I wonder if the sap is stirring yet, If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate, If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun And crocus fires are kindling one by one: Sing, robin, sing; I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
I wonder if the springtide of this year Will bring another Spring both lost and dear; If heart and spirit will find out their Spring, Or if the world alone will bud and sing: Sing, hope, to me; Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.
The sap will surely quicken soon or late, The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate; So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom, Or in this world, or in the world to come: Sing, voice of Spring, Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing. ~Christina Rossetti “The First Spring Day”
A Light exists in Spring Not present on the Year At any other period — When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad On Solitary Fields That Science cannot overtake But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn, It shows the furthest Tree Upon the furthest Slope you know It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step Or Noons report away Without the Formula of sound It passes and we stay —
A quality of loss Affecting our Content As Trade had suddenly encroached Upon a Sacrament. ~ Emily Dickinson“A Light exists in Spring”
Maybe it is the particular tilt of our globe on its axis, or the suffusion of clouds damp with moisture or perhaps only the winter darkness can no longer overwhelm…
The light of spring as it melts from March into April is immersive with sweet-scented dawn and twilight moments
Surrounded in sacrament without and within, a renewed life lived in the Lord: gently glowing.
Lux, Calida gravisque pura velut aurum Et canunt angeli molliter modo natum.
Light Warm and heavy, pure as gold And the angels sing softly to The just born
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
All that matters is to be at one with the living God to be a creature in the house of the God of Life.
Like a cat asleep on a chair at peace, in peace and at one with the master of the house, with the mistress, at home, at home in the house of the living, sleeping on the hearth, and yawning before the fire.
Sleeping on the hearth of the living world yawning at home before the fire of life feeling the presence of the living God like a great reassurance a deep calm in the heart a presence as of the master sitting at the board in his own and greater being, in the house of life. ~D.H. Lawrence “Pax”
When you notice a cat in profound meditation, The reason, I tell you, is always the same: His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name: His ineffable effable Effanineffable Deep and inscrutable singular name. ~T.S. Eliot from The Naming of Cats
The fat cat on the mat may seem to dream of nice mice that suffice for him, or cream; ~J.R.R. Tolkien from “Cat” from Tales of the Perilous Realm
I don’t know where prayers go, or what they do. Do cats pray, while they sleep half-asleep in the sun?
Is a prayer a gift, or a petition, or does it matter? The sunflowers blaze, maybe that’s their way. Maybe the cats are sound asleep. Maybe not. ~Mary Oliver from “I Happened to be Standing” from A Thousand Mornings
Our cats seem to have no sense of time — until it is mealtime.
Otherwise they pussyfoot through the hours of the day, unworried about what comes next, or what just happened. They find a convenient patch of sun, or a particularly soft cushion, or sometimes a most unlikely place like a cardboard box or pile of shavings or top of a fencepost.
Then they yawn, become rubber-boned and curl up for a nap.
How do they contemplate the fact of their existence? How do they appear so relaxed, in peace and serenity? Do they understand their place in creation and give thanks?
God wants us to rest comfortably in our own skins, as adaptable as a sleeping cat. And He wants us to count our days without wasting a moment for thankfulness. We are meant to be more than just hungry and sleepy and rubber-boned.
We are created in His image, acutely aware of the privilege of our existence.
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
Part of the joy of beauty is the realization that it is part of a larger whole, most of which appears to be just out of sight. We are drawn forward toward something… and left waiting, wondering. ~N.T. Wright from Life, God and Other Small Topics
Once, in the cool blue middle of a lake, up to my neck in that most precious element of all,
I found a pale-gray, curled-upwards pigeon feather floating on the tension of the water
at the very instant when a dragonfly, like a blue-green iridescent bobby pin,
hovered over it, then lit, and rested. That’s all.
I mention this in the same way that I fold the corner of a page
in certain library books, so that the next reader will know
…God’s attention is indeed fixed on the little things. But this is not because God is a great cosmic cop, eager to catch us in minor transgressions, but simply because God loves us–loves us so much that the divine presence is revealed even in the meaningless workings of daily life. It is in the ordinary, the here-and-now, that God asks us to recognize that the creation is indeed refreshed like dew-laden grass that is “renewed in the morning” or to put it in more personal and also theological terms, “our inner nature is being renewed everyday”. ~Kathleen Norrisfrom The Quotidian Mysteries
We do not want merely to see beauty… we want something else which can hardly be put into words- to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.
We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Someday, God willing, we shall get in. ~C.S. Lewis from The Weight of Glory
Whether it is in a favorite book of fiction or poetry, or from the Word itself, or as I keep my eyes open to the daily wonders around me, I feel compelled to share the good parts with those of you who visit here.
It is easy to be ground to a pulp by the little things: waiting in line too long, heavy traffic, an insistent alarm clock, a mouse (or more) in the house, miserable spring-time pollen allergies, so much misery in the headlines.
God is in the details, from dew drop to tear drop and even to nose snot. His ubiquitous presence is in all things, large and small, not just the “good parts” of His exquisite grandeur.
It isn’t all elegance from our limited perspective, but still, they are all good parts worthy of His divine attention.
The time has come to be refreshed and renewed by His care revealed in the tiniest ways. I feel immersed in His wonder.
He has my attention and perhaps, in some small way, I now have yours.
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
I have seen the sun break through to illuminate a small field for a while, and gone my way and forgotten it. But that was the pearl of great price, the one field that had treasure in it. I realize now that I must give all that I have to possess it. Life is not hurrying on to a receding future, nor hankering after an imagined past. It is the turning aside like Moses to the miracle of the lit bush, to a brightness that seemed as transitory as your youth once, but is the eternity that awaits you. ~R.S. Thomas “A Bright Field”
The secret of seeing is, then the pearl of great price. If I thought he could teach me to find it and keep it forever I would stagger barefoot across a hundred deserts after any lunatic at all. But although the pearl may be found, it may not be sought.
The literature of illumination reveals this above all: although it comes to those who wait for it, it is always, even to the most practiced and adept, a gift and a total surprise.
I return from one walk knowing where the killdeer nests in the field by the creek and the hour the laurel blooms. I return from the same walk a day later scarcely knowing my own name.
Litanies hum in my ears; my tongue flaps in my mouth. Ailinon, alleluia! ~Annie Dillard from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
Dear God, I cannot love Thee the way I want to. You are the slim crescent of a moon that I see and my self is the earth’s shadow that keeps me from seeing all the moon. The crescent is very beautiful and perhaps that is all one like I am should or could see; but what I am afraid of, dear God, is that my self shadow will grow so large that it blocks the whole moon, and that I will judge myself by the shadow that is nothing.
I do not know You God because I am in the way. Please help me to push myself aside. ~Flannery O’Connor from A Prayer Journal
Earth’s crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God… ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I am learning to step aside so my own shadow stops obscuring God’s gift of illumination. I can be so blinded by discouragement, busyness and distraction that I lose sight of God Himself.
I stand in the way and need a push to let the Light shine forth.
Surprise me, dear Lord. Cram this common bush with heaven.
Though I regularly lament in the shadows, help me lift my voice in praise and gratitude for your gift: the pearl of great price you generously hold for me to find each day.
The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field. Matthew 13: 44
This Lenten season I reflect on the words of the 19th century southern spiritual hymn “What Wondrous Love is This”
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
I see your world in light that shines behind me, Lit by a sun whose rays I cannot see, The smallest gleam of light still seems to find me Or find the child who’s hiding deep inside me. I see your light reflected in the water, Or kindled suddenly in someone’s eyes, It shimmers through the living leaves of summer, Or spills from silver veins in leaden skies, It gathers in the candles at our vespers It concentrates in tiny drops of dew At times it sings for joy, at times it whispers, But all the time it calls me back to you. I follow you upstream through this dark night My saviour, source, and spring, my life and light. ~Malcolm Guite “I am the Light of the World”
photo by Joel DeWaard
I believe in God as I believe that the Sun has risen, not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else. ~C.S. Lewis from “They Asked For A Paper,” in Is Theology Poetry?
Without God’s Light that comes reliably every morning, I would be hopelessly casting about in the dark, stubbing my toes, stumbling and fumbling my way without the benefit of His illumination.
Dawn feels like a fresh gift each time, whether a brilliantly painted sunrise, or here in the Pacific Northwest, a somber gray cloud comforter.
I don’t mind the gray: the darkness in the sky, and in me, has been overwhelmed. And I do try my best to reflect the Light.
I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life. John 8:12
This Lenten season I reflect on the words of the 19th century southern spiritual hymn “What Wondrous Love is This”
If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain. ~Emily Dickinson
Mostly, I want to be kind. And nobody, of course, is kind, or mean, for a simple reason. ~Mary Oliver from “Dogfish”
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow. You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth. Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore, only kindness that ties your shoes and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread, only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say It is I you have been looking for, and then goes with you everywhere like a shadow or a friend. ~Naomi Shihab Nye from “Kindness”
Have you ever noticed how much of Christ’s life was spent in doing kind things – in merely doing kind things? … he spent a great proportion of his time simply in making people happy, in doing good turns to people.
There is only one thing greater than happiness in the world, and that is holiness; and it is not in our keeping. But what God has put in our power is the happiness of those about us, and that is largely to be secured by our being kind to them.…
I wonder why it is that we are not all kinder than we are. How much the world needs it. How easily it is done. How instantaneously it acts. How infallibly it is remembered. ~Henry Drummond from The Greatest Thing in the World
It is tender kindness I miss most these days – this world aflame with anger and violence, distrust and bitterness, resentment and suspicion and cussed stubbornness.
There seems no relief in sight; we must find a way through.
It is time to offer and accept help when needed. It is time to give and receive mercy without shame or scorn. It is time to gently lift those soft vulnerable wings back into the nest.
We are saved by kindness, by grace given freely, thrown like a lifeline to us when we are overwhelmed.
I have been gently surrounded in a nest of kindness many times by the encouragement and love from those around me. When my heart is breaking, I know their mercy and grace becomes my glue.
…the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Matthew 25:34-36
So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. …. in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. ~Philippians 2: 1-4
Walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. Ephesians 4: 1-3
This Lenten season I reflect on the words of the 19th century southern spiritual hymn “What Wondrous Love is This”
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic, Time takes on the strain until it breaks; Then all the unattended stress falls in On the mind like an endless, increasing weight.
The light in the mind becomes dim. Things you could take in your stride before Now become laborsome events of will.
Weariness invades your spirit. Gravity begins falling inside you, Dragging down every bone.
The tide you never valued has gone out. And you are marooned on unsure ground. Something within you has closed down; And you cannot push yourself back to life.
You have been forced to enter empty time. The desire that drove you has relinquished. There is nothing else to do now but rest And patiently learn to receive the self You have forsaken in the race of days.
At first your thinking will darken And sadness take over like listless weather. The flow of unwept tears will frighten you.
You have traveled too fast over false ground; Now your soul has come to take you back.
Take refuge in your senses, open up To all the small miracles you rushed through.
Become inclined to watch the way of rain When it falls slow and free.
Imitate the habit of twilight, Taking time to open the well of color That fostered the brightness of day.
Draw alongside the silence of stone Until its calmness can claim you. Be excessively gentle with yourself.
Stay clear of those vexed in spirit. Learn to linger around someone of ease Who feels they have all the time in the world.
Gradually, you will return to yourself, Having learned a new respect for your heart And the joy that dwells far within slow time. ~John O’Donahue “For One Who Is Exhausted, a Blessing”
I know from experience that when I allow busy little doings to fill the precious time of early morning, when contemplation might flourish, I open the doors to the demon of acedia. Noon becomes a blur – no time, no time – the wolfing down of a sandwich as I listen to the morning’s phone messages and plan the afternoon’s errands.
When evening comes, I am so exhausted that vespers has become impossible. It is as if I have taken the world’s weight on my shoulders and am too greedy, and too foolish, to surrender it to God. ~Kathleen Norris from The Quotidian Mysteries
These are days with no breathing room, no time to stop and appreciate that each moment is a swelling bud about to burst into bloom.
And it is my fault that I’m not breathing deeply enough~ simply skimming the surface in my race to the end of the day.
Time’s petals, so open, so brilliant, so eternal, are closing up, unseen and unknown, just emptied, without my even noticing.
Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Isaiah 40:28-29
This Lenten season I reflect on the words of the 19th century southern spiritual hymn “What Wondrous Love is This”
Sing, Be, Live, See. This dark stormy hour, The wind, it stirs. The scorched earth cries out in vain: O war and power, You blind and blur, The torn heart cries out in pain. But music and singing Have been my refuge, And music and singing Shall be my light. A light of song, Shining Strong: Alleluia! Through darkness, pain, and strife, I’ll Sing, Be, Live, See… Peace.
Oh, good shepherd, would you teach me how to rest I’m rushing on, will you make me to lie down Will you build a fold by the waters that refresh Will you call my name and lead me safely out
From my anxious drive to labor on and on From the restless grind that has put my mind to sleep Will you call me back and gently slow me down Will you show me now what to lose and what to keep
Oh, good shepherd, oh, good friend Slow me down, slow me down Oh, good shepherd, oh, good friend Slow me down, slow me down
When my table’s bent with only greed and gold And my grasping hands are afraid you won’t provide Will you pour the wine that loosens up my hold Set your table here with what truly satisfies
Oh, good shepherd, oh, good friend Slow me down, slow me down Oh, good shepherd, oh, good friend Slow me down, slow me down
On the busy streets trying to make myself a name If the work is yours, there is nothing I can claim Will you lead me home to the pastures of your peace And the house is yours, I’m sitting at your feet
Oh, good shepherd, oh, good friend Slow me down, slow me down Oh, good shepherd, oh, good friend Slow me down, slow me down
Slow me down, slow me down
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
J.R.Tolkien’s writing desk at the Wade Center at Wheaton CollegeEars of Wheat – Van Gogh museum
A writing desk is simply a repurposed tree; the smoothly sanded surface of swirling grain and knotholes nourish and produce words and stories rather than leaves and fruit.
I can easily lose myself in the wood and wondering about its origins, whether it is as I sit at a window composing, or whether I’m outside walking among the trees which are merely potential writing desks in the raw.
Museums often feature the writing desks of the famous and I’ve seen a few over the years – it is thrilling to be able touch the wood they touched as they wrote – to gaze at the same grain patterns and knotholes they saw as the words gelled, and feel the worn spots where their elbows rested.
Though my little desk won’t ever become a museum piece, nor will my words be long-remembered, I am grateful for the tree that gave me this place to sit each morning, breathing deeply, praying that when I sit here, I might bear and share worthy fruit.
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
Even a wounded world is feeding us. Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy. I choose joy over despair. Not because I have my head in the sand, but because joy is what the earth gives me daily and I must return the gift. ~Robin Wall Kimmerer from Braiding Sweetgrass
Tonight at sunset walking on the snowy road, my shoes crunching on the frozen gravel, first
through the woods, then out into the open fields past a couple of trailers and some pickup trucks, I stop
and look at the sky. Suddenly: orange, red, pink, blue, green, purple, yellow, gray, all at once and everywhere.
I pause in this moment at the beginning of my old age and I say a prayer of gratitude for getting to this evening
a prayer for being here, today, now, alive in this life, in this evening, under this sky. ~David Budbill “Winter: Tonight: Sunset”from While We’ve Still Got Feet
I try to remember this each day, no matter how things feel, no matter how tired or distracted I am, no matter how worried, or fearful or heartsick–
I can grumble with the best of the them. There is camaraderie in shared grumbling, as well as an exponential increase in dissatisfaction as everyone shares their misery. Some relationships, indeed even political movements, are based on collaborative cynicism, dark humor and just plain complaining.
But I know better. I’ve seen where grousing leads and I feel it aching in my bones when I’m steeped in it. The sky is grayer, the clouds are thicker, the cold is chillier, the night is darker–on and on to its overwhelming suffocating conclusion.
I have the privilege to choose joy, to turn away from the bleak. I can find the single ray of sun and stand in it, absorbing and equipping myself to be radiant when others need it more than me. This is not putting on a “happy face” — instead joy adopts me, holds me close in the tough times and won’t abandon me. Though at times joy may be temporarily behind a cloud, I know it is there even when I can’t see it.
Joy is mine to choose because joy has chosen me, so I share it here with you – our very existence distilled down to this moment of beauty.
One breath, one blink, one pause, one whispered word: thanks.
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
For some reason we like to see days pass, even though most of us claim we don’t want to reach our last one for a long time.
We examine each day before us with barely a glance and say, no,this isn’t one I’ve been looking for, and wait in a bored sort of way for the next, when we are convinced, our lives will start for real.
Meanwhile, this day is going by perfectly well-adjusted, as some days are, with the right amounts of sunlight and shade, and a light breeze scented with a perfume made from the mixture of fallen apples, corn stubble, dry oak leaves, and the faint odor of last night’s meandering skunk. ~Tom Hennen from “The Life of a Day”
I am ashamed to admit I squander time shamelessly, waiting for that particularly special day I always dreamed of, tossing off these mundane but precious hours as somehow not measuring up nor exciting enough.
The shock is: there have been over thirty-five years of such days on this farm, one passing by after another, emerging fresh each morning from the duff and stuff of life, and wouldn’t you know… every single one has ended up being exactly what I’m looking for.
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
Barnstorming 