I rise and take up my mat of grief, pulling it over me like a heavy wool wrap. My son draws near, standing in the shadowy membrane between memory and presence, to remind me that Love never fails. I turn and pull up the shades to face the mourning light, with all its pain, to […]
The vet told me not to give Holly human food but I just cant resist It. There is a deep down vicarious pleasure I get in spoiling her with the good stuff. She stands at attention before my plate , holding dead still, like a pointer in the presence of a bird. If I let
Spiritual growth is not about rising above our nature but decending more deeply into it.
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Standing together on a mountain of silence. With dark eyes peering out from white parchment faces. Limbs woven into slender cages, holding the sky Stripped bare, pure as snow and light as air. Standing in white drifts and holding a weight glory.
“As God can only be seen by his own light, so He can only be loved by His own love” (Meister Eckart, Sermons) We tend to think that achieving sanctification and union with God is up to us, but it is not. Yes we must cooperate with grace, but at the deepest point within the
I am transparent that you may see into me, and hold up both my sorrow and joy. What resides here is sacred, not for the having but for the sharing and transforming. I am a glad vessel, an experiencer, a witness, and a story teller full of pain and promise. What I hold is not really
I love rain that falls straight down, with no wind to push it around. Long heavy drops in gentle free fall. The pains grey sky easing its suffering by just letting go, un-coerced. As the barometer drops so to do my defenses. Something deep in me feels permission to open its pores and everything becomes
My mother loves to sit in the shade of the grand oaks that line the river bank of her property. She sits for hours while I come and go. These Oaks are so broad shouldered they can offer shade all through the day. The breeze moves in off the water and the oak leaves begin
There is the familiar sound of gravel under tire as I pull into the road-side stand. A few steps under the burning July sun and then I am under the heavenly tent. A table is piled high with green sheaths, slender, and still warm to touch, as if just dumped from the farmers truck. The
A tide of gratitude envelopes me, every cell immersed in its presence. A wave of acceptance washes over all that has become of me, and all that will be. It feels like a glad dissolving, a disappearing into the Christ mystery. As waves of fear recede, the self-less sand is carved up into new channels
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