Blackbirds

 

Settled, at least for now, in the act of feeding, 

birds blanket the ground, their chirps and cackles 

drench the morning air with sound. 

I could not count them if I tried, the volume 

and their movement muddle any hope of totalling. And why 

would I want to count? Better to stand in awe, 

witness to abundance, communion, energy of life. 

Enjoy the gift, marvel at the scene, for it is fleeting. 

A sound, movement, something I don’t sense, disturbs, 

in a flurry of sound, a thousand wings lift the mass 

into the sky. I stand, agape, in the silence they leave behind, 

 recognizing the place I stand as holy ground, 

 receiving their mantle and their lesson. 

Sing, eat, share life with friends, live in this moment, 

turn aside, be awed.

Close to Water

What is it about water that soothes the anxious soul?

Sound, sparkle in sunlight, the rhythm of waves or current,

the concealment of what lies under. . .

Water wears many faces,

lives differently depending on location,

but woos and mesmerizes in its varied forms.

Rushing, undulating ocean waves,

singing, shimmering stream flowing through forest,

peaceful pond reflecting moonlight.

I am drawn to water, soaking in its call to calm, my soul

slaking its thirst for peace.

Is it the water in me that makes me feel at home,

at one with water in the world,

joined by our common nature?

Soaking

One of my potted herbs, a basil plant, takes time to water. If I try to pour water on it from my watering can, the water simply runs across the top of the soil and over the edge of the pot. The plant itself gets no benefit.

What I’ve learned is that I have to use a small watering bottle with a straw, and squeeze water through the small opening in the straw to give the plant what it needs. It takes time, but it’s the only way I can adequately water the plant.

I thought about this plant as I was reading from the epistle attributed to James. James begins his letter with these words:

My brothers and sisters, think of the various tests you encounter as occasions for joy. After all, you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. Let this endurance complete its work so that you may be fully mature, complete, and lacking in nothing. (James 1:2-4)

To build endurance involves some soaking. It takes time, patience, consistency, and the ability to be content when you don’t see “progress.” Endurance requires showing up, day after day, moment by moment. It isn’t glamourous. It doesn’t draw much attention. It doesn’t generate a rush of adrenaline. It may not garner you any praise or recognition.

Endurance is about remaining in the flow of God’s grace so that you are gradually reshaped. I think about rocks worn smooth by constant contact with the flow of a stream. It takes a very long time for a rock to go from jagged to smooth. In the same way we grow more complete in our faith by remaining in the flow of grace.

The willingness to be consistent and constant without any significant signs of progress does test our faith. We would prefer that God would bestow signs and wonders on us that enable us to be certain of our growth. It’s been my experience, though, that God works mostly in small, subtle, barely perceptible ways. We have to trust that the soaking, the flow, is moving us toward maturity and completeness.

Winter Beauty

 Living in middle Georgia, winter is a variable affair. One day it’s 65 degrees, another day it’s 40 and drizzling. We don’t get the Winter Wonderland of snow that friends further north enjoy, but I have a deep appreciation for the beauty that a middle Georgia winter offers me.

 I enjoy the bare trees. To see the intricate lace of limbs against a gray sky always generates a sense of wonder in me. I have my favorite trees around town but I enjoy them all. Their bareness also yields the surprises of bird nests that were hidden by summer leaves. I walk by the nests and think about how I passed them in the summer without any awareness of the life that was so close by.

 I like the days we have cold drizzle. Those are some of my favorite days to walk outside. Ever since I went to Ireland several years ago, I’ve grown to appreciate rainy days. An Irish man gave me a pearl of wisdom I remember every rainy day: There’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing! So I don my raincoat and waterproof boots and enjoy a walk in the drizzle.

I enjoy the winter plants, the stalks and sometimes seed pods that remain when all the green is gone. The shapes and patterns they make, and the ways they light up when the sunshine hits them, is as much a treat for the eyes as flowers in springtime.

 If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I am grateful for the beauty I see in a winter landscape. I do believe that to see beauty in the browns and grays of winter is a choice, an intention that can make the difference between having a gloomy day or a delightful day. May you be gifted with eyes to see the beauty around you in wintertime.

 

Somewhere Near the Edge of Life

 

Inspired by a line from a poem by Robert Bly, “It’s As If Someone Else Is with Me”: I am here, somewhere near the edge of life 

Who could not believe in magic

walking on a misty morning?

Jewels hang, diamonds, from every bare branch.

The pines, proud in their winter green, sparkle,

each needle adorned with light on this gray day.

The bite of winter air, the mist hitting my cheeks,

gentle as feathers, stimulates me.

I am fully alive and magic everywhere I turn

in this thin space, somewhere near the edge of life,

somewhere I know, yet meet anew today.

A Word for the Year

 

                                                        

Several years ago, instead of making resolutions, I adopted the practice of choosing a word to guide my year. It’s probably more accurate to say I let a word choose me. Through a process of prayer, listening to the world around me, and reflection, a word makes itself known to me. Sometimes a word comes quickly, and other years, I find myself sifting through several different words, waiting patiently for one to emerge with clarity.

 As someone who used to be all about detailed goals and plans, this way of approaching the new year was a big change the first couple of years I practiced it. I have found it to be liberating and life-giving, because instead of focusing on what I fail to do, on goals I fail to meet, I stay open to how the year unfolds itself, and let the word guide me when unexpected changes happen.

 In 2020, my word was “Grow.” When Covid shut things down, and caused a major change to life, I could adapt. A changed environment didn’t derail me because growth was certainly possible in a different landscape than I anticipated at the start of the year. Had I set certain goals and made specific plans, they would have likely been irrelevant by mid-March.

 A word to guide the year creates spaciousness. There are many ways one can live into their word, and no two people will embody a word in the same way. Even if I have the same word as you, we’ll live into it differently because our lives and perspectives and needs are different.

 Sometimes the word has been something to reach for. One year, in the midst of turmoil and change, my word was “Brave.” It inspired me to keep going when it would have been easy to crumble in on myself. It challenged me to draw on resources deep within me, and on those days when I felt anything but brave, it reminded me not to be defined by that one difficult day.

 At the end of each year, I’ve enjoyed reflecting back on how my word has shaped my experience of the year. There are always surprises—a word makes space for the unexpected to happen. To look back and see how the events of the year, the choices I’ve made, and the ways I’m different connect to the word that has guided me encourages me to continue the practice.

 If you’re already frustrated by resolutions, I suggest listening for a word that might guide or challenge you for 2022. Pray, pay attention, and listen to what is around you and within you. You may find a word invites your attention and speaks to your soul. The process itself can be deeply spiritual, and living into the word may keep you connected to God in creative ways.

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?