We received some rough news this week. A diagnosis. A good friend. A young mother.
How do we handle this cancer nightsoil in the midst of Christmas carols and wrapping and baking. Where is the joy? I am struggling to find it.
I found it on Facebook, of all places, where her neighbor set up a Caring Bridges site. There’s a picture of over 50 people gathered in prayer. I texted, “I am overwhelmed by what you are doing.”
“It’s hard to accept the love that comes with such a crappy thing.”
So I will find joy in the love. Love of my family, my friends far and near, and of God’s word made flesh.
Watch the light of the full moon tonight, this Christmas Eve, hold your loved ones tight. Because this moment is all we have. Merry Christmas!
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I love that the word harvest is on my list for preparations for Thanksgiving. I have a brown thumb. I am no good at growing stuff. I tend to forget to water, prune, anything that a plant requires for survival. So I am filled with pleasure when I can harvest in my own backyard. God blessed citrus trees with resilience. They don’t need me. And yet they give back to me.
This is how God’s love is. Abundant. All we have to do is harvest it.
I am wishing for you this holiday season an abundant harvest.
Like that tiny mustard seed. When planted it takes root and turns into a large tree with many branches.
Open up your arms to the world.
Glow like the lemon in the sunlight.
Be joy.
Be love.
Be the harvest.
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Each day is a little life; every waking and rising a little birth; every fresh morning a little youth; every going to rest and sleep a little death.
– ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER
When Holly tweeted out the theme for this week, patience, I was finishing my second art lesson. I have been trying to be an artist my whole life. My father is an artist, and I want to grow up to be like him. Art takes patience. And I am not sure I have what it takes.
During this second lesson, our instructor asked us to draw an image from a photograph. He wanted us to use shading to show form. He said the word form over and over again. I think he became frustrated with me, but you would never know it. He has a calm demeanor. Patience is so important to any kind of teaching.
I wasn’t quite sure how to start or how to proceed. I was stuck with what I knew before of contour drawing. I was not familiar with his method. So he took my tablet and drew, hatching and shading. The drawing that looked like a cartoon to me began to take shape and form. I was watching a miracle. I still have no idea how to make that happen when the pencil is in my own hand.
Patience.
I have no patience with myself.
I want to be good now, but I avoid the practice that it takes.
In our limited human minds, we see bits and pieces of the whole. We see small miracles every day. God can see the whole. God knows the big picture. God is our artist.
In my impatience, I want to know now. I want to be good and right and perfect. Ah, me. That is not possible. The only real perfection is with God. In the meantime, I will continue to strive for the best, trying to remember that the Great Artist isn’t finished with me yet.
“Don’t look at your feet to see if you are doing it right. Just dance.”
― Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
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Church of the Epiphany, New Iberia, Louisiana
Have you ever driven someplace on auto-pilot, getting there and not remembering how you got there? On Sunday morning I turn on auto-pilot. The only decision I have to make is what to wear, because attending church is automatic for me. I just do it.
I grew up going to church every Sunday. When I went to college, I chose LSU because of the Episcopal student center. I joined the music group. We sang folk songs to guitar and piano. For the Eucharist on Sunday night, we would gather around the altar in a circle and pass the bread and wine to each other. This service was intimate and sincere.
I also love a high church service complete with smells and bells, a full four-part choir with men and women processing in robes, banners waving.
The church I attend weekly is a historical Episcopal church dating back to 1857. The sanctuary was used as a hospital in the Civil War. We still have two of the pews that were used as horse troughs. You can see the holes that were bored for drainage. I sing in the choir loft that was once a loft for slaves. If the walls and windows and pews could speak…
Why church? Not because I’ve always gone. Not because of the building or the traditions.
Church is home. Church is community.
Church is a place where God is always present.
I go to church because I would feel incomplete without it.
The words inspire me.
The people love me.
The Eucharist nourishes me.
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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
I drive the highway south to New Orleans fairly often. There is a bridge overpass that is quite faulty. This used to frustrate me because suddenly my car was bumping up and down jarring me out of whatever thought I was having. Once I was driving this road with my friend Cathy. We were making a day trip to New Orleans to shop for wigs and dresses for the upcoming Berry Queen ball. Already we were in the mood for fun. When the bumping started, I exclaimed my usual ugh!, but when I looked over at Cathy, she was laughing and exaggerating the up and down movement. She says with glee, “I love this bridge!”
My attitude changed totally and ever since, I look forward to the bridge. I remember the fun day we had, the laughter in Cathy’s voice, and the memory of shared joy.
Laughter is like that. Laughter can change a moment of fear and frustration into one of joy and delight. I believe God is all about transforming moments into joy.
Sunset reflection
Today I am at the lake to celebrate my mother’s birthday. My sister and her children are here. There will be lots of talking and sharing and laughing.
On my way here, I listened to a podcast called On Being. The guest was Sister Simone Campbell. You can listen to it here. One of the writing exercises I like to do is turn my notes into a poem. Here is a found poem from Sister Simone.
Walk willing.
Open hands
for the treasure
to hold, not grasp,
willing to share.
Open heart
ready to be broken
by his story,
forever changed.
Make me one part
of the one body that Paul speaks of.
Wake me up
to do the thing
I am able to do.
One of my favorite folk hymns is The Servant Song. This song expresses the community of Christ and helps me to remember how to be fully present for others on this spiritual journey.
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When you take the time to be truly still, how do you feel? Do you keep multiple tabs open so if one website is taking its time loading, you can be reading another one? Do you multi-task? While you are eating, do you read or watch TV?
More and more our society demands our constant activity. When I work out at the gym, I can plug my headphones in and watch TV or listen to my iPod. When I am driving, the radio plays. I have a little notebook in the console of my car to make lists on. I am rarely without my cell phone.
I crave quiet and stillness but in all honesty, rarely do I allow myself this luxury. What I need to understand is that God will not come in when it’s noisy. The Spirit wants my quiet time. The Holy One begs me to slow down and listen.
“Be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10
Writing poetry also requires my silence, my listening, my opened and uncluttered mind. I love to take a walk in the park and absorb the colors, the scents, the fresh air, and make it poetry. In the spirit of stillness, spring, and digital poetry, here is an original poem movie entitled, “Come Out, Green.”
Use this button created by Leigh Anne Eck to post your Digital Poetry this month.
Join the Spiritual Thursday round up at Reading, Teaching, Learning.
Use this button created by Leigh Anne Eck to post your Digital Poetry this month.
Holly Mueller leads us to spiritual reflection each week. This week the theme is family. I didn’t think I could write a poem about family without being trite or cliché. Sometimes cliché just happens, and this is one of those times.
Family is a full cup
overflowing
with nourishing water
a twist of lemon.
Family is a dog,
four cats,
an occasional frog.
Family is photo albums
in the antique armoire
saving the years.
Family is a favorite restaurant
where they know your name.
Family is a daily text,
Facetime, calling Bluetooth,
feeling close together
while far apart
knowing there is no place like home
and no friend like family.
–Margaret Simon
Last night I happened upon a Twitter chat for #TCRWP. Someone mentioned using PicLit, so in the spirit of digital poetry, I tried it out. The first picture that came up was the Bean in Chicago where we have posed a few family pictures. The word family was not listed, so I used people instead.
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Use this button created by Leigh Anne Eck to post your Digital Poetry this month.
The theme for today’s Spiritual Thursday round-up is love. At first I thought, “This is easy.” However, the more I thought about it, writing about love is hard. What do I have to say that is new and refreshing or inspiring? When I have a difficult writing assignment, I often turn to form. Today I turn to Kwame Alexander and his amazing 2015 Newbery Award book in verse, The Crossover. In The Crossover, the character writes definitions in a particular form. My blogging friends, Michelle and Holly, each used the form (vocabulary poems) this month. I haven’t tried it with my students yet, but I usually like to practice before presenting them with an idea. Here’s my definition of love.
love
/ləv/
a person or thing that one loves.
as in: the curl of an infant’s
new fingers around your thumb.
as in: looking through the open window
of our arms as we dance
the Lover’s Waltz.
as in: let the soft body
of your heart love
what it loves.*
as in: He gave his only
begotten son so that
you and I have eternal life.
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I want to go on living even after my death! And therefore I am grateful to God for giving me this gift, this possibility of developing myself and of writing, of expressing all that is in me. I can shake off everything if I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.– ANNE FRANK
Exercise Faith, a poem reflection using words of Anne Frank
A grandiose idea
life after death
your own life continuing on
and on, like the cycle of nature,
seed, seedling, sprout, grow, die, rebirth.
This gift of words
life after death
your own life continuing on
and on, with words on paper
floating in clouds like rain
coming down, going up, coming down again.
Developing my most inner self
reflecting on events, ideas,
life after death
continuing on and on,
like monks in meditation, singing Om
breathing in, breathing out, breath of life.
Expressing all that is me
honors God in me
knowing life after death
continues on and on,
like a rainbow rising over the storm
shining its promise, eternally.
I shake it all off,
dust from the shelves,
throw compost on earth,
spread life after death
on and on, shaking off sorrows,
leaving only good soil, good growth,
good courage…reborn.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She is a retired elementary gifted teacher who writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 