Peek!

lest this go by, too

A prayer for all whose lives changed so drastically this week; let it be Love that guides their way on.

Here, in this green wet spring that is tiptoeing into summer, a much quieter change is working through, a revelation, if you will. 

I read my last post and am struck by the prophecy of it.  Really, when I wrote it, I didn't know.  And then I read the ones before that, and I think, Oh.  Let he who has ears, hear.

I have been walking in the early mornings, sitting with my notebook at the stone table, making a quiet place to hear God's voice.  Am I finally listening?

These questions, these always questions that have been squirming, pushing, twisting, these questions bloom into an answer. Let he who has ears, hear.

And here I am resting awhile, letting the answer sink in deeper than bone, feeling the truth of it slowly fill in the nooks and crannies, the cracks and crevices wending its way like living water.

Blessed be.

discernment

A new moon in May, a solar eclipse, Ascension Day.

I hope they seal in the power of yesterday, which would be a much more pleasant day to carry forward than today.

I keep asking why. 

I keep hearing love.

I keep wishing I knew what that meant.

I have this notion that if I peel back the layers, far enough, deep enough, in enough, I will find ... something. 

A blinding brilliance? a soaring darkness?

It has something to do with falling through the stars.  And something else to do with the whispering of leaves.  I want it to be some piece of the truth that will make the going on easier.

Will I know it? 

Or will I only see it in hindsight?

Will I call it God?

What will change if I name it?

How will pinning it down keep it?

Tonight, I sat in a circle of mothers, sisters, daughters.  Tonight, I knelt in a dark church.

Both times, I prayed to be shown the Way.

aflame

Every morning the same path. 

The dogwoods have lasted long, the ferns are so frondy, and the leaves are crowding up the sky. 

I walk along, in my usual reverie, loving the silence most of all.

And then there it is, forgotten beauty, blazing again, sweetly peeking.

Always and everywhere.

almost now

There is such holiness in becoming.

Truly, it is around us always, and we are always in it.

The eternal newness is never so clear as now, as earth greens her grays and blacks, adorns her browns with yellow and white, sinks farther into the sun's embrace.

Whispers pass by, in one ear, the other: Remember, remember, remember. There is nothing, nothing, nothing, only God, only God. There is nothing, nothing, nothing, only God.

And, too, this reminder:  It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.

 

(More bloodroot pictures here, and let me name these three happinesses:  wellbutrin, sourdough, and a new office.)

even so

There are some who would pack their bags to be away from this spring snow. 

But me?

I take it for a postscript at the end of a long love letter signed, Winter.

Besides, how can I not sing this song (again)?

Love, like the yellow daffodil, is coming through the snow
Love, like the yellow daffodil, is Lord of all I know

Ring out, bells of Norwich, and let the winter come and go
All shall be well again, I know

Ring for the yellow daffodil, the flower in the snow
Ring for the yellow daffodil, and tell them what I know

All shall be well, I'm telling you, let the winter come and go
All shall be well again, I know

P.S. In case I never make it back to those days, our sweet and loving Flora Jane is now three.  Everyone else along enjoyed her day, especially the perpetually cheerful Church Mouse Baby Doll.