…Noah looked worried…

Her whole world seemed stormy, raging and whirling; she sat to meditate.
“Let it bluster!” she thought.
Her eyes closed in contemplation; the darkness of her inner being seemed mottled, swirling in a miasma of emotions.
Breath in…
Breath out…slowly the tension began to ebb,
the cacophony of thoughts hummed into harmonic softness.
Breath in…
Breath out… follow the breath…
Breath in… Slowly, deeply,
ingesting the calm of life…
Breath out…from her nose she exhaled the dark of control…
awareness began to open, light sifted through her…
heart giddy, her interior vision formed…Noah?…looked worried…
Breath in…
Breath out…
Breath in…

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…but what will I write…

Today is heavy.
There is much to process but what will I write, actually? Gratefully, Thank God, I am not afraid, but saddened that hearts seek not to connect but seed anger, fear, discord. What is happening in the universe that creating, perpetuating pain is the answer for so many? Do we need to feel SOMETHING so deeply that we turn to sharp cuts of verbiage, hoping these cuts will sensate satiation? Bleeding one another grows desolation, destruction, death.
We are called to life. We are called to love. Please, humanity, seek love, truth in love. This day, grow compassion, joy, hope. Through Christ, Amen.

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…the black dog walks alongside me…

I live in the Light
Light of love,
Light of hope,
Light of forgiveness,
Light of salvation,
Light of Christ.

Yet the Black Dog walks alongside me…
Rubbing me with fear
Panting into the air the smell of doubt
Nuzzling my pride
Fetching death
Collared, sinful desires.

Surrounded by Light,
vibrant heat burrows against me
permeated by Light
senses
assaulted
smells of desire
touch of want
hope of taste
yearning for fulfillment.

Throw a bone, scratch between the ears, beckon?
Turn toward the light, seek warmth of joy, hope, peace undemanding, undemanded?

The Dog is present darkness, physical, effusive
The Light ephemeral, Spiritual, transcendent
…which way today…

?

This post is in response to the prompt “…and the black dog walks alongside me…” found at Julia’s Place: musings of a retired but not retiring woman under the heading 100WCGU. I’m not good at putting in the link to her site, although I have tried!

Many years ago, I had a love who got into a terrific accident. He recounted later that in his chemically altered awareness, he had swerved to miss three large, black dogs.  The resulting accident left him with altered vision, massive scars and yet, he chose to return to his partying ways after about 8 weeks in intensive hospitalization, two 14 hours surgeries, two ten hour surgeries, and numerous other minor operations to restore his head to normalcy. May these dogs never be prominent in your life; may you seek the light rather than the shelter of your being’s lusty, thirsty callings which can never fill you.

It’s a daily struggle for many. God be with you.

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…the parched ground crumbled…

Walking through life today, I wonder why the parched ground crumbled as I passed. Is it because I’m frustrated with those who say “I believe” yet do not gather to celebrate? Is it because my daughter is now two decades old, fast in the throes of love, stepping out of our home, into her own life for good? Is it because I want my marriage to have no glitches or grumps, no places where the water of life and laughter does not reach? How does one fill one’s soul with water that never dries out, hope that never crumbles, soil that never depletes? …Help me,God…

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…do you have to make that noise…

Music is my soul. I love the beat, the harmonies, the plaintive tune of lament, the chorus of joy that resonates through a plethora of voices expressing emotions through words, sound, accompaniments. Sometimes, the most connective expression comes through the simplicity of a capella voices rising and falling as waves of phrases are experienced through adagio and crescendos, allegros and whispers, carrying people through moments of pain and joy, passion and depletion. It’s prayerful when someone is whistling or humming solo down a hallway or through a grocery store. Do you have to make that noise? Absolutely. It is my soul spilling out to the world. 

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what if

        Reading Sunday’s upcoming gospel lesson, I wonder, what if the pastor, the preacher is the mustard seed. She is the weed in the garden of pristine Christian lives. Her roots flow to places and people and events we don’t really (want to) include in our garden. What if, unbidden her seeds, her words on behalf of one she tries to follow, take wind and land in soil we don’t really want to produce our fruits in the community. They are not us. They are not like us. They don’t fit in our landscape.

       How do we as a congregation learn to live with such a weed in our midst? Well, we can tolerate, for a while, her challenges to our coiffed appearances and we can allow her buds, for awhile, because they are somewhat pretty when they are in bloom. When the youth respond and attend and lead worship for us, those blooms are exceptional! When the bells play and she leads so well that the worship is enhanced by those blooms, well, that is a blessing to us. And when the council is filled, the toilet paper is full, the fund raisers have enough pies and servers, that is a gift from God, through this blooming weed…Thanks be to God! So maybe it’s ok for her to preach and speak and do on behalf of the congregation. We do pay her enough!

       But eventually, all weeds must rest their blooming, their roots continue to explore and their seediness expands to new horizons…but we, we in the garden that is so pretty and defined and, quite frankly, weedless, except for her, we grow weary of the challenge of not embracing the hybrids that her roots challenge us to become. To transform and live into that weediness is, perhaps, too much for us. Maybe some of those other flowers she’s trying to bring in can handle being transplanted and transformed, grafted, I suppose, into our garden. But not in our part of the plot, not in our spaces and our well tended and well known soil. We fertizlied several years ago so we know that we’re fine for a long time to come. New plants would leach our soil, would challenge our sun and our water allocations. So if they dig up a new plot, they’re welcome; just don’t mess with our positions. We’re fine. Except for the roots she’s spreading and the tendrils that are filling in the gaps. They come from a weed! a plant we aren’t certain we like the produce of and something of which we are not akin.

      We could, it seems, go out and look for our own plants to bring in, but selling our plot to purchase even the most bounteous and beautiful of those others? That is too much. We’re fine, being complacent in our understanding and our groundedness. We’re fine not seeking that pearl and looking within our selves to find the good fish and the bad fish, determining which buds to nurture and which to pluck out. We’re good, just like we are.

     But that pastor, OH! She is something else! We are the church, afterall, and to believe that God’s kingdom, God’s Word is not fully developed in us? I told her that I didn’t need more spiritual learning, that it would cause problems in my marriage and in my work, to live more fully as God calls me. I’m not even sure what that would mean for me. I have been a Lutheran, a Christian, all my life, so naturally, I live as God wills. How else would I be living?

     I do like her, don’t get me wrong! But, well, she’s so different, such a weed amid we flowers. She’s everyday and foreign and we, well, we’ve been here forever so we’re native and somewhat acclimatized, we’re special, I guess you could say. to be aware of her so constantly, to carry the seeds of her differences into our daily lives, that creates in me an awareness I’m just not ready to embrace.

     Yeah, what if the pastor is the weed? Spreading roots and tendrils in unseen and unwanted paths, opening ground where it’s always been closed and covered with rocks and perfectly fine grass. What if she’s sending out seeds to people who just  might want to join our garden? How is that the kingdom of God?

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open me

Something is out there
As sense of expectancy
Lurking
Around the corner,
Under the surface,
Over the horizon

Open me
Open me completely, O God
Open me to wisdom and wonder
To possibilities

Open me
Something is out there…

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