"Let the world
have its way with you,
luminous as it is
with mystery
and pain-
graced as it is
with the ordinary."
~Mary Oliver, excerpt, Summer Morning

We have a magical outpouring in our back yard. Under the shade of the magnificent black walnut trees whose roots often keep anything from growing to its fullness, are the sweetest wildflowers. Over the years we have planted so many things that have not flourished and yet each year we give it another try. My husband, fueled by hope, spread one of those premixed bags of seeds under the trees in early spring. And now we are seeing the fruits of his labor. Somehow the poison of the roots of the tree held no power over the wildness of these prairie flowers. Miniature poppies bloom a salmon color while cornflowers burst their blueness against the summer green.(Is there any color like that blue?) And there are countless others whose names I don't know but can only be described as simple, sweet, perfect.

I could spend all day looking at these simple gifts of nature. None are showy like most of the flowers we planted that aren't labeled as 'wild'. The wildflowers are content to be the backdrop. They do not need to be the main attraction. In some ways it turns the word 'wild' upside down, doesn't it?

Looking at these sweet, simple, ordinary blossoms, I think of all the people I know who go through their lives like wildflowers. They bloom where it seems impossible, shining forth color where its most needed, being wild in situations or places where it's unexpected. These people work quietly behind the scenes, caring for children, washing dishes, holding the hand of someone in pain. They are not the lead in the play. Instead they add the quiet burst of color to an otherwise dreary palette in any ordinary day.

Who are the wildflowers in your life? Who quietly brings a smile to your face when you encounter them? Whose presence adds just the right dash of color to your life?  A summer day like this one might provide the perfect opportunity to take note of those wildflowers blooming all around us. It might be the perfect day to notice them, perhaps even thank them, for the gift they are in your life. Even wildflowers need a bit of nurture and care now and then.

"God will not change the condition of a people until they change what is in their hearts." Koran 13:11

I ran across this quote from the Koran a few weeks ago in something I was reading. It is always good for me to be reminded that the world religions have more in common than most of us claim on a daily basis. It seems it is so much easier to talk about our differences than it is to lift up all the many ways we believe, honor, bless in the similar ways. For some reason, as humans, we need to create an 'other' to be able to more fully define our unique place in the world. This practice has not served us well.

It seems the heart and the many attributes we ascribe to it carries across cultures, across religions, across faith traditions. The idea of 'changing our hearts' is found so often in the Christian scriptures as well as the Hebrew texts of our ancestors. We often speak of someone who has changed their behavior for the better by saying 'they must have had a change of heart.'

Now we know that in reality we cannot literally change our hearts except in the instance of a heart transplant. But we often do have a transformation so deep in us that it seems the core of who we are, our heart, has been changed. This organ that keeps us alive as it beats and courses blood through our bodies, that can be broken, that can seem to ache when we are in or out of love, is both real and metaphor to us.

Last week my eyes caught sight of the bumper of the car in front of me on the freeway. "Loving Kindness is my Religion." I smiled and my heart warmed. I glanced quickly at the woman driving. She seemed calm and serene to me…..it could have been my imagination….and she became a prophet for me. It felt good to know that she was headed out into the world to spread loving kindness, acting on 'her religion'. I prayed she had others in her holy club. I prayed I might become on of them.

As I sat down at a table where I would participate in several meetings, one after the other, I wrote on the tablet of paper in front of me: Loving kindness is my religion.  At different times in the meetings, when conversations were difficult, when decisions needed to be made, I glanced down at the words of my freeway teacher.

I felt my heart change. It was a good feeling. I hope my actions followed closely behind. I pray they continue to do so.

I helped a friend celebrate a significant birthday this past week. It was a lovely party, good friends, wonderful food, lots of laughter and a few tears. At one point of the party she offered a toast to her mother who died only a few weeks ago and her new granddaughter who will be born in a very short time. She recognized that she was 'perched between generations.' It was a sweet moment to recognize the life events of this dear friend.

Later in the day I thought of how we are all, in a sense,'perched between generations'. Sometimes we are simply more aware of it than others. As I have been blessed to celebrate so many high school graduations over the last months, I have honored the generation whose births I have witnessed. This particular generation I have watched toddle, then run and now walk bravely, yet with appropriate trepidation, into a new world. At each of these graduation parties the grandparents present look on with pride and satisfaction. The parents, myself included, are still wobbling in a state of wonderment and uncertainty. Wonderment at where the time went and uncertainty for what our children's success and growth will bring, not only for them, but for us. The title 'empty-nester' still has a complicated ring.

And so it has always been. Children are born, they mature and grow. Parents learn to let go and find new ways of being parents. Grandparents look on and remember what their dreams were for their children, grieving loss and celebrating success, whatever those terms mean to them. Each of is always perched between generations.

One of the great gifts of working in the church is that I am privileged to be a part of important life events with people. Last week I celebrated the baptism of a beautiful baby whose mother I knew as a vibrant, inquisitive child. It was a blessing. In just a few moments I am off to sit at the bedside of one of the saints of our community who is the last days of her earthly life. It will also be a blessing. Once again I will touch that thin place of knowing that the membrane between the generations is  beautifully permeable. The blessing comes in knowing that the Spirit holds the web gently so none of us fall through the weave.

"God's love is everlasting and God's kin-dom endures from generation to generation." Daniel 4:34

"I awoke to the confusion of a new day.
The scraps of dreams, memories of yesterday, and new
cravings creeping into awareness.
The sun spilling its light over all but the shadows and a
cacophony of sound
From outside and in
What to make order of? What to let go?
And who makes the choice?
I think I will go down to the river and just watch it flow,
It's been a long time since I have done something really
important."
~David Sluyter

I am sure I have probably shared this poem before in this space. I come upon
it every now and then in a book or a file where I have kept it for 'future
reference'. It is always a good reminder to me of how often I lose sight of
this deep wisdom.

Yesterday was a good example. Driving home from the office I was taking
stock of my day. While I had virtually moved nonstop, I was unclear if what I
had spent the moments of my day doing, was actually important. It is difficult
to know some days, isn't it? What are the details, the acts, the conversations,
the meetings, that really add up to become something truly important in the
grand scheme of things? It is the question we arise with each day, though we
rarely address it, as we try to make sense of our work, our relationships, our
life.

Making a life is a curious endeavor. The choices we make in our life's
construction are driven by many things-our circumstances, our worldview,
others' opinions of us, the need to please, our deep passions. What guides us
can be both beneficial and detrimental. How we choose what is important, if we
choose, makes all the difference.

The Holy One has given us not only one another as companions but also
the deep wisdom of Creation to be our guides. For instance, is the river ever
distracted from being its true self? Does a tree ever resist the urge of growth
toward the heavens? Do the dahlias blooming in our garden right now ever doubt
their beauty, their reason for being? Does the Sun ever decide
not to rise on the new day, the Moon choose to take a night off? We have much to learn from these gifts so
visible to us if we only open our eyes, our hearts.The pure
wisdom of these fellow travelers can be a guide to us.

What does your day hold? What is on your to-do list? What do you have to
accomplish today that is truly important? The wisdom of the universe is all
around us, guiding us to see with our whole lives.

Our only real work is to listen deeply, to open ourselves to this
gift, and to choose well. It could make all the difference in the world.

I was looking at my hands on Friday afternoon and, unlike many other times I was not reminded of my mother or grandmother, but instead was reminded of Mrs. Dempsey. Mrs. Dempsey was the home economics teacher at my high school. She was not what I would describe as one of the most 'put together' people around. Her clothes were often a little worn, a little rumpled. Her hair always had a windswept look….but not in the attractive sense. And her hands were always a little calloused, her nails discolored, no manicure for her!

But she could sure teach a group of giddy teenage girls to bake a cake or hem a tea towel. Mrs. Dempsey, you see, when she wasn't corralling female students, lived on a farm with her three sons and husband. Their farm was actually an orchard and so she was always 'putting up' some kind of fruit. They grew apples and peaches but she also probably canned all manner of other fruits and vegetables. Having her hands in lots of hot water, fruit and sugar, gave her nails an odd, reddish-brown tinge that seemed to last all year.

On Friday I did my yearly trip to the strawberry fields to kneel on the ground and give thanks for the sweetness of this June fruit. While picking I watched as the tips of my fingers turned red and then faded to pink. At home as I cleaned the berries, cut them and prepared them for their new life as jam, I noticed the redness moving further down my fingers, under my nails. As the jars sterilized in the canner and the jam began to take shape in the pan, I cleaned up the red stains that dotted the counter and the table. But those stains on my fingers took more than a dishcloth and soap. They needed some time to wear off.

I am sure Mrs. Dempsey's hands weren't always stained. It just seemed that way to me in my self-centered place as a sixteen year-old girl addicted to fashion. At that point I couldn't have imagined the unspeakable joy that picking, cleaning and 'putting up' strawberries would bring. Before 'buying local' was the hip thing to do, Mrs Dempsey was sacrificing her nails to the gift of earth's goodness while at the same time storing away the glorious taste of summer in a jar.

And that, my friends, trumps beautiful nails any day!

"May God who gardens the galaxies, fueling star-fire, watering the world, greening the earth-May this God guide you, guard you, and give you growth." ~Sam Hamilton-Poore

"For God is a sun and shield……" Psalm 84:11

On one of our hottest days this week I rounded the corner in front of the church to see three men who had been working outside the church, settling in to take their morning break. They were city workers patching and mending sidewalks and the bus stop. Taking their small coolers they had nestled themselves into the corners of stone that created a shadow protecting their bodies from the ever increasing heat. I slowed down to take in the way they had situated themselves perfectly in the cool of the building. I took a mental snapshot. They looked so at home there.

Those of us in the church work diligently to provide places for people to find comfort, hope, solace, and faith. Sometimes that takes the form of programs or educational events, sometimes it comes in the context of worship. Still other times this effort is seen in ministries that provide assistance for life's basic needs. Watching these men hiding in the cool shadows of our church building reminded me of how many times people sit in the shadows, unseen and unconnected to what is going on inside. I remember my sister-in-law visiting this church once and remarking that she had no idea that people were actually working at the church on days other than Sundays.

Yes, the community may gather on Sundays but the work of the church continues every day, all day. In small and large ways, we take steps, Sunday through Saturday, to be about the work of God for the healing of the world. The doors are open and the lights are on and people of all walks of life are seen coming in and going out. Food is served, prayers are said, letters are mailed, phones are answered.

Like most main line denominations, our church has difficulty telling the story of the work we are doing in the world, of inviting others to join us in ways that feel safe to them. I thought about those men, sitting in the shadows of the church, taking a break with their feet up…..a sabbath of sorts. If only others knew that this might be a good place to rest, to find a shelter, to lean back on the cool stone and take a time out from their daily labor.

Wherever you are on your journey today, I pray you can find a nice, cool place to find shelter from the heat of the sun. If it happens to be a church, don't be afraid to walk inside and introduce yourself. You will most likely find some people who have been waiting to welcome you.

A day ago our seven-year-old neighbor appeared at our door with a bag in her hand. Smiling her now toothless grin, she announced:"We've brought you eight fish for the pond!" She and her siblings love to come over to feed the goldfish that make their home in a small pond we created to give us the comforting sound of water. She held her arm high as we lowered the fish in their temporary bag-home into the water that had been warmed by our 90 degree temperatures. They would float there until they acclimated(as much as fish do) to their new surroundings. Then they would be released to make their home among waterlilies and other plants.

While we waited she told me about her day. "Guess what? I jumped off the diving board today." I expressed my admiration at her courage. "I was wearing a life jacket." Still, a feat to be affirmed. As we talked she moved around the garden, touching this flower, bending to look at what ever caught her attention, never missing a beat in our conversation. Is there anything better than conversation with an inquisitive child?

Much later, after we had finished our fish release from bag to pond and had scooped out the one fish that had not made a successful journey from store to our home, we walked to the front yard. As we stood talking, her summer day-care provider happened to drive by. "Did you tell everyone what you did today? Remember by the end of the week you won't need the life jacket!" She turned around beaming at the prospect of future jumping as only her body and swimsuit hit the water. Another life adventure accomplished!

Later in the evening I thought of the times when we need the comfort and safety of life jackets to hold us on whatever jump we are taking. And then there comes a time when we can slowly unzip the floatation device and propel ourselves over whatever precipice we seek to conquer. Hopefully, like our young neighbor,we each have someone who can help us maneuver the waters, someone who can help us see when the time is right to let go of the securities that help keep us afloat. Hopefully we also have those around who can urge us on and affirm our landing, whether beautiful in its execution or its clumsy, belly flop.This is my prayer for everyone, whether seven or seventy.

We now have seven new fish in our pond. What a great gift bag to receive on a hot, summer evening. Fish…….and so much more.

"With water, which is as clear as your spirit, my child, we bless you. Grow in conscience, be rooted in good stories, grow spiritually, for spirit too is a good gift. " ~Mark Belletini

"Awake, awake, put on your strength, Awake, awake, put on your strength." ~Sounds of the Eternal, J. Philip Newell

I have been beginning my mornings and ending my days with listening to the prayers and chants found on this cd by J. Philip Newell. Plugged into my new lime green ipod, I allow the words to flow over me and gently find their way inside to a place of contemplation. Soon my muscles relax and my mind begins to slow down to be present only to the music. These become grace-filled moments.

Some days require more strength than others. My days lately have been filled with situations that ask me to be strong, to have peace of mind, to be present, fully present, so as to know what is the best path. Ever have those times?

As I listened this morning to this cello accompanied voice singing:"Awake, awake, put on your strength" I have to admit an image of Wonder Woman came to mind. You might remember how, when confronted with danger or the need to save the world, Linda Evans would begin her spinning motion that led her into her red, white and blue, Wonder Woman suit. Her wrists adorned with wide bracelets that deflected any evil energy coming her way, she set off to do right in the face of wrong. Some situations require much spinning and deflecting. Others demand a deep connection to what tethers us to the earth, to our soul.

The beautiful Scottish voice that delivered its chant to me this morning didn't ask me to spin or deflect. Instead it invited me to be still, to ground myself in a wisdom that is quiet and strong that resides within. As I rested in this music, I made the connection with Spirit that has awakened me to the strength that will guide my steps and inform my words. It was a good way to begin this warm, summer day and I feel that strength that is holding me with its gravity.

I'll hold onto its wisdom….but I won't rule out spinning if need be!

"And to every beast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food. God saw everything that was made, and indeed, it was very good." Genesis 1:30-31

I am in the midst of reading A.J. Jacobs' The Year of Living Bibically:One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible. I have laughed out loud more while reading this book than any I have read for a very long time. His premise is to take all the laws he finds outlined in the scriptures, both Hebrew and Christian, and to systematically try to integrate and follow them to the letter. It makes for some very funny reading and I commend it to you.

Of course the scriptures are filled with many laws surrounding food. What we should eat, what we shouldn't eat. When we should eat certain things and when to abstain from others. The rules boggle the mind and could lead to some very obsessive-compulsive behavior. But I was struck with a particular realization he comes to around saying grace at meals. "They(the prayers) remind me that the food didn't spontaneously generate in my fridge. They make me more connected,more grateful, more grounded, more aware of my place in this complicated hummus cycle.(He is eating hummus and pita bread.) They remind me to taste the hummus instead of shoveling it into my maw like it's a nutrition pill. And they remind me that I'm lucky to have food at all. Basically, they help me get outside of my self-obsessed cranium."

I connected with these words because I have been thinking about all the mixed messages we get in our culture about food. From the myriad of ads on television for diets that replace food with either pills or mixtures of bizarre liquids to drink instead of eating, I began to wonder when food became the enemy. For a culture that is hurdling into a obesity epidemic, how did we get to this place? Hungry yet never satisfied. Craving the very things, mostly not real food, that will, if taken to the extreme, kill us. It is a curious state.

I wonder if we took the time to give thanks for the food we find before us at meals, even in a silent way of taking it in and mentally following its path to our table, if it would allow us to taste more fully, savoring the connections made along the way satisfying us more. Can you say grace over a Twinkie in the same way you can an apple? I don't know but I think the humble act of offering thanks might also provide that reflective moment between plate and mouth that would bring us back to our senses and set us on a better path.

Over the weekend I will continue to read this book which is providing me with some much needed laughter. I also plan to take time to offer my gratitude for the food which is nourishing my body and soul, which came to me through no work of my own. In that offering I will honor the connections of the hands that planted, toiled, harvested and carried the gifts of nutrition that feed me and, I pray, satisfy my hunger.

It is at least one way to follow the good words found in these ancient texts.

Have a blessed weekend……………….

"Dream, dream, dream, dream……" The Everly Brothers

On my walking route in our neighborhood, I pass by a public tennis court. There are always assorted people playing. Older men, laughing and obviously not keeping score. Young couples trying to impress one another with their skill. Youth, whacking the ball as hard as possible and running with all their might to chase it. This is to say that not many people who play on this court are what I would call 'serious' tennis players.

This lack of competitive seriousness may have contributed to the stenciled message that exists on the mat hung on the fence that keeps balls from going into the woods, down the bluff, and into the Mississippi River. The message is simple:"Dream More". It is stenciled in red letters with hearts surrounding it.

Dream more. Not just dream but dream MORE. Perhaps it is a subliminal message for those playing tennis. Dream more and become better at the game. Somehow I don't think so. The message was so carefully done, not your usual graffiti, so I think it was posted there for the goodness of the message itself. Dream MORE.

Couldn't we all do with a little more dreaming? Adults in particular, myself included, often have put their dreams to rest. Gone are the hours spent dreaming about the things we will achieve, the irrational 'what ifs' that can give birth to some new adventure, some amazing change.  After a certain age we can begin to replace the dreaming with regret, no longer seeing the possibilities of our big ideas. Life can then become an act of marking time.

Maybe the person who stenciled that message was a child. Maybe they snuck out to the tennis courts in the middle of the night, paint and brush in hand to remind all the adults who pass by all the possibilities they once saw. Maybe all the hearts that surround the words are simply their way of saying this is a message of love. Please, dream more.

What dreams that once drove your life have you forgotten? What dreams do you want to rekindle? What space can you make for dreaming today? No matter your age, young or old, someone needs us to dream more. They went to the trouble to stencil their message. I saw it and I am passing it on to you. It is now up to each of us what we will do with it.