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
Receive each day as
a resurrection from death,
as a new enjoyment of life.
[William Law]
I do not skip down a Lenten path singing
my steps are slow, measured
intentional
a labyrinth path reminding
each day
take one step, then another
on toward center
and Song
The beginning of a new year is a time to think about what is important, what needs to be done, who I am called to be. I like to ponder and come to those thoughts over a period of time, rather than my making resolutions on January 1. A good way for me to do that is to choose a word for focus.This year I choose the word Reach. LIke these tomato seedlings in my kitchen, I start where I am, break open my comfort zone, shed what is unnecessary for growth, and celebrate new opportunity in the present – all the while reaching toward the Light.
Recalibrating, relinquishing
Embracing this season of enough
Attentive and astonished
Called to this journey
Holy mystery
Advent: season of waiting, expecting, preparing. One morning recently, I walked toward my front door and stopped, stilled with the beauty of light and shadow which shimmered in early morning sun streaming through our leaded glass door. As I received these images with my camera, I considered how much our Advent and Christmas pondering is like this – the shining of Light into our lament and darkness, beyond our closed doors, past our barriers of grief or bewilderment, settling into the curve of yearning in our hearts to create that which can strike us still with its mystery.
“The light would never be so acceptable, were it not for that usual intercourse of darkness. . .God will have them that shall walk in light to feel now and then what it is to sit in the shadow of death. A grieved spirit therefore is no argument of a faithless mind. ~Richard Hooker
” I’ve remembered this truth again and again as my ups decline into downs, my highs into lows. This reminder only confirms what I know but still need to learn. Light comes not in spite of the darkness, but to balance and penetrate it.” ~Luci Shaw
I have made it my custom for years now to give myself birthday gifts which no one else can give me. I cherish the hugs and surprises from my husband and children, love every phone call and email, and smile all over with my granddaughters’ “Happy Birthday, Granmary!” But no matter how else I spend my time having a happy day, I give myself music – this is the time when I begin playing my favorite Christmas albums, beginning with James Galway’s Christmas Carol and going on to thrill to an English Handbell Choir, Renaissance pieces by the Tallis Scholars, Handel’s Messiah, and John Denver’s Muppet Christmas, which was the one my little boys loved to listen to when they decorated the Christmas tree. It still makes them laugh and we still play it when the tree is staggering to stand up and be dressed. but I also play Paul Hillyer’s Home to Thanksgiving. And in the last couple of years I have added a gift to myself. I write a list to go along with Hillyer’s music. This is a list of sacred ordinary things from throughout my year and is a way for me to move toward the celebration of Thanksgiving in our family, which also is the springboard for Advent. Since I keep a gratitude journal where I record 5 things I am grateful for each morning, I simply make my birthday list from that journal, choosing 2 or 3 entries for each month in the past year. Just remembering and writing these things is a reminder of hope and joy. What a gift!
Gratitude
In my 72nd year, these are things for which I give thanks:
greens from our garden on the table with peas and cornbread
time to curl up with a book
walking around the lake on a clear, cold day
pain management for Joe
silent room, dark except for Christmas tree lights
Christ, who came, is come, and will come
warming my aching fingers on my coffee cup
my son taking down the Christmas tree and making our dinner
safety during a storm
winter sunshine after the winds
puttering and pruning in the garden
rainbows on the floor from the prism in leaded glass at our front door
the buttery taste of winter squash
memories of babies and boys
my husband’s gentle spirit
morning quiet time
13 bean soup
settling, being settled
deep colors of roses blooming in January
mockingbird singing on top of our rose arbor
“hope is that thing with feathers that perches on the soul and sings….”
Sabbath heart
a perfectly timed call from a dear friend
hoping in, not for
the poetry of Luci Shaw
my nursing education and experience
books on hold at the library
planting Cherokee Purple heirloom tomato seeds
quiet – no rushing to fill with noise
still – no rushing to “do”
Open, door of my heart
Go out, Pain. Go out Fear.
Leave now, Despair.
Come in, Peace. Come in Fortitude.
Go out, Pain. Go out Fear.
Welcome, Forgiveness.
Come in, Peace. Come in, Fortitude.
Bring in Hope.
Welcome, Forgiveness.
Leave now, Despair.
Bring in Hope.
Open, door of my heart.
Stones and Feathers 