Lenten Grace — We are All Sojourners

photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten

“I alternate between thinking of the planet as home
– dear and familiar stone hearth and garden –
and as a hard land of exile in which we are all sojourners.”
~Annie Dillard from Teaching a Stone To Talk

I find it very difficult to admit I am as temporary as a dew drop on a leaf, a mere mirrored reflection of this incredible place where I dwell.  I want it to last, I want it etched in stone, I want to be remembered beyond the next generation, I want not to be lost to the ether.

Yet I, like everyone, am sojourner only, not settled and certainly not lasting.   As a garden flourishes and then dies back, so will I.  This is exile in the wilderness until I am led back home.

Home.  Really home.

Forever etched on His heart.

Forever dwelling within His Hand.

photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten

A Calm So Deep

photo by Josh Scholten

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
~William Wordsworth from Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 1802

The end of September is wistful yet expectant.  We have not yet had frost but the air has a stark coolness that presages a freeze coming soon.  Nothing is really growing any more; there is a settling in, as if going down for a nap–drifting off, comfortable, sinking deep and untroubled under the blankets.

Our long sleep is not yet come but we take our rest at intervals.  There is still daylight left though the frenetic season has passed.

We take our calm as it comes, in a serene moment of reflection, looking out from the edge and wondering, pondering what is waiting on the other side.

photo by Josh Scholten

Each Round Drop

photo by Josh Scholten

And when the Sun comes out,
After this Rain shall stop,
A wondrous Light will fill
Each dark, round drop…

William Henry Davies from “The Rain

I don’t ever remember mud in July, only dust.

The sun is finally predicted to come out from behind the clouds tomorrow and stay for awhile.  Until then we continue to see copious bleak tears spilling unchecked from a shrouded heaven.  Wet cracking cherries have hung unripe for a week, untouched even by the birds who know to wait for a sweeter day.

Nothing now illuminates these perfect round spheres as they roll off leaves and petals to huddle puddled together in community on the ground.  The wait for Light is long.

It will come sooner than I can imagine, that moment of seeing a glistening crystalline reflection of the universe in a droplet, when Light returns undimmed, its taste ambrosial.