Wednesday, May 27, 2020

How listen is the same
as silent,
and not one letter
separates stained
from sainted.

Monday, May 25, 2020

A Spiritual Journey

My morning poem/prayer prompt:
A Spiritual Journey

And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles,
no matter how long,
but only by a spiritual journey,
a journey of one inch,
very arduous and humbling and joyful,
by which we arrive at the ground at our feet,
and learn to be at home.

~ Wendell Berry ~

Friday, May 15, 2020

Just Beneath the Surface

My morning poem/prayer prompt:
If I don’t watch it, this lake
is vodka and I won’t care I don’t
know how to swim. Getting sober
is like that. I go out into the world
and look you in the eyes and say
I’m fine. I’m having a good time
and you go on never knowing
I was half-underwater, that
there was a monster trying
to make its way to the surface
and I had to push him down.
- James Croal Jackson: Getting Sober

Prayers for some special someones in my life and all who struggle with addiction or a deep interior burden . 💔🙏❤️

Thursday, May 14, 2020

The Shield of Kindness

Safe in the love of one who’ll never part,
Of one whose kindness is itself a shield
Who understands the deep things of my heart

Better than I can ever do, I yield
Myself and my perplexities to him
And in his house of mercy I am healed

Tuesday, May 12, 2020

The Shelter of Gods love

Till troubles cease and only joys remain
Take refuge in the shelter of his love
Who hears your call and feels with you your pain

Who does not keep his distance, high above
But brings his light into your little room
Nestles and settles with you like the dove

In its familiar dovecote. From the womb
Of Mary, to her house in Nazareth,
From the upper chamber to the empty tomb

He comes to share with you your every breath
And to commune with you. To every heart,
That opens to him he will bring new birth,

For every ending offer a new start.
Lie down in peace and trust and take your rest
Safe in the love of one who’ll never part.
-M Guite

Monday, May 11, 2020

Invisible Work

My morning poem/prayer prompt:
Invisible Work

Because no one could ever praise me enough,
because I don't mean these poems only
but the unseen
unbelievable effort it takes to live
the life that goes on between them,
I think all the time about invisible work.
About the young mother on Welfare
I interviewed years ago,
who said, "It's hard.
You bring him to the park,
run rings around yourself keeping him safe,
cut hot dogs into bite-sized pieces for dinner,
and there's no one
to say what a good job you're doing,
how you were patient and loving
for the thousandth time even though you had a headache."
And I, who am used to feeling sorry for myself
because I am lonely,
when all the while,
as the Chippewa poem says, I am being carried
by great winds across the sky,
thought of the invisible work that stitches up the world day and night,
the slow, unglamorous work of healing,
the way worms in the garden
tunnel ceaselessly so the earth can breathe
and bees ransack this world into being,
while owls and poets stalk shadows,
our loneliest labors under the moon.

There are mothers
for everything, and the sea
is a mother too,
whispering and whispering to us
long after we have stopped listening.
I stopped and let myself lean
a moment, against the blue
shoulder of the air. The work
of my heart
is the work of the world's heart.
There is no other art.

~ Alison Luterman ~
(The Largest Possible Life)
Photo of my
mom ❤️

Tuesday, May 5, 2020

Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End?

My morning poem❤️prayer prompt:
Where Does the Temple Begin,
Where Does It End?

There are things you can’t reach.  But
you can reach out to them, and all day long.

The wind, the bird flying away.
The idea of God.

And it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier.

The snake slides away; the fish jumps, like a little lily, out of the water and back in;
the goldfinches sing
from the unreachable top of the tree.

I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.

Looking I mean not just standing around,
but standing around
as though with your arms open.

And thinking: maybe something will come, some shining coil of wind,
or a few leaves from any old tree –
they are all in this too.

And now I will tell you the truth.
Everything in the world

At least, closer.
And, cordially.

Like the nibbling, tinsel-eyed fish; the unlooping snake.
Like goldfinches, little dolls of gold
fluttering around the corner
of the sky of God, the blue air.

~ Mary Oliver ~

Saturday, May 2, 2020

May Day Memories

My garden is sown with sentiment;
Bearded Iris’ for my Grandma Effie, hydrangeas from Jessica that bloom wondrously every Mother’s Day, Sharon’s cyclamen, shamrocks for Pat, for mom, tulips every winter (and a new climbing rose) and dad, a little lemon tree.  When I was little mom and I made paper cones tied with ribbon, filled them with purple and yellow wildflowers from our field and hung it on the door of our elderly neighbors, Frank and Josie.
They had peach trees and when mom cut her hand washing a glass and we ran over there, her bleeding hand wrapped in a dishtowel, they jumped to the rescue. Frank drove her away. And Josie took us outside to pick peaches. I was so scared, but I remember feeling better outside with the peaches, the shelter of trees and the smell of fruit on my hands. It wasn’t long after that we made the paper cones and hung them secretly on their door. May day always makes me remember.  Happy May Day!