Love, open me to this day.
This is a day.
I need no words or categories─
rain or sun, clouds or wind─
only to see it, to feel it.
I want only to be open to this day, this moment.
I release all desire and attachment
to it being otherwise, to being elsewhere.
Open the windows of my heart
and throw back the curtains
to let this day in.
To notice and receive.
To be in this day,
shields down,
eyes open,
hands ready to be yours.
Love, open me.
Amen.

―May 8, 2018

 

 

I remember as a young father
holding little Daniel,
only months out of the swimming darkness,
late nights, early mornings,
feeling like a pitcher poured out,
incredulous that he was not as sleepy as I,
holding him as he wrestled with the dark
and stayed awake, I wrestling with the dark
and not staying awake, staggering
up and down the hallway, or half-slumbering
in the wooden rocker, waiting for rest
for both of us,
wondering if I’d live through it.

Awakening me before dawn,
playing at nothing,

his son holds me against the strange dark,
holds me, soothing:
Don’t worry Grandpop,
you will die,
and I will go on.

―May 7, 2018

 

Every moment a miracle is placed in your hands.
It may be a flowering tree
you are free to notice or not,
or a sink of dishes,
it may be someone’s feelings,
or a newborn child,
or simply the unfolding of this moment.
Every moment there is another.

It is a revelation from God.
Attend, be amazed, give care,
and give thanks.

Granddaughter Maggie
came into the world yesterday.
She hasn’t been placed in my hands,
but the moment has.

May 4, 

Patience is not merely waiting;
it’s peace.
This moment is part of the story.

Hope is not merely wishing;
it’s trust.
The unseen is as real as the seen,

On this gracefully turning planet
the sun is already rising.

Breath prayer:

Now … the miracle

— May 3, 2018

We are awaiting the birth of a grandchild.
We expect it’s a girl. That’s all we know.
But we already love her.
Already anticipate her, want her,
want the best for her,
hope for her what she can’t yet imagine.
She can’t see us, know us, suspect us.
But here we are, and our delight is real.

She hasn’t been born yet,
but she’s real. She’s alive.

She’s here. Just hidden.
But growing, listening.

You are here, even the part of you
about to be born again,
still becoming, still unseen.
And there is One you can’t see
or know or understand, who delights in you,
wants you, wants the best for you,
hopes for you what you can’t imagine.

Every one of us is so loved,
our arrival, even as we become,
so anticipated, by a God
so expectant.

   —May 2, 2018

No, you’re not too late.
Just as you walk in
the trees are clearing their throats.
The day is rising,
the gentle breeze lifting
in you, bearing you up,
a migrating bird
among startled clouds,
among stars singing.
Even the stone seems changed.
Not a dream but wakefulness
stepping into the new day,
this blossom opening,
is just beginning to tell the story—

   —May 1, 2018

 

In a gracious and generous performance
the Creator says “Light”
and there is light,
with its multitude of beauty
spilling out in all its ways,
echoing in its million variations
through all existence,
and it is a day.
The angels cheer and weep
and applaud wildly,
and the Creator takes a bow.
The angels cry “Encore!”
So the Creator smiles,
thinks of something new,
and plays another one…

__________________
Weather Report

Spontaneous,
as what appears on the radar as inevitable
is created in the moment.
Intermittent showers of newness,
with gusts of surprise.

   —April 30, 2018

On a slender twig,
after washing, spring opens
our tiny green eyes.

In the rain-deepened
brook moving calmly I see
myself reflected.

A simple bird song
shines in the woods. Ah, listen.
God, too, is praying.

 

   —April 27, 2018

         Now there was an Ethiopian eunuch…
               —Acts 8.27

In Acts 8.26-40 God sends Philip along a desert road, where he encounters someone least like himself: a foreigner who has been sexually mutilated, serving as a high government official. The Ethiopian eunuch is of a different race, ethnicity and language from Philip. He is sexually different, and of a different social class. The eunuch is reading scripture and has a question. Philip engages him in conversation The eunuch invites Philip to get in his chariot and sit beside him. Philip does, and in the ensuing conversation the eunuch asks to be baptized, which Philip does. Then he magically disappears and the two go their separate ways.

We are most naturally attracted to people just like us, but the gospel sends us out to join the journey of people who are different. Way different. To really proclaim the grace that transcends boundaries of deserving, privilege and control, we have to transcend our own boundaries. We have to share the journeys of others, especially those who are not like us. (One way racism persists is that white folks don’t befriend people of color.) It’s in the boundary-crossing that we experience the grace that is beyond our ability, control or deserving.

So we stop and talk to the homeless person on the street, or the laborer cleaning the hallway. We befriend someone who is incarcerated, or gender non-conforming, or an undocumented immigrant, or of a different religion, or who has a mental illness—or just someone who’s left out. We don’t just wave at them on the way by. We get in the chariot and sit beside them. We engage them in relationship. We journey with them. We see beneath the stereotypes (including these I just listed) and see the person who like the eunuch has questions, cares about things, and seeks God. Then it is they who minister to us. They enrich our world. That’s where grace happens. Even miracles.

Who are those people who are different who God might be sending you to? What are the differences you hide behind? Who are the unlikely ones who God is asking you to accept, and journey with? Run alongside. Get in the chariot.

   —April 26, 2018

         “I am the true vine, and my Abba God is the vinegrower.
         God removes every branch in me that bears no fruit.
         Every branch that bears fruit
       God prunes to make it bear more fruit.”
                        —John 15.1-2

Loving God, Vinegrower of Life,
I bring to mind with gratitude those ways you bear fruit in me,
where your grace blossoms into blessing.
Receive my thanks.

. . .

Wise vinedresser, show me what in me does not bear fruit,
what impedes the flow of your grace in me:
fears and resentments, desires, habits and attachments
that do not bear the fruit of your love,
dead branches that no longer serve you.
Help me see.

. . .

God of mercy, prune me with your grace.
Help me release all that does not bear fruit,
and let go of what diminishes your love in me.
Help me repent.

. . .

God of peace, help me trust your spirit flowing in me,
blossoming forth with your glory,
bearing the fruit of your presence.
Help me love.

. . .

Amen.

   —April 25, 2018