"Below, the cracked, brown earth,

       Like ancient earthen-ware,

Spreads out its dusty, worn

       Old surface, baked and bare.

Above, the polished blue

       Of a burnished August sky

Is an inverted bowl

       Of every drop drained dry."

~May Frink Converse

The last two mornings I have awakened to damp sidewalks and the fresh scent of rain in the air. As I picked up the morning paper yesterday, I had to shake the water off the plastic bag that shielded the ink from running into oblivion. This morning is rained lightly all morning. It was a gray, cocoon like morning meant for turning off the alarm, snuggling back under the covers with a good book or for a couple more hours of sleep. Instead we all headed out into a world that needed the rain so badly, a world of brown grass and withered flowers.

It was so refreshing to feel the rain falling on my skin when I headed to the car. A part of me just wanted to stand there, to be in solidarity with the soil, the grass, the thirsty plants and trees. We have been without rain for a long time though certainly not as long as some other places around the world. And my garden is small and really for enjoyment and show…it is not the livelihood that feeds my family. So in the very big picture, the drought has only affected me aesthetically but I am still very aware of our lack of rain.

Drought. It is both reality and metaphor. I know many people who are experiencing a drought in their lives right now…..physically, professionally, economically, spiritually. Those dry places that need life-giving moisture to grow are finding it difficult, even deadly. Creativity, imagination, even options seems out of reach. I pray for a drenching rain to gently fall on those brittle places that need to be doused with moisture. I pray it for them, for myself, for the hope of our world.

"Let me taste your mercy like rain on my face,here in my life, show me your peace. Let us see with our own eyes your day breaking bright, Come, O Morning, come, O Light!" Rory Cooney

As humans we are gathering people, and I am not speaking of being hunters and gatherers. We like to gather in parks, in living rooms, at the beach, over coffee in the neighborhood coffee shop. Some places are better gathering places than others. Some are more comfortable, more beautiful, less noisy, more noisy. Over time the places people gather has changed. Take malls, for instance. While it is not in my nature to gather in a mall to meet with my friends, teenagers find it a good spot for coming together. Different strokes, different times.

It seems one place that people have gathered through out time is in a place where trees form some kind of grove.They gather there for protection from sun or enemy, making homes, pitching tents, building fires for cooking, warmth and, of course, storytelling. Trees can form a grove of identity for groups of people as my husband and I witnessed a week ago when we visited the state campground near Lake Mille Lacs. Walking among the trees that were adjacent to a smaller, more manageable lake than the bigger one, we walked the ground that was home to the native people so many years ago. You could still see how their homes must have been configured. As I stood there I sensed their presence, their wisdom, their understanding that, indeed, this was a good and beautiful place to be, to live.

Last week there was a wonderful story in the Star Tribune about a boy who had taken on city hall by trying to preserve a large stump of tree in the park that was the meeting place for he and his friends. "Meet you at the stump!" the kids would say as they planned for their daily activities. I was touched by this article. We have always had a scraggly grove of trees…more like bushes…that exists on our street. I think of all the times I have heard the words of the children in my house and in our neighborhood:"Meet you at the trees!"It was their place, no adults allowed, their place of ‘kid’ identity, the place where dreams were born and schemes were hatched.

We can name all of the great reasons for the existence of trees. Food, shade,beauty,shelter, home for birds and animals, wood for our own homes, and, of course, the very oxygen that keeps us breathing and alive. But it is also good to remember that groves of trees, all over the world, throughout time, have been the gathering places for lovers, enemies, friends and families."Meet you at the trees!" is still a call that sends us running for the place that connects us with our ancestors….to a place of safety, of adventure, of identity, of home.

"I part the out thrusting branches
and come in beneath
the blessed and the blessing trees.
Though I am silent
there is singing around me.
Though I am dark
there is vision around me.
Though I am heavy
there is flight around me."

  ~Wendell Berry   

I have been cleaning out files and notebooks the last few days. I’ve found little bits of wisdom here and there scribbled on pieces of paper, in the margins of articles I’ve ripped out of magazines or journals, on a post it note or two. Some of the phrases make sense on their own, some only in the context of what was happening at the time, where I was, who I was.

Take for instance a few pages I saved from notes I took at a conference on creativity at St. Thomas University a few summers ago. At the top of the page I must have written down what the leader had said:"To make creativity happen, you must search for the value in new ideas." At first glance it seems a no-brainer. Creativity…new ideas…a lovely little duet. But then the word ‘value’ jumps out. Most of the time we want to be creative as long as it doesn’t rock the boat, as long as things don’t change too much, as long as it is not too much work, doesn’t take too much energy. But when we really search for what can be valued in a new idea, things can get really exciting.

My notes went on to say that with any new idea, to avoid killing it and to be open to the value that lives within it, we should praise first and then look for the good in it. That seems a very different approach than ones I’ve taken, or have seen taken, in supposed visioning or future planning meetings. My notes also reflect the thought that ‘new ideas often look weird or ridiculous.’ That is probably what is known as an understatement.

When have you had a new idea that filled you with excitement? Maybe you are having one right now. When have you been in a work, family or church meeting when someone offered an idea that seemed weird or ridiculous. How might it all have played out if the idea had been offered praise first and then the group would have galloped off looking for the good in it?

In a book I return to often and probably have mentioned here before, Gently Lead:How to Teach Your Children About God While Finding Out For Yourself, by Polly Berrien Berends, the author recounts helping her children solve problems or look for creative solutions. She would always tell them, "Remember, God is the Source of all your good ideas."

What do you think? Does that sound like an idea to praise and then look for the good in? I believe it is worth a try.

One of the local television stations has been running a commercial showing the brilliant faces of several ages of children doing what children do: run, play, somersault, laugh uproariously. The photography is simple. The scenes are simple….backyards, playgrounds, swimming pools. At the end there are is the simple message: ‘Summer…84 days to be a kid again.’

I’ve really enjoyed this commercial. I’ve enjoyed the sheer joy on the children’s faces, the wild abandon of their play, the sense of freedom it exhibits. 84 days to be a kid again. I thought of these words last night as I watched all the children at our National Night Out block party. I know all of these children individually and see them in the neighborhood all the time. But somehow when they all were in one place at the same time, they became a force. A force of fun, of freedom, of memory. Ice cream dotted their sweaty faces, most were tired beyond words, but their wise parents allowed them to play and play until they were finally carried home, exhausted, filthy, ecstatic. Isn’t it what we all wanted to do?

This morning as I went for an early morning walk there was no sign of their frenetic bodies running and jumping. The chairs and tables, ice cream sticks and soda cans had been cleaned up. The only visible sign of the last night’s activities were the sidewalk chalk words: Happy Summer! The hot pink and bright blue letters brought a smile to my face and a spring to my step.

Happy Summer, indeed. I don’t know where we are in those 84 days. But I do know that as I walked home from the block party last night, the dark and humid air hung heavy with the faint scent not of summer, but of fall. Last Sunday evening while having a lovely outdoor meal with friends in their backyard surrounded by  purple cone flowers and pink phlox, a yellow leaf fell slowly from the tree overhead into my salad. So it seems to me each of us have the responsibility to not let the summer pass us by without remembering…….what it was like to be a kid. The school bell will ring before we know it.

"On a summer morning I sat down on a hillside
to think about God- a
worthy pastime.
Near me, I saw a single cricket;
it was moving the
grains of the hillside this way and that way.
How great was its
energy, how humble its effort.
Let us hope it will always be like this,
each of us going on in our inexplicable ways
building the universe."
~Mary Oliver

A few weeks ago a friend spoke to our worshiping community about his own spiritual journey, the twists and turns it has taken, his rebellion, his longings, the push and pull of the institutional church in his life. I am always struck at the courage a person has to do such a talk: to stand before those you know well and those who are strangers and talk about some of the most intimate and important parts of life. In speaking he told the story of being in a class in Berkeley, California with some of the great thinkers in theology, spirituality and cosmology. It was the beginning days of the class and information about how the Universe works, the sacred nature of it all, was flying through the air. He was feeling a bit overwhelmed with the level of scientific jargon and concepts. At one point, being a good student,possibly anticipating future exams,  he asked:"How much of this information are you expecting us to take in and remember?" The professor answered simply, "Just to the point where you are stunned."

It seems to me that some of the most important work humans do is to be stunned. As I sit looking out my office window an amazing oak tree is rising out of a playground hedged in by massive buildings, asphalt and concrete and yet it spreads its branches and shades the children who play there, sending oxygen into the air that fills their tiny lungs. Stunning!

There are so many things to be stunned about and I don’t even have to get to scientific language. Tiny seeds that grow into food that fuels my body. Hummingbird wings. A baby’s eyelashes. The sunrise this weekend that had the full colors of the rainbow and then some. Watching young adult children at the lip of adventure and feeling your heart grow with the promise of their lives. Standing at the graveside of a 94 year old whose children were so shaped by her faith and love, that they glow with the celebration of her life in the midst of their grief. Sitting beside a young one sounding out words as reading becomes a new skill. The eyes and voices of people singing with joy the songs they love. All stunning!

Perhaps one of the reasons we go for the mundane, that we allow ourselves to be swept away by the unimportant nit-picky details of daily living, is that being stunned can be exhausting. But, oh, who would want to miss the thrill of the Northern Lights or the tart, yet sweet,taste of a fresh picked blueberry?Who would trade a meteor shower for cleaning out the garage? Who would choose organizing your sock drawer over staring at the clear, glass surface of a summer lake?

Think about it. Are you having enough stunned moments in your life? The world is waiting for each of us….and there are no exams to be passed. We need only stand with our mouths….and our hands….and our hearts…wide open and ready.

One year ago today those of us who live in the Twin Cities were going about our daily lives with the usual amnesia. We drove to work, took kids to activities, ate a sandwich without tasting while driving at warp speed in our cars, skimmed the newspaper without paying attention to the stories of the lives held in black and white, kissed a loved one without tasting the sweetness of their skin on our lips, said our prayers with little attention or passion.

Sometime between 5:30-7:00 p.m. on August 1st, I was sitting where I am nearly every first Wednesday of every month as our women’s book group meets at church. We were laughing or crying as we discussed whatever book was that month’s selection. Then our receptionist opened the door to the room where we meet to say the bridge over 35W had collapsed and fallen into the river. Stunned, we immediately began making phone calls checking on loved ones, people we knew who might have been traveling that way. All of our senses became heightened, our nerve endings seeming to move to the surface of our skin. I looked at my cellphone to see that our older son had been trying to reach me. Momentarily I froze knowing that he is often with friends who live near the University very near the bridge.  Then the message:"I’m o.k. Don’t worry." A release of breath, a silent prayer of gratitude.

Today will be spent remembering. Remembering scenes just like this one. "Where were you?" will be asked. Where were you when the bridge fell? Countless stories will be told, prayers will be said for those who lost their lives, for those who live forever changed, for those who would be surprised by their own bravery, for those who simply did what they were trained to do. Today will be spent remembering…..remembering what it means to be a fragile, human being, walking in an uncertain world where bridges fail us, illness arrives unwelcomed, accidents change lives forever, and bad things happen to good people. It is the nature of living.

But today will also be spent remembering how people risked their lives to save strangers and children were lifted by the arms of angels out of a school bus dangerously dangling over the rushing waters of the  Mississippi.Someplace in the remembering we will recognize the things that unite us and we will make a silent assent. Those that divide will seem diminished or unimportant. Today, at least for a few moments, we will be awake to the life that we love as we remember how precious it is and how quickly it can all change. Hopefully in that moment, each of us will stop what we are doing, be awakened, and remember to remember  more often….and to give thanks.

"Oh, God, give me grace for this day, Not for a lifetime, nor for the next day, nor for tomorrow, just for this day. Direct and bless everything that I think and speak and do. So that for this one day, just this one day, I have the gift of grace that comes from your presence." ~Marjorie Holmes