My colorful little tear-off desk calendar, which is getting thinner by the day, had these words today:"Books Fall Open, You Fall In". It was a perfect message for me. As I sat reading the paper this morning, my eyes caught the first true snowflakes of the season falling outside my window. It had been my intention for today, since it is my ‘day off’, to start a new book I purchased several weeks ago. I had two books that I needed to read(and enjoyed) for groups I am a part of, and so had put this new book aside for the right day. Snow, gray skies, cold temperature,day off, message from calendar. It all fits.Today is the right day.

For as long as I can remember books have been a source of inspiration, comfort, joy, entertainment for me. Curling up with a good story, whether in steamy or frigid temperatures, always seems to help whatever ails. It is a prescription which I hope I have passed on to my children. Sometimes nothing other than a good book will calm the beast of boredom, loneliness, sadness or overwork.

In August there was a report that one in four Americans surveyed had not read a single book in the past year. This survey of course does not include those who didn’t read because they never learned or learned only in a partial way. Not long after reading that statistic I was in both my local library and Barnes and Noble.In both places I had to stand in a rather long line to obtain my book. I am not sure what to make of all that but I remember being struck by the seeming incongruence of statistic and long line.

Frankly, I read because I need the words almost as much as I need food. How might my view of the world be different without the words of Anne Frank:"In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart."? Or how could I understand without the words of the skinned horse to the Velveteen Rabbit: "Real- it’s not how you are made-it’s something that happens to you when somebody loves you. Not just to play with, but really loves you. Then you become real." How would I know what to do if confronted with a hive of angry bees without Sue Monk Kidd’s words from The Secret Life of Bees:"Don’t be afraid, as no life-loving bee wants to sting you. Don’t swat. Don’t even think about swatting. If you feel angry, whistle. Anger agitates, while whistling melts a bee’s temper. Act like you know what you are doing, ever if you don’t. Above all, send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved." Sounds like advice that might come in handy even if I never come face to face with a single bee.

I don’t know what your plans are for the weekend. I hope they might include a book…one that leaves you with words that heal,offer hope, inspiration and maybe even a good laugh. Outside the window the snow has turned to sleet. My new book is set in North Carolina, probably warm and humid there. I think I will take a trip now and see what wisdom awaits.

"You shall put these words of mine in your heart and soul, and you shall bind them as an emblem on your forehead. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children may be multiplied in the land God swore to your ancestors, as long as the heavens are above the earth." Deuteronomy 11:18-21

Have a wonderful weekend………………..

I believe it was Maya Angelou who said something to the effect that most of us live small, we forget that each day we are invited to be guests in this amazing, large world. I thought of it this morning when I heard the actress Meryl Streep say that one of her mother’s traditions when she was a child was to come into her room and wake her up with the words:"Get up! It’s your day! What are you going to do with it?" It reminded me of a cartoon that my husband gave me once. A woman was sitting at a table, in her bathrobe, a man stands looking out the window. She asks:"How is it out there?" He answers:"It’s huge."

How easy it is to live small. We pull up the collar of our coat, burrow down into a turtle-head position, look straight ahead and keep at it….whatever it is. Instead of being prodded from our beds by the voice of a loving but determined mother, we put our clothes on, drink our coffee without tasting it, look at the same articles in the paper as yesterday with only the names changed, and continue on in our small way. We forget there is "huge" to be had.

Yesterday I was searching through books for our upcoming Advent Devotional. I came upon the following words by Frederick Zydek, poet, retired university professor who describes himself as a gentleman farmer. His words in some way invited me to enter into the largeness of life as he described the act of prayer. I hope it might be the same for you.

Praying Through the Thick of It
"You must give in to the seduction of silence. Listen for things central:the sound of air moving in and out of your being, the soft bump of blood drumming at your core, the small noises deep in the ears when different parts of your body call attention to themselves. Then listen past them. Squint your hearing as you might your eyes and seek some sense of music in the air around you. If you come back empty-handed you’re on your way. The mind will play hide and seek with everything you know. Let each game pass like summer storms on a windy day. Follow after none of them. Stay put. That’s more than half the matter. Dig into the celestial machinery with your heels, stand your ground, become everything the universe needs to know about itself. Let what you are speak to what always is. Let yourself be like a leaf sailing on the river God, a bit of matter and light being swept out to the enormous sacredness of the sea. Let yourself dissolve into it like salt, like snow, like sugar in hot tea. Become what it is, for what it is is who you are, a visible manifestation of an invisible thing."

That’s BIG praying!

I have found the recent discussions on talk shows about the issue of ‘crying’ quite interesting. They began over a crying episode that Ellen Degeneres had on her show. It seems she was involved in a botched pet adoption that caused several people and one dog to experience devastating disappointment. I did not see the original show but have heard countless people’s opinions about a person’s right to cry in any given circumstance. It seems, in some people’s opinion, Ellen crossed the line with the intensity and public display of her crying. Somehow some people tied this to ‘women crying’ which again, to some people, led directly to whether or not women should hold a public office of high standing given this disturbing bent toward crying, especially in public. (If you detect a defensive tone here, you are correct. I am a crier.)

All this conversation brought to mind a movie called Broadcast News starring a young Holly Hunter, Albert Brooks and William Hurt. Holly Hunter was a woman trying to make it big in the news business. The stress was terrible, she was a perfectionist, and she was the producer, in charge of highly intense news broadcasts. At different intervals during the movie, you would see her go into a room, close the door, sit quietly and then cry uncontrollably for several minutes. Just as quickly she would wipe her face, straighten her clothes, open the door and head out for more. Ever feel like that?

I am not sure where or when crying became taboo. I know that it is true that some people can ‘turn tears on’ for their personal gain or to manipulate a situation. But tears are a part of our body’s amazing way of dealing with the pain, stress, grief and healing that is needed in any given life. These drops of salt water remind us that we are made up of mostly water…we emerged from water…we are sustained through water…we are cleansed by water. In the Christian tradition, through baptism, we are we are welcomed into the Body through water.

As anyone who has ever participated in Bible Quiz will tell you, the shortest verse in the Bible is "Jesus wept." (John 11:35) Certainly in his lifetime, there was cause for much crying as well as joy. The same can be said for each of us. Some days we are simply meant to have a good cry, to feel the warm, healing tears wash down our faces, clearing out all that needs to be shed. Maybe it was just such a day for Ellen. It had all simply come crashing down and she happened to be on screen and couldn’t stop it. I hope the tears did what was needed in her life.

I wonder if Margaret Thatcher was ever seen to be closing a door,behind which she quietly sat until the tears came for those who were starving for what they believed or those lost in the Falkland Islands? We will probably never know. But for her sake, I hope so.

Meta…the word for the Buddhist concept of compassion. I came across this word while reading The Barn at the End of the World: The Apprenticeship of a Quaker, Buddhist Shepherd by Mary Rose O’Reilley. It is a wonderful collection of stories, memories and wisdom from this poet, musician, former nun, writer, teacher,  which has the power to make you cry one moment and laugh hysterically the next. I was drawn to it by its lovely cover which has a simple pastoral drawing of two sheep standing in a field of hay. Eyes straight ahead, wool, shaggy and in need of shearing, they look as if they are posing for the picture.How could I resist?

We often speak of compassion as something we have, something we, perhaps, feel. But in her description of compassion, O’Reilley speaks of ‘sending’ compassion with the prayer: "May you be safe, may your body be well, may your mind be at peace." When I read those words, all the people I know that would welcome being sent that message came to mind. I imagined myself walking downstairs each morning, still in my pajamas, making coffee, prepared to send this message to all I meet….and some I never will. This would be my daily work……sending compassion.

To the woman who waits for test results….may your body be well. To the parent who worries about a child….may your mind be at peace. To all the children at the bus stop, in the war zones, in the shelters….may you be safe. To the daughter who buried her mother last week….peace. To those who suffer from illness, hunger…..wellness. To those who have lost their homes, schools, livelihoods to fire…..peace. To the skies which will not rain and those that rain too much….wellness.

On and on we might go. Dipping from our ‘meta’ basket. Tossing out compassion to the world. Petals of manna falling down on all Creation….safety, wellness, peace. What a sight it might be!

Last week I was sitting in a circle of people and the subject of ‘hope’ came up. It seems to be happening more and more these days. You are talking about the church and the subject turns to hope. You are discussing last night’s news and the subject turns to hope. You are sharing your review of a movie you saw over the weekend and the subject turns to hope. You are discussing the upcoming elections, the Timberwolves, the upcoming winter….whatever…and the subject turns to hope. The circle had gathered to listen and learn from Fritz Hull  who has spent his life educating, advocating, and living with a passion for the Earth, not always very easy work. As he shared his story I asked him where, in these times, he finds hope to continue the work in the face of global climate change and all that seems to be happening in the world.

His eyes gleamed as he told us about a project that he had begun. He had invited several of his friends to write an essay about hope….where they found it, how they kept it, what they might do to ensure its presence in the world. His plan was to compile all of these essays into a book. Then he handed out a card with the words "The Resurgence of Hope" on it….no doubt the possible title for this book. On the back of the card were these words by Vaclav Havel: "The kind of hope I often think about I understand above all as a state of mind, not a state of the world. Either we have hope within us or we don’t; it is a dimension of the soul; it’s not essentially dependent on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation. Hope is no prognostication. It is an orientation of the spirit,an orientation of the heart;it transcends the world that is immediately experienced, and is anchored somewhere beyond its horizons."

So often I confuse ‘hope’ with ‘wish’. I hope for this ‘thing’ or I hope a certain situation will happen….when what I really mean is "I wish". The hope that Havel speaks of goes so much deeper than the wishing on a star kind of hope. Soul deep, spirit deep. To the core of us deep. This hope is a way of walking, living, being in the world with all of its failures, pitfalls, grief. It is a seed within us that must be nurtured and tended. It is also a spiritual practice that must be given time and attention.

"We have this hope, a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul"…….Hebrews 6:19

I’m not sure I agree with Havel……either/or? Perhaps hope is only hidden or forgotten or untapped. Seems as if this might be a perfect time to peel back that layers and allow it to flourish.

"A child stood on his seat in a restaurant, holding the railing of the chair back as though to address a courtroom. "Nobody knows what’s going to happen next". Then his turning-slide back down to his food, relieved and proud to say the truth, as were we to hear it."  Colman Barks,"The Railing"

Time is off for me today. I presided at a funeral this morning and when that happens, the preparation, the funeral itself, the celebration, the sadness, the being present to so many people, causes a sense of the suspension of time for me. In many ways it is a welcome relief to the calendar that is divided into hour increments of where I need to be next. So I am writing late in the day….not my normal practice.

Being in this different state of time is fine with me because this weekend we "fall back". On Saturday night we  participate in the illusion that we as humans are in control of time to begin with by setting our clocks back an hour. (Consider this a public service announcement.) I always joke that this is one of my favorite weekends of the year. I get great joy from the idea that I can change the clocks in one room and gain an hour of the day. Walking between rooms I have the sense of gaining and losing, losing and gaining. Slowly throughout the day I will move from room to room until finally the time travel is complete….the gift of an extra hour. What to do with it? It boggles the mind.

I suppose since the invention of clocks this illusion that we can ‘tell’ time or, God forbid ‘buy’ time, has been with us. Our ancestors allowed the Sun, Moon and Stars to guide their understanding of the ebb and flow of time. We, instead, most often want to tame it, lasso it and make it behave for our purposes. But then there is the truth of that child’s voice…."Nobody knows what’s going to happen next."

We can plan, we can set our alarms, we can say ‘it’s 8:00, time to eat dinner’. But much of life….often the most important parts…. moves in the truthful words of that child. So much of what really matters is unknown yet.

So on Saturday you might find me wandering around with a smile on my face, relishing the idea of that extra hour.But I will try to open my presence to whatever the day brings. I will try not to think of the time that I am getting back…it was never mine to begin with. Instead I will keep my eyes, my heart and my mind alert,ready for what’s going to happen next.

Have a blessed, restful weekend……………….

"Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian; he led his flock beyond the wilderness , and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. There the angel of God appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed. Then Moses said, "I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up." When God saw that he had turned aside, God called to him out of the bush, "Moses, Moses!" And he said, "Here I am." Then God spoke,"Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground."   Exodus 3:1-5

Outside our kitchen window stands a winged euonymous bush. At this time of year it is so bold in its bright reddish, orange leaves that it is clear where it gets its popular name….‘burning bush." Yesterday….wasn’t it a glorious day?.…I worked from home.I found myself distracted over and over by its brilliance, drawn to its autumn beauty. In my distraction I was comforted by thinking about what poet Mary Oliver might say,…….’what else should I have been doing?!’

Later as I walked past the bush….yet another stop to take in its glory….I got in my car and headed out to some appointments. One stop was at a friend’s new yoga studio. As I walked into the entry way, I was greeted by a lovely framed sign: Barefoot Zone.  On each side of the entry, shelves stood with shoes of various sizes and styles, obediently placed there before heading into ‘the zone’.Those who walked into the studio did not bring any grit or grime from their shoes into the space, only the sure, smooth print of their glorious feet. Grounded, nothing separated their flesh from the finely grained wood of the floor.

Last night I thought about these two seemingly disconnected experiences…burning bush, barefoot zone. I thought about God’s words to Moses…."take off your sandals, you are standing on holy ground." Whether it is the firey red of the winged euonymous or the still green grass of these waning days of fall, every day we are invited by the presence of the Holy One blazing forth before our very eyes, to stand on holy ground. Every day we are welcomed to the barefoot zone.

If you are out and about today and see a woman walking happily along, without her shoes, that most likely will be me. I am headed into the Barefoot Zone…..join me?

"Grandmother Wisdom, open the door, Grandfather Counsel, come you in. Let there be welcome to the ancient lore, Let there be welcome to the Winter of the Year. In cold and darkness you are traveling, Under crystal skies you will arrive. May the blessed time of Samhain clarify the soul of all beings, Bringing joy and wisdom to revelation. From the depths to the heights, from the heights to the depths, of every soul."
                               from Celtic Devotional:Daily Prayers and Blessings by Caitlin Matthews

Tonight ghosts and goblins, angels and superheroes, will arrive at our doors. Our door bells will ring and voices will shout "Trick or Treat!" Our pumpkins have been carved and light the way for their arrival. We will hand out the candy we hope, for the sake of our waistlines, will be gone at the end of the evening.

Halloween has become the second largest consumer holiday in our country. But it is, in reality,our participation in an ancient ritual. October 31st marks the day that, for the Celts,begins the season of Samhain (pronounced Sow-en). It is the last day of their calendar year and begins the season of winter. Today is considered in both Celtic and Christian tradition as a ‘thin place’, a day in which the veil between the present and the eternal is permeable.Halloween, or ‘All Hallow’s Eve’ is our more modern response to dealing with the fear of this notion. On the west side of St. Paul, those who made their way here from Mexico will place the favorite foods of their departed loved ones outside their doors in anticipation. It is believed that this is the day when the souls move willingly and easily between this world and the next. Placing those favorite foods where all can see is a way of saying ‘we remember….you are welcome.’

The prayer above was one that might have been said at the door of homes to welcome in this thin place and to mark the movement from one year to the next. Particularly for those of us who live in the Northern hemisphere, we know what is ahead…..cold, darkness, winter. Our ancestors welcomed it. Perhaps we might learn from their wisdom. To see the season that is approaching as a time of going within, both our homes and ourselves, provides for a time of reflection and incubation. The consolation might be that for the Celts the season of winter lasted from November 1 to January 31!

So tonight as you open your door, you are invited welcome, not only the masked and costumed ones, but also this season which is approaching. It will bring darkness and icy winds, snow and layers of clothing to ward off the cold. But it will also bring time to remember, time to reflect, time to be caught in this amazing cycle of the seasons of which we are all a part. By our welcome we may be filled with the wisdom of the ancestors and the beauty of thin places.

"The terrible whorl of the Milky Way shines out
To new-eyes under; glory bears down ton-like;
Ordeal girdles us in. I marvel we live.
Yet live we do in the maelstrom, mites as we are;
On our acorn shook from the Oak, we ride out the dark."
                                            Abbie Huston Evans

Since the moment I first read Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh, I have been a fan of hers. I thought I had read all she had written, even continuing on to read her daughter Reese’s books as well. But yesterday while rummaging through our church library, I came across Earth Shine, a book she wrote of her experiences and meditations focusing on humanity’s reach for the Moon. It was published in 1966 and provided a certain window for me to look back at my childhood years and how those of us growing up in the early days of the space program were shaped by the science, the magic, the dream of it all. I remember vividly gathering around the scratchy black and white picture, watching with rapt attention as people…real human beings…were catapulted into the darkness of the Universe. The message was….anything is possible.

The book even contains an account of the conversation between ‘Control Houston’ and the astronauts of Apollo 8. "We see the earth now, almost as a disk….We have a beautiful view of Florida….we can see the Cape…..at the same time we can see Africa." Over and over again, the words were repeated "It is beautiful, very, very beautiful."

And what about their eventual destination…the Moon? "The moon is essentially gray, no color. Looks like plaster of Paris-or a grayish deep sand….The moon is a different thing to each one of us…A vast, lonely, forbidding-type existence, great expanse of nothing…..The vast loneliness up here of the moon is awe-inspiring…it makes you realize just what you have back there on earth. The earth from here is a grand oasis in the big vastness of space…."

Last Saturday night, I traveled through the farmlands of Iowa. In the fields on each side of the road the bright lights of combines worked long hours, determined to disk the corn under before another rain fall. They seemed like satellites downed to Earth, moving in formation across the darkness On the horizon, the harvest Moon beamed….an burnt orange disk traveling companion. No plaster of Paris on that night…..just the brilliant glow of that far away place we looked toward at one time as the place of far away dreams.

Though science has taken us there….our footprint still might be etched in that ‘grayish deep sand’…..no words seem more appropriate than those of the astronauts…."It’s beautiful, very, very beautiful."

"For those who walked with us, this is a prayer. For those who have gone ahead, this is a blessing. For those who touched and tended us, who lingered with us while they lived, this is a thanksgiving. For those who journey still with us in the shadows of awareness, in the crevices of memory, in the landscape of our dreams, this is a benediction."  Jan L. Richardson

Yesterday we celebrated the Festival of All Saints during our morning worship. The official celebration day on the church calendar is November 1st but we usually observe it on the Sunday before. It is a particularly meaningful day for many people. As we take time from the busyness of our lives to say aloud the names of those we loved who have died, we not only speak but we listen to how they have shaped who we are. I am always moved by the ways in which people place pictures or symbols of their loved ones on our worship table. As these photos are placed in our midst, I sense their presence with us and feel I can almost see the great cloud of witnesses of all those who have gone on standing around us, behind us, among us, ever so near.

It is a powerful experience to think of  the saints in our lives. Saints are not, as we so often believe, those who are perfect. They are instead those who have, through their living, helped us to see the face of God more fully. I read a novel once of a woman who wore this amazing, flowing skirt on which she had sewn charms that represented the saints of her life.On this garment were charms of books, sewing needles,several hearts, an arm, a leg, some animals,crosses, a hammer, on and on, all no bigger than a thumbnail made of gold and silver. As she moved about, the saints jingled and jangled around her, reminding her in her very movement of all those who had shaped her life.

Who are your saints? Who has moved in and perhaps out of your life that has shown you the face of the Holy and helped you become the person you are today? Who has brought you hope, lifted you up, shared their heart…and maybe even a hammer…in a way that gives flesh and blood to the image of God on Earth?

I invite you, wherever you are, to say their name(s) aloud,sending the sound of the syllables of your saint into the space around you. As you take your next breath, remember the gifts they have given to you. Allow your words to be a prayer, a blessing, a thanksgiving and a benediction.