And if the morning never comes,
I’ll be here for whatever does.
–Paul Zach, If the Morning Never Comes
I keep hoping.
Of course, I do.
Who wouldn’t want
to be seen, heard and loved
by the ones born to do that?
And while You promise
to reconcile all things,
the morning I long for
may never come
in my lifetime.
That’s hard
and sad
and so,
You give me a song,
a place
to weep with You
in this long night.
I hold back,
make myself small.
Maybe no one will notice,
no one will hear the clink
of my measly offering.
A part of me scoffs,
“Why bother?
It won’t make a difference to the church.
Why not have one last meal?”
I finger the coins in the pocket
of my threadbare coat.
A man in a fancy suit
tosses in a hundred-dollar bill
and then another!
A wave of fatigue
washes over me.
I’m so tired–
tired of scrounging,
worry,
and wondering if God really cares
for orphans
and widows.
Do You even see me? I pray,
drop my coins onto the plate
and return my hands to empty pockets.
I’m almost out the door
when a man speaks loudly.
Everyone stops to listen.
He talks about me.
He praises me
because, unlike the others who gave out of their riches,
I gave out of my poverty
all I had to live on.
I break into a cold sweat.
I want to disappear,
take these words away
and hold onto them forever
but God says something more.
He clears his throat and repeats,
“She’s given away all she had to live on.”
and waits.
Then he smiles
as a woman, I’ve never met,
takes my arm
and invites me to dinner.
The Eternal looks after those who journey in a land not their own;
He takes care of the orphan and the widow.
— Psalm 146:9 (Voice)
Do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?
― Lao tzu, Chinese philopsopher, 6th century BC
El-roi, the God who sees me
sees metrying to settle my mud
stirring up more
striving to find
clarityand shows me
a tiny bud on my Christmas cactus
then another,
and another.Peace is given
and trust.The right action
will arise.
In returning and rest, you will be saved.
In quietness and trust you will find strength.
–Isaiah 30:15 (Voice)
Between my father’s passing
and the spreading of his ashes,
my mother whispered to her husband,
“I miss you.”
I hear in her words how much he loved her
and she, him.
I think about my father
with us now
as promised in scripture.
In God, we live and move and have our being,
nothing separates us,
we are in Christ.
Christ is with us
here
now
and so is my dad–
not as he was,
limited by experiences,
wounded by his past,
untethered,
unfree,
but as he is now
at home in his true essence
enveloped in love
unfettered,
full of joy, peace and love.
This father, I have only glimpsed
from time to time
This father I do not know.
“You weren’t there,”
I say.
In reply, I hear,
“I’m here now.”
And I feel myself
a little more tethered
a little more free.
The Lord appeared to us in the past, saying:
“I have loved you with an everlasting love;
I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.
–Jeremiah 31:3 (NIV)
The penny drops,
and enlightenment
is eclipsed
by the realization that
what had to be pointed out to me
was obvious to everyone else.
Wonder hardly got a foot in the door
before embarrassment
shoved past her.
Still, I’m glad I see now
what I couldn’t see then.
It helps me be kind.
And I’m grateful someone
was brave enough
to speak up
and didn’t make
a big deal about it.
How exquisite your love, O God!
How eager we are to run under your wings. . .
You’re a fountain of cascading light,
and you open our eyes to light.
–Psalm 36:7,9 (The Message)
We had a great plan.
Then, bit by bit,
what took shape
changed
and changed again
until I was left with
more than my share of work
and responsibility
along with enough resentment
to keep me awake at night.
What could I do
to right this ship?
I wanted to enjoy the smooth ride
everyone else seemed to be having.
Compassion may come in the night,
but rarely wisdom.
In the morning, I hoped something
in Pray as You Go
might change my perspective,
but it was just another story
that didn’t apply to me
until the second reading.
I heard “by the finger of God
I cast out the demons.”
While I don’t see resentment as a demon,
I wondered if God might want to
relieve me of it.
So, I set it aside for a moment.
What if, not in every case, but in this one,
I chose to accept this cup of suffering.
What if I chose to give more
and do more than my share
so my friends could take it easy?
I let that sink in
and sensed I could do that.
This time, anyway.
Dare to love and to be a real friend. The love you give and receive is a reality that will lead you closer and closer to God as well as those whom God has given you to love. –Henri Nouwen, The Inner Voice of Love
The five-year-old ignored
the advertised exhibits
and, nose pressed to the glass,
patiently waited,
until she saw a crack,
a tiny beak.
Finally, a wet, vulnerable chick
emerged from its protective shell.
The child learned:
if you wait long enough,
you get what you hoped for.
But certainty crumbled
when she didn’t get the prize,
a loved one died,
another shut the door,
and a third moved on without her.
Then, she learned
you can wait and wait and wait. . .
you can die before receiving
what you hoped for.
She was certain now
of her helplessness.
Yet, year after year, she tended
a plant that might never flower.
One day,
when she forgot she was waiting,
a bud appeared.
It opened and revealed
the tender seeds it guarded,
tight-fisted.
Then, heart pressed against her chest,
she leaned in and listened
as her beloved flower
let its petals
fall
one by one
into her grateful, trembling hands.
I have learned not to worry about love;
but to honour its coming with all my heart.
–Alice Walker
I really wish
I could wake up grounded,
walk through the day with ease,
and be content with what comes.
It’s not how my life goes
most days.
But I can return
and find rest for my soul,
for You are beside me,
always within me.
Return to your rest, my soul,
for the Lord has been good to you.
–Pslam 116:7 (NIV)
Cream-covered cupcakes and no-fault insurance,
No big surprises and endless assurance,
Wild geese that fly with my cares on their wings,
These are a few of my favourite things.
I’ve been putting together a playlist
of my favourite attachments.
Oh, the delight I feel
when I hear the opening bars of each song.
Top of the list is
All By Myself, May that Never Be
followed by
Money, Come My Way.
Then those old favourites
Everybody Loves Somebody and that Somebody Is Me
Let It Be My Way,
I Must Get Some Satisfaction
and
It’s a Wonderful World,
the extended version that includes this verse
“I see days without fears
sleep-filled nights
people forgive
my oversights,
and I say to myself,
“I’m a wonderful girl.”
When those songs play,
my anxieties are appeased.
I can hold onto the belief
that I will finally arrive
and be what I always wanted to be:
Practically Perfect in Every Way.
Thomas Merton once said, “We should all get down on our knees right now
and thank God we can’t live the way we want to.”
— James Finley, Turning to the Mystics, Meister Eckhart, Dialogue 4.
“You’re brave,” the woman at the desk said.
“You ride your bike in traffic so confidently.
I stick to the sidewalks.”
“You’re a good listener,” someone else said the next day.
Then another person
and another
told me something that helped me believe
I’m valuable, needed, and wanted.
“Do you hear that?” You say, heart smiling.
I talk about it in spiritual direction
and come away elated.
I ride into my life with confidence,
picturing the freedom to swoop past
the loud voices that say I’m expendable.
But I can’t.
I’m knocked down again.
“Get off the street,” an experience yells out the window.
I think about returning to the sidewalk
where it’s safe.
But bikes don’t belong on sidewalks
and neither do I.
Someone once asked Saint Benedict, who lived in the fifth century, “What do you monks do in the monastery all day?” And he said, “Fall down and get up. Fall down and get up. Fall down and get up.” –James Finley, in “Breathing God”, an interview with Tami Simon
 | Esther Hizsa on An Old Story |
 | bettyhj on An Old Story |
| Esther Hizsa on What Was |
 | Ron Frehner on What Was |
| Esther Hizsa on Come In |
An Everyday Pilgrim 