​Today is Good Friday.  It’s a day Christians are called to remember the sacrifice Jesus made that we might welcome the true mysteries and wonders of love. In remembering, there is the hope that we might decide to live life less selfishly and with more devotion to the causes of God.  It is a somber day, a day when we look into the face of great injustice, violence, grief, and the frailities and fragmentations of the human spirit, and we mourn that centuries after the death of Christ… we are still hurting one another.
 
We, who have grown up in the church, annually engage with the sadness of Good Friday, the weary mourning of Saturday, and then the jubilant celebration of new life Easter Sunday morning.  The problem is in our day to day living we can easily become lost in the burdens that rise up so regularly.  We find Good Friday in the news again and again as we divide and conquer rather than unite and serve.  We bury the children.  We warehouse the aged.  We turn our backs on the marginalized while we revere the noise of wealth and power.  We forget that we are created in the image of God and that image is beautiful, holy, and wise.
 
This morning, I found a blackbird feather in my front yard.  So strikingly black on the ground, it felt like a symbol of this day of sadness.  Yet, as I picked it up, the black gave way to the irredescent blues that caught the light and sparkled, and I found myself smiling at God’s creativity and compassion.  We do not need to remain a broken people.  We need not stay at the foot of the grave or tomb and believe this is the end of the story.  We need only to turn towards the light to catch a glimpse of the fullness of life.  Christ is with us.  Christ is within us.  May Christ be found in our living, in our loving, and in our determination to help one another on our way to Easter morning.
 

​The Spring Snowfall
 
It is the first day of Spring,
and yet, it is a snowy morning.
Nothing glares.  Nothing speaks loudly.
The holy hush is palpable for there is more to
the billows of white than meets the eye.
 
Shall we light the candles and say the
prayers we forgot yesterday?
 
Shall we release the burden of sorrows and
the narrow minded landscape that shrouds
our dreaming?
 
Oh, with joy, the stillness is beckoning
our rushing to rest…
to grow quiet enough to remember
how unexpectedly
our hearts can be filled.
 
Kathy Fuller Guisewite
March 21, 2018

I’ve not seen a bird discouraged.
I’ve nursed many a feathered friend found after some fall or entanglement or left for dead by some taunting cat, but I never saw discouragement in their eyes, only gratitude and determination.
Be not discouraged.  Broken birds still find the sky.
 
I’ve not seen a winter downhearted.
I’ve seen them stark and sparse.  Trees barren against the cold winds.  Earth all shades of spent brown. But I never witnessed a winter cry as it melted into spring.  I never felt it ask for more.
Be not downhearted.  Winter stands satisfied with what is.
 
I’ve not heard the leaves fearful.
I’ve watched them grow green from narrow branches.  I’ve taken shade in their glory days and heard them chant lullabies to the stars on windy nights.  But I never heard them express fear. Their green changing to orange and yellow and red and the final brown bow proceeding their fall to earth.
Be not fearful.  Leaves dance all the way down.
 
I’ve not heard the rocks overwhelmed.
I’ve seen them pushed by water and worn into smoothness they did not ask for.  I’ve seen them fall from great mountain heights and land in ways that shattered them.  But I never heard them express overwhelm by what was out of their control. 
Be not overwhelmed.  Rocks are steadfast in peace.
 
We are not birds nor winter nor leaves or rocks.
We are not meant to disengage the heart and mind in ways that make us inhuman,
and yet there is solace in their ways.
The geese fly their sacred skyways, singing as they go.
And we?
We need not lose hope in this winding life, bewildering as it may be.
We must simply bear our souls to the Breath that is life and
sigh our sighs with longing and with joy.

Kathy Fuller Guisewite
January 27, 2018

Sunrise and sunset.  Seasons.  Blinking and breathing.  Birdsongs.  Miracles are present each and every day.  They sustain us even when we are not paying much attention.  They show up unrequested and in that blessed moment when they catch our eye, we are replenished from life’s doldrums and sorrows.  Every miracle counts.  Every miracle is a Divine intervention of grace.
 
Somewhere along the way, I lost the ability to pray for personal miracles.  I also lost a love of the scripture that says, “With God, all things are possible.”  With God, it is possible to endure the great tragedies of this life, but God does not spare us from these, nor does God magically undo that which cannot be undone.  We can be led to look at things differently, to put a positive spin on something that is quite disheartening.  We can even find God in the midst of impossibility, but God does not make all things possible.  For me, making peace with this has been a miracle in and of itself.
 
But… as I peer into the sweet face of a brand New Year, I am feeling a pull to ask God for what has been foreign to my life and my living.  I want to ask for a renewal of dreams and possibilities.  They have been dormant for a long time now.  They fell into some fault line, and rather than take the time to try and fish them out… I just kept going.  I kept looking at the small miracles and never dared to pray for the big ones down deep in the crevices.  My thoughts have been, if God does not make all things possible… then perhaps those impassioned embers of my dreams need not be stoked.  If I run full force towards those dreams, what will the fall be like if they are not meant to be?  Why would I risk such heartache?
 
This Christmas, I found myself drawn to the comfort of Mother Mary.  I always think of her more in the Christmas season, but this year, she seemed drawn to me.  You know how God can repeatedly put something in front of you to get your attention or to extend a teaching or understanding that helps you along your way?  Well, Mary has been walking with me the entire month of December.  She’s been quiet with me and comforting me.  She has welcomed my prayers.  And like my own mother, she’s put her arm around me and asked me what I need.  And I believe she has poured her own love into the crevices where my dreams have been buried and cast light there.  She is blowing her holy breath into my embers.  She is encouraging the sacred blessing of praying for what is possible for me.
 
Who can I be for God if I begin to dream again?  What miracle might be born simply by allowing the possibility?  Today, I begin this New Year with a grateful heart that Mary stands witness with me to the goodness that is past, to the hope that is present, and to the possibilities I am now eager to welcome in this new phase of my life.  May it be so.  Let it be.
 
https://youtu.be/5RxN_NDAxis
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​Peace and Imperfection
 
Here is my gift to you and to me this Christmas:  Let’s put it down.  Let’s lay down the need to perfectly sparkle Christmas and meet every wish we’ve heard this year.  Let’s not worry that we didn’t put out the nativity and how God might feel about that.  If the kids all want cash and gift cards, don’t worry that we’ve sold out to empty gift giving. Can we just let Christmas be what it is going to be this year, and make peace with that? That’s what I’m tending this year.
 
I am trusting that Jesus is going to show up with or without a ton of gifts under the tree.  I am trusting that in our loneliness, in our poverty of spirit and joy, in our every struggle… Christmas is coming… all wrapped in quiet holiness.
 
I remember all the years I listened for sleigh bells on Christmas Eve, and the magical joy of Santa arriving to my daughter’s delight.  I remember burning the midnight oil on Christmas Eve to finish the handmade gifts. I remember the blessed joy of witnessing those I love open gifts that they had only wished for or never even thought to wish for and the laughter and tears that spilled over with such delight!
 
But this year, my being is tired… and I don’t think I’m unique in this.  My mind yells, “Push on through,” while my soul whispers, “Rest, my friend.”  So, this Christmas season, I am trying to honor the voice of my soul, and I write this to encourage you to do the same.  It’s not a copout. It’s actually a very welcoming gesture.  We honor what calls us… while we give as we can.  It’s trusting that Christmas will come on its own… bearing the truest of gifts that stand ready to bless and to heal and to delight.  It’s walking with Mary and Joseph to a holy place that waits for us with all the love we need.
 
May Christmas find you… right where you are, as you are… and may you be made ready to receive such a loving gift.

​My daughter is one of those holiday elves who is ready to put the Christmas music on the day after Halloween.  I, however, have been known to leave stores that blast the holly jolly tunes prior to Thanksgiving.  I love Christmas and used to be the proud Christmas elf of the family before my daughter came along, but… I like Christmas to follow Thanksgiving.  I like to focus on the harvest season, to pay attention to the changing leaves, to smell the autumn air, and to remember the many reasons we have to be thankful… all before we trim our trees.  I like the idea of separate but equal holiday celebrating!  I like celebrating Christmas in December not in October and November.  That doesn’t make me the Grinch!  It just keeps me sane!
 
Today is Saturday, November 18th, and Thanksgiving is in five days.  What I’ve noticed this past week is that I am thinking about Christmas.  As you can imagine, this isn’t my norm.  I’ve actually considered putting on some Christmas music!  So, I’ve been wondering what is happening to me this year.  Am I giving into the commercialism?  Am I buying into the cultural norms that are so out of balance?
 
No.  It’s not that.  Here’s what I think it is.  I think it is desperation.  This has been one heck of a year.  Before I go on, let me say that I am always paying attention to the blessings.  I am always on the alert for what good can come out of raw ugly.  BUT… from someone who has been akin to Pollyanna and Little Mary Sunshine let me just say… 2017 has been one freakin awful year.  Do we need to name why?  Let me just highlight as briefly as I can what stuck to me like dog poo on a shoe:  the White House circus of unbelievable insanity, the ongoing barrage of gun violence, the series of natural disasters, family illness, my own hospital visit and REAL discovery that stress does impact the body (!), the loss of my beloved dog-friend, tragedies of illogical proportions in the lives of friends, the extraordinarily long list of women friends who have been victimized by men (bringing to mind and sleepless nights, my own experiences with this) and the ongoing, daily experience of just trying to keep one’s balance in a world that is not.  It’s so bad that people are actually saying stuff like, “Shut up with the prayers.  Just DO something already to make this better.”
 
And so… let there come Christmas.  NOT the shopping-shoving-buy-til-you-die Christmas.  The Holy one.  Let it come.  Let it come in ways we cannot predict or wish for.  Let it come quietly in the night when we are sleeping… like Santa down the chimney… to fill our homes with warmth and joy.  Let it come like Christ in the manger… humbly and with a sweet innocence that seems long lost in this fast, provocative world.  Let Christmas come with hope, bright hope that we can do better, we can find and make peace in our souls so we can find and make peace in this world.  Let Christmas come in every way we need it to come.  Let Christmas come so we don’t have to keep trying so hard to just keep trying so hard.  Let Christmas come to help us remember there is grace in rest, in joy, in simplicity, and in compassion towards self and others.  Let Christmas come and make us wise again, make us humane enough again that we spend more time looking into each other’s eyes and seeing each other’s hearts.  Let’s find each other again… seeking each other out like shepherds determined to find the gift God had waiting for them.
 
I am praying, before Thanksgiving, for a Christmas miracle… okay… for multiple Christmas miracles.  I am praying, and I am working in my own inner soil to regain what has been lost spiritually and emotionally this year so I can not only witness the miracle, but become a contributing part of it.  Let Christmas come like stars in the dark sky to shatter what has been and to light the path to what can be.
 
May we be well.  May we be grateful.  May we be whole and Holy as the Christmas season yearns for us to be.

​My Dad (who is 81 and who has knocked down 2 types of cancer) is one amazing young man!  Today, I had the privilege of helping him work in the lean-to.  It’s simply a little storage shed behind his barn where clay pots and collections of dried flower seeds, and rakes and hoes hang out.  There is also a rather large collection of wood… planks and boards that seem to be leftovers from a variety of projects.  Well, Dad said he had been dreading working back there due to the high probability of snakes and spiders, but if I were up to it, we could work on getting rid of all that wood this morning.
 
So, we gloved up, put on our best yard boots, and headed out to take on the unknown.  Now what you must know is that my Dad is famous for always seeing brown recluse spiders.  He is also famous for spotting black widows.  We have joked over the years that if you see a spider it has be one of those two, because that’s what Dad would say!  He was also fully expecting us to uncover a snake or maybe a family of snakes under all that wood.  Now, at this point, if you are a snake fan or a lover of spiders, you might not read any further.  Dad is not of the mindset to catch and release.  Dad is of the mindset to not be bitten or have anyone he loves be bitten.  Hoes and hammers were readily available to defend as we loaded the pickup with the old wood.  We didn’t encounter the first snake, but let me tell you… the black widows were abundant (and not just because they are one of the two spiders Dad always names.)  I don’t typically wig out over spiders, but today I did!  Dad hammered those suckers like they were gonna rise up like some creature from the black lagoon!  They did not stand a chance.
 
The other thing that did not stand a chance was this old, open bookcase that held the wood.  The shelves were made of wood, but the sides were metal.  Dad decided it was no good, and he wanted to take it to the dump with the wood.  The problem was, the wood and the metal had to be separated in order for the dump to accept it.  He would have to take the whole thing apart.  (I am standing there thinking… uhh… this is gonna be a project!)  First, he got his drill to unscrew the screws holding each shelf to the metal part.  No can do.  Old screws were there for life.  I’m standing there saying, “Dad, this is too hard.  Let’s work on this another day.”  And off he goes to get something else.  Next, he tries using a big hammer to knock it apart.  No can do.  “Dad, listen, we’ve both worked hard getting all that wood into the truck.  Let’s call this one.”  “Nope.  I can do it.  It’s not that hard!”  Next thing I know, he came out of the barn with his sledge hammer, and he is telling me to stand back… this thing is going down.  And down comes that sledgehammer.  Repeatedly, he smashed the wood and the metal sides totally apart.  He was victorious, and I just shook my head and laughed my heart out. 
 
For years, I’ve witnessed my Dad take on projects like this.  One year he helped me clear my woods.  And after hauling a ton of brush out and loading it onto the truck, I’d stand there saying, “Uhh, Dad.  The truck is full.  We can’t possible put more on this load.”  And he’d say, “Nonsense!”  And he’d bounce himself up on that truck and stomp and jump on the load of brush until we could put at least that much more on top.
 
Anytime, I could ride shotgun in the truck with Dad, I would… because he loves that truck and hauling anything and everything to the dump in that thing.  We could have a load of stinky trash that we’d have to drive miles to the dump, but I would be happy as a clam riding with Dad in his truck.  Today was the same.  We hauled all that miserable wood to the dump, and we were tired, but we were perfectly content.  And on the way home, we stopped at the farmer’s market for cantaloupe and Hanover tomatoes.  My, goodness!  What a treat.  We even split a yellow peach between us as we hopped back into the truck, not even worried about the sticky juice spilling down our arms on the ride back.
 
My Dad will not be defeated.  He will look cancer in the eyes and say, “Not today you bastard.”  He’ll hammer the stuffings out of black widows.  He’ll raise a sledgehammer (that I can barely carry back to his barn) 50 times to smash something that needs smashing.  And then before I have even caught my breath from just watching him, he’ll be onto the next project… before finally stopping for a rest.  For all of my life, I will welcome the chance to sweat alongside of my Dad on some outdoor project, to stand with him beneath trees in quiet reverence, and to laugh out loud as his tenacity outsmarts the most stubborn of tasks.  Here’s to you, Dad.  Thanks for teaching me where there’s a will there’s a way… and beside you is the dearest way I’ve ever known.

I will walk in the tender garden
where weed and wildflower delight.
Unaware of the need to be perfect,
they live simply without fret or might.
 
I will walk in the tender garden
where my burdens can be set free.
The colors and natural beauty
are present to comfort me.
 
I will lose the noise that spins round in my head.
I will bare the heart that is mine.
I’ll follow the tiny nudges
spun by web and tree and time.
 
My loving God will meet me here
with only one request…
that I lean into the arms of kindness
and allow all other to rest.
 
So, I give thanks for this tender garden
a haven that welcomes the soul.
Weary or forgotton, lost or sad…
here we are surely whole.

​When the being is spent, and the mind cannot quiet the clatter of the knots beckoning to be untangled… take a walk in nature.  Allow all the analyzing to rest.  Invite the need for answers to sit by the wayside.  Ask only what is present to be present.  Let all else fall away.  Walk.  Breathe.  Listen.  Look.  The path knows the way.  Simply follow.  Soon the senses will become awake as the veil of ambiguity and social numbness leave your being.  The rhythm of your walking feet will soothe the mind into trusting that it no longer needs to be the leader on this venture.  What heals here is not what is not thought through but what is welcomed intuitively like a cool breeze through a screen door.  No maps, guides, or mileposts needed.  Simply walk, breathe, listen, look.  It is enough to fill the lungs with air.  It is sufficient to allow eyes to tend colors and ears to behold sound.  Be and become what is present.
 
Birds flying freely
River flowing
Wind that cannot be caught
Stone warmed by sun
Flowers wildly pushing through winter soils
 
Take these small morsels and be fed.
 
Keep walking.  Keep following the unfettered path until everything has taken wing.
All burdens, all confusion, all sorrows, all unrest are feathered and fleeing in soft release.
 
The sun has yet to be extinguished, nor your soul.
 
So keep walking until you find yourself home.

My Christmas Cactus is blooming in the midst of the season of Lent.  It's vibrant and gorgeously pink and has an attitude of wild abandon.  It bloomed throughout November and December, took a break, and is bustin' loose again just for the fun of it.  Or maybe, there really is something to inanimate objects picking up vibes and returning them to the atmosphere.  

You hear of houses holding the memories and feelings of those who once lived there.  I remember Maya Angelou talking once about the walls taking in our words and giving them back to us.  But this is slightly different.  Perhaps this Christmas Cactus has been absorbing my weariness, my heaviness, and rather than grow dull and lifeless... this plant is holding out healing to me.

2017 has found me confused, dazed, wandering, and wondering.  What happens to our souls, to our psyche, when that which has made sense, and that which has been blessing is disregarded, dismissed, and dismantled?  The scope of this is broad and the depth is so deep the soul can grow weighted and weary.  It is not of the imagination that the tilt of our human experience, these days, is keeping us off-balanced and overwhelmed.
 
So when something shows up that is beautiful and delightful and generous and spontaneous... we must allow that which is so needy and thirsty and aching in us to rise up and welcome it. 
Come, weary as you are, to the love that is always eager to hold you.  You are never alone.

To:  JK, MH, NRP, LB, MT