“Such love does
the sky now pour,
that whenever I stand in a field,
I have to wring out the light
when I get
home.”
~St. Francis of Assisi (1182-1226)

Minnesotans are walking around with dazed, goofy looks on their faces these days. The weather has been such perfection that we simply do not know what to do with ourselves. Each day brings a cool morning with brilliant blue skies and puffy, white clouds that seemed to be created, not by nature, but by an artist’s brush. The temperatures are light sweater in the morning days and shirt sleeves by noon. As the afternoon turns into evening the process simply goes in reverse. Someone said to me yesterday:”These are the days I was born for.” They are, indeed, days that cause us to use the word ‘bask’ with abandon as we act on its meaning.

But before I allow myself to get too wrapped up in my revelry over these exquisite days,I find it is important to send prayers of healing and hope to those living in Texas whose lives are being torn apart by drought and fire. Theirs are not days of perfection but of fear. Lives and livelihoods are being destroyed and helplessness is all around. And then there are those who are still cleaning up from the hurricane along the eastern coast. It seems that while we watched certain areas of that coast for the devastation only a hurricane can produce, our eyes were not poised on other landscapes along those places first settled in our country. Prayers must also be sent to those who clean up, lift and haul, and rebuild. May their spirits be lifted by at least one amazing act of hope this day.

Such is the way of the world. While some of us bask in beauty, others dig out from under trials they never imagined and do not feel capable of. It has always been this way. There is no part of creation that is exempt from tragedy or too full of beauty. It is a good reminder to carry in our back pocket.

Last night I was aware of the ways we can be bathed in and connected by the beauty of sky. Our Seattle son called and as we were speaking he said: “Wow! I can see the moon and the sun at the same time. Cool.” I had been gazing at the half-moon myself, outside our kitchen window. It felt a wonderful connection, this mother-son-moon-watching. Just a few minutes later, my husband called from the north woods. “Have you seen the moon?” Again, I walked to the kitchen to gaze at this silver globe that connected us over the miles. It was a night sky that poured both light and love.

I can imagine St. Francis standing in a field gazing toward a sky not unlike the ones by which we have been blessed. As his dusty, coarse brown monk’s robes rubbed against his body, I can imagine him lifting his face toward the heavens as he soaked in the beauty of the day. Perhaps he also walked out after the sun set and looked up at the moon, its half circle shining down on his simple life.

Same moon. Different century. Similar blessings. Let the wringing begin.