begin to appear, mountains do look like they are bursting into song. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The earth laughs in flowers.”

A couple of weeks ago I repotted a very potbound spider plant. Its leaves were brown on the ends and when I watered it, the water quickly filled the dish under the pot. It had several plants in it that needed to be separated into their own pots. I had known for a long time that it needed some attention, but it kept making the “do later” list.

This past weekend I was looking at the repotted plants. I felt I could almost hear them exclaiming with delight at their new digs. They truly look happy! In fact, one of the plants is making spider babies already!

All of which makes me wonder, what is it within me that needs space to grow? What do I need to stop putting off and give time and attention to so it can spread its roots and thrive?  When I actually took the time to repot my plant, it really didn’t take that long. It mostly took being prioritized. I just needed to commit about half an hour to the project.

Maybe what is languishing in you, suffering from lack of attention, just needs a small amount of time and space to take root and grow. Making the time and space for a dream to root and grow is an act of praise to God. A thriving desire given time and attention to flourish is a way you show your delight for the gifts and abilities God has placed in you.

I am inspired by my spider plants to tend my “inner garden.” I hope their example likewise inspires you!

Letter to a Fly

Dear fly, (though I don’t really mean the “dear” part)

why must you ceaselessly circle my head,

occasionally tangling in my hair, or

clumsily crashing into my cheek, or worse,

my lips?

I know you are a child of God, as am I.

St. Francis would have called you brother.

I’ve tried to imagine you as guardian angel

keeping me safe as I walk in the woods, but it

stretches beyond the reach of my imagination.

Were you more calm, maybe marking the place

in my psalter, as your kin did for Saint Colman

I might have more affection for you.

Your presence, however, reminds me

I do not yet fully love as God loves.

I have some growing to do.

The Practice of Waiting

 

Waiting is a topic we often consider during the season of Advent. I’ve read numerous Advent meditations that talk about the importance of waiting, the need to wait, the practice of waiting as a spiritual discipline. If we faithfully practice Advent, we are brought back time and time again to the need to wait. It is part of preparing ourselves for the coming of Emmanuel each year at Christmas.

 Of course, waiting is not the favorite pastime of anyone I know. And waiting is not exclusive to Advent. We spend a lot of time waiting for things. Some might say waiting is a “necessary evil” but I wouldn’t call it that.

 I mentioned in my last blog post that I had learned some lessons from nine weeks of not being able to drive because of a broken shoulder. One of the lessons I learned, or at least became more familiar with, was waiting. I waited on the sidewalk outside my apartment most days, looking for my ride for that particular day. It gave me an opportunity to be present. I watched the trees change colors. I watched clouds in the sky. I saw different people walking down the street. I observed the work of remodeling that was happening at a building near me.

 As a child, I remember learning a rhyme about crossing the street. It began: Stop, look, and listen. Standing on the sidewalk each day, waiting for a ride, gave me the opportunity to stop, look, and listen, a practice I can do anywhere, anytime I’m waiting, if I’ll just stay awake and aware.

 There was another gift of waiting. It was a waiting that curbed impulsiveness. Because I was dependent on others to take me to the grocery store, I had to be attentive about keeping a running list of what I needed. I couldn’t simply jump in the car to pick up one or two items. It caused me to recognize how impulsive I can be. Because I had to wait, I learned to improvise or do without ingredients. Not a bad practice.

 I realized just how much time I can waste making little trips back and forth to the grocery store. I recognized that impulsivity is a barrier to imagination. When I have to wait, there is time and space for creative problem solving. That’s a practice that can apply not only to meal preparation but to other areas of life. Waiting gives space for ideas to germinate.

 As we wait during Advent, I challenge you to see this practice of waiting as creative process. Stop. Look. Listen. Improvise. Think about things differently. What can grow in you while you wait?