“It used to be
That when I would wake in the morning
I could with confidence say:
‘What am ‘I’ going to
Do?’
That was before the seed
Cracked open.
Now Hafiz is certain:
There are two of us housed
In this body,
Doing the shopping together in the market and
Tickling each other
While fixing the evening’s food.
Now when I awake
All the internal instruments play the same music:
‘ God, what love-mischief can ‘We’ do
For the world
Today?”
~Hafiz

On Sunday morning we began our worship with these words of the Sufi poet Hafiz. We almost always begin our morning together with poetry and song. Often the poems are chosen to fit the theme of scripture that will later be read. Other times the words are meant to welcome and ground people in the moment, in the community. To stop, be present, let go of whatever has dogged us already that day and be in a different time and rhythm for at least the next hour. Whatever has been pressing can almost surely wait for at least that long.

This Sunday’s poem was chosen to offer a bit of a light spirit, a smile, a chance to realize once again that being light-hearted with others in worship can go a long way in healing the soul. It was also meant to remind us of the ways in which we never travel life’s path alone even when we think we want to do so. Even when we think we are capable of it. Even when we think we must. This gift of an incarnational God will have none of that. Flesh and bone, blood, water and spirit. This is how the Holy shows up. Even when we forget or want to turn our pretty little heads.

Over the last weeks I have been in the presence of folks who have been knee deep in remembering that this journey we call life is not a solo act. I have been blessed to observe and participate in the care it takes to be young and old. The fragility of these earth homes, our bodies, is a miraculous thing and frightful at times. From babies to elders we need each other to make so much work….eating, sleeping, playing, laughing, crying, caring. Often this looks like burdensome work until its laced through with love and grace and mercy.

It is always at these times, these fragile times, when we have the opportunity to notice the presence of the Holy not just moving in a situation but actually in ‘us’. We find courage and hope and strength we never knew we had to carry out acts we had hoped to never do, didn’t think we had the power to do. This is ‘love-mischief’ playing with us. Sneaking in and causing us to remember once again that this stage we play on is one big chorus number not the solo performance we imagined.

What love-mischief are you being called to on these warm, summer days? How are you remembering once again to play well with others for your own healing and the healing of the world?

“All of our dreams are laid out and measured
Arrows and pins and a rainbow of threads
Like hope on a string, sewn into the linings
For the courage to face the unknown ahead.”
~Mary Chapin Carpenter

Last night we went to hear Mary Chapin Carpenter in concert at the Minnesota Zoo. It was a simply gorgeous night, not too hot, not too cold. There were no bugs and people were in the euphoric state Minnesotans get when the weather is exceptionally nice. People had those looks of “Well, aren’t we just the luckiest people on earth?” on their faces. It was a slice of summer that will live long in my heart and one that will, I’m sure, be remembered when winter turns our skin and spirits cold. The music was lovely and Mary Chapin’s easy going, relaxed manner gave me a glimpse into this song-poet I have long admired. Her humility shone through in both her older music and in the new song she referred to as a ‘walk out onto the edge’ to sing it for people. Her lyrics are filled with depth and metaphor which always hits me square in the solar plexus.

But another person on stage captured my imagination in a fuller way. In a semi-circle around the back of the stage were several guitars, some six string, some twelve, which Mary Chapin switched to for each song. Those guitars were gently handed to her by a man whose job seemed to be tuning. He would hand her the next guitar after having placed his ear on the body of the guitar and turning the pegs to get the strings just so to produce a tuneful strum. Sometimes, if the music happening on stage was fuller, louder, he would need to step behind the tall stacks of speakers and sound equipment in order to hear the quieter sound of guitar strings. His title was Tuner.

As I first began to watch him my thought was ‘I want a tuner!’ I want someone in my life who waits in the wings to make all my work play in tune, someone who moves in the edges to hand over whatever it is I need to make my own personal version of song. I want someone who fixes the strings just right so I can play, sing, in the manner I’d like to think I can. Of course, this two-year-old near tantrum thought made me laugh. At myself. At the pretentiousness of it.

This morning with clearer eyes and the dust of the magic of last night still hanging on me, I am still thinking of this tuner. What a responsibility! To be the person who has each guitar all ready and set for the ‘star’ to do her thing. I wonder about the times it has not worked out. But I also have been thinking about all the people in our life that do this work. Those folks who throughout my life have been moving at the edges of my fumblings, encouraging, informing, creating, challenging, inspiring, so I can do what I know to be my life’s work. There have been family members, teachers, co-workers, neighbors, friends,strangers who have provided the tuning needed for the moment when my particular music is being made. Can you think of the folks in your life who act in these ways, allowing you to sing your song?

A fact we often forget in our daily living is that none of us do anything alone. None of us creates even the simplest movement without the benevolent sacrifices of others. Our food? All gifts of earth and faceless workers who labored to feed us. Our movement from place to place? Brought to us by the back-breaking labor of construction workers, engineers, those who dream vehicles and understand how chemicals cause asphalt and roadway materials to work. This is to say nothing of bridges and safety workers all tuning on our behalf. And these invisible lines of connection only point to two of the acts we employ each day on the stage where we play out our lives.

The Tuner was never introduced by name. He did his work with grace and elegance moving quietly in and out of our line of view. But I know, and I am betting Mary Chapin knows, she could not have done her work, the work to which the Holy has called and blessed her, without his work. May each of us, no matter the song we must sing, give thanks this day for all the tuners that move in our lives.

“Always go forward on the path of obedience as far as you know it until I intervene, even if it seems to be leading you where you fear I could never mean you to go.”
~Hannah Hurnard, Hind’s Feet on High Places

In a book of Celtic writings given to me as a gift, I came across these words by an author I did not know. Doing a little research I learned that Hannah Hurnard was an author of Quaker background who wrote many books in the early 20th century, was born in England and lived as a missionary in Israel for some time. She walked first in a fairly traditional world but seems to have ventured off that path into a variety of healing ministries that, at the time, seemed unorthodox. It was fascinating to follow the little thread that opened me to the writings of this poetic and inspired writer.

What struck me about these writings was her frankness about the confusing nature of this path we often travel in the spiritual life. The idea that we could actually be led to places we might never imagine the Holy meaning us to go is not foreign to me. I have lived it. I have watched others live it. The truth for me is that I rarely have a clue where I think God might be calling, am almost always wrong about my hunches, and dig my heels in at nearly every turn. Like the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz, I flap my arms first this way and then the other trying to choose the path at the fork in the road. Sound familiar?

Which is why reading these words and thinking about Hurnard’s message gave me much to ruminate on over the 4th of July holiday. You see, I was sitting in one of my favorite ‘staring’ places when I read her writing. This place involves a tiny window that allows me to see only a fraction of what is a beautiful, peaceful lake in northern Wisconsin. When I am blessed to be in this place, I can spend hours (seriously!) staring out this small open space as boats, birds, swimmers, water-skiers move in and out of my field of vision. There is something powerful about not being able to see the whole picture, only what moves in and out of this 2 x 3 foot window to the world.

The truth is I am kind of a big picture person. It is in my nature to see one thing, one image, connect it to the next and yet another until, before you know it, I have the Google World Map of images floating in my mind. This gift has its purposes and over the years has served me well. But sometimes having only the tiniest of views can be a great opportunity. To be in the present moment. To practice patience and trust in not knowing what is on the horizon. This tiny window provides this kind of spiritual practice.

If we are honest with ourselves most of us would admit that we are often fearful about where our spiritual path may be taking us. How the Holy calls us to change, grow, move, let go, is almost always life changing. Think Moses. Ruth. Jacob. Mary. Jesus. Sometimes these ancient wisdom figures of our faith had the big picture. But most of the time they were only privy to a tiny glimpse of where they might be heading, where the path was taking them. They were being led in ways and to places they never dreamed they would be meant to go.

And so it is with us. To be human is to be on a journey that keeps unfolding,most often, in spite of all the plans we make. Surprises, challenges, joys and sorrows greet us at every turn. Sometimes the best practice is to spend time looking only out at only a tiny part of what the world is offering. The bigger picture will emerge when we are ready.

And that will be time enough.

How we walk in the world is varied, a simple and complicated path which we hone over time, understanding the steps more and more as we go. This morning I took a walk in the early hours before heading into the bulk of my day. The beauty and peace of the summer day unfolded like the gift it was. I noticed other neighbors heading out into the morning, some with pets in tow, others with the sleepy-headed look of their younger selves falling around them. All walking.

Today’s steps were made in a brand new pair of running shoes, shoes that kept surprising my eyes with each forward motion. The new shoes were unlike any I have chosen before but were necessary given some pain I have developed in my right heel. I have been trying to do all the right things to care for these precious feet that keep me moving and I remembered that my shoes were perhaps over a year old, old for running shoes, and were run down in places that may have contributed to the pain I was feeling. What set these particular shoes apart was the vast array of color. Neon pink, orange, yellow, green, woven in a rainbow against a gray backdrop. They are completely unlike anything I have purchased before.

In the past, I have chosen understated running shoes. Gray. Black. Nothing that would call attention to my feet or my exercising presence. But these shoes not only feel good but also scream: “Watch out! Someone’s moving!” I tried very hard not to buy these shoes. I tried on all the more sedate ones that sat side by side with my Vegas shoes but the others did not feel quite as good, were not as comfortable. So, I bit the bullet and walked to the checkout with my flashy shoes. I stifled my desire to apologize for buying them.

And then today, as I walked I realized I felt lighter, more relaxed and confident in my steps. These crazy looking, wild shoes made my feet happy! I began to think about walking and the ways we move in the world. There have been times when ‘walking’ under the radar was the right thing to do. Gray is the perfect color for doing this. You can slip into and out of situations in gray shoes. There have been times when my confidence was low and bringing attention to entrances and exits was not a place that felt safe. A pair of black shoes, basic, is one way to walk in safety. Have you ever had experiences like these?

But these colorful shoes which now adorn my feet and help me plant them firmly on the good earth seem to have a different purpose. They keep me looking down, aware of the path I am traveling, keep me present in the moment, instead of too far out in front of where I need to be. So here’s what I am wondering: Did I choose these shoes or did they choose me? Are these colors meant to teach me something about my walk in the world? I am sure some of you are rolling your eyes right now. Shoes have lessons to teach us? Maybe they do or maybe they don’t but my sense is that if we are open to it, almost everything thing, every person, every place, has a lesson to offer.

One of my favorite scriptures is found in the words of the prophet Jeremiah:

Thus says God:
Stand at the crossroads, and look,
and ask for the ancient paths,
where the good way lies; and walk in it,
and find rest for your souls.

So what paths are calling to you this day, ancient or otherwise? What shoes will you need for the journey? May your steps today offer lessons that will inspire and heal your soul.

“The water I give them will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”
~John 4:14

The re-entry from vacation has been slower than I anticipated which has kept me from these pages over the last week. Perhaps it was the coming and going from three different time zones and the experience of the long, Solstice light in the Land of the Midnight Sun that did it! Anyway, I think my rhythms are evening out and I have once again firmly planted my feet of Midwestern soil.

This planting-on-ground has not kept me from reflecting, as I have over and over again the last days, on the power of the presence of water. Being in so many places where water was the backdrop for lives being lived has caused me to think a lot about water and its ability to create something quite magical, or spiritual, in we who walk upright. In Seattle there is the constant presence of Puget Sound with ships and ferries spiriting people to and from distant, yet visible shores. As we cruised in both ocean and fjord, the water became the dance floor on which we glided through mountain scenery. When this crystal, clear water became dotted with the aquamarine blue of icebergs, we knew we were in a place where glacial water had become a land mass all on its own. A fragile and threatened land mass but solid, nonetheless.

What is it about water that calls to us? Of course, our scripture stories are full of water experiences. From our beginning story to our exile stories to those of boats and fisherfolk and walking on this unstable element, water weaves itself through the stories that bind us together as people of faith. Water is what we use to welcome and seal those into the community through baptism.

These are all big water presences. But it is the playful nature of water that has continued to travel with me over the last days. Back in Seattle toward the end of our travels, we spent time in the large green area that rings Seattle Center. In the middle of this green space is an enormous fountain, a fountain that sprays and spurts at intermittent intervals, always offering surprise. It is a sunken fountain with slanted walls that are great for running down, for escaping up. Which is what we observed children of all ages doing. Running toward a huge dome at the center, these people rushed to touch the fountain’s center and then turn and run back as quickly as they could before being sprayed by the gushing water. It became a game to outfox the fountain!

And what were the people doing as they ran both toward and from the water that almost always soaked them? Laughing! At the top of their lungs. It was a complete experience of watching people at play. The water became the vehicle for playfulness to overtake these travelers, day campers or anyone who just happened by. It was such a joy to watch and the laughter was contagious.

I thought of these running and laughing souls over the weekend when I read my horoscope: “Lucky things are born in the spirit of play. What starts out as a toy or game will develop quickly into something with a more substantial effect- perhaps a business or lifestyle.” I’m not so sure what ‘business’ this kind of watery play might birth. But I am certain that those who take a certain time in the presence of water inform the lifestyle they are creating.

Water can bring us to awe and mystery. It can also bathe us with a renewed sense of the Spirit. It can calm our hearts and soothe our souls. And many times the full, rush of water can cause us to laugh and play with our original childlike selves.

Summer is the perfect time for water play. Go for it!

****I thought this had been posted last week but realized it had not.

You’ll be on good terms with rocks and mountains; wild animals will become your good friends. You’ll know that your place on earth is safe, you’ll look over your goods and find nothing amiss. You’ll see your children grow up, your family lovely and lissome as orchard grass. You’ll arrive at your grave ripe with many good years, like sheaves of golden grain at harvest.
Job 5:21-26

As I was preparing for this Alaskan adventure, my mother told me my father had always wanted to travel here. I had never heard him say this but it is something she had tucked away in her trunk of memories, one that is full to overflowing with love and an account of the beautiful life they created together. I am so glad I had she offered up this nugget which I have held as I have been soaking in this amazing landscape. Seeing the lush green trees and the rock-solid mountains, I have imagined my father’s reaction to it all. He also served in the Navy,so being on this ship I have imagined his too-young body pitching and swaying with the movement of the sea. A movement that took him far away from all he knew, into a world of war and people who were so very different than those he knew and lived with in his small, southern Ohio home. I have observed several men on board who are near to the age he would have been, men who seem somewhat puzzled by the leisure, the lack of any real work to do, who are finding themselves surrounded by a community of people from around the world. I have watched them as workers serve, clean, paint and fix and see an itch inside them to help out, to pick up a tool, any tool, and just do some work instead of sitting doing what they are supposed to do. Relax. Escape from the ordinary. Be on vacation.

Living into the landscape of these snow-capped mountains and the distant glacier, I can hear my father’s voice in its slow, melodic timbre: “Mighty pretty. Mighty pretty.” That would be about all he might be able to muster vocally but his face would speak volumes of awe, even his own kind of praise. Awe at the majesty of it. Praise that he had been blessed to see it. I have seen this look on many of the faces as we have sailed through fjords with the mountains creating a protective, jagged nest for our vessel. At some level, I hope I am seeing this magnificent place for myself and for him.

A day ago, I had one of those peak life moments that stun the senses. Every pore and cell in my body throbbed with an ecstatic experience of Creation. With six other people I boarded a small fishing boat to go whale watching. We were not necessarily guaranteed to see these magnificent creatures but were told our odds were good. Our captain was a crusty, younger man who had retired early to be able to do what he loved. He took people whale watching to feed his habit of being able to spend as much time as he could on his sailboat. I marveled at his life and his ability to make the choices that allowed him to shape his days with intention.

Setting out into another fjord, its wide expanse a sheer mirror of glassy water, we could see the Mendenhall glacier, icy and blue, tucked in the folds of the mountains. Soon we were headed to a part of the water where there had been a sighting. We pulled up in time to see water spouting into the air and the enormous tails of the humpbacked whales fly into the air before dipping gracefully back into the water. There must have been eight to ten of the enormous beings spouting, lifting, diving as we human ones looked on, faces full of awe. Cameras snapped, video was filmed. All while I stood with tears running down my cheeks, stunned that in the goodness of Creator and Creation, I had been blessed to live till this moment. The gift of it seemed almost too much to receive. My heart was beating with such gratitude.

I thought of the lessons the book of Job tries, I think, to offer to us. Though he has seen the worst of life’s hardships and experienced unimaginable loss, the Holy One keeps reminding Job that there is so much more to this living. These threads woven into the fabric of this amazing Earth bind us together and hold us in ways that can bring an encounter with the Sacred in the land of the living. And as the human recipients of this grandeur, we had no hand in its creation and every responsibility in its appreciation.

Through mountain, sea, and whale sightings, I have tucked away these memories for the time when I will forget the awe that is at the heart of it all. I will treasure these experiences for myself and in the memory of my father.

Most mornings I have my coffee in the car on my way to the office or wherever the day will take me. This morning-waker-upper is usually accompanied by some portable food that is not too messy to eat and accelerated speeds. Both coffee and food are consumed without much attention to my surroundings,save the signs, the attention to twists and turns that move me safely from one place to another. Breakfast, in this fashion, becomes a mode of ingesting the calories and caffeine needed to begin a day.

Yesterday’s breakfast could not have been any different. Sitting on the balcony of the ship on which we are sailing toward Alaska, the mountains and water spread out before me. Perched on a small, white table was the breakfast that would begin my day, the food that would give me the energy to do the work of, well, relaxing. The gift of this was not lost on me. I allowed my eyes to drink in the spectacular beauty all around.

Staring into the middle distance, I blinked and shook my head not believing that I was seeing what I thought I had. Directly out from the ship, a spray of water whooshed into the air. It was followed by the black and white enormous tail of a whale! Still not believing it, I narrowed my vision. Yes! It was indeed not one whale but two. Spraying their powerful breath into the air, diving and catapulting their enormous body out of the water, these magnificent creatures became my breakfast companions.

What to do with such an experience? My heart was filled to overflowing with gratitude for the privilege of seeing this sight. I thought of my own ordinary task of eating breakfast. In many ways, these creatures of the sea were also simply doing their own ordinary, morning task. Each of us just going about what is normal, predictable, daily. The sheer fact that this glorious creature and I were in the same patch of Creation at that moment is what made it glorious for me. The whale, of course, was oblivious to this human one whose heart was full of awe at its being, simply being itself.

This experience caused me to think of all the manner of miracles that happens every day, every moment, acts that are unseen to me and yet would dazzle if I could only see. For all the terror the world often seems to hold, it is important to remember that it also births acts of unbelievable beauty and splendor which have the power to overshadow all the terrible things that also happen. We are connected in an invisible web of earth, air, water and spirit. Sometimes it is only a matter of remembering this. And noticing. And falling in love with the beauty and letting the awe seep into our pores. And offering thanks, always offering thanks.

Which is what the psalmist did when they wrote these words in Psalm 104: “What a wildly wonderful world, God! You made it all, with Wisdom at your side, made earth overflow with your wonderful creations. Oh, look—the deep, wide sea, brimming with fish past counting, sardines and sharks and salmon. Ships plow those waters, and Leviathan, your pet dragon, romps in them. Send out your Spirit and they spring to life— the whole countryside in bloom and blossom.”

Today may not bring whales with breakfast for you or for me. Such gifts of Creation are often few and far between. But there will be miracles of connection that come our way. I am willing to stake my life on it. May we all be awake and ready to notice……and to offer our praise.

This week I have the privilege of traveling to our nation’s 49th state. Alaska. That land that calls on the adventurer and those who long for the wild places that still just might exist. Some place. This has been a much anticipated trip and much has gone into its planning and I feel blessed at the gift of it all. We are making this journey by cruise ship, a kind of travel new to us, one I also have to admit to being a bit apprehensive to do. I had wondered if I would feel claustrophobic in the small spaces and the inability to get off the ship when I wanted. I wondered if I would be concerned about the vast quantities of food that I’d heard would be available at all times. I felt a certain amount of good, Protestant guilt at the excess of it. For the most part, not much of this has proved true for which I am grateful.

I was able to get over all these emotional triggers because of something that happened before we ever left the port of Seattle. It came in the form of a mandatory meeting of all those on the ship to gather for a practice drill to prepare us for any water emergency that might happen. We did this by gathering in our ‘Muster Stations’. This was a new term for me. Muster. I had heard of being able to ‘muster’ enough energy to do something or ‘muster’ the courage to complete a frightening task. But in this situation our Muster Station was the place we were to gather, another definition for muster, in case of an emergency. Muster…….to gather. We were to rest there and we were to bring our life jackets.

So here we were, hundreds of people gathered, mustered, into the theater. We sat with our life jackets, a sea of orange flotation devices held on the laps of people from all over the world. We listened attentively as the earnest crew explained what signals we would hear in case of one of these emergencies, events which were now filling the minds of every person present. After all we had all read the papers lately and knew of fires, crashes, and various other incidents that can happen on cruise ships of all kinds. It was impossible not to pay attention to these accounts given this looming trip. Though we would later learn the playfulness of the crew, right now they were all business.

At the appointed time, we were given the instructions as to how to don our life jackets and how to make our way into the water if that became necessary. ” With one hand, hold your nose and put your hand over your mouth. Take the other arm and extend it over the front of your life jacket to hold it in place. Step….do not jump.” It all sounded simple enough. In the safety of my theater seat. The orange whistle I could blow…..which hand should I use?….. to signal someone coming to the rescue, hung at my side.

That’s when I turned around and looked at all the people, all shapes and sizes, all nationalities, standing in their brilliant orange life jackets. Here we were, the fragile, vulnerable ones who walk upright. We stood in orange at this moment planning for an emergency we hoped would never happen. But most of the time we all walk around with the hope that an imaginary life jacket of some kind keeps us in safety. As I looked at us all, I thought of the wisdom of what can keep us safe: sticking together, walking in community, leaning of the strength and skills of the other. I was now counting on these strangers to be my traveling partners in a deeper way. It also helps to have practiced…..covering what needs to be covered, knowing when to blow the whistle, remembering how things work. And most of the time it makes sense to step gently and resist the urge to jump into whatever open water presents itself, literal or otherwise.

Last night I sat and watched as dancers and singers entertained us in what may have looked like a theater but which I knew was the place I would go if mustering was required. And the fact is, mustering is always required in one form or another. Most of the time our life jackets are invisible.

Other times, we are all wearing orange.

“For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.”
~Jeremiah 29:11

Lately it seems the prophet Jeremiah is everywhere. Last week our guest speaker,Phyllis Tickle, used parts of this book of the Bible to talk about the changes in our world and particularly the changes in the church. It was fascinating to hear the wisdom of this ancient prophet so firmly planted in our 21st century world. Yesterday at our Seattle son’s baccalaureate service, this scripture was read to remind the graduating students of the ways in which the Holy has held them and will continue to do so as they make their way in a world that is, as yet, a big unknown. Jeremiah is not a go-to book for most people but it has always been a favorite of mine. I love how the people addressed in this prophet’s words are quite similar to those in this time: people who feel like the life they knew is fraying, how systems that once worked no longer give comfort, how people seem at odds with one another about a myriad of topics. Sound familiar?

It feels good to have a prophetic voice offering a comforting groundedness, a reminder that there is a thread of goodness that is the constant in any and all times, doesn’t it? So often the other messages that fly our way tell the opposite. This is not Pollyanna thinking to remember that, indeed, God’s intention for all of us is one of hope. As the sands shift, whether through change we chose like the graduates or change thrust upon us like movement we see in our world, there is a golden cord of hope, goodness, kindness, gentleness, creativity, that exists at the very center of who we are. We are, after all, the ones who claim a creation story whose repeating affirmation is “it is good, very, very, good.”

Yesterday as I watched these young people, surrounded by family and friends, I thought of the sacrifices made on their behalf to see them stand in this moment of sheer beauty. Their strength and hope was a visible aura around them which was created by a love of parents, teachers, grandparents, mentors, those who had given time, talent, resources, and their very lives to bring this generation of young ones to this moment. As the prophetic words of the ancient prophet Jeremiah were read, I had the visceral experience of what it means to be connected throughout time with those who choose hope. And make no mistake, hope is a choice. To remember and reaffirm that we believe we are held in this hope is a choice. My prayer is that the young people who were present to the love and movement of spirit in that place allowed the seeds of that hope to be planted deep inside them. For their future, for the rainy days, the despairing days, the mountain-top days that will come to them as they come to all.

Today these same students will walk across a stage and be handed a diploma that represents their hard work, their own sacrifices, the mistakes and successes and some body of knowledge they have achieved. This ritual will be different than yesterday’s. The speaker has crafted inspiring words out their own experience which will be heard with the varying lenses of those present. That, and a certain amount of celebratory exhaustion and relief. The words may stick or brush off them like Teflon. They will see some of their friends walk alongside and the professors who have shared what they know will look on. Parents, families, will feel their chests swell with pride.

And from someplace, across the ages, a voice will echo and float above them:”For surely I know the plans I have for you,plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” Its’ wisdom will fall on those decked out in cap and gown. And it will also fall on all those who are willing to hear and take up the mantel of hope. For our time. In this place. As it has always been. Since the beginning.

“At the beginning of each day,
after we open our eyes
to receive the light
of that day,
As we listen to the voices
and sounds
that surround us,
We must resolve to treat each hour
as the rarest of gifts,
and be grateful
for the consciousness
that allows us to experience it,
recalling in thanks
that our awareness is a present
from we know not where,
or how, or why.
When we rise from sleep let us rise for the joy
of the true Work that we will be about this day,
and considerately cheer one another on……….”
~John McQuiston II, Always We Begin Again

I have been searching through my bookshelves over the last days, taking stock of the varied books I have purchased over the years. There are novels, travel books, theology textbooks, Bible commentaries and a variety of scripture translations. There are books of poetry and prayer, spiritual inspiration and a few self-help books thrown in for good measure. Memoirs, cookbooks, and the children’s books that have become cherished over the years.

This little book titled Always We Begin Again was nestled among so many others but I pulled it out to remind myself of its wisdom. The pages are filled with an updated interpretation of the workings of the Benedictines. Opening this tiny volume, I was reminded once again of the simple, grounded way of these religious who follow the way of St. Benedict.

It is always a wonderful thing to me to find words that call us to be mindful at the beginning of each day. To set an intention to see the unfolding hours as the gift it is, brings with it a certain dose of humility, encourages me to find that inner rhythm so common to those who live in religious community. It is less easy to grab hold of in fits and starts of the days most of us inhabit.

But the truth about this particular reading is that as I read it I thought of our Seattle son who graduates from college this weekend. He has been surrounded for the last four years by the gentle, intentional way of life of the Jesuits. It has been a gift to see that community help shape these important years of his life and to hear the ways in which he speaks in phrases and ideas in which I recognize the sweet, servant spirit of yet another religious order. This education has clearly been one that has been more than subject matter and has become a shaping of the heart and a lifetime. As a mother, it is a joy unspeakable to see.

McQuiston finishes his poem with these words:
“Life will always provide matters for concern.
Each day, however, brings with it reasons for joy.
Every day carries the potential
to bring the experience of heaven;
have the courage to expect good from it.
Be gentle with this life,
and use the light of life
to live fully in your time.”

Whether Benedictines or Jesuits, the wisdom of these words are for us all, religious or not. And they also carry the deep hope this mother has for the continued growing of a son’s gentle life, fully in his time.