Category Archives: observation

Incoming

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The wisps of cloud dipping down mark its edge. There’s a soft rustling and a faint brush of moist air. It’s rare in this part of the world – a visible wall of rain moving down the mountain toward me.

These few words and this image are the best way I can offer an experience of it, but it isn’t something easy to recognize from a photo or description. They might help you recognize what they indicate sometime in the future, or bring to mind an experience you’ve already had of rain coming in. They may draw you in to the experience, past or yet to be.

Sometimes, I think that’s what scripture is – humanity’s best attempt to share an experience of God in word and image. If you’ve already had the experience, they will draw you back into it. If your experience is yet to come, they’ll guarantee you know it when it arrives…

Chairs

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While out on the beach there are two empty chairs that say more than the people who ever sit there.

Jimmy Buffett, Lone Palm, Fruitcakes; UMG recordings, 1994

They’re nothing special – you can pick them up in any hardware store. But without them, would I stay still long enough to notice the big, beautiful world just outside my door? Without a second chair, how would I catch a glimpse of the inner life of the friends, neighbors, and family members who grace my life with their presence?

In Jimmy Buffett’s song, I figured that the empty chairs represented missed opportunities – no one ever sat there. But it could just as easily mean that the chairs themselves speak to what time and vantage point offer us every day: a shared glimpse of the inner and outer worlds we inhabit.

A view, a loving other, and an awareness of their value. For these valuable things, I thank you, God.

Life on Schedule

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This morning, I was pruning back the branches of a spindly shrub, then taking the dead branches back to the brush pile. Walking back to the house, I saw this bit of green poking through the dirt.

The chives I divided from my plant in Wareham had emerged, pushing back the crumbly dirt and last year’s leafy leftovers. I’d started looking for it well over a week ago. The irises, lilies, and daffodils were coming up, but no chives; because chives usually appear earlier than the flowers, I assumed that it hadn’t made it through the winter. Yet, here they were, several inches in length, healthy and happy in this new place. With barely any attention, they will be here for years to come, adding flavor to food and beauty to the yard.

Life has its own timing, and doesn’t limit itself to my schedule or expectations. I may plant, tend, and harvest, but the plants are following their own inner logic and timeline. There’s something wonderful about that – and it’s good to be reminded that life has its own terms.

If I could remember that truth when it comes to all life, including people, I’d be a whole lot closer to wisdom and graciousness.

The Greatest Mystery

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And what is this that we call love?

Tell me, what is this mystic secret hiding behind the semblance of our lives,

And living in the heart of our existence?

What is this vast release coming as a cause to all effects, and as an effect unto all causes?

What is this quickening that gathers death and life and from them creates a dream

more strange than life, and deeper far than death?

[Kahlil Gibran, Prose Poems, (Andrew Ghareeb, trans.); New York: Alfred A Knopf, 1934, pp.5-6]

At the end of this Lenten journey, almost at the feast/betrayal/death, how can I not wonder at the vastness of God’s love and the dreadful depth of human fear that would kill it rather than embrace it?

Walking the Walk

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An almost-healed ankle sprain has me walking a bit slower than usual, and taking advantage of the many benches Manchester’s downtown offers. That’s how I ended up in this spot on Saturday, seated on one stone bench and facing another – a pause between the bookstore and the woodworkers’ shop. What has hindered my activities for weeks has also opened spaces in going from one item on my to-do list (Easter cards) to the next one (box for organizing). Had I not needed to stop, I wouldn’t have noticed the beautiful curve of the walkway I was soon to take.

The curve itself is an example of functional beauty, but it also offers something in its curvature: a change of perspective for anyone who walks it. What a lovely way to be reminded of the world that lies between point A and point B – and what a grace it is to spend time in the in-between part of the journey.

Letting go of what doesn’t matter: The frustration of moving slower than usual.

Loving what does: The beauty that a slower pace and curved path offer.

Veiled

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Rain has buried most of the scattered snow islands, giving the wild thyme a drink and encouragement to grow. There’s still snow on the mountains, creating the fog rising over Route 7 – a ribbon of mist that marks and obscures the highway all at once. With the drumming of the rain on the roof and the cover of mist on the road, I have no idea how many people are on the road, what they are driving, or which direction they find themselves going. I acknowledge the mystery that I see, but my recognition of it doesn’t give me any insight into what is behind the veil. Unless I travel the road myself, or someone gets off at my exit and tells traveling tales, I’ll never get beyond knowing that there’s a mystery in my backyard.

Where are you going? What wonder, grief, and joy accompany you? Who has loved you, and whom have you loved long and well? Do you know how precious and unique you are – and how that’s true for every living thing?

If there’s any chance of catching a glimpse of what’s behind the veil, it’ll come through just such questions. All that’s required of me is a listening ear, time, and hospitality – and, perhaps, a willingness to share my own life’s travel tales.

Loving what matters: The mystery of the here and now – and a glimpse behind the veil.

Letting go of what doesn’t: The worry that there’s nothing behind the veil.

Wherever

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There’s no telling where they might crop up. One day there’s nothing but last year’s brown grass, the next day delicate beauty in miniature appears with a few green grass blades on the side.

I had nothing to do with their planting or placement, and they don’t seem to be on any particular blooming schedule. But every Spring, they are the first flowers to adorn the yard.

March 27, 2023

They move me almost to tears every time they arrive, asking nothing of me but awareness and appreciation – and they would be beautiful without those. But my time on this earth would be so much the poorer if I didn’t see them at my feet. So I look for them, and I’m careful where I step. I don’t want to crush underfoot one of the wonders of the world.

I’m doing my best to do the same for the Spirit’s presence.

Letting go of what doesn’t matter: Assuming that beauty and holiness will be where I expect it.

Loving what does: The serendipitous.

Hope

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March 23, 2023: Gringo Jack’s

I agree with Emily Dickinson – hope is a thing with feathers.

But not always.

March 23, 2023: Daffodil

Sometimes hope is a thing with fronds.

Day Lilies?

I believe the saying – hope springs eternal.

I’d also add: Spring is a sure sign of eternal hope.

I don’t know what’s coming up in front of Gringo Jack’s, not that it matters much. I do know what’s poking out of the snowy bed at the rectory – not that knowing matters much. The hope of new life is a gift, whether I can put a name to it or not.

Letting go of what doesn’t matter: Knowing exactly what that budding life is.

Loving what does: Life renewing itself.

Kicking the Tires

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The church voted to sell the current rectory a couple of weeks back. This isn’t because there’s something terribly wrong with it – the view is spectacular, the lot almost three acres, and the home a spacious four bedroom built in the 1990’s. But it just doesn’t quite match up with the current needs of the community or the age and stage that most Episcopal clergy are in – including my husband and me. Such a large home and property will be a wonderful place for a family with young children, pets, and all the activities and possessions that come along with them.

The home inspector came today to take a good look at the house from roof to basement floor and all around the property. He took many pictures and will write a report of the home’s condition so that prospective buyers know what they are getting into with this place. Good wiring. A roof that’s at the end of its lifespan. A few outlets without faceplates, and a functioning dishwasher. The church is selling this house in good faith, and an inspection is part of that.

Taking a good look at things and how they work is something every individual and community should do every so often. It’s a way to recognize and honor the changes that the years bring, and to adjust accordingly – it’s part of living intentionally in the present rather than continuing a pattern that may have been appropriate in the past but may need adjusting.

Leaving Massachusetts for Vermont wouldn’t have happened without just that kind of life inspection, a recognition of the new possibilities that a changing life stage offered. It might have been easier to stay in the same place and pattern, but it wouldn’t have been as much of an adventure…

Letting go of what doesn’t matter: Old patterns that are no longer necessary or helpful.

Loving what does: The gifts and challenges a new life adventure brings.

Clearing A Path

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March 15, 2023

It took almost two days for the storm to wind down to a few floating flakes. Twelve hours into it, I took a shovel to the four inches of snow piled up on the front porch and the ten inches on the walkway. When another half a foot accumulated a few hours later, my husband cleared the porch and walk. The next morning, the walk was buried in another foot of snow. I pushed through the snow blocking the door and went out for round three of shoveling.

It took a lot of bending and heavy lifting to clear a path the first time, and all that work disappeared as the snow continued to fall. All that was accomplished with three rounds of shoveling was the restoration of a way in and out of the house. Such work is usually only noticed when it hasn’t been done, and the path is blocked.

I experience centering prayer in much the same way – a lot of work without much in the way of discernible accomplishment. But it keeps the way clear, getting me beyond my own small internal world and allowing me to welcome others into it. And that is no small thing…

The Path Through

Letting go of what doesn’t matter: some tangible gain for my every effort.

Loving what does: anything that gets me beyond my own small world – and allows others into it.