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Yesterday I bought roses at the grocery store. I placed them in a vase. One broke off the stem. My cat is eating another one. This is not part of the plan. The roses were supposed to bring me joy. They were supposed to open up and shine like the sun in my breakfast room. But no.
I could fix this. I could rearrange them. Take out the messed up flowers. Place them away from kitty’s perch.
Mimi wants to eat my roses.
So it is with God’s plan. Roses in a vase that get messed up, fall over, die.
Why do we keep looking for a plan? There isn’t one. Sorry folks. The God that I know and love is not upstairs looking down with his clipboard checking off when I do something that is part of the plan. Nope. Not happening.
My mother gave me a set of CDs of Richard Rohr and Russ Hudson discussing the Enneagram and Grace. What they say about the human condition and God’s part in it makes sense to me. What God is about is transformation. God is already a part of each of us. His spirit is within us all. We are the ones who need to change. We have to sit quietly with God and allow his grace to transform us.
Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O LORD, my rock and my redeemer. Psalm 19:14
Someone I love dearly is in terrible pain. Her illness is not in God’s plan. I cannot accept that excuse. Pain happens. Tragedy happens. A deranged boy can enter a church and kill nine beautiful souls. There is no plan.
We enter the darkness. We enter the tragedy, the sorrow, the pain. There, we find God. Then we can crawl out on the other side. Then we can shine a light. Then we can be the resurrection.
I must make myself humble, the size of a mustard seed. Plant it deep in the soil of God’s love. Then I will grow. I will spread love. I will be transformed.
Rain
with a borrowed line from Kazim Ali “The sky is a bowl of dark water, rinsing your face.”Blue Jay sings to the rain,
“See you. See you. Come. Come.”The sky is a bowl of dark water,
The deck covered in crystal glass.I step outside in the rain.
Let it rinse my face.Join the bird in a song
that turns to a sad tune.No matter. My face is wet
with God’s tears. I am the rain.
–Margaret Simon
Reflections on the Teche 