Category: Sunrise

Something Aimed At You

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And I was alive in the blizzard of the blossoming pear,
Myself I stood in the storm of the bird–cherry tree.
It was all leaflife and starshower, unerring, self–shattering
power,
And it was all aimed at me.

What is this dire delight flowering fleeing always earth?
What is being? What is truth?

Blossoms rupture and rapture the air,
All hover and hammer,
Time intensified and time intolerable, sweetness raveling rot.
It is now. It is not.
~Osip Mandelstam “And I Was Alive” (translated by Christian Wiman) from Stolen Air 

Ordinary things have always seemed numinous to me. 
One Calvinist notion deeply implanted in me is that
there are two sides to your encounter with the world.
You don’t simply perceive something that is statically present,
but in fact there is a visionary quality to all experience.
It means something because it is addressed to YOU. 
~Marilynne Robinson from The Paris Review 2008

We mostly live through routine and ordinary days, unconscious of many treasures and abundance laid before us.

In fact, these are addressed to us as pure gift –
postmarked to our address, fully paid, no postage due.

Daily I search the soil of my life, this farm, this faith
to find what in me still yearns to grow, to blossom, to fruit,
in order to be harvested to share with others.

Such sweetness undoes our inevitable decay.

I am so grateful for the tie that binds me to those who visit this page, hoping what I share makes a difference in your ordinary,
but still so precious, day. 

The gift of ordinary time is now.
Its numinosity is aimed at each one of us.

Poem by Dana Gioia

Echo of the clocktower, footstep
in the alleyway, sweep
of the wind sifting the leaves.
Jeweller of the spiderweb, connoisseur
of autumn’s opulence, blade of lightning
harvesting the sky.

Keeper of the small gate, choreographer
of entrances and exits, midnight
whisper traveling the wires.
Seducer, healer, deity or thief,
I will see you soon enough—
in the shadow of the rainfall,
in the brief violet darkening a sunset—

but until then I pray watch over him
as a mountain guards its covert ore
and the harsh falcon its flightless young.

Standing Here, Empty-Handed

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Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone–
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance–
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love–
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed–
or have you too
turned from this world–

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?
~Mary Oliver “The Sun”

There is no word to describe
its faithful return each day.

I struggle to hang on to it,
unwilling to let this lambent light
slip through my fingers~

Yet I remain empty-handed,
too focused on things less illuminating.

Soon darkness will begin to claim our days again.
So I grasp hold of this warmth and light
and hold on as long as I’m able,
burnishing my readiness for eternity.

Taking a Few More Steps to the Light

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And Jesus, perceiving in himself that power had gone out from him, immediately turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my garments?”  

And he looked around to see who had done it. 

But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling and fell down before him and told him the whole truth. 

And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”
Mark 5: 30, 32-34

…the whole experience of compline is in some way a touching of the hem of Christ’s garment: something has been given, something disclosed. And the person holding a candle at compline may hear a call, and make a journey, as another stressed woman once did, from touching the hem of Christ’s garment to meeting him face to face.

… just occasionally, it opens into deeper things, on to more ultimate questions. Just occasionally, there is an opening of heart and soul, which in some sense the liturgy itself has made possible; and then it is that, just sometimes, someone takes a few more steps on that journey from the hem of his garment to the light of his countenance.
~Malcolm Guite from Poet’s Corner

Most of us are like that desperate woman
hoping for healing by reaching out
to touch the hem of His robe –
ashamed to be so needy,
hoping to go unnoticed,
not actually wanting to bother anyone,
but still helpless –
so very helpless, but not without hope.

He knows when we reach out in desperation;
He feels it.

So He lifts us up as we begin our journey to His light –
from a touch of His hem to seeing His face.

It starts with reaching out.
It starts with taking a few more steps.
It starts with hope in the Light.

Before the ending of the day,
Creator of the world, we pray
That with Thy wonted favour Thou
Wouldst be our guard and keeper now.

From all ill dreams defend our eyes,
From nightly fears and fantasies;
Tread under foot our ghostly foe
That no pollution we may know.

O Father, that we ask be done
Through Jesus Christ, thine only Son,
Who with the Holy Ghost and Thee
Dost live and reign eternally.

The Last Sweet Bite

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Imagine you wake up
with a second chance:

How good to rise in sunlight,
in the prodigal smell of biscuits –
eggs and sausage on the grill.
The whole sky is yours

to write on, blown open
to a blank page. Come on,
shake a leg! You’ll never know
who’s down there, frying those eggs,
if you don’t get up and see.
~Rita Dover “Dawn Revisited” from On the Bus with Rosa Parks

Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast…”
John 21:12a

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
~Joy Harjo “Perhaps the World Ends Here” from The Woman Who Fell From the Sky

Here we sit as evening falls
Like old horses in their stalls.
Thank you, Father, that you bless
Us with food and an address
And the comfort of your hand
In this great and blessed land.
Look around at each dear face,
Keep each one in your good grace.
We think of those who went before,
And wish we could have loved them more.
Grant to us a cheerful heart,
Knowing we must soon depart
To that far land to be with them.
And now let’s eat. Praise God. Amen.
~Gary Johnson “Table Grace”

Our life revolves around the table,
whether at home or at church.

This is where we hang out late into the evening,
and begin the day before dawn.

This is where prayer happens,
our meals eaten,
stories told,
arguments ensue and ease.

This is where we listen to, understand and love each other
through smiles and tears.

This is where we share what we have and eat and are fed and
this is where God provides for us daily.

We think of those who went before
and wish that we could have loved them more.

So let us love one another now, while we can, when we can,
and we shall feast together.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

Amen and Amen.

The Raggedy Days of April Slip Away

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April is like the raggedy, wandering gypsy lad of the fairy tale.
When he moves, streaks of gold show beneath his torn garments
and you suspect that this elfin creature is actually a prince in disguise.

April is just that.

There are raggedy, cold days, dark black ones,
but all through the month for a second, for an hour, or for three days at a stretch you glimpse pure gold.

The weeks pass and the rags slip away, a shred at a time.
Toward the end of the month his royal highness stands before you.
~Jean Hersey from The Shape of a Year

I avoid spending much time in front of mirrors now. I’m thinning on top, thickening a bit lower, sagging and stretching, wrinkled and patched and, let’s face it…raggedy.

Still, if I look closely past the rags and sags, I see the same eyes as my younger self peering back at me.

There are some things that age does not disguise.

The lightness and freshness of youth might be covered up with the trappings of aging, but I’m overjoyed to still be here, just as I am.

Every once in awhile, I believe I glimpse a little gold under my wrinkly surface.

I’m no queen or princess in disguise, but breathing in the scents of certain perfumed days of April can make me feel like one.

A Slumbering Silence

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Again the woods are odorous, the lark
Lifts on upsoaring wings the heaven gray
That hung above the tree-tops, veiled and dark,
Where branches bare disclosed the empty day.

After long rainy afternoons an hour
Comes with its shafts of golden light and flings
Them at the windows in a radiant shower,
And rain drops beat the panes like timorous wings.

Then all is still. The stones are crooned to sleep
By the soft sound of rain that slowly dies;
And cradled in the branches, hidden deep
In each bright bud, a slumbering silence lies.
~Rainer Maria Rilke, “In April” translated by Jessie Lamont

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 Hills
That Science cannot overtake,
But Human Nature feels.
~Emily Dickinson from 85- Part two: Nature

sunrise410143

I do not know what gorgeous thing
the bluebird keeps saying,
his voice easing out of his throat,
beak, body into the pink air
of the early morning. I like it
whatever it is. Sometimes
it seems the only thing in the world
that is without dark thoughts.
Sometimes it seems the only thing
in the world that is without
questions that can’t and probably
never will be answered, the
only thing that is entirely content
with the pink, then clear white
morning and, gratefully, says so.
~Mary Oliver “What Gorgeous Thing” from Blue Horses 

Maybe it is the particular tilt of the globe on its axis,
or the suffusion of clouds mixing
with the perpetually damp atmosphere,
or perhaps the knowledge
the darkness no longer claims us
most of our waking time.

The light of gentle April
has its own sacred whispering voice
orchestrated with myriad birdsong.

We are immersed inside it for just a few weeks,
yet it belongs framed on gallery walls for perpetuity
to be admired at any time of the year,
whenever we seek sweet slumber on
a soft cushion of golden pastels.

Surrounded by such sacrament
without and within,
our recreated life in the Lord
gently glows.

Bring to Light the Mystery: A Ministry of Presence

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More and more, the desire grows in me simply to
walk around,
greet people,
enter their homes,
sit on their doorsteps,
play ball,
throw water,
and be known as someone who wants to live with them.

It is a privilege to have the time
to practice this simple ministry of presence.
Still, it is not as simple as it seems.

My own desire to be useful,
to do something significant,
or to be part of some impressive project is so strong
that soon my time is taken up
by meetings, conferences, study groups, and workshops
that prevent me from walking the streets.
It is difficult not to have plans,
not to organize people around an urgent cause,
and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress.

But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be
to know people by name,
to eat and drink with them,
to listen to their stories and tell your own, and
to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs
that you do not simply like them, but truly love them.
~Henri Nouwen from The Practice of the Presence of God

For too many years,
I was wrapped up in the trappings of the “useful” life –
tight schedules, meetings, committees, strategic priorities –
I forgot there is so much living usefully that I neglected to do.

There needs to be more potlucks,
more “oh, by the way” conversations,
more connections “just because,”
more showing up whenever extra hands are needed.

If only I could invite you all over for breakfast.
We’d have a wonderful time…

Actually, now that I think of it —
you ARE invited for breakfast – Sunday, April 5, 2026 at 7 AM.
Dress warmly.
Wear boots.
Come hungry and thirsty for the Word and ready for hugs.

Easter Sunrise on our hill.

photo by Joel De Waard

This year’s Barnstorming Lenten theme is Ephesians 3:9:

…to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God, who created all things…

Lyrics by John Donne
Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening into the house and gate of heav’n:
to enter into that gate and dwell in that house,
where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light;
no noise nor silence, but one equal music;
no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession;
no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity;
in the habitation of thy glory and dominion, world without end.
Amen.

Come and See: A Light Inextinguishable

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“If I testify about myself, my testimony is not true. There is another who testifies in my favor, and I know that his testimony about me is true.

“You have sent to John and he has testified to the truth. Not that I accept human testimony; but I mention it that you may be saved.  John was a lamp that burned and gave light, and you chose for a time to enjoy his light.

“I have testimony weightier than that of John. For the works that the Father has given me to finish—the very works that I am doing—testify that the Father has sent me.  And the Father who sent me has himself testified concerning me. You have never heard his voice nor seen his form,  nor does his word dwell in you, for you do not believe the one he sent. You study the Scriptures diligently because you think that in them you have eternal life. These are the very Scriptures that testify about me,  yet you refuse to come to me to have life.

“I do not accept glory from human beings,  but I know you. I know that you do not have the love of God in your hearts. I have come in my Father’s name, and you do not accept me; but if someone else comes in his own name, you will accept him. How can you believe since you accept glory from one another but do not seek the glory that comes from the only God?

“But do not think I will accuse you before the Father. Your accuser is Moses, on whom your hopes are set.  If you believed Moses, you would believe me, for he wrote about me. But since you do not believe what he wrote, how are you going to believe what I say?”
John 5: 31-47

One lights a candle: that candle, for example, so far as regards the little flame which shines there — that fire has light in itself; but your eyes, which lay idle and saw nothing, in the absence of the candle, now have light also, but not in themselves.

Further, if they turn away from the candle, they are made dark; if they turn to it, they are illumined. But certainly that fire shines so long as it exists: if you would take the light from it, you also at the same time extinguish it; for without the light it cannot remain.

But Christ is light inextinguishable and co-eternal with the Father, always bright, always shining, always burning. Therefore, because in yourself you were darkness, when you shall be enlightened, you will be light, though in the light. 

Be it that you were left in the dark in the night-time, you directed your attention to the lamp, you admired the lamp, and exulted at its light. But that lamp says that there is a sun, in which you ought to exult; and though it burns in the night, it bids you to be looking out for the day.
~Augustine from Tractate 22 and Tractate 23 on the Book of John

photo by Josh Scholten

Where would I be, in the dark of the night, if I didn’t have a light switch, a flashlight, or a candle to illuminate what I can not see?

I would be falling over the many obstacles in my way, running my head into objects overhead, or tripping into a dark hole underfoot.

I am grateful for those around me who steadfastly carry lamps to help me find my way when I’m lost. Each Sunday at church, I’m surrounded by them. I hope I too hold a lamp to show the path for someone else.

Yet it is not the lamp that is the ultimate source of Light – it is only the means to get where we each need to be.

Jesus tells us to focus on His inextinguishable Light – no more tripping and falling, bonks on the head, or getting irretrievably lost.

As the Word, He delivers us from our darkness and leads us to eternal life and Light.

I am reading slowly through the words in the Book of John over the next year alongside my church family. Once a week, I will invite you to “come and see” what those words might mean as we explore His promises together.

This year’s Barnstorming Lenten theme is Ephesians 3:9:
…to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God, who created all things…

Translation:
O Light born of Light,
Jesus, redeemer of the world,
Mercifully deign to accept
The praises and prayers of your suppliants.

O you who once deigned to be hidden in flesh
For the sake of the lost,
Grant us to be made members
Of your blessed body.

TRANSLATION
Word of the Highest, our only hope,
Eternal day of earth and the heavens,
We break the silence of the peaceful night;
Saviour Divine, cast your eyes upon us!

Pour on us the fire of your powerful grace,
That all hell may flee at the sound of your voice;
Banish the slumber of a weary soul,
That brings forgetfulness of your laws!

O Christ, look with favour upon your faithful people
Now gathered here to praise you;
Receive their hymns offered to your immortal glory;
May they go forth filled with your gifts.

The Dwindles

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Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
~Emily Dickinson in a letter to a friend April 1885

Over the years, the most common search term bringing new readers to my Barnstorming blog is “dwindled dawn.”

I had written about Emily Dickinson’s “dwindles” on a number of occasions – missing a house full of our three children, who have their own homes with families. Yet I had not felt afflicted with a serious case of dwindles myself until the ongoing isolation during COVID-time.

I was clearly not the only one. “Dwindles” spread across the globe during the pandemic more quickly than the virus.

There really isn’t a pill that works well for dwindling. One of the most effective treatments is breaking bread with friends and family all in the same room, at the same table, playing games, lingering over conversation or singing together in harmony.

Just being together becomes the ultimate cure for dwindles.

Maybe experiencing friend and family deficiency during the pandemic helped us all understand how crucial we are to one another. It’s high time to replenish the reservoir so we don’t dwindle away to nothing.

If you are visiting these words for the first time because you too searched for “dwindled dawn” — welcome to Barnstorming. We can stave off the dwindles by joining together each day for encouragement and a bit of beauty.

Because mornings without you all diminishes me.
I just want you to know.

Come and See: Above All Things

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After this, Jesus and his disciples went out into the Judean countryside, where he spent some time with them, and baptized. 
Now John also was baptizing at Aenon near Salim, because there was plenty of water, and people were coming and being baptized. 
(This was before John was put in prison.) An argument developed between some of John’s disciples and a certain Jew over the matter of ceremonial washing. They came to John and said to him, “Rabbi, that man who was with you on the other side of the Jordan—the one you testified about—look, he is baptizing, and everyone is going to him.”

To this John replied, “A person can receive only what is given them from heaven. You yourselves can testify that I said, ‘I am not the Messiah but am sent ahead of him.’ The bride belongs to the bridegroom. The friend who attends the bridegroom waits and listens for him, and is full of joy when he hears the bridegroom’s voice. That joy is mine, and it is now complete. He must become greater; I must become less.”

The one who comes from above is above all; the one who is from the earth belongs to the earth, and speaks as one from the earth. The one who comes from heaven is above all. He testifies to what he has seen and heard, but no one accepts his testimony. Whoever has accepted it has certified that God is truthful. For the one whom God has sent speaks the words of God, for God gives the Spirit without limit. The Father loves the Son and has placed everything in his hands. Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life, but whoever rejects the Son will not see life, for God’s wrath remains on them.
John 3: 22-36

Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
~St. Patrick

To come down and wear our skin
is for you to know our frailty:
our bruises and callouses,
our sunburns and warts,
our tears and our bleeding,
our spasming backs,
and toothaches.

To come down to pulse within our hearts,
is for you to know our temptation
for self-promotion,
and our desire
to fill our own emptiness
before first loving and serving others.

To inhabit our souls
you humbled yourself
to pull together
our millions of broken pieces,
feeding us with yourself,
your spirit becoming the adhesive
to glue us back wholly,
God loving us by becoming us,
so we don’t simply crumble to dust.

I am reading slowly through the words in the Book of John over the next year. Once a week, I will invite you to “come and see” what those words might mean as we explore His promises together.

Humble and Human, willing to bend You are
Fashioned of flesh and the fire of life, You are
Not too proud to wear our skin
To know this weary world we’re in
Humble, humble Jesus

Humble in sorrow, You gladly carried Your cross
Never refusing Your life to the weakest of us
Not too proud to bear our sin
To feel this brokenness we’re in
Humble, humble Jesus

We bow our knees
We must decrease
You must increase
We lift You high

Humble in greatness, born in the likeness of man
Name above all names, holding our world in Your hands
Not too proud to dwell with us, to live in us, to die for us
Humble, humble Jesus

I arise today through the strength of heaven
Light of sun, radiance of moon
Splendor of fire, speed of lightning
Swiftness of wind, depth of the sea
Stability of earth, firmness of rock

I arise today through God’s strength to pilot me
God’s eye to look before me
God’s wisdom to guide me
God’s way to lie before me
God’s shield to protect me

From all who shall wish me ill
Afar and a-near
Alone and in a multitude
Against every cruel, merciless power
That may oppose my body and soul

Christ with me, Christ before me
Christ behind me, Christ in me
Christ beneath me, Christ above me
Christ on my right, Christ on my left
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down
Christ when I arise, Christ to shield me

Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me

I arise today. 
~St. Patrick’s Breastplate