The last several days have been a whirlwind. Friday morning I headed out to Seattle to accompany our youngest son back to his second year of college. This falls in the realm of: Where did the time go? It was a short trip of two days. Factoring in the time change, it has made for a fuzzy sense of time. What day is it? Why am I sleepy right now? Questions like these are dancing around the frontal lobe.

Today as I moved from meeting to meeting, I have recognized the privilege with which I was able to do such a thing. Beyond the privilege, there is also the speed, the sense of entering another part of the country and the gift of noticing how, what seems novel and interesting to me about life in another place, is something those who witness it daily, might find mundane. I, for one, could not imagine taking for granted the daily passage of ferries, much less the beauty of Puget Sound. I cannot imagine coming to see the color and eccentricities of Pike Place Market as anything short of astounding.

And yet there are probably people who walk past these sights daily and do not notice. There are probably those who rush from work to home, from school to their car, without thinking twice about the beauty and wonder that is theirs to behold. What we have on our plate, in our sight, often is overlooked in our every day rounds. We simply don’t have the presence of mind to see.

That is why my experience on the flight out was so memorable. As we were approaching the Seattle airport, the pilot came over the sound system to say, that if we looked out the windows to our left, we would be able to see Mt. Rainier. If we looked out the right side of the plane, we would be able to see both Mt. Hood and Mt. Baker.
Sure enough! There they were. Above the clouds that settled over the ground below, the sun was shining boldly on these signature mountains.

But the best part was watching the people strain their necks to see these massive, snow-covered peaks. My seat partner, a stranger to me, leaned back and pointed out the window letting me in on the sight. He smiled broadly and pointed out the window sharing the gift of this moment with me. I looked around as others around the plane made similar gestures. Smiles were all around as we shared in this mid-air glimpse of majesty and wonder.

I was reminded of a few lines of a Mary Oliver poem:
There are things you can’t reach. But
you can reach out to them, and all day long.
The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of God.
And it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier.
…….I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.
Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around
as though with your arms open.

I hope I always have the presence of mind to see the things in my own daily life with the fresh eyes of a visitor, even a tourist. I hope I see, open my arms and point, all the time wearing a big smile.

I have this belief, a deep held belief, that human beings travel much of their lives in search of understanding who they really are, why we are here, where we have been and how we are to live in the world at our time and place. In that searching we also carry within us the gifts of our ancestors we know and those that are mystery to us.  Of course, most of us do not think of this minute to minute, even hourly or daily. But every now and then, we have a moment where we glimpse something that lies deep within us. We don’t always understand why our eyes tear up at some experience or phrase we’ve overheard. We don’t quite fathom why this particular sunset seems richer than others or this view of a lake tugs at our heart. We don’t always understand how a place we’ve never been before feels so familiar. All we know is that when these experiences happen, they are profound. Often fleeting, but still profound.

This morning I had one of those experiences. I sat and had coffee at a park near our home. I have walked by this park hundreds of times, have taken my children to play on the playground there. But today I became completely aware of the grove of trees that make up this park.  I vividly saw their shapes and their spacing, how they formed a canopy of shade and protection for those animals and people who walk through and play in this park. I was aware of their aliveness and how my aliveness was somehow connected to theirs. I furrowed my brow but held on to the feeling.

Later I drove down Summit Avenue in St. Paul. I do this periodically, taking in the beautiful houses, the regal lawns, the exquisite landscaping. It makes the regular drive to work more a trip to the art museum rather than the daily schlog. Again, I became aware of how, down the boulevard, the trees are planted in a canopy that creates a pathway of green which will seen begin a show of color. Down this pathway, through these trees, humans walked and ran.  I take this same drive nearly every Sunday morning and yet I had never seen that particular protective formation of the trees before. Another brow furrowing. And yet both these experiences of trees connected with me at some deep level, a depth I could not quite put my finger on.

And then I remembered a bit of what I was reading last night before I went to sleep. I have been reading The Mist-Filled Path: Celtic Wisdom for Exiles, Wanderers and Seekers by Frank MacEowen in preparation for my upcoming pilgrimage to Scotland.  MacEowen writes: “We Celts are lovers of trees. On one day in particular when I was out in the trees, something happened. I had a sudden and shocking remembrance of the trees as guardians, allies, and as conduits for activating memory………In that moment the trees suddenly told me that they were my ancient home, that I had known them intimately before, and that one day I would live among them again.”

Perhaps the reading of this book influenced my experience this morning. Or maybe I was simply more awake and open to the world this day.Who knows?  But I guess that each of us has certain ancestral memories that are planted deep in our cells, deep in our minds and hearts. These memories can be awakened at the oddest, yet perfect, moments.

This morning my Celtic ancestors paid a visit.

“Let us build a house where love can dwell
And all can safely live,
A place where saints and children tell
How hearts learn to forgive.”
~Marty Haugen

We sang this song at church this past Sunday and it has become an ear worm I can’t seem to shake. I will be mindlessly doing something only to realize that this tune, these words, are floating through my mind. I am choosing to see them as a gentle breeze blowing through all the dust and clutter that can become a part of one’s brain, one’s consciousness on any given day. Truth be told, there could be so many tunes that could have taken up residence in my gray matter, songs that have no redeeming value or even less artful creativity. I am thinking “It’s a Small World” or even “Feelings” right now.

But yesterday as I read or heard report after report about the pastor who is choosing to burn the Qu’ran as a marker of September 11th, I was so happy that this lovely song of Marty Haugen’s was in my head. I realized that the more I heard of this outrageous story and felt my blood pressure and anger rise, that this song was becoming an internal meditation, a mantra to counteract the outward absurdity and the inward pain. The song continues:”Built of hopes and dreams and vision, rock of faith and vault of grace; here the love of Christ shall end divisions; All are welcome, all are welcome, all are welcome in this place.”

So today I am turning my back on the messages of those who want to spread hate and fear and division. I am not listening to those who can make money from whipping the news of one person and a very small community into a lather by reporting on this proposed act. Instead I am choosing to sing this song in my head and even out loud if I need to. I just walked through the offices whistling it at the tops of my lips. A co-worker walked out of their office and looked to see who was doing such a thing. For me it is a musical act of defiance and a grip on hope.

There are so many things in the world we have little control over. This may be one of them. My prayer is that the outrage of faithful people everywhere will sway this man to abandon this senseless act. My prayer is also that no one will believe that he represents all Christians any more than the terrorists who ended their own lives and so many others’ nine years ago represent all Muslims. To believe either would be an act of tragedy.

I guess my real prayer is that the Holy will blow through the lives of those with this misguided intention and that grace will prevail. But since I have no control over that either, I will continue to pray and to sing in the hope that in doing so I will wear my faith like a breastplate of protection and hope:

“Let us build a house where hands will reach beyond the wood and stone,
to heal and strengthen, serve and teach, and live the Word they’ve known.
Here the outcast and the stranger bear the image of God’s face.
Let us bring an end to fear and danger:
All are welcome, all are welcome,
All are welcome in this place.”

“Education is not filling a pail but the lighting of a fire.”  ~William Butler Yeats

Today marks a turning of the page. Whether there are children returning to school in your household or not, or you may be returning to school yourself, today marks the beginning of fall and all that brings with it. Last night the winds seemed to pick up with a felt ferocity that blew away all summer had held. Winds were so strong I began to imagine them cleaning the slate clean for a fresh start. And don’t we all need this every now and then?  Although many of the schools in the area began early this year, before Labor Day, today all children will find themselves caught up in a routine that looks nothing like their summer life. Some will embrace this. Others will not. But all will be changed by the turning of this page.

Fall brings with it shorter days and colder temperatures. This requires an attention to what we wear and how we plan our days. No more grabbing a t-shirt and shorts, ones that may have been on the floor from yesterday’s wear. Instead, there must be an attention to layers and the fickle temps of these autumn days. Some are as warm as summer only to turn bitterly cold by day’s end. As we layer on clothing, we also take on new ideas, new experiences and wear them like jackets that bring us warmth or comfort.

But it is the rhythm of the change of seasons that calls to me. As I watch the children this morning waiting for their buses, I will think of what lies ahead for them in this change. New things will be learned, challenges will be overcome, successes and mistakes will be made. There will be new friends and mentors they never expected. I have already heard children I know look forward to the milestones they will experience this year: being in the class that goes to the State Capitol, getting their Bible as a third-grader, beginning in confirmation, graduating from high school, going off to college. So many pages, large and small, that turn in our lives.

As we grow older, if we allow ourselves, we can see this time of year as a time to turn a page also. The wind that blew throughout the night and threatens(or promises) to continue today is ready to offer itself as a slate-cleaner. What pages are ready to turn for you? What adventurous experience do you want to embrace? What new friend do you want to make? How do you need to be mentored?

The pages of summer have come to an end. But the story of fall is yet to written. How we choose to embrace the ever turning pages of our lives is a gift, a gift not to be taken lightly. Come winter, and make no mistake it will arrive, what will you have learned? How will you spend these glorious days of autumn?

As the page turns, let the new story begin.

Last week, I made my weekly trip to the St.Paul Farmer’s Market. I am always so inspired by the sheer beauty and bounty of the place. Row after row of colorful vegetables, beautiful flowers, multi-colored eggs, golden honey, hot, black coffee and equally lovely and interesting people to watch. It is a testament to the seasons and I never fail to leave feeling blessed. Blessed to live where I do. Blessed to be presented with such beauty and goodness. Blessed with the gifts of the seasons and the hands of those who have labored for my nutrition.

As sometimes happens to me in the morning, As I was walking I was visited by an enormous sneeze. A woman walking toward me did what most would do on hearing such a sound. “Bless you.” she said. I replied my thanks and continued walking, the morning need to free up my nasal passages cured.

But her ‘bless you’ stayed with me. I thought about the fact that a total stranger had just called a blessing down upon me in a public place. It felt so wonderful. The next thought that came to my mind was that if felt so good to receive, it might also feel really wonderful to give.

And so I began silently sending blessings to different people I passed. The child in the stroller who had bed hair and a chocolate sprinkle donut. The many farmers, who had been there much earlier than I had, setting up their wares for the city dwellers to purchase. The older Russian couple I have seen with regularity on Saturday mornings whose voices I love hearing as they speak their native tongue. My personal favorite vendors….the one who looks like the quintessential Norweigan bachelor farmer, the young man selling scented soaps. Blessing for all around.

To participate in the act of blessing, we agree to be a part of a relationship. We agree, I believe, that we are all connected through our creation. The Creator who breathed us all into being is the common denominator that flows through us all. By blessing I essentially say ‘I see God in you and that makes us kin.’

It all started with a simple sneeze. But it morphed into a reminder of so much more. That being alive is a gift not to be taken lightly. That I travel the road with those whose names and lives I known nothing about. That the One I claim as the Source of it all is in the mix creating connection, beauty, goodness and gratitude.

And that, in and of itself, is a blessing.

Have a wonderful, long weekend……..

“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?’ Isaiah 43:19

I awoke this morning to the sound of rain. Outside the window I could hear the slow,rhythmic patter of this gift of water from heaven. As I lay there, I marveled at the beauty of this sound, the cleansing nature of it simply made me breathe more deeply, feel calmer someplace deep within. Why is that? I also realized what an experience of sense memory it evoked.

Immediately I remembered a particularly sweet time as a teenager. A group of friends and I, fellow singers, had gathered at a friend’s cabin to prepare music for an upcoming concert. After singing and eating and much laughter we had fallen asleep scattered all over this small space. At some point of the night, I was awakened to the sound of rain on the tin roof of the cabin.I lay there listening to its gentle affirmation of friendship, creativity, youth. Just writing these words allows for a kind of time travel, reminding me of just how lovely life can be.

Once while camping as a family near Lake Superior, the rain began just after our campfire-cooked dinner. It could have been a disastrous experience given the ages of our children. But my husband stretched a tarp across the picnic table that extended toward the tent. By the light of the lanterns and a dying fire, we played Uno with our young sons. It was such a simple moment but one that becomes a precious memory when the sound of rain falls outside the morning window. The rain did not spoil, instead, enhanced our experience of getting close to nature, of being a family.

So many times as a child I would wake up to the sound of summer rain cascading down the drain spout outside my bedroom window. This would often mean a respite from the hot,humid days of summer in southern Ohio. Most often I would reach out for the book that had been abandoned on the floor the night before when I had fallen asleep in the sweaty, heavy air that was now being given it’s marching orders by the morning’s rain. I would snuggle back under the covers, open the cover of the damp feeling page, and read until it felt like time to get up.

If you notice, often in movies rain arrives in a scene to show that a person or situation is being transformed, cleansed, changed in some way. A man whose life has been falling apart will, in his distress, walk down a street. As he struggles with the issues his life has produced, a gentle rain will begin to fall. Sometimes his tears will begin to mingle with the raindrops and he, and those of us watching, will see that something is changing before our very eyes. What was painful or filled with sadness is being washed, cleaned, made new.

Rain is real and important and necessary. It is also a wonderful metaphor. With the sound of this morning’s rain, a new day is dawning. Fresh. Clean. Ripe with life. Baptized in the gifts of the Spirit. Can you hear it? Can you feel it?

In this morning’s Star Tribune, I was glad to see a continuation of a story that began in early summer. The paper had followed two gardeners, one a novice and the other seasoned, through the process of planting, tending and harvesting. It was a fascinating study of two people’s desires to know where their food comes from and to be in connection with that process. The first article was filled with the hope and promise of the seeds, the excitement of planting and, for the novice, the learning curve that was being embraced. As the summer has played out, it has become clear that the wisdom of being a gardener is never ending. While the knowledgeable gardener knew where to begin, what to buy, how to plant, etc., today’s article proved once again that, with gardening, you can never truly predict what will happen. Kind of like life, isn’t it?

Gardener Catrina Mujwid-Cole, the long-time gardener remarked that, while the season has been hot and often quite rainy, her yields have been good. She was happy. But when asked what her biggest surprise was she spoke of a ‘volunteer’ pumpkin plant that could have been the collective result of last year’s discarded pumpkin and the frantic activity of a backyard squirrel. Volunteer? I puzzled over this new, at least for me, naming. I have often called the sudden appearance of something I have not planted a mistake or a miracle, depending on my mood when I found the misplaced plant. But I loved the idea of this phenomenon being called a ‘volunteer’!

I can imagine a pumpkin seed jumping up and down: “Take me! Take me! I’ll volunteer to show up in that garden.” Or, as usually is the case in our garden, the volunteer is a sunflower.: “Yes, of course, I’ll volunteer to plant myself in the middle of those dahlias. That will make the humans sit up and take notice.” And then this year, there was the stray little patch of dill that manifested itself in a rocky, bed near the side of our house. Perhaps it volunteered to be present so I could tuck it into the dill pickles that now line our pantry shelves. Which is just what I did.

There is a certain element of sacrifice in volunteering. We see it in the volunteers that offer themselves at our schools and churches, in our communities, our nation and the world. They give of their time, their talents, their gifts, their service to make the world a better place. They lighten the load of others and often stand in the shadows when praise is handed out. Sometimes their volunteer work is planned and thought out. They know exactly where they are going. Other times volunteers, like the pumpkin seed, yield more than anyone can imagine. This was true of the tiny one that showed up to fill Catrina’s garden with a “vine that is taking over my garden, and it’s got a huge pumpkin on it, the size of a basketball.”

Volunteers. The world could not survive without them. And it is certainly a more lush and beautiful place for all the work they contribute. And, sometimes, it is even better when it is all a surprise!

Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.
~Christina Rossetti

Every parent has no doubt told the story to a whining child about ‘walking to school in the snow, uphill both ways’. It is a joke of course but never fails to stop the complaining in its tracks, for at least a moment, as the logic of this concept tries to sink in. And yet many of us have had the experience of traveling uphill with no end in sight, feeling that, indeed, we are traveling uphill both ways.

As I continue to prepare for my October pilgrimage to the island of Iona in Scotland, I am thinking of travel, of walking, in both metaphorical and practical ways.
There is, of course, the issue of the right shoes to wear. As a self-professed shoe junkie, this has brought no shortage of anxiety. But now that I think I have that problem solved, I can concentrate on the deeper meanings of what it means to walk the path of this long awaited adventure, this journey.

Last week our group of pilgrims gathered for a final briefing by the trip planners. We shared details, a wonderful meal and a combined anticipation for what these eleven days together will bring. As I looked around the room I tried to imagine the many reasons and life circumstances each person was bringing to this road that may, at times, feel like an uphill trek. Some of my fellow pilgrims I know very well and have for years. Others I am still getting to know, learning their names,hoping that the days spent together on buses and planes and around shared food and rich experiences will bring new friends. I am hoping that by journey’s end I will know more about each person, will come to a place of gratitude for having shared the road together, from morning till night, ‘the whole day long’.

But one does not need to be preparing for a long trip to embrace the words of Christina Rossetti. Each day provides its own journey, uphill and down. Each stage of our lives also offers this gift: a road that is to be traveled without our knowing where the twists and turns will take us. All the plans we make can turn on a dime. Anyone who has lived more than a few years knows this. What seemed like a smooth moving, care-free existence can suddenly turn into an uphill battle with an unforeseen diagnosis, a deep loss, a turn too quickly made. This is the nature of life. Each day is a journey of its own if we lean into the ever increasing rays of sunlight.

And so for all those who are held in the limbo of an uphill journey, may prayers hold you. For all those who cannot see the path ahead or are too frightened to look, may prayers surround you. For those who travel alone and long for companionship, may prayers embrace you. From morn to night. From night to morn.

These are the days to savor. These final days of summer conjure up such joy, such gratitude, such beauty, that it seems to me, the only logical response is to drink them in……slowly. As I write this, a gentle breeze is blowing outside and is floating in through our open windows. The air conditioning that kept us sane and comfortable last week, has been turned off, silenced. Who knows if we will need the gift of it again? We found this morning that the sun was showing every streak and blotch on the windows. So, like in spring when the sunshine flows in and shows winter’s dirt and grime, the windows of summer begged to be washed of their heated-filled dusty film.

These days are threshold times. The days still hold enough warmth to require short sleeves by mid-day but the morning requires a jacket and long pants. Soon the light weight clothes will be packed away and we Minnesotans will begin our layering fashion parade. But for now there is the act of savoring. Savoring the sunshine, the green  yards and trees, the chill of the air and its cousin, heat. Gardens are beginning to bring out purples and lavenders attracting butterflies, a sea of flying color. On this threshold between what was and what is yet to be, we stand with our arms held out to receive.

Earlier this week I saw the first v-formation of geese who were perhaps practicing their eventual exit. It was a poignant sight. I thought of all this summer has held. While I will not fly off like the geese, there will be things that must be left behind. things from which I, too, must fly.  Such is the case with all the seasons of our lives. Though the life of this summer has shone with color and beauty,growth and new life, even these things will eventually become brown, dry and be the fodder for a period of rest, reflection, death and hope-filled renewal.

What are you savoring in these waning days of summer? What gifts of these last months have brought new life? What might the winds of autumn have in store? It seems to me the gift of paying attention to the seasons, which are pure gift, allows us to be in tune with the rhythms of the universe, the heartbeat of all Creation. Attention to these rhythms also remind us that we are a part of something immense and something created by a loving hand, something that is, after all, a brilliant Mystery.

This morning I read these words by Caitlin Matthews:’ I kindle my soul from the Autumn’s sunlight, glow of life,glow of light, glow of love, be upon my being, my heart, my soul this Autumn day, from break of light till fall of night.’ This morning prayer is an encouragement to savor. I offer it to you in hopes that day’s end will find you basking in the riches, and richness, of this day.

Have a blessed weekend………

“Imagine the last time your faith failed. Faith in yourself,your family, your God, your country, love, the arts, even faith itself. Of course, faith is Janus-faced. One face is blind, unquestioning; the other sees far and deep, trusting what is unfolding in you, in life.” Phil Cousineau

You don’t have to be someone who is part of a church to speak about faith. It is a word that is used with great abandon in our culture. Some people had faith that Brett Favre would return to the Vikings this season. Some people have faith that it won’t rain on their outdoor plans. We all place our faith in institutions like banks, government, the transportation systems. Most of the time that faith works out well for us. Our money is safe and grows through interest and investments. The Systems within our government bring us security, freedom and a general sense of an ordered life. The majority of the time our buses,planes, trains and freeways allow us to make our way in the world in with very little thought as to how it all works. Most of the time, it is faith well placed.

But there are times when our faith seems difficult to hold,impossible to grab onto. I think of the people I know who are faced with the ravage of disease and, a too soon, impending death of a loved one. How to have faith becomes a nagging night-time partner.  Or those who have been knocked down over and over again by life’s challenges….poverty, unemployment, loss of homes and friends and all that defines who they are. How do we hold onto our faith in those situations? How do we continue to practice our faith in the face of what can seem like insurmountable odds? In times when God seems far away?

These, of course, are age-old questions. However, it is at times like these that,I believe, we see the very real, and fragile relationship that exists within faith. At the times when I am unable to sense or believe God’s presence travels with me, it is then that I trust that there is a greater faith at work. A faith in me and all the created order, a faith that can become hidden in the shadows of our daily walk. It is at these times that I latch onto the force of a common good that breathes beneath and through all Creation. With white knuckles and,often, clenched fists, I ride out the wave of my faithlessness held by a deeper, more abiding faith than I can ever imagine. It is then that I know the presence of the Holy in new and surprising ways. The Holy One’s presence in my life is bigger than my ability to imagine my own faith, a practice that is often blurred by own need to harness what I believe to be fair, or right, or true. In the final analysis, I must rest in the arms of the One who has faith in me, even when I am faithless.

If today finds you clutching a faithless moment, may that moment be brief. And may you and all those you love be held by this deeper, eternal faith that is breathing, unseen and yet felt, as near as our own next inhalation.