From a single grain they have multiplied.
When you look in the eyes of one
you have seen them all.

glossy and rowdy
and indistinguishable.
The deep muscle of the world.
~Mary Oliver

Tucked deep inside this morning’s newspaper was a column dedicated to people’s questions or observations about birds. It is a regular column that I rarely read but for some reason this morning I was drawn to it. The first question and answer was about a sighting of what someone thought was a Western bluebird that probably really was an Eastern bluebird. Since I am sure I would not recognize either one I read on.

That’s when the words that have been following me around all day jumped off the page. A gentleman had written in about an experience he had had with a crow, several crows, actually. He had been in a canoe on a lake when he noticed a single crow caught up in a tangled line. Moved by its predicament, he worked to free this black beauty of a bird,allowing it to fly off and then canoed out of the lake. While putting his canoe on the truck, the relieved crow flew and perched on the roof of his truck and stayed near it on the short drive home. When he arrived at his house, he heard the crow calling and soon a gathering a black wings perched in a nearby tree calling and looking his way.

His question: Do crows have some ability to offer gratitude? The writer of the column, the expert, wrote that this is a behavior that is not unlike those reported to him before. I recall at some point of last year reading about how crows, being quite intelligent beings, have the ability to recognize the faces of humans. They can be heard calling loudly at the sight of certain people. Interesting, isn’t it? If they can learn to know the features of a human face, why couldn’t they also call their kind together to offer gratitude for a life saved? The thought of it has given me a warm feeling on this dark and rainy day.

The idea that I cannot know the true abilities of a crow or any other of God’s creatures is at the forefront of my brain today because I have spent the last two days in what was called cross-cultural diversity training. It was an opportunity to reflect on my own culture, values, beliefs, truths, and the general way I walk in the world. In that reflection, I had the gift of hearing about the cultures of others and their walk in the world. It was a chance and a challenge to see what it means to be traveling this great and wonderful earth together and to take in the joys and what can be the sorrows of it all. It was deep and often difficult work. It was work that called each present to recognize our sensitivities and prejudices. It was also a time for learning to listen, really listen, and the importance of this often neglected sense. The fact is, it was humbling work, because it was a reminder of how often I fall into the ‘everyone sees it like me’ frame of mind. Sound familiar?

Reading the article about the gratitude of crows brought home how little I know and understand about much of this world home of mine. The work of the last few days opened me to the many ways I so often misunderstand my fellow two-legged companions and yet how much I want to share the road with grace. When expanded out even further to the four-leggeds and the winged ones and those who swim, makes for a true cross cultural experience of living. If crows can offer gratitude, how much more so should I? To the otter I watched skimming the surface of the water bringing me such awe. To the ginger cat who will greet me when I arrive home tonight. To the geese flying overhead announcing change. To the big, black dog who will wiggle and run when he sees me as if I am the greatest sight in all the world. To each blessed human being who is a gift in my life.

Perhaps I need to take a lesson from those crows and gather myself up, maybe call a few friends together, fly to a high place and sing deep gratitude into the autumn air.

“Story is the mother of us all. First we wrap our lives in language and then we act on who we say we are.We proceed from the word into the world and make a world based on our stories.”
~Christina Baldwin

Yesterday I was surrounded by stories. During our Sunday worship, we were blessed to have author Douglas Wood share his lovely story of Old Turtle and the Broken Truth. It was wonderful to watch children and adults crane their necks to look up at the screens that held the now, bigger than life illustrations of this picture book. Seeing their faces concentrate on his telling of a story that holds wisdom on one level for children and meaning on other levels for adults was a beautiful experience.

While being present to this one big story, I was of course also present to so many others. During worship our third graders received the gift of their Bible from the church. It is a celebrated milestone for these young ones who have now become mature enough in their ability to read that they can begin to wrestle with the stories that rise from the pages of this sacred text that guides our faith tradition. For many it will be a lifetime wrestling. An acceptance. A rejection. A reworking. At times a white-knuckled hanging on. At others a gentle letting go. The stories that shape us are like that.

And of course, there were the stories of the people who decided to show up at church on this particular October Sunday. Many of the life stories of those around are ones I know, at least, in part. Having been blessed to serve a church for the number of years I have this one, I can look out across the pews and see the joy and sorrow that is woven into the fabric of the community. It is a gift. There are those I have laughed with and cried with, those I have watched fall in love, those whose weddings I have performed, and those I have helped say goodbye to loved ones. So many stories.

Looking out across the community there were also faces of those I did not know. I did not know if they were visitors or simply people I had not yet had the privilege of meeting. A yet untold story for me. Their faces caused me to wonder what they thought of this diverse, even ragtag group of people pulled from their beds on a beautiful Sunday morning to be present to celebrate how the Holy might grace their lives. Had they arrived with an expectation that was being fulfilled? Or was this another search that had ended in disappointment? Ah, another story.

Somedays I become aware of the immense play in which we are all engaged. All these characters moving through a specific time in the history of the world in a production for which none of us auditioned. We were cast by virtue of our birth. Sometimes we find ourselves in a comedy that is light-hearted and uplifting. Other times we are engaged in a drama that breaks our hearts and causes those around us to weep. Often it seems we are in a farce, characters bumping into one another in over-the-top prat falls and doors that lead to no where. No doubt every life story contains them all.

Where is your life story taking you these days? Is it something you notice, this story you are playing out? Can you, if you take a deep breath and pause a moment, see the presence of the Sacred with you, moving beside and through you?

Here is my prayer: May the Holy One bless all our stories this day. May we awaken to the movement of the Spirit who continues to urge us on and walk with us through the comedy and tragedy that is the telling of every life story.

It has always been so and will no doubt continue to always be.

It has been wonderful to watch the outpouring of love and gratitude for the life of Steve Jobs. This genius of innovation,technology and so much more seems to have lived a life committed to creativity and a dedication to dreaming his way into the future while bringing, and sometimes dragging a large part of the world with him. Listening to the words of those who knew him and those who have been influenced by him has provided a glimpse into a way of remembering someone who brought so much changed to the ways we communicate over the last decade. His death at such a young age is sad and makes me wonder, if he had been able to live longer, what new things he would have created.

All his innovations are amazing, I am in fact, using one of them at this very moment. But when I think of Steve Jobs I am most inspired and challenged, not by what he created, but by words he spoke. I am speaking of his commencement address at Stanford in 2005. I had read it several times over the years but as it has been replayed and quoted all over the Internet this week, I have once again been confronted with its deep truth.

He wrote: “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

Speaking to a group of, no doubt, high powered college seniors with their lives unfolding in front of them, he spoke of death with a courage I have rarely heard preached from pulpits. Some there may have thought it a downer to talk of such things on this special day. But I hope they now recognize the gift he was offering. He spoke of looking at himself every day in the mirror and asking if he was doing what brings him happiness, what gives him life, what he was meant to do. He spoke of how death is the greatest gift life brings because it calls everything into question.

There is such truth in his words. I have found myself over the last few days, while at least metaphorically looking into a mirror, asking those questions. I have found myself enlivened by the prospect of abandoning what, in the face of death, would seem senseless and silly. Instead I have thought about what brings me life, what makes my heart sing, what I might regret never having done. With this lens so much of the dogma of what we ‘should’ do, how we ‘should’ be, falls away.

Of course, at our core, we all know the truth of this. But in the day to day going about our lives, it is so easy to forget. It is so easy to do this and that only to realize you have used up the majority of your day accomplishing tasks that can equate to gerbil wheel activity. It is something to consider about, isn’t it?

This week I have been thankful to the brilliant living of Steve Jobs who once again called the question. With his living and with his dying. May each of us have the courage and the will to approach each day with the sure knowledge that it is pure gift. A gift not to be squandered.

Blessed be…..

“How we spend our days is of course how we spend our lives.”
~ Annie Dillard

We are being treated to an amazing string of beautiful fall days. The sun and warm temperatures are making Minnesotans, accustomed to complaining about the weather, act a little sheepish. What happened? Why are we being granted such days? Is it only a trick to make us weak for the winter that is to come? No matter the reason, the days have been glorious and it feels like there is a need for perpetual thanksgiving.

After spending yesterday trying to soak in as much of the beauty as possible, I was sitting inside a restaurant with windows all around. I was facing west as the sun began to set for the day. Right before my very eyes, it was as if a painter from the Impressionistic Period hauled out all their watery, pastel colors and began to create something that might be entitled ‘Ending to a Perfect Day’. I watched as the white clouds began to turn pink and then a deep lavender, swirling around the brilliant yellow of the setting sun. It was like being trapped on an easel used by Monet. The watery, feathery edges of the colors faded gently into one another. As the sun moved further below the horizon, the colors became more vibrant. I held my breath with what seemed like a miracle being created right before my eyes.

As I sat, enraptured by this sight, a young father brought his children to stand at the window’s edge. The children, all younger than seven or so, stood spellbound as he knelt beside them, encircling them with his arms. There we were, five people witnessing the stupendous ending to an equally stupendous day.

This morning I had an early meeting which had me on the road for the sunrise. I looked out my rearview mirror at the morning sky. “Here we go again!” I thought. The sky began to shift with these liquid colors yet once more…..yellow, pink, lavender, pale blue…..all swirling in on themselves. I watched as the big ball of yellow made its way above the cityscape. It was held in the luscious colors that ringed its setting the night before as it ushered in another day.

I thought of the words above by Annie Dillard. I had scribbled them on the back of my checkbook a few weeks ago after reading them on a kitchen magnet in an art store I had stopped into. ‘How we spend our days is of course how we spend out lives.’ It is so true, isn’t it?

I have to admit that so many days I allow the way I spend my life to be eaten up by little, mindless details. Things that in the big picture of living are fairly unimportant. Other days I can spend my life fretting or worrying over issues I have little control over. Still other days I can spend my life being torn up by jealousy or gossip or comparing myself to another person or my unrealistic view of who I ‘should’ be. Is this really a way to spend one’s life?

As I reflected on the ending of my yesterday and the beginning of my today, I felt pretty good about how I was spending my life, at least for the last couple of days. I had been bathed in beauty by the great Artist and I had had the good sense to pay attention. I had been privy to one of the greatest shows on Earth, the sunrise and the sunset, of just one of the days of my life and I had noticed.

Please dear God, may it always be so.

But ask the animals
and they will teach you;
the birds of the air,
and they will tell you;
ask the plants of the earth
and they will teach you;
and the fish of the sea
will declare to you.
Who among all these
does not know
that the hand of God
has done this?
In God’s hand is the life
of every living thing and the
breath of every human being.
~Job 12:7-10

Yesterday we celebrated our annual Blessing of the Animals in a worship service that extended the table to include those faithful companions and confidantes that normally get to sleep in on Sunday mornings. This is truly one of my favorite worship experiences of the year coming in just an inch below Christmas Eve. The joy that fills the room is palpable and also audible. Once you mix into the choir of human voice, the varied sounds of barks, meows and birdsong, it is difficult to even describe the sheer happiness that is experienced. This service brings music, words, scripture, and prayer all together with what is so often missing from worship…..laughter!

The service concludes with individual human blessings of the animals gathered. I have always been touched with the ways in which people line up, as they have been taught over the years, much as they come to receive the sacrament, and wait patiently to have their pet blessed. Standing in line will be dachshund and dalmatian,corgi and cat, rat and Rottweiler, all together in one place. In print it may sound like pandemonium but, believe me, it is not. It is pure sweetness.

Yesterday as I held each animal(except the hamster!), cupping its face in my hands, I asked those with words the name they had given their pet. Emmett. Cookie. Alita. Hoover. Ruthie. Beegee. The names rolled off their tongues like honey. And as I uttered the words: “May God bless you and keep you safe all your days and may you continue to be a faithful companion.”, I became aware of how nearly every animal calmed, looked me square in the eye and received my words. It was a holy moment for me.

I thought of the scripture we had read from Job……but ask the animals and they will teach you. I thought about Job and the multiple messages of this wisdom story nestled in the texts we name as sacred. Job, who wrestled with God and argued till he was blue in the face and covered with boils, tried desperately to make sense of a life that had been troubled and unfair. After each round in the battling ring, the Holy One would try to bring Job to a place of stillness and remind him of the many ways he was blessed even in the midst of suffering. It is a story humans have lived out over and over. It seems it is a difficult lesson to internalize.

But yesterday, as I gazed into the brown and green eyes of animal after animal, I heard the voice of the Sacred, reminding me to allow the animals to teach me. To teach me how to calm my fidgeting body long enough to be in the present moment. To teach me how to hear the sound of my name called and to respond. To teach me how to look in the face of blessing and to receive it with every fiber of my being. To teach me that I am loved unconditionally and that loyalty is a good thing.

Yesterday I blessed and was blessed in return. I am pretty certain it almost always works this way. For humans, it is just a more difficult lesson to learn.

One year ago today, I was full of excitement. I was about to embark on a much planned for and much anticipated pilgrimage to Scotland and particularly the tiny island of Iona. My bags were packed and my walking stick was nestled among warm layers of waterproof clothing. I had spent the months previous in conversation and worship with the others who would also make the journey. I remember spending this final day before leaving tending to the little details one needs to accomplish before any effort to leave home and work for awhile. By day’s end, the list I had made was all crossed off.

Today I have been thinking about the pilgrimage itself and the year that has passed. I have been reflecting on the fact that, I believe, not one day has gone by when I did not think of my time on Iona at least once during the day. I will be in traffic and a thought will fly across the movie screen of my brain reminding me of the beauty of green, rolling hills covered with the burnt-orange of bracken. Sitting in meetings that may last too long or are filled with agendas that do not feed my spirit, I will once again imagine myself sitting in the pews of the ancient stone cathedral where ferns could be seen growing randomly out of the moist, cold walls. Yesterday, as the winds blew around my car on the freeway,I felt my tin-can container move slowly side to side and thought of the night on the island when the wind made such a whooshing circle around the abbey that the Presence of the Holy Spirit was known by each of us who worshiped together. The smallest thing can connect me with the gifts of this time of intentionality looking for God’s presence in a place known to be sacred to so many, for so many years.

What makes a place sacred? What makes our experience of a place sacred? I have pondered this question many times over the last year. Each of us on the pilgrimage brought our expectations and hopes, all of them different. We each had our motivations for making this trip, for setting aside the time and resources to be on a walk together in a land that was foreign to us, in pursuit of an encounter with the Holy. Perhaps an element of the sacred nature of any place are the expectations we bring.

But I do believe there are places where the very ground, the air, the people and beings create a container in which others experience the movement of the Holy. On Iona, perhaps the sacred ground is tilled by the hundreds of thousands of prayers that have been said on this tiny piece of earth. Prayers of joy, sorrow, grief, hope, water the soil. Certainly the prayers of expectation each pilgrim carries as they step from the ferry nurtures the garden that will become that person’s experience of the One we call God and plant seeds for those who will come after.

I know that, for me, my experience of the Holy was made manifest by those whose work it was to welcome. Volunteers and residents of the island clearly understand their life’s work is to welcome the pilgrims who arrive daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, as the waters of the sea that surrounds allows. As we were welcomed and sent on our way by those we had only met, I knew that God was in that place. It was holy ground.

And so tomorrow, I will once again remember the gift that last year’s pilgrimage was and how it travels with me still. I will remember and give thanks. For sacred places and for those who welcome.

Is this place really nearer to God?
Is the wall thin between our whispers
And God’s listening? I only know
The world grows less and less-
Here what matters is conquering the wind,
Coming home dry shod, getting the fire lit.
I am not sure whether there is no time here
Or more time, whether the light is stronger
Or just easier to see. That is why
I keep returning, thirsty, to this place
That is older than my understanding,
Younger than my broken spirit.
~ Kenneth C. Steven, Iona

These are days that call us to be vigilant. I am not talking about any particular political or social vigilance. Nor am I speaking of a vigilance toward justice or even compassion. Though all these forms of living a vigilant life are important and needed, I am not speaking about the kind of passion about an issue or situation that pulls us into that focused, often single-mindedness I often think of as vigilance.

Instead, I am speaking about a vigilance that keeps us awake to the ways the world is being transformed around us. Those of us blessed to live where the pattern of seasons brings a colorful landscape to autumn know that in the blink of an eye, or a strong wind, the beauty of reds, oranges and yellows that are now dotting our yards and parks can disappear. It is important to be awake and aware so as not to miss a moment of the passage, this visible metaphor of the rhythms of life.

I have tried to remember this as I have been driving about the Twin Cities this week. On the North Shore of Lake Superior last weekend, the colors were just beginning to show themselves. The birches were screaming their brassy, yellow song as they stood nestled in the stable evergreens. One needed to go off the beaten path to see any sight of the red of maples dwarfed by these taller trees who love the colder climates. But the color is emerging with each passing hour throughout the city. It can be a full time job to watch it all happening!

This year I have been aware of the numbers of trees that have shown their colors in a distinctive way. Instead of an ‘all over’ showing of their autumn colors, these trees that have caught my attention remain green on one side or section while another part is showing ruby, gold and topaz colors. The contrasts of a tree dressed is such segmented colors stops me in my tracks. Maybe it has always been this way and I have just not noticed.

It brought to mind a report I heard the other evening that once again explained the process by which trees ‘change’ their color. The point was made that trees don’t really change color. They have the colors we see in autumn already in their leaves. The reds and yellows and oranges have been there all along and just emerge with the changes in sunlight, temperatures and climate.

This idea, this truth of nature, made me smile. It did so because the same is true of each of us, isn’t it? I have always been stunned by the idea that each of us is born with a uniqueness that travels with us throughout our lives. Sometimes parts of us buried deep within rise to the surface and we are seen, and see ourselves, in new ways. We carry all these gifts that need the right light, soil, environment to be given the power to emerge at a time that is often beyond our control or even awareness. Like the leaves that carry these rich colors that startle and amaze us in autumn, we also carry surprises we have yet to discover. This very idea makes me feel so hopeful.

I love knowing that there is within each of us a deep red of passion and its sister, compassion, waiting to emerge when the need and light are right. It calms me to know that there is a warm, yellow swath of courage flowing just under the skin. When it no longer seems possible to hold forth in a green, growing way, it brings me peace to know that a glow of orange will carry each of us to a place of rest. All these colors, and so many others, have been with us all along. Just as it is with the trees who now are making their own transformations in their own sweet time.

May we each have the patience and wisdom and vigilance to embrace what lies at our depths and to give to the world the beauty we posses.

Thank you Father for your free gift of fire.
Because it is through fire that you draw near to us everyday.
It is with fire that you constantly bless us.
Bless this fire today,
With your power enter into it.
Make this fire a worthy thing,
A thing that carries your blessing.
Let it become a reminder of your love.
A reminder of life without end.
~Masai Prayer

Today I read with interest an article about what is already happening in our beloved Boundary Waters Canoe Area as the fires that have been burning there begin to die out. Jim Williams who reports on birds in the Star Tribune spoke of the numbers of winged ones that are being seen in the charred forests. While many will not return for some time, others like the Black-backed woodpecker are already hard at work eating up the insects that follow a fire. According to ornithologists, others will show up in spring: Eastern bluebirds, Wilson’s warblers, kestrels, flickers, common yellow-throats. These birds will flock into this recently burned area in numbers higher than usual.

It is often difficult for us to realize that this area loved so for its pristine beauty and wildness gets its life,or rebirth of life, from fire. While humans may have built houses and other dwellings in these places that can be threatened by fire, the forest itself needs the fire to continue to be the place we know and love. It is strange to think that what we often consider destructive is what really brings new creation. While some of the wild life will move on, much will return and still others will arrive to surprise the land with their presence. It is how it all works.”Fire has been the dominant regenerating force in those forests for tens of thousands of years.” says Gerald Neimi an ornithologist with Natural Resources Research Institute.

Imagining the regenerating power of this fire nudged me to think of all the many times rebirth comes out of what seems like fire and chaos. While not literal fire, these experiences can threaten to overwhelm us. How often in organizations, what seems like a ‘fire’, rushes through the ways we’ve always done things and sets us on our heads. While it seems the flames are lapping at our feet, it is difficult to feel anything but panic and fear. But when the experience of fire begins to ebb, we can often have the capacity to see things in new ways, welcome fresh ideas or new people in, let go of growth that no longer serves us well. I’ve certainly seen this happen in schools, government, churches, any organization that can dig its heels into the soil of what they believe to be tradition or stability.

Out of the trail of the fire, often known as change, we begin to see things in ways that might serve us better than we ever imagined before. Like the newly introduced birds who will call the BWCA home in a few months, we can have the opportunity to look around and see things we’ve never seen before. We have the chance to build new nests, maybe ones that fit who we are now more than who we once were.

Any of this make sense to you? Is there a place in your work life or spiritual life that could benefit from a cleansing fire? The Masai prayer speaks of fire as blessing. It is a challenging notion but perhaps a useful one. Where, in you, is new life longing to rise up out of what has been destroyed?

I offer this prayer for all who are in need of the new creation: May the One who comes to us sometimes as a gentle breeze and other times as a cleansing fire, be present this day and all days.

Blessed be.

A few days ago I picked up a book based solely on its title and book cover. I was drawn to it like a moth to a free swinging light bulb. The title of the book? Where The God of Love Hangs Out. It is a series of short stories by Amy Bloom, stories that paint the picture of love and loss, of lives intertwined and torn apart or so says the jacket cover. I haven’t started to read it yet. But I was too intrigued by the title to pass it up. I’ll give an update later.

Where The God of Love Hangs Out. What comes to your mind when you hear those words? Where have you seen the God of Love hanging around? The phrase causes my imagination to spin. It also causes me to take stock of the many places where I have seen the God of Love hanging out.

I am certain the God of Love hangs out in nurseries or any place a baby is born into the world. I can imagine this Being dancing about, celebrating another ‘yes’, blessing the moment and the life of yet another possibility. I am also pretty sure the God of Love hangs out in most preschool and kindergarten classrooms, willing the young ones to hold onto their deep awe and curiosity, allowing their giggles and hushed surprises to splash about the dance floor bringing unspeakable joy.

The God of Love also walks the halls of hospitals and stands at the bedsides of those in hospice care. I know this to be true because I’ve witnessed that hanging around through the hands and hearts of caregivers, washing pained and weary bodies, drying tears that roll down cheeks. I’ve felt the space being held in peace and tenderness.

In homeless shelters and soup lines across this wealthy, privileged nation, the God of Love walks around with a look of confusion. Moving among the mats lying on cold, hard, gym floors, serving up thin, tasteless soup, the God of Love pours slowly over those who have had a hard luck turn in their lives, have fallen off the wagon, have lost their way. I image that, as the lights are turned out and the mats become filled with fitful sleepers, the God of Love stands watch over these beloved ones as a parent perhaps did once.

While I have never been on a battlefield, I imagine the God of Love walks silently among those whose work is war, chosen or not. I can almost see the God of Love trying to help hands reach out across political, ethnic, racial, religious lines, hoping beyond hope that the sight of eyes looking into eyes will mend hearts and make enemies into companions.

As I reflect on it, the real trick is to imagine where the God of Love does not hang out. Even in the darkest, fearful, hurting places of the world, I can still imagine the God of Love standing by, waiting patiently to be noticed, to be known, to offer healing.

The truth is that I don’t usually like short stories. I always feel as if they are over too soon, that I have just begun to give myself to the story, just truly connected with the characters, and then it ends. There is something poignant about them that creates a melancholy for me so I avoid them.

But at least this once I will read this book of short stories with anticipation. Anticipation for more ways I can see the God of Love hanging out in a world that is often fragile, rarely simple, and always fleeting. Perhaps the more this God of Love becomes visible, the more I can hang out in the places where I can nudge those around me, encouraging each of us to be awake, encouraging each of us to just hang out together.

Perhaps I have never mentioned in this space that at several times in my life I have been a waitress. I am sure that I have never mentioned that it truly is one of my favorite jobs. Waitressing provides those who like it with a constant stream of people with which to interact. It allows you to offer hospitality, to feed people not only with food but with attention. It allows you to earn cold, hard cash in ways that, for the most part, is commensurate with your ability to do your work. If you feel good about the food you are serving and like the people you work with you can leave at the end of your shift tired but fulfilled. And you rarely take your work home with you or stress out about the work itself. As I see it, It is work ideal for the extroverted person addicted to welcome and hospitality.

This morning I recognized another element of this service profession which I may have intuitively known but had never articulated. It happened at a little Grand Marais stronghold known as The World’s Best Donuts. Ever been there? I am not much a donut eater but this place lives up to its name and it is always good to stop by there. I figure a donut once a year or so is a good thing.

In the past I have only bought donuts to take away to a cabin or house where I was vacationing. But today my husband and I walked into a little side room where the tables were filled with people having their donuts and morning coffee. The room was a-buzz with activity and conversation. Clearly these regulars loved being with one another and loved their donuts!

Sitting at the tables crammed into this little space, my eyes fell on what lay beneath the glass covered tabletop. A jumble of pictures, comics and letters filled the surface. There was an image of a fresh faced young girl taken in 2005 whose reflection I recognized as the now young woman who sold us our rings of sweetness. In another photo, holding up a coffee mug with the donut’s shop logo, stood another young woman in her graduation cap and gown. She was proudly poised in front of the sign for the Harvard Business School. A relative of the owner or a former employee? Who knows? But this little establishment was important enough in her life’s story to warrant making it a part of the history of her important day. Still another photo was of an older man, the dates of his birth and death printed under his name. A short phrase ” the place won’t be the same without you” explained the importance of this place in his life and that he would be missed.

The entire table was covered in similar photos and as I turned to leave I made a point of looking at the other tables covered in coffee cups and donuts in various stages of being eaten. They, too, held the same kinds of photos of yet others who had shared in food and friendship around these tables. I left feeling so full, not so much of sugar, but of the beauty of life itself and the precious nature of the relationships we forge together. Often around a table. Often over a cup of coffee or tea. Often around a food that has meaning beyond its taste or nutrition.

I began to think of the tables I have served as a waitress. I remembered the people who would come into a place I worked and always sit at the same table. How I looked forward to their presence, to catching up with lives! And I thought of the table in my own house and the house of my childhood and all the many people who have, over the years, sat in those chairs. I was struck with the power of tables, how they can hold the stories and the lives of all who take the time to stop, sit and share food. Each table in some way continues to hold the memory of that presence. That was my experience this morning.

And so as I continue on my way into this day and this week and the next month, I want to hold this experience in my consciousness. I want to remember that,as I take a place at nearly every table, I am only one person who is sharing a space so many others have done before me. Their stories, their lives, also occupied this place. Though I may not be able to see them as I could those who had left their mark through photos and writings on the table I sat at today, we are somehow connected by virtue of having sat in the same place.

Perhaps this was something Jesus knew as he gathered his dear friends around a table so long ago and said: ” Take, eat, remember.”