Prayer

Grace

Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is error, the truth;
Where there is doubt, the faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life

~ attributed to St. Francis of Assisi

Blessing of Light

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They can be like a sun, words.

They can do for the heart

what light can for a field.

-St. John of the Cross, Love Poems from God (trans. Daniel Ladinsky)

This weather worn garden sign is propped on the fence behind my cucumber vines.  When I gathered my small harvest, I thought of these words.  The blessing of light, along with soil and moisture produced something good and nourishing.  The word Peace reminds me that my words have that potential when I use them to bless and encourage.

Sadly, the opposite can also be true.  Words spoken in haste or frustration may damage growth and wither relationship. I can choose to speak light and blessing.  I pray to speak Peace.

Seeing the Stories

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My pastor reminds us that each time we meet,  there is a story on every pew that can break your heart.  I know some of those stories, and I know that he is right. I also know that we need to hear each other’s stories if we are to know and trust and help each other.

” It always amazes me to think that every house on every street is full of so many stories; so many triumphs and tragedies, and all we see are yards and driveways. ~Glenn Close, American Film and Stage Actress

Part of my daily walk takes me by the front yards of houses in our neighborhood, but the last mile or so of the walk is around a small lake behind the back of houses with wrought iron fences. I see beautiful landscaping, luxurious pools, and groupings of comfortable outdoor furniture.  Some even have outdoor kitchens.  I enjoy my walks, but I very seldom see another person except the few who are on the path for jogging or cycling. The only signs of life are the dogs in several of the back yards.  I don’t see the stories, but I know that they are there.

Wendell Berry expands this need for story in What Are People For?   “When a community loses its memory, its members no longer know one another. How can they know one another if they have forgotten or have never learned one another’s stories? If they do not know one another’s stories, how can they know whether or not to trust one another? People who do not trust one another do not help one another, and moreover they fear one another. And this is our predicament now.”

I want to be a part of a community that has not lost its memory. I do not want to forget.  Writing and blogging is one way I share my story with you, a hospitality of spirit for me.  What about you?  In what ways do you tell your story and how are you able to listen to that of others?

Lessons on My Porch in April

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Lessons on My Porch in April

red bird perches on weathered gate

watching his mate rustling rose canes

scarlet winged guardian with black mask,

he protects her blushed brown plumage,

has hunted seeds for their courtship

to feed her,  bright beak to bright beak

they teach me cardinal rules:

mate for life, travel together,

watch for danger,  listen to warnings

find each other when it grows dark

sing songs for each other

stay

twig woven to twig

note woven to note

labor on feathered loom

homework

True Love

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True Love

 true love is a coat of many colors

red as flash and flush of beginning

gladdest green when cultivated and grown

turning all hues of blue in faithfulness

gilding golden with each new morning following storms

 

not always the color of roses

graying like my hair

bleak and black when bearing sorrow

silvered patina as a lasting choice

not one color, but many

not even patchwork

but a crazy quilt of peacework

every piece unique in shape

pierced and scarred with stitches

holding it all together,

stronger than uncut cloth

the art of life,

the fabric of two lives

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Of Friends and Ferns

Of the many plants we tend in our garden, this fern has been around the longest.  In fact, it is the only plant that has lived with us in a number of homes and gardens of all kinds and in different places.  When we lived in an old Victorian house in the town both Joe and I grew up in, I found this plant in a garage sale.  That was in 1981!  So for over 30 years now, this fern has endured!  In the 1980’s, it moved with us twice.  When our family moved to California, then within a year to Indonesia, I left it in my sister’s care. When we came back to the U.S. in 1992, she gave it back to me!  It has endured drought, hurricane force winds, various divisions and repotting.  What stories have surrounded these fronds that keep on growing and greening!  I guess you could call it a faithful fern. It lasts. It keeps on keeping on!

That is why it reminds me of the people in my life I am blessed to call friend, those who through many years and over distances of many miles and circumstance are still part of my life,  outlasting storms and dry spells.  I am grateful for fern and friends and the faithfulness of God in His provision and sustaining of that which keeps plants and relationships alive, enduring, and growing.

“Roses, Late Summer”

If I had another life I would want to spend it all on some unstinting happiness.

I would be a fox, or a tree full of waving branches. I wouldn’t mind being a rose in a field full of roses.

Fear has not yet occurred to them, nor ambition. Reason they have not yet thought of. Neither do they ask how long they must be roses, and then what. Or any other foolish question.

-Mary Oliver, excerpted from “Roses, Late Summer”

 

 

I admire Mary Oliver’s poetry.  These lines, as do so many of hers, tug at my heart with an “oh, yes.”

I read between her lines that for me are describing the desire to be rid of the prickling, thorny, uncomfortable, and sometimes unnecessary things on which we spend ourselves. Oliver chooses a fox, a rose, and a tree – all created by God and lovely, although we are never told those things were created in God’s image.  Only man, with all his questions and fears, is said to be made like Him and for being with Him, not just His creation.  Only we have reason and relationship.  I revel in this life in relationship with my Creator and the family He has given me. I know who answers my foolish questions and calms my fears. I am practicing happiness as I celebrate this moment.  I think Mary Oliver likes what lies between her lines when I read them.

Easter Joy

Our granddaughters are a joy for many reasons.  One of those reasons is the way they express their own joy.  On Saturday, long before we had fun coloring Easter eggs, and certainly before Easter morning with the excitement of baskets and the donning of frothy pink dresses, Maddie took the sidewalk chalk out to decorate our front walk.  She worked on several Easter egg drawings, but at the beginning of the sidewalk, she drew the pink cross you see in this photograph.  If you look very closely, you can see at the top what she thinks the cross means.  “Jesus Loves You.”

Growing Season

We fan the seed packets out like playing cards. My granddaughter chooses Red Leaf lettuce, Sweet Basil and Bouquet Dill. I pick Tarragon and Jewel Nasturtiums. We take them outside and find the rusty trowel and a small hoe. She loosens the soil and draws a line with her finger before carefully placing the tiny lettuce seeds, patting a veil of earth over them with the other hand. She fills the watering can she once called “flower shower”. My seed picks unopened, I stand watching her with a fullness in my heart that makes my eyes sprinkle.

seeds will sprout green and grow deep

loved by a sun warmed hand and heart

little girl also growing

Sing a Song, Tell a Story

I am deeply touched this morning as I read a blog I follow:  www.allenlevi.wordpress.com.  Often I find that God brings story and song to my attention like a friend coming alongside me to remind me what matters.  This video is from a previous post of Allen’s during a time in which he has been caring for his terminally ill brother, Gary.

                                                               Sing a Song, Tell a Story