Last weekend I sat and watched a monarch butterfly on the
flowers in our backyard garden. I became mesmerized by the movement of its
wings. Open, close. Open, close. Open, close. Slowly the beautiful orange and
black stained-glass patterned wings moved in this meditative way. Of course,
the butterfly was eating. I was the one using its movement as my invitation to
slow down, breathe more deeply, notice my heartbeat,find my home once again in my body.

 In yesterday’s paper I read an article about the monarch
butterfly migration from our backyards to the mountains of Mexico. Now I have to admit, in
the multitude of things that seem impossible to me, the idea that these fragile
beings fly through all manner of weather, across so many miles to make their
way to their winter home, ranks right up there in the realm of unbelievable.
While scientists, lepidopterists I learned they are called(those who study
butterflies), are still trying to decipher how these insects manage this cross country
flight, no matter what these brilliant people find out, it will still be a
marvelous mystery to me. The good news is that the ones-without-wings, we humans,
travel this great distance to be present to their arrival. To be present to the
mystery. To be filled with awe. To be puzzled by how it all happens.  

One part of this article that has stayed with me since
reading it stated: “On a warm, sunny day in late January the butterflies
snoozing in branches in the Piedra Herrada Sanctuary woke up when the sunlight
fell on them. The evergreens looked like a Christmas tree adorned with orange
bows. The butterflies’ collective wings sounded like a slightly windy Wisconsin fall afternoon.”
 

To hear the sound of butterfly wings! What a marvelous
thought! I am reflecting back right now to my experience of watching the single
monarch in our yard, resting and eating from the last of summer’s blossoms. As
I remember the open, close, open, close of those magnificent wings, I am
imagining the sound that the soft, gentle breeze of those wings multiplied by
thousands could make. If I am quiet enough, if I am as still as, perhaps a butterfly, I can just about hear it. Ahhh….butterfly meditation.

 “May I see today the largeness of your love in even the
smallest part of creation. May I be ravished by traces of your beauty in earth
and sky. May I experience the eternity of your grace pulsing within each
moment.” ~Sam Hamilton-Poore

"Star-flinging Spirit,
you stop, stoop, kneel, and embrace,
everyone and everything in need of your love and care.
May I join you today in caring for your creation,
embracing my role within the family of life."
~Sam Hamilton-Poore

I've just come back to my house after being on the Friday errand run. In the coming and going, I encountered a flock(is that what it is called?) of turkeys. Wild turkeys. Enormous birds, nearly prehistoric looking, pecking at the ground for all the bounty that falls in the autumn season. While over the last few years we have seen them with more regularity, it never ceases to stop me in my mental tracks when they show up by the side of the road.

In my errand running I happened to over hear a news report that there had been a bear sighted in a northern St. Paul suburb. Parents noticed it while they were watching as their children waited for the school bus. Who knows how it wandered into the 'civilized' neighborhoods where humans live? I didn't hear the end of the story so I hope bear and humans are fine. I also hope the bear was able to be returned to an area more conducive to its living.

It caused me to wonder what it was like, what it is like, in those places where humans and wild animals live in closer proximity. I would assume there is a respect that must be developed by humans to understand the wildness of these creatures. I wonder if the animals develop a similar respect for the often quirky ways humans order their lives. It would be wonderful if this mutual respect could be developed and then passed on to other communities, wouldn't it? It might even be something that would be of benefit in those sometimes terse and seemingly impossible human to human relationships that exist. 

In a week or so we will celebrate the feast day of St. Francis of Assisi known for his love and care for all creation, especially the animals. It is always a glorious day when the two-leggeds rise to their best selves as they bring their four-leggeds, their winged and scaled friends to church. As dogs, cats, mice, ferrets, birds, and even insects are brought forward for a blessing, I am always warmed by the love that surrounds both animal and human. There is such a feeling of hope in the room. It is a time when we recognize the Star-Flinging Spirit right in our midst. Some of us have words to express this. Others simply wag, purr or screech.

The next time I see the wild turkeys walking the path with me, I want to remember to send a blessing their way. It is a privilege to glimpse their beauty and courage in what can be a fairly routine human existence. What a gift to be sharing the earth with them!

"I have one talent and that is the capacity to be tremendously surprised, surprised at life, at ideas. Don't be old. Don't be stale." Abraham Joshua Heschel

I came across this quote in The Zookeeper's Wife a book by Diane Ackerman that I am reading for a book group I am a part of at church. Rabbi Heschel is known as a writer of Hasidic mysticism and is quoted in this book. The book tells the story of a couple who ran a zoo in Warsaw during WWII and used the zoo as a place to hide those who were escaping through the Underground. The people who were being moved to safety seemed at times to be hiding in plain sight but the Nazis seemed unable to see them. Perhaps it was because they had lost the ability to be surprised.

When I read this I thought about how much energy can go into trying NOT to be surprised. We plan, we rework plans, we set agendas, in which there is no room to be surprised. Indeed, that is often the goal. We say:"We want no surprises here."

And yet, when I think about some of the most exciting and memorable times I have experienced, they almost always involved surprise. There have been the happened upon place in a well planned vacation that delivers the true essence of a city, a country, a people. A stop to ask a question of a stranger can deliver a gift of conversation that changes a whole day. Straying from the well prepared to-do list can bring just the spark of creativity that solves a problem that has been stumping everyone on a work team.Even taking a different route to work can brings surprises that change the shape of our day.

I tend to think of surprises as the way the Spirit is present to shake up our living. Surprises jar us into the moment, the precious moment, that reminds us that we are alive. We are not in our past and we are not yet in our future…..we are here, right now, this very blessed minute. Surprises can do that even when we are not happy about their arrival.

My prayer for you, and for myself, is that today holds a few surprises. May there be a surprise or two that helps us to know that the Spirit is traveling with us on what we might, if left to our devises, turn into a dull, no-letter day through our careful planning. As the Spirit brushes by our well ordered day, may each of us hear the quiet whisper in our ear: "Surprise!"

It could keep us from being old and stale. It could make all the difference in the world.

"For the first showings of the morning light and the emerging out line of the day, thanks be to you, O God. For earth's colours drawn forth by the sun, its brilliance piercing clouds of darkness and shimmering through leaves and flowing waters, thanks be to you. Show to me this day, amidst life's dark streaks of wrong and suffering, the light that endures in every person. Dispel the confusions that cling close to my soul that I may see with eyes washed by your grace. That I may see myself and all people with eyes cleansed by the freshness of the new day's light." J. Philip Newell

Wednesdays are often those days in the middle of the week when I wonder where the blur of the beginning of the week has gone. It is also the day when I have the chance to look ahead and know what I might, with proper planning and good luck, have the opportunity to accomplish before the weekend. This experience could be solely mine but somehow I don't think so.And so Wednesdays can seem like a catch up day, a day to get my ducks in order so to speak. Today is one of those Wednesdays. As I try to regroup after being out of the office, away from my home, I can see the debris of neglect all around me. And so I am starting this day with a long list and a great hope.

I began my morning with this prayer from J. Philip Newell from his small book Celtic Benediction:Morning and Night Prayer. I love his words and his way of putting things in perspective for how we walk in the world. As I give thanks for the gift and the promise of this day, I feel grounded for whatever may come my way. As I offer gratitude I can also recognize those places in the world, in my daily walk, where there is darkness and suffering. In that recognition, I can ask for the ability to see the light within each person. I can allow my own light to shine forth. And then I can ask for my eyes to be washed by grace.

Eyes washed by grace. It is a wonderful image, isn't it? I pray today that my eyes may see all I meet with eyes scrubbed clean by a good bath of grace. As I go from meeting to meeting, as I make my way along the fast paced freeways, as my life brushes another,I pray that my eyes will look out toward each person I meet with eyes that offer grace. A nod that says,"It's going to be o.k.", a smile that says,"We can do this together." Isn't this what we all want? And so why wouldn't we choose to offer it to others?

This Wednesday, September 23,2009, is a day that has never been before and never will be again. It is a gift. And so, instead of simply thinking of this Wednesday as a 'catch up' day, I pray I can see it for the opportunity that it is: a day to be lived fully, richly, completely, overflowing with grace.

On Friday morning I sat on a plane that flew so close to the top of Mt. Rainier that it felt as if I could reach out and touch it. The sun was shining off the snow that makes its home on the peaks. The sky was so clear and blue it seemed as if we were all suspended in an amazing piece of art which, of course, we were. It was one of those moments in which you have the intense realization that you are a part of something very large, something full of beauty, something beyond comprehension…..something sacred.

As my son and I looked out the window at this amazing sight, I turned to him with a glint of tears in my eyes and said:"That's something that can get inside of you and not let go." He knew what I meant and gave me a smile and a squeeze. It will now be his privilege, when the clouds lift in Seattle, to see mountains with regularity as he begins his first year of college in this amazing city, this beautiful landscape. In addition to the lakes and water that have shaped him, he will now have the opportunity to be held and changed by the peaks and summits of mountains.

Each  of us carries with us the landscape to which we were born. The trees and plants we knew as children travel someplace just below the surface of our skin. The DNA passed on to us by our ancestors is mixed with the soil, water, air, and scenery they called home. As we grow and travel to other places we either find home in the soil and sights we experience or we know they are not the place for us and we move on. And believe I have met people who are still searching for that place.

It is my hope, my prayer, that our son learns to look out at the power and beauty of the mountains that now surround him and find an extension of someplace already deep within. A place that brings peace and stability. A place that helps him hone further the person he is becoming. A place of calm and a new way of defining home. While I always want him to have the lakes and prairies, the city and view of the Mississippi flowing through his veins, I also want him to find the awe and mystery of what it means to look into the distance and see that he is surrounded by these summits that are ancient, strong, larger than life itself.

The scriptures are filled with references to mountains. The psalms, in particular, sing the praises and beauty for how the Holy is known by those in the presence of mountains. "Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains."(Psalm 36) "On the holy mountain stands the city God created."(Psalm 87) The ancients also believed God lived on the mountain." In days to come the mountain of God's house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, shall be raised above the hills."(Isaiah 2:2)

I am more of the mind and heart that God lives in all places. It is when we develop our sacred eyes to see that Presence that we have the encounter that brings us to the place we will call Home. And so today, with my feet firmly planted again on Minnesota soil, I look out my window and see the last day of summer unfolding. As the trees begin to evolve into their golden colors and the air is turning cooler, I am comforted by what I know. But my heart is also holding the memory of the mountain covered with snow and all the smaller mountains that ring the horizon of Seattle hoping they continue to hold and inspire the adventure of this dear one of mine.

As I walked through Loring Park yesterday I came upon a group of people staring into a rather short, small evergreen tree. The branches of the tree were sparse with lots of space in between. Nestled in the branches was a hawk, a rather large hawk, which seemed to be trying to catch a squirrel.

I joined the group of people watching this food chain life drama play out. One man with an enormous bulldog on a leash asked what kind of bird it was. After confirming that it was a hawk, we continued to stare on even after the squirrel had made its get-away, safe for at least a few more hours. The hawk seemed to be exhausted from the pursuit and rested toward the trunk of the tree.

After a few minutes of watching the hawk rest we each began to go our separate ways, to work, to school, to continue walking the dog. I left the experience with a huge grin on my face knowing I'd started my morning off with something quite special: an up-close and almost personal encounter with a hawk and a small sacred moment of grace experienced with total strangers. I carried the lightness of it all with me the rest of the day.

Hawks are visible around the Twin Cities with some regularity, sitting on the tops of light posts along the freeway, for instance.  But I had never been that close to one that was not being held by a handler. They are a mighty bird and I felt blessed to have happened upon this moment when I did. But what seemed equally as special was the sheer awe we lowly humans shared as we stood watching this beautiful creature. We, the ones-without-wings, can only imagine what it is like to soar above the earth completely on your own power. We can only dream of calmly sitting on the light post watching the frantic traffic go by or, even better yet, having the ability to  speed ahead of all the noisy, gas guzzling cars through the lift and power of wing.

And so we stood for a few moments in the middle of our busy lives observing the power and the fragility of this hawk. It seemed the least we could do on a too warm fall day. I pray the others in our little circle carried the beauty and blessing of the morning with them as I did.

"When
once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your
eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always
long to return. " ~Leonardo Da Vinci

Yesterday as I left the church, I was stopped by the red light at Groveland and Lyndale Avenues. It was a particularly warm and sunny September day and the air conditioning in the car had not found its groove yet so I had the windows down. I was aware of the sun beating off the hot pavement of road and sidewalk. I looked over at the stone workers who have been repairing and rebuilding the front entry steps of the church. How uncomfortable it must be to do such work on these scorching days!

And then my eyes were drawn to the oddity sitting on the sidewalk at the corner, resting nearly at the curb. A box fan…..sitting there….its circular blades turning in the slight breeze that was unseen. I laughed. Was this some kind of joke? Was there a hidden camera someplace filming people's reactions to this cooling device on this unusually hot autumn day?

I observed two young men and a young woman pushing a stroller with a small child approach the corner. They looked at the fan. They looked around to see if it belonged to someone. They watched the blades turn round and round. And then, they too, laughed as they crossed the street.

As the light turned green and inched into the traffic, I somehow felt lighter than I had earlier. Who knows why this fan was sitting where it was? It could have simply been abandoned by someone who was moving. It could have fallen off a truck and been set upright by someone with a quirky sense of humor. All I know is that its odd placement made be happy. Its gently whirling,ineffective blades blew away the heaviness of a day's worth of worries.

Whatever your day holds I hope you can be awake and open to the oddities that might come your way. The strange yet welcomed compliment. The newspaper headline that causes you to stop in your tracks and read the whole article. The bird whose song interrupts what seems like a serious, not to be interrupted, conversation. The flower that is growing through the cracks of the sidewalk. All manner of things abandoned by the side of the road.

Oddities wake us up and help us live in the moment, help us remember to not take ourselves or the world too seriously. In that wake up call comes healing and, if we are lucky, a good laugh. And couldn't we all use a few more of those?

"Today isn't any other day, you know." Lewis Carroll

At some point of yesterday I looked at my calendar and realized today's date. September 11, 2009. It was at that point that I remembered the events of eight years ago today. But mostly I thought about the fact that I had almost forgotten to look toward this date with any more attention than I would any other.

As I write this I am sitting in the same place I was at the same time of the morning watching Good Morning America just as I was on September 11, 2001. I remember that morning, drinking my coffee, one eye on the newspaperer,one eye on the television. And then everything changed. The coffee cup was abandoned, the newspaper fell to the floor, as my eyes watched what was unfolding, live, before my very eyes. This was not a movie. This was for real.

The days that followed were filled with people reaching out to one another. We held on more tightly to those we loved. We called family just to hear their voices. We searched for answers and felt a unity in this country that had not been felt for some time. We ate food that comforted. And we prayed. We prayed for those directly affected in New York, Washington and Pennsylvania. We prayed for those who had perpetrated such acts. We prayed for ourselves and the return of normalcy.

We are now eight years from this event that many say 'changed us forever'. Babies born that year are now in elementary school. Those in middle school and high school who sat at their desks watching as terrorism gripped their nation, unsure what this meant in their lives, are now in college or working in the world. Many are now parents. Those of us who were adults have gone on doing what has been required of us at work and at home. In eight years, nearly a decade, much changes. Our memories fade and we can almost forget even the worst of experiences.

On this September 11th, it is not so important to me to remember the devastating events of that morning and the mornings that followed. It is not so important to remember the horror, the fear, the confusion. What is important, I believe, is to try to conjure up the memory of how it felt to be so completely united in our humanity. It is important to remember how it felt to look into the eyes of another and know we were deeply connected. In those days that followed we learned what held us together, what simple things really brought pleasure to our lives. Things like eating with friends, the beauty of a clear, blue autumn sky, the sound of geese flying overhead, the gentle touch of another human hand.

Then there is that praying thing. It seems to me it is still important to remember how our prayers held us together across faith traditions and no traditions. In those days we all held out the hope that something larger than ourselves walked with us, grieved with us, cradled us in a hope for what seemed an uncertain future.

And yet here we are, eight years later. And I almost forgot to remember.

"At night I wait for a sign in the wind, a stillness in the cold, black water before jumping from the rocky ledge, knowing my body must find its way through darkness. I begin each dive like the first time-a whispered invocation." Amy Uyematsu

"Seek the beginnings;learn from whence you came,and know the various earth of which you were made." Edwin Muir, The Journey Back

I subscribe to a podcast created by a young man who travels and tells fascinating information about Ireland. Once a week an hour show of interesting people, music and tales of the Emerald Isle shows up on my ipod. This past week's broadcast was of particular interest.The show was called the Auld Sod. It was an interview with an Irishman who has found a great way to make a living: selling Irish dirt to Americans.

At first the idea made me laugh. But when I listened further to the stories of people who had left the land they loved to come to this country, those who had not returned, or if they had for only a short visit, who were able to touch and smell the dirt they held dear, my laughter turned to something else. There was a poignancy in these stories of people longing to once again touch the soil they had known made my heart swell.

The entrepreneur who had was marketing this soil told of the many people who wanted the soil to scatter at the graveside of their mother, father or grandparent. Others purchased the soil to plant a shamrock plant or add to the ground where a baptismal tree was planted. Still others kept the dirt in a prominent place where they could see it, touch it and smell it, anytime they wanted to remember.

We all have earth….soil…from which we came. I remember the first time I went to Wales, the land of my ancestors. There was some odd and yet wonderful feeling of having been there before, a sort of 'coming home' remembrance. Have you had this experience?

Even if it is not the faraway land of our ancestors, we each have those places on the planet that we recognize as the soil from which we have sprung. It could be the family farm or the lake cabin. It could be the pavement of the inner city or the silence of a grove of trees. We know this 'soil' because it has made its way into our worldview, shaped it, shaped us, and provides the lens through which we see everything. We know it because when we are not in touch with this earthiness that is in our DNA, we feel off, not quite ourselves.

What earth shaped you? From what soil did you spring? Today might be as good a day as any to take stock, to remember, to seek the beginnings that shaped our life's path. And once we've named the various earth form which we've sprung, it is probably the right and fitting thing to do to offer our gratitude.

It is good to thank God for dirt!

As I was riding along today on the light rail today, I saw a young man on a bicycle waiting for the train to cross the intersection. On his head he was wearing something that was a cross between the gas masks of World War II and a space helmet. It was a curious thing to see. It also sent shivers down my spine. What was he protecting himself from? There may have been a totally legitimate purpose for this head gear but it, frankly, gave me the creeps. My heart went out to this young man.

I have been thinking about all the young children headed to their first few days of school. I watched on Tuesday morning as the bus stop near our house filled up with the wiggling bodies of those who make up the tribe of children in our neighborhood. Backpacked and sporting new shoes, they stood in line. The older siblings watched over those who were headed off for their first school experience as the parents snapped pictures, filmed video. At one point they all posed on the step, sealed for posterity as forever-neighbor friends. I know this is true because I have nearly identical pictures of our now young adult sons standing beside their childhood friends on the first day of school.

As those children boarded the bus they were taking one step further away from their parents and one step closer to becoming grown up. It is an ancient cycle that goes on and on and we would really have it no other way. Yet there are fears that can grip parents as they send their precious ones into the world. Fears of the friends they might make, the behavior they might exhibit, the act that might get out of hand, the choices gone terribly wrong. Smaller, yet just as real, are fears of hurt feelings, tests failed,missed opportunities, toes stubbed.

Very few parents fear words that would encourage their child to be the best they can be. Not many parents I know would deny their child the opportunity to be told how great they are, how the future is open to them if they work hard, to take advantage of the education available to them, to fulfill the dreams they hold for their future. Isn't this what most parents do from the time their children are born?

The fact is these are the messages I would expect from the teachers that also started school these past weeks. These are the messages I would hope all children hear from neighbors, from family members, from friends.These are the messages I would hope all children would hear even, or perhaps especially, from their president.  Encouraging words, helpful words, words that allow children to know they are a part of something much bigger than themselves, that who they are and what they do makes a difference in the very fabric of the world.

Fear can be a very dangerous thing. It can cause us to ride around with all manner of protective gear. But words of encouragement, words of inspiration,words that instill confidence, should never be something we shield ourselves, or our children from. In the grand scheme of things, these are the words that will plant the seeds of promise and hope in the world.

And isn't that something we all need a little more of?