Today, I wanted to be productive. I wanted to create a check list and by the end of the day have it all marked off. I wanted the satisfaction of proof that I had not let this day go by without dutiful work.
I tried this. I did get some things accomplished, but it has been a struggle all day. I wanted to be clear and present to whatever was before me. I wanted to feel engaged with each item on my list. I wanted to see the effort of my work bear some sort of fruit that in the long run would make a lovely impact on my life and the lives of others. All the while I was checking items off my list, there was this pulling toward something else. I ignored it for a time. I tried to silence the calling. I kept telling myself to stay focused, but finally I realized my focus was in the wrong place tending the wrong needs.
By 10:30 this morning, I burst out in tears. There was no denying that the work of the day was not on a checklist. My aunt is close to death, and the very marrow of my bones can feel her leaving. A church friend also awaits her journey to heaven. Another friend waits today for her father to awaken from his surgery, and yet another friend mourns the death of her beloved husband. Tornados have wrecked towns and lives in the Midwest. The political news of the day is constantly disturbing. I know of so many circumstances that are simply devastating, and there is no way for me to go about my business as if this is all alright.
And so I cried for a time. I let it all spill over me. I allowed my soul to shake hands with these tiresome worries. And then like my wise Mama God, I heard my soul say, “You come on here. I’m gonna take care of you today.” And I gathered up my tears and every soul I could name in the midst of struggle, and we came together. Grace reminded me to invite the wounded to my attention.
And so, I took everyone with me down the lane to the mailbox. We breathed the air, we watched my boots tromp through the mud and snow. We listened to the sun singing with the birds. And we mailed another job application. And we all stood there together, saying prayers of hope that meaningful work might open up, and that more attention might be offered to God’s children in need. “I want to be purposeful in my living, everyone,” I said. And they all said they knew that.
As we walked back down the lane, we noticed God at work. The snow had come, and it helped us to see and feel again. We see how the snow cups and holds the ordinary, how it accentuates hidden or missed beauty, and then before we know it, the snow leaves. The gift, however, is that we are left with vision. We are left with a knowing, a glorious understanding that needed to be stirred. It is the truth that no matter what happens, no matter what changes occur, we are all going to be okay. I could hear everyone saying that: “We are going to be okay.” And “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” (Julian of Norwich) We stood in the lane for a time, only my breath visible, but shoulder to shoulder, we stood.
We fed the birds. Anyone in pain knows how deeply healing it is to reach out to others. Some voices whistled little birdsongs as the feeder grew full. Some among us took flight. And some lingered to watch as the birds retrieved their nourishment. We just fed little birds and in doing so, we all forgot to be sad or burdened.
Before returning inside, a child-like voice called out, “Oh, look!” And there at our feet just a few steps from the bird feeder was this little purple crocus. Shrouded in snow and dead leaves, it was rising up. And we all knelt down, our warmth urging this little being to be alive, to love the earth and the sky, and to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that her living changes us… for good. We couldn’t help but realize our bodily prayers, our joys and our thanksgivings in this intimate circle. “We bless you, little flower, for coming to us this way. Now you will travel with us, all together. We shall never be apart from one another.”
Finally, we decide we are hungry. There is great discussion as to what to make, but finally we decide to travel to Italy via the new recipe for Tuscan Bean and Pasta Stew. Had there been wine in the house, we surely would have raised a glass or two. We dream of roaming the streets of Italy one day, but for now, the sunlight in this house is divine, the friendships rich, and the day has finally found its meaning.
I am here for you, my friends. I am here, and I am thankful we can gather no matter where, no matter what. I love you, and this is my intention in all that I do.
I tried this. I did get some things accomplished, but it has been a struggle all day. I wanted to be clear and present to whatever was before me. I wanted to feel engaged with each item on my list. I wanted to see the effort of my work bear some sort of fruit that in the long run would make a lovely impact on my life and the lives of others. All the while I was checking items off my list, there was this pulling toward something else. I ignored it for a time. I tried to silence the calling. I kept telling myself to stay focused, but finally I realized my focus was in the wrong place tending the wrong needs.
By 10:30 this morning, I burst out in tears. There was no denying that the work of the day was not on a checklist. My aunt is close to death, and the very marrow of my bones can feel her leaving. A church friend also awaits her journey to heaven. Another friend waits today for her father to awaken from his surgery, and yet another friend mourns the death of her beloved husband. Tornados have wrecked towns and lives in the Midwest. The political news of the day is constantly disturbing. I know of so many circumstances that are simply devastating, and there is no way for me to go about my business as if this is all alright.
And so I cried for a time. I let it all spill over me. I allowed my soul to shake hands with these tiresome worries. And then like my wise Mama God, I heard my soul say, “You come on here. I’m gonna take care of you today.” And I gathered up my tears and every soul I could name in the midst of struggle, and we came together. Grace reminded me to invite the wounded to my attention.
And so, I took everyone with me down the lane to the mailbox. We breathed the air, we watched my boots tromp through the mud and snow. We listened to the sun singing with the birds. And we mailed another job application. And we all stood there together, saying prayers of hope that meaningful work might open up, and that more attention might be offered to God’s children in need. “I want to be purposeful in my living, everyone,” I said. And they all said they knew that.
As we walked back down the lane, we noticed God at work. The snow had come, and it helped us to see and feel again. We see how the snow cups and holds the ordinary, how it accentuates hidden or missed beauty, and then before we know it, the snow leaves. The gift, however, is that we are left with vision. We are left with a knowing, a glorious understanding that needed to be stirred. It is the truth that no matter what happens, no matter what changes occur, we are all going to be okay. I could hear everyone saying that: “We are going to be okay.” And “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” (Julian of Norwich) We stood in the lane for a time, only my breath visible, but shoulder to shoulder, we stood.
We fed the birds. Anyone in pain knows how deeply healing it is to reach out to others. Some voices whistled little birdsongs as the feeder grew full. Some among us took flight. And some lingered to watch as the birds retrieved their nourishment. We just fed little birds and in doing so, we all forgot to be sad or burdened.
Before returning inside, a child-like voice called out, “Oh, look!” And there at our feet just a few steps from the bird feeder was this little purple crocus. Shrouded in snow and dead leaves, it was rising up. And we all knelt down, our warmth urging this little being to be alive, to love the earth and the sky, and to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that her living changes us… for good. We couldn’t help but realize our bodily prayers, our joys and our thanksgivings in this intimate circle. “We bless you, little flower, for coming to us this way. Now you will travel with us, all together. We shall never be apart from one another.”
Finally, we decide we are hungry. There is great discussion as to what to make, but finally we decide to travel to Italy via the new recipe for Tuscan Bean and Pasta Stew. Had there been wine in the house, we surely would have raised a glass or two. We dream of roaming the streets of Italy one day, but for now, the sunlight in this house is divine, the friendships rich, and the day has finally found its meaning.
I am here for you, my friends. I am here, and I am thankful we can gather no matter where, no matter what. I love you, and this is my intention in all that I do.
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