You will say on that day: “I will give thanks to you, O Lord …” –Isaiah 12:1 (CEB)
On that day. Not today, but one day, you will give thanks for what you cannot give thanks for now.
Even though others are grateful and assume you are too, it’s okay. You don’t need to confess or explain. Who has words for it, anyway?
On this day, you will give thanks that there is nothing you need to be or become. Rest in Me where you are and let that day come in its time.
Lay down your burdens And rest for a while The shepherd who seeks you Is gentle and kind There’s nothing to pay for And nothing to earn And nothing you have to become. —Take It Easy by Matt Maher and Paul Zach
Credits and References: “Bud” by Jim Nelson. Used with permission. “On That Day” by Esther Hizsa, 2024. “Forget Me Nots” by Jim Nelson. Used with permission.
Ten kilometres from our destination, we came to a dead stop.
Over the next few hours, the line of stopped vehicles grew
from five kilometres to twelve. Emergency vehicles came.
A helicopter landed and left. When three tow trucks went by, we were hopeful. But no. Next update in six hours.
We were one of the lucky ones who didn’t have hotel reservations, a plane to catch, or a loved one who wouldn’t come home. We just had to turn back a short distance to a campground down the road. Soon, the campground filled with those who gave up waiting, too.
Twice this summer, Fred and I have been stopped for hours because of a traffic accident.
We were delayed, others taken right out of this life and into the next.
I have filled this life doing things that make me more solid, and now that life has stopped. God has placed me in a different campground and surrounded me with God’s self incarnate in the rock-solid peaks silent trees, squirrels, and a motley crew of travellers with only one job: to receive what only God can give.
At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is, so to speak, His name written in us as our poverty, as our indigence, as our dependence, as our sonship. It is like a pure diamond blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it, we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely. I have no program for this seeing. It is only given, but the gate of heaven is everywhere. –Thomas Merton, Conjectures of A Guilty Bystander (Image, 1968), p. 155.
Note: My apologies for the recent inconsistency in posting on my blog. I’ve had limited access to wifi and that too felt like a stop that was out of my control. Letting go. Being with what is.
Credits and References: Photo of the road closure on Hwy 1 near Field on Aug 7 2024 by Esther Hizsa. Used with permission. Accident on the Trans Canada near Field, B.C. by Esther Hizsa, 2024 Photo of Hoodoo Campground by Esther Hizsa. Used with permission.
We left the hospital to let my dad rest. Before we could return, the doctor called. with the news of his passing.
I should have been there.
The dull ache of regret lingers even though I have all the right words to release it.
Regret, blame, disappointment, guilt, and powerlessness, take up more space than I wish they would.
But they don’t take up all the space
Compassion invites me to breathe and let them be.
This, too, shall pass.
A joy, a depression, a meanness… Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture… –Rumi, The Guest House
Credits and References: Photo of our dad, Max by Ron Frehner. Used with permission. “On My Dad’s Passing” by E. Hizsa, 2024 “Geese” by Steve. Used with permission
You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day. –Psalm 91:5
It happened again and again and again. Moments when my body and mind were in the same place enjoying the taste of freshly picked raspberries, the smell of chopped basil, the sight of a mama deer and her fawns, the sound of my brother’s voice cracking another joke, the feel of gliding downhill at the end of a long ride.
It’s easy not to fear when life is so good.
But fear didn’t return after my brother went home and I found my father doubled over in pain, when the ambulance came or during the long hours in emerge– bloodwork, then more bloodwork, x-rays, CT scan IV, painkillers, monitors beeping.
The doctor came and went and came again, then the surgeon. I thought fear might come when he laid out the risks of a 96-year-old on blood thinners with congestive heart failure having an operation but it didn’t.
I went home and slept soundly until the surgeon called with good news.
My fears may return, if the car part doesn’t arrive or wildfires threaten. But today, I am here, unafraid of the terrors and arrows that may come tomorrow.
Credits and References: “Mutter, Kind, Kind” by Lukas Stifter. Used with permission “Terrors and Arrows” by Esther Hizsa, 2024 “Coldstream Valley, Vernon, B.C. by Ian Spence, Wikipedia, Creative Commons
It was 38 degrees outside when I entered the cool of the seniors’ residence with a potted cyclamen for my mom. Yvonne, my favourite resident, asks “Do you ever stop?”
I could have said, “Yes.” and told her about my quiet times and retreats. I could have told her that I’m a contemplative and teach the importance of rest. I could have told her about the talk I just heard by Thích Nhất Hạnh called Stop Running. But I said, “No.” because I wanted to keep moving.
I dreamt again that I was running, striving, never getting where I needed to go. Then I woke up and realized it was a dream. I felt such relief.
In my life, I’m running, striving, never arriving. But, sometimes, I pause and wake up, and realize I have arrived I am home always in You.
What a relief!
Then, if only for a long, slow breath, I say to my body and my mind, I have arrived. I am home.
For in God, we live and move and have our being. –Acts 17:28 (NIV)
Credits and References: “Stop?” by faungg’s photos. Used with permission. I Have Arrived by Esther Hizsa, 2024 Muurbloem by Sylvia Sassen. Used with permission.
Jesus will be in the seat next to this one on his red-eye flight, in the car, and at the memorial of his loved one.
Jesus will be up at dawn, grabbing his pack and joining another on the trail– forty-five kilometres from start to finish before the day’s end.
That same day, Jesus, sticky and squished in the back seat on a long drive to see relatives, may crack a few jokes.
In a foreign land on a big adventure, Jesus will be noticing a young man’s melancholy and listening to him talk about what he loves.
Jesus will be riding on all the teams in the Tour de France and cheering with each person in the crowd.
Jesus will be seen in Gaza and Ukraine.
And Jesus will go with me into another ordinary day, of cooking and laundry, wondering and planning, getting in my steps, visiting my parents, and watching another episode of Monk.
Be strong and courageous… for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. –Deuteronomy 31:6
Credits and References: “Walking Together” by Sarah Horrigan. Used with permission. Jesus Itinerary This Weekend by E. Hizsa, 2024 Together” by Susanne Nilsson. Used with permission.
The odometer on my bike flashes 9999.9. Until it’s reset, it won’t report my distance, time, or average speed– . only how fast I’m going right now.
Signs on driveways and outside schoolyards say, “Slow down.”
I notice how long it takes Fred to end his turn at Skipbo, and how I want to shorten someone’s explanation.
I take my mom down to the singalong and a resident tells me twice, “You can stay and join us.” But I don’t because I’m in a hurry.
The market gardener, Handydart driver, and care aide all have stories to tell anyone who will pause and see them.
The weeping willow that meets me at mealtimes, the cows on the hill, the inert snake stretched across my path are my contemplative teachers.
There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence to which the idealist most easily succumbs: activism and overwork. The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of its innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything, is to succumb to violence. The frenzy of our activism neutralizes our work for peace. It destroys our own inner capacity for peace. It destroys the fruitfulness of our own work because it kills the root of inner wisdom which makes work fruitful. ― Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander
Credits and References: “Please Slow Down” by John Reynolds. Used with permission. A Message in Surround Sound by Esther Hizsa, 2024. “Brown Cow” by Sheffield Tiger. Used with permission
You keep coming through locked doors and into troubled hearts until one day we feel your peace– if only for a moment.
But it only takes a moment for a mustard seed of peace to grow into the possibility of a tree full of peaceful moments so plentiful the birds of the air nest in our branches.
Perhaps one day, we will say to each other, “Something’s missing.” Eventually, it comes to us: We forgot to be anxious.
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. –John 14:27
Credits and References Parable of the Mustard Seed image by Lawrence OP. Used with permission. “My Peace, I Give You” by Esther Hizsa, 2024 Door and Lock image by rainy city. Used with permission.
Sitting on the hillside, listening to the preacher, you can’t remember the words exactly– something about the kingdom of God and the list of who are blessed and belong– and it dawned on you: it’s everyone. Everyone. Everyone belongs in God’s forever kingdom of love, including you.
Tears filled your eyes and your heart thumped so loudly anyone could hear it a block away. You couldn’t stop the beautiful tears from coming and birthing you into a new world.
You know how it is; when you hear truth in one place, you begin to hear it everywhere and you did– in songs and poetry in your dog’s wagging tail and the cashier’s smile, in sacred texts of saints and mystics, in podcasts, and in the morning’s silence.
Love handed you a stethoscope and said, “Listen to my heart,” you belong, you belong, you belong.
As if that wasn’t enough, Love gave you places to practice letting yourself feel loved, the fear of losing love, and the wonder of surviving love withdrawn.
You began to believe people like you, love you, and want to be your friend.
You discovered that you can make mistakes, piss people off, and still belong.
As if that wasn’t enough Love got into the creaky corners of your unbelief, heard the painful stories of hurt and rejection and, when the time was right, said cool stuff like, “Only love has the final say on who you are.” and “Forgive them, they didn’t know what they were doing.”
And as if that wasn’t enough, you began to live like you belong, love like you belong– solid and free. Belonging oozes out of you without you even trying. You have more moments of falling in love with every person you meet. Everything about you– and I mean, everything– tells them, Sister, Brother, you belong.
Maybe this is your story, maybe not, or not yet. But if something in you would like it to be that’s the truth at work setting you free.
Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” –John 8:32 (NIV)
Credits and References: Sermon on the Mount photo by ROBERT HUFFSTUTTER. Used with permission. The Truth That Set You Free by Esther Hizsa, 2024 Quote “Only love has the final say…” by James Finley in Turning to the Mystics Quote “Forgive them,…” by Jesus, Luke 23:34 Kinderreigen (1872), Hans Thoma [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Jesus answered him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” –Luke 23:43
When You told the criminal, “Today, you will be with me in paradise.” I’ve always heard a promise of heaven, his final destination.
But for the first time, I also heard You speaking of an awakening to a glorious reality that is here now.
Today and every day, in each moment, You are with me in the reality that I am in God and God is in me, in eternal, unchanging, permanent Love.
But this moment and whatever it holds is passing.
And so You say,
“When life delights you, enjoy the gift of it but don’t hold onto it.
“Honour the ordinary; it may surprise you.
“Be patient in suffering I know how hard and painful it is, how it robs faith and blocks out the light. But the light still shines and the darkness cannot extinguish it. Even now, even here, as I suffer with you, I am folding back the edges and letting in the light.”
So we fix our eyes not on what is seen,but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. –2 Corinthians 4:18 (NIV)
Credits and References: “Christ Crucified between the Two Thieves” from the Getty Museum. Creaitve Commons “Paradise Today” by Esther Hizsa, 2024. “Quiet Melody at Dawn” by -Reji. Used with permission.
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An Everyday Pilgrim 