Tag: love

Your Ragged Hopes

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How granular they feel—grief and regret, arriving, as they do,
in the sharp particularities of distress. Inserting themselves—
cunning, intricate, subversive—into our discourse.

In the long night, grievances seem to multiply. Old dreams
mingling with new. Disappointment and regret bludgeon
the soul, your best imaginings bruised, your hopes ragged.

Yet wait, watch. From the skylight the room is filling with
soft early sun, slowly sifting its light on the bed, on your head,
a shower of fine particles. How welcome. And how reliable.
~Luci Shaw “Sorrow”

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.
~ Mary Oliver “The Uses of Sorrow” from Thirst

We are given a box full of darkness
by someone who loves us,
and we can’t help but open it,
weeping.

It takes a lifetime to understand,
if we ever do,
we will inevitably hand off
this gift to others we love.

Opening the box
allows the Light in
where none existed before.

Light pours into our brokenness.

Sorrow ends up shining through our tears:
we reach out from a deep well of need.
Because we are loved so thoroughly,
we too love deeply beyond ourselves.

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The Cat Knew…

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This was our pretty gray kitten,
hence her name; who was born
in our garage and stayed nearby
her whole life. There were allergies;
so she was, as they say,
an outside cat.
But she loved us. For years,
she was at our window.
Sometimes, a paw on the screen
as if to want in, as if
to be with us
the best she could.
She would be on the deck,
at the sliding door.
She would be on the small
sill of the window in the bathroom.
She would be at the kitchen
window above the sink.
We’d go to the living room;
anticipating that she’d be there, too,
hop up, look in.
She’d be on the roof,
she’d be in a nearby tree.
She’d be listening
through the wall to our family life.
She knew where we were,
and she knew where we were going
and would meet us there.
Little spark of consciousness,
calm kitty eyes staring
through the window.

After the family broke,
and when the house was about to sell,
I walked around it for a last look.
Under the eaves, on the ground,
there was a path worn in the dirt,
tight against the foundation —
small padded feet, year after year,
window to window.

When we moved, we left her
to be fed by the people next door.
Months after we were gone,
they found her in the bushes
and buried her by the fence.
So many years after,
I can’t get her out of my mind.
~Philip F. Deaver, “Gray” from How Men Pray

Our pets witness the routine of our lives. They know when the food bowl remains empty too long, or when no one offers their lap to stroke their fur.

They sit silently waiting and wondering, a little spark of consciousness, aware of our family life. They know when things aren’t right at home. They hear the raised voices and they hear the strained silences.

Sometimes a farm cat moves on, looking for a place with more consistency and better feeding grounds. Most often they stick close to what they know, even if it isn’t entirely a happy or welcoming place. After all, it’s home; that’s where they stay, through thick and thin.

When my family broke as my parents split, after the furniture was removed and the dust of over thirty five years of marriage swept up, I wondered if our cat and dog had seen it coming before we did, witnesses to the fact. They had been peering through the window at our lives, gauging what amount of spilled-out love might be left over for them.

I still can’t get them out of my mind – they, like me, became children of divorce. We all knew when we left behind the only home we had ever known, we could never truly feel at home again.

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That Licorice Nose

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Something about that nose,
round as a licorice gumdrop
and massively inquiring.

It brings the world to him,
the lowdown on facts
denied to us.

He knows the rabbit
has been in the garden and where
the interloper has traveled.

He knows who has wandered
through the neighborhood and
can sniff out the bad guys.

He would like to get a whiff of you.
He has an inside track and will know
more about you than you can imagine.

But for now, he has other concerns.
The cat got into my pen and is making me
nervous, so let me out now please.
~Lois Edstrom “Homer” from Almanac of Quiet Days

As young as I look,
I am growing older faster than he,
seven to one
is the ratio they tend to say.
Whatever the number,
I will pass him one day
and take the lead
the way I do on our walks in the woods.
And if this ever manages
to cross his mind,
it would be the sweetest
shadow I have ever cast on snow or grass
~Billy Collins “A Dog on his Master”

Oh, Homer, dog of my heart,
when I open the gate to your pen to set you free for farm chores,
you race after your corgi buddy Sam
who must get to the cat food bowl before you,
but then you stop mid-run, each time,
circle back to me to say
hello, thank you, jumping high enough
to put that licorice gumdrop nose in my glove as a greeting,
so I can stroke your furry brow without bending down.

You jump one, two, three times – for those three pats on the head
(I think you can count) –
and then you are off again running,
having greeted your human with respect and affection.

You watch me do chores with your nose in the straw,
checking out the smells of the day –
I work at the cleaning and feeding the ponies
as the barn cat embarrasses you with her attention.
You wait patiently, your brown eyes watching my gray eyes.
You are listening carefully for those words that mean you can race back to your pen for breakfast – “All done!”

We speak the same language, you and I.
Your eyes and your nose tell me all I need to know.
I know you know I know…

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Retell Its Loveliness

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The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don’t flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;   
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;   
as Saint Francis
put his hand on the creased forehead
of the sow, and told her in words and in touch   
blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow   
began remembering all down her thick length,   
from the earthen snout all the way
through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail,   
from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine   
down through the great broken heart
to the sheer blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering   
from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and blowing
beneath them:
the long, perfect loveliness of sow.
~Galway Kinnell “Saint Francis and the Sow”

None of us trust our own loveliness;
we who are concerned with a blemish
or an unusual shape of toe or nose.

Yet we are made as we are
as an image of our Maker.

If we consider the purpose for which we’re created,
then we are just as we should be –
blessed with exact shape and size and spirit
with which we serve and bring joy to others.

Our loveliness must be retold
so we believe it thoroughly –
as a bud is all about blossoming,
a mother pours her love into the empty,
a father leads and guides the lost.

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The True Dwelling of the Holy

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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

Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.
~Mary Oliver from “Dogfish”

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead — you first,” “I like your hat.”
~Danusha Laméris “Small Kindnesses”

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.
~Plato

I have found that it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folks that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love.
~ J.R.R. Tolkien from “The Hobbit”

It is tender kindness I miss most these days in this world aflame with anger and violence, distrust and bitterness, resentment and suspicion and plain old cussed stubbornness.

There is true holiness in moments of kindness: I notice it now more than ever. I am given infinite daily opportunities to show kindness to others and when I’m preoccupied, too inside my own head, or feeling too injured myself, I usually walk by without even trying.

Yet when kindness is shown to me, I don’t forget it – it permeates me like a homespun apple pie fragrance that lingers around me, comforting and welcoming me home when I feel alone and a stranger in the world.

I remember all the kindnesses shown to me over the years and always carry them with me. When I have an opportunity in a brief encounter to show kindness, I want to help make someone else feel noticed and special. I want them to feel like they belong, right in that moment.

This daily sharing of words and photos is one way I try to give back what I have been gifted from others over the years. During the two or three minutes you look at what I offer here daily, I want you to know:

– you belong here
– I am forever grateful for you
– your words and support enrich me.

Thank you for spending some of your precious time with me.

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We Are No Longer Alone: The Light Stays On

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When everyone had gone
I sat in the library
With the small silent tree,
She and I alone.
How softly she shone!

And for the first time then
For the first time this year,
I felt reborn again,
I knew love’s presence near.

Love distant, love detached
And strangely without weight,
Was with me in the night
When everyone had gone
And the garland of pure light
Stayed on, stayed on.
~ May Sarton “Christmas Light” from Collected Poems

That afternoon, the air’s large hand
took hold of their backyard
apricot tree, the one that
had fruited, bountifully, a lush yield
in late summer, caught it in a downdraft
of chill, shook it lightly, again, again,
loosening each leaf from its
thumb of stem.
For two days I watched
the leaves’ pale, ground-ward drift,
each leaf singly, in its
gentle shedding, among all
the glints of gold,
each crumpled flick of fiber
from its stem’s thumb
a departure, a declaration.
An announcement, God saying,
gently, Thank You for
a lovely job. Now,
time to let go.
~Luci Shaw “Loewy’s Apricot Tree, Fall 2022”

The child wonders at the Christmas Tree:
Let him continue in the spirit of wonder…

The accumulated memories of annual emotion
May be concentrated into a great joy
Which shall be also a great fear, as on the occasion
When fear came upon every soul:
Because the beginning shall remind us of the end
And the first coming of the second coming.
~T.S. Eliot from “The Cultivation of Christmas Trees”

…the Lord will be your everlasting light,
    and your God will be your glory
Isaiah 60:19

I watch the eastern sky from the moment I get up each day. This time of year, most mornings remain dark, rainy and gray but there are some dawns that start with a low simmer around the base of the Cascade peaks. The light crawls up the slopes and climbs to illuminate the summits, then explodes into the skies.

Christ started small and lowly, then slowly crawled, then He walked beside us. He climbed up willingly to sacrifice Himself – to let go for our sake.

Once risen, He returned to the brilliance of the heavens.

Look east, good people,
Love is on its way again,
and again
and again.

This year’s Advent theme is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s sermon on the First Sunday in Advent, December 2, 1928:

The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. For these, it is enough to wait in humble fear until the Holy One himself comes down to us, God in the child in the manager.

God comes.

He is, and always will be now, with us in our sin, in our suffering, and at our death. We are no longer alone. God is with us and we are no longer homeless.
~Dietrich Bonhoeffer – from Christmas Sermons

The tree of life my soul hath seen,
Laden with fruit, and always green;
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the apple tree.
This beauty doth all things excel;
By faith I know, but ne’er can tell
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the apple tree.
The tree of life . . .
For happiness I long have sought,
And pleasure dearly I have bought;
I missed for all, but now I see
’Tis found in Christ the apple tree.
2
I’m wearied with my former toil,
Here I shall sit and rest awhile;
Under the shadow I will be
Of Jesus Christ the apple tree.
The tree of life . . .
This fruit doth make my soul to thrive,
It keeps my dying faith alive;
Which makes my soul in haste to be
With Jesus Christ the apple tree.
The tree of life . . .
(from the collection of Joshua Smith,
New Hampshire, 1784)

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We Are No Longer Alone: Love Calls Us By Name

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Lucy woke out of the deepest sleep you can imagine, with the feeling that the voice she liked best in the world had been calling her name.
― C.S. Lewis from Prince Caspian

photo by Josh Scholten

He determines the number of the stars;
He gives to all of them their names.
~Psalm 147:4

The sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice.
~John 10:3-4

The Lord has called Me from the womb;
He has made mention of My name…
~Isaiah 49:1

The new residents of Eden were given the task of naming the things of creation right from the beginning: plants, animals, rocks and even the heavens.

In our modern world, it is a lost art for us to learn the scientific names of things in nature, often no longer caring about the taxonomy and species, the Latin name or even common name.

We have lost the intimacy of knowing the name of what and who we walk among every day.

Not so with God. Not only the stars reflect His naming but He calls us by name – Abraham, Moses, Samuel, Mary, Peter, Paul among others– all heard their name uttered by the voice of God. He knows each of us in His intimate relationship with us.

Let His love be heard when He says our name.

It is up to us to listen closely enough to recognize His voice.
It is up to us to be ready to respond: I’m here, Lord!

photo by Nate Gibson

This year’s Advent theme is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s sermon on the First Sunday in Advent, December 2, 1928:

The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. For these, it is enough to wait in humble fear until the Holy One himself comes down to us, God in the child in the manager.

God comes.

He is, and always will be now, with us in our sin, in our suffering, and at our death. We are no longer alone. God is with us and we are no longer homeless.
~Dietrich Bonhoeffer – from Christmas Sermons

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We Are No Longer Alone: Acquainted with Grief

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And now, as the night of this world folds you in
its brutal frost (the barnyard smell strong as sin),
and as Joseph, weary with unwelcome and relief, his hands
bloody from your birth, spreads his thin cloak
around you both, we doubly bless you, Baby,
as you are acquainted, for the first time, with our grief.
~Luci Shaw from “A Blessing for the New Baby”

Grief like a cross
she will bear to her own dying—
she pauses under its gravity
before turning the corner
where she will see his tomb
and now wonders
at this sudden intimation
of something about to be born.
~Franchot Ballinger “Advent” from Crossings

The winds were scornful,
Passing by;
And gathering Angels
Wondered why

A burdened Mother
Did not mind
That only animals
Were kind.

For who in all the world
Could guess
That God would search out
Loneliness.
~Sr. M. Chrysostom, O.S.B. “The Stable” from Mary Immaculate: God’s Mother and Mine 

Shut out suffering, and you see only one side of this strange and fearful thing, the life of man. Christ saw both sides. He could be glad, he could rejoice with them that rejoice; and yet the settled tone of his disposition was a peculiar and subdued sadness. That gave the calm depth to the character of Christ; he had got the true view of life by acquainting himself with grief.
~Frederick Robertson from a 1846 sermon entitled Typified by the Man of Sorrows, the Human Race

The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places.
But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater.
— J. R. R. Tolkien from The Fellowship of the Ring

A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief
Isaiah 53:3

Our sorrows fill a chasm so deep and dark that it is a fearsome thing to even peer from the edge. We join the helplessness of countless people in human history who have lived through times which appeared unendurable.

We don’t understand why inexplicable tragedy befalls good and gracious people, taking them when they are not yet finished with their work on earth.

From quakes that topple buildings burying people,
to waves that wipe out whole cities sweeping away thousands,
to a pathogen too swift and mean for modern medicine, 
to unconscionable shootings of innocents,
we are reminded every day: we live on perilous ground and our time here has always been finite.

We don’t have control over the amount of time, but we do have control over how extensively our love for others is heard and spread.

There is assurance in knowing we do not weep alone;
our Lord is acquainted with grief. 

Our grieving is so familiar to a suffering God who too wept at the death of a beloved friend, when He faced a city about to condemn Him to death and He was tasked with enduring the unendurable.

There is comfort in knowing
He too peered into the chasm of darkness;
He willingly entered its depths to come to our rescue.

His is an incomparable capacity for Light and Love that is heard and spread for an eternity.

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This year’s Advent theme is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s sermon on the First Sunday in Advent, December 2, 1928:

The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. For these, it is enough to wait in humble fear until the Holy One himself comes down to us, God in the child in the manager.

God comes.

He is, and always will be now, with us in our sin, in our suffering, and at our death. We are no longer alone. God is with us and we are no longer homeless.
~Dietrich Bonhoeffer – from Christmas Sermons

Angels, where you soar
Up to God’s own light
Take my own lost bird
On your hearts tonight;
And as grief once more
Mounts to heaven and sings
Let my love be heard
Whispering in your wings
~Alfred Noyes

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Inside a Drop

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Find a quiet rain.  Then a green spruce tree.  You will notice that nearly every needle has been decorated with a tiny raindrop ornament.  Look closely inside the drop and there you are. In color. Upside down. Raindrops have been collecting snapshots since objects and people were placed, to their surprise, here and there on earth.

…even if we are only on display for a moment in a water drop as it clings to a pine needle, it is expected that we be on our best behavior, hair combed, jacket buttoned, no vulgar language.  Smiling is not necessary, but a pleasant attitude is helpful, and would be, I think, appreciated.
~Tom Hennen from “Outdoor Photos” in Darkness Sticks to Everything

… We are, as we have always been, dangerous creatures, the enemies of our own happiness. But the only help we have ever found for this, the only melioration, is in mutual reverence.

God’s grace comes to us unmerited, the theologians say. But the grace we could extend to one another we consider it best to withhold in very many cases, presumptively, or in the absence of what we consider true or sufficient merit (we being more particular than God), or because few gracious acts, if they really deserve the name, would stand up to a cost-benefit analysis. 

This is not the consequence of a new atheism, or a systemic materialism that afflicts our age more than others. It is good old human meanness, which finds its terms and pretexts in every age. The best argument against human grandeur is the meagerness of our response to it, paradoxically enough.

And yet, the beautiful persists, and so do eloquence and depth of thought, and they belong to all of us because they are the most pregnant evidence we can have of what is possible in us.
~ Marilynne Robinson from “What Are We Doing Here?”

These past three weeks I’ve been trudging along feeling cranky – each step an effort, each thought a burden, taking every opportunity to grump about myself, the state of the weather, politics, and of course, death and taxes.

It has been raining and gray here most of the past month with raindrops hanging from every branch. I am preserved in the camera eye of the raindrops I pass, if only for an instant – each drip snapping an instagram selfie photo of my upside-down piss-poor attitude.

It wouldn’t hurt me to stop rolling my eyes and cringing at the world. I might even try on a smile in a spirit of grace and forgiveness, even if the events of the day may not call for it. At least those smiles, reflected in the lens of each raindrop, will soak the soil when let go to fall earthward.

Planting smiles drop by drop: this inundating rain is a gift of grace to heal my grumbles – pregnant evidence of the beauty possible if I let it shine forth.

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Good Things in Abundance

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There was an entire aspect to my life that I had been blind to — the small, good things that came in abundance.
~Mary Karr from The Art of Memoir

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.
~Thornton Wilder, quotes from “Our Town”

The smell of baking bread, smooth floured hands,
butter waiting to be spread with blackberry jam,
and I realize, this is no small thing.
These days spent confined,
I am drawn to life’s ordinary details,
the largeness of all we can do
alongside what we cannot.
The list of allowances far outweighs my complaints.
I am fortunate to have flour and yeast, a source of heat,
not to mention soft butter, the tartness of blackberries
harvested on a cold back road.
A kitchen, a home, two working
hands to stir and knead,
a clear enough head to gather it all.
Even the big toothy knife feels miraculous
as it grabs hold and cracks the crust.
~Ellen Rowland “No Small Thing”

The words from “Our Town” written over 80 years ago still ring true:
our country a Great Depression of the economy then –
now we stagger under a Great Depression of the spirit.

Despite being more connected electronically, we are actually more divisive than ever, many feeling estranged from family, friends, faith.

Some less economically secure,
yet many emotionally bankrupt.

May we be more conscious of our abundance –
our small daily treasures.

God knows we need Him.
He cares for us, even when
we turn our faces away from Him.

I search the soil of this life,
this farm, this faith
to find what still yearns
to grow, to bloom, to fruit,
to be harvested to share with others.

My deep gratitude goes to you
who visit here once in awhile, or daily.
Thank you to those who let me know
the small and the good I share with you
makes a difference.

I’m right here,
alongside you in joint Thanksgiving
to our Creator and Preserver.

Many blessings today and always,
Emily

Let it go my love my truest
Let it sail on silver wings
Life’s a twinkling and that’s for certain
But it’s such a fine thing

CHORUS:There’s a gathering of spirits
There’s a festival of friends
And we’ll take up where we left off
When we all meet again

I can’t explain it
I couldn’t if I tried
How the only things we carry
Are the things we hold inside

Like a day in the open
Like the love we won’t forget
Like the laughter that we started
And it hasn’t died down yet

Oh let it go my love my truest
Let it sail on silver wings
Life’s a twinkling and that’s for certain
But it’s such a fine thing

Oh yeah now didn’t we
And don’t we make it shine
Aren’t we standing in the center of
Something rare and fine

Some glow like embers
Like a light through colored glass
Some give it all in one great flame

Throwing kisses as they pass

So let it go my love my truest
Let it sail on silver wings
Life’s a twinkling and that’s for certain
But it’s such a fine thing

East of eden
But there’s heaven in our midst
And we’re never really all that far
From those we love and miss
Wade out in the water
There’s a glory all around
And the wisest say there’s a thousand ways
To kneel and kiss the ground

Oh let it go my love my truest
Let it sail on silver wings
Life’s a twinkling and that’s for certain
But it’s such a fine thing

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