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

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

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

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

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

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

As the page turns, let the new story begin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a wonderful, long weekend……..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a blessed weekend………

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

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

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

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

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

“The words we weave can  become a web in which we also are bound. Once uttered, these words cannot be called back; they fly out on the winds until they find their target. In a tradition that recognizes the power of words, we also maintain a watch upon our tongue, lest it speak words that we will regret.” ~The Celtic Spirit, Caitlin Matthews

When I read these words in my morning devotion today, my mother’s voice rang out loud and clear in my head.  “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all!” How many times over the years did she heard me heading over a cliff from which I might not be able to return, only to caution me about the power of words?

Just this past week I was flipping from channel to channel on the television looking for something to entertain me for an hour. I was struck with the raw and angry language that was being bantered between people. I finally turned it off. The same thing can happen on the radio. I once listened faithfully to a station that mostly just made me laugh. It did not have any redeeming educational value whatsoever, but each show was filled with silliness. But over the last year, that same station, has turned some dark corner and it seems all the hosts need to lash out, take cheap jabs at people, exhibit a general mean-spiritedness. I have chosen to take them off my listening line up.

Unkind words can also be found in emails, that instant form of communication where we can rant and rave and hit send without any effort at self-censoring. It is quite common to get these forms of communications. Sometimes they are followed by an apology in which the sender recognizes that, if they had only taken the time to reflect on their words, they would have chosen their words more wisely and not have hit ‘send’ so quickly.

I am of the belief that words are so powerful they find a home in our bodies, affecting our day, our sense of self, our lives. I believe this to be true because I have had it happen to me. Words spoken unkindly, cavalierly, have nearly made me physically ill. Has this happened to you? it is difficult to bound back from, isn’t it?

What we say to another person is important, whether we are speaking about issues of ultimate concern….life, death, love, forgiveness….or the mundane…..please pass the salt….how much are these bananas?  How we choose our words just might make all the difference in the world to another person. This is something not to be taken lightly.

May we all be surrounded this day by beautiful, kind and loving words. May all the words that come out of our mouths, or through our fingers, be ones we are proud to speak into the air or have printed on paper. May all the words we weave,  spoken and received, be ones that bring the greater good to an already hurting world.

“The first duty of love is to listen.” ~Paul Tillich

The walls in my office seem to be throbbing. I mean this in a good way. So many times our spaces are just that, walls, floors, furniture. But sometimes I become aware of all that has been said in my office, this space where I spend so much of my waking time. That expression: “If these walls could talk…” fits any space and certainly works for these four walls I call a kind-of-home. They have held the joy of announcements…..engagements, soon-to-be-births, new jobs, adventures to be taken. They have also been privy to deep sadness…..broken relationships, funeral planning, lost jobs, grief too great to bear. All spaces have been present to the scope of life’s fullness. Today I just became aware of my walls, my ceiling, my window.

On this day my walls were present to a rich and wonderful conversation. One of the dear ones of our community was trying to sort out several deep and important questions. A few of my colleagues and I created our own version of the Quaker clearness committee, a process of helping someone tap into the inner resources they already have for answering their own important questions. It is, as I understand it, a process of deep listening. It is a forum for asking the questions that will help someone hear themselves in ways that bring clarity to their struggles, their future, their life. Our role as listeners was not to answer any questions or give any advice. Our role was to offer our presence, our hearts. In that heart-filled presence we assumed the Spirit was with us.

What a privilege it was to be a part of this experience! Later I thought of all the people I know who might benefit from such an audience. Young people, older people, middle-aged people, all can blossom in such a setting. As the conversation became less animated, more settled, I began to feel the ‘clearness’ move into the room. I am not sure what eventual action will be taken by this dear one. But I cannot help but believe that being heard was helpful, healing even. I know it was an act of love.

For all those who are searching for answers, for a new vision, or a way out of a difficult spot, my prayer is that you may find at least one person to listen, really listen so you may, eventually, hear yourself into clarity.

The Celtic theologian, poet and wisdom-carrier John Philip Newell often speaks about ‘the healing of the world.’ I have been thinking about this phrase alot this week. On Tuesday at our staff meeting, another wise man I know spoke of the United Methodist notion of ‘going on to perfection’ and the difficulty he has had in giving flesh to these words, this concept. John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, often said that as Christians we are ‘going on to perfection’. Since I, too, have had difficulty with this concept, these words, I listened intently to the content of the conversation searching for further understanding.

Sometime over the years I have begun to translate this concept of perfection into ‘going on toward wholeness’. For me, this is more helpful, less full of baggage. Perfection has such a heavy cross to bear in our 21st century culture. Ads of ‘perfect’ bodies, ‘perfect’ homes, ‘perfect relationships spring to mind. This is, I am fairly sure, not what John Wesley had in mind. But wholeness,shaping my life, my walk in faith, in a way that leads me home to the original wholeness from which I was born, that makes sense to me. And it seems even doable.

I am pretty sure that wholeness and healing go hand in hand. In a world that is splintered by so many factions, so much ‘us’ and ‘them’, ‘right’ and left’, ‘included’ and ‘excluded’, wholeness would certainly be a goal to pursue. If we believe that we are created in the image of God, which I do, that pursuit toward wholeness and, eventually,  holiness seems a noble endeavor, doesn’t it?

And how to do that? I don’t really have the complete answer but I am sure that some attention to compassion, justice, humility, and kindness is in order. These are not qualities that are celebrated in the advertising world of perfection. But they are qualities that were lifted up by Jesus and other prophets of God as the way in which we bring healing to the world and wholeness to ourselves. Embracing these goals may not help any of us fit into a size six pair of jeans or keep the wrinkles from aging our faces. But setting our intention to live a life of kindness and compassion, following a path of justice and humility just might bring about a better world. And some how I think that would be worth it.

In one of his prayers Newell writes: ‘Grant me the grace to reclaim these depths, to uncover this treasure, to liberate these longings, and in being set free in my own spirit, to act for the well-being of the world.’ Sign me up.

Have a blessed weekend……..