God of all names, who humbly enters our lives, we want to call you...something... to delight in that you have arrived unexpectedly, though surely, we expect something to stir us along life's roadsides as we move towards the center of our dreams. Amen.
Eventually
No, not ready at all to feel the deep earth resonate, they said as they marched in time to the rising and the setting of the sun. Perhaps tomorrow the line will practice meandering just a bit from the center holding disparity tightly together. Someone will eventually step aside to intentionally collect what the others have left behind. And, perhaps, then, the disquiet of each heart will begin to be heard.
A note pasted in my journal from twenty years ago…
Dear Dad, I love you with all my heart. xoxoxoxo how was your day? I hope it was good. Love Sydney 1/15/2003
A Rainbow With Hands
A morning tear on my cheek begins my day. Am I tired out from yesterday's chase after answers or saddened the answers remain in the dark? It has been said by those who know, We must choose to live with the questions. I am glad the ache in my heart and the ache in my head remain the same from one year to the next. I still demand the same though time moves on. And a precious daughter writes me notes of love and a drawing of a rainbow with hands.
Answers
Seek beautiful dialogue on the nature of answers. The greatest possible number of answers should not create the smallest number of questions. Adequate answers should never satisfy those who seek to live at the edge of time. Beware of answers creating a numbing of the mind. Divine movement does not hide in answers but in questions asked in awkward moments.
Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. – John 11:38
One who brings all things to an end, disturb us but just for a little while for it is through our own glasses life looks livable and to have them removed shocks us moving us back into our tombs. Amen.
A Kiss Goodbye
The strangeness in me recedes and
is caught
in cobwebbed corners before it
falls slowly
on the golden hair of
my daughters.
How strange they now seem!
I recognize their dance as they
skip out
the front door, yet I misstep,
stumbling,
kissing them each goodbye.
Picking Up Litter
I have placed discarded, empty bottles into the trash can at the end of a day. Why the bottles sometimes line the street is a question beyond the gathering of my mind. Garbage is garbage no matter where it lies or so the thinking goes on those better days. One day in the great memory bank of time I will remember having picked up litter. Will my place in the heavens after life be made, having cleaned up for the world on these days?
And Now?
Looking at a journal entry from many years ago, I run across the question, Can I start over again? Something simple, with a book or two. How is it that I could have a life and, at the same time, wish for another life? Children crying. A distant spouse. My own indifference. Too tired to even go to bed. And now?
“But I need to grow more, ripen more.” – Thomas Merton
Oh, to give birth to not just one but to many rapidly expanding points of light where needs are met and uses found. Imagine filling volumes and volumes with bridges from one thought to another and declaring with the coming of the times, Oh, my child! What will the coming time bring?
A Thread You Follow 