Tag: Pilgrim At Tinker Creek

Quiet, Noticers At Work And At Play

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 3 Comments

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Flung is too harsh a word for the rush of the world. Blown is more like it, but blown by a generous, unending breath.

Annie Dillard, Pilgrim At Tinker Creek

hat on the boat

Intimacy

It was at the end
Or was it the beginning
Blurred are the lines between the two
They left
Parted ways
Rode off into the sunset
By way of the waves
And left us there
He and I
To stare at the ending time of day
Or maybe the start of eveningtide
Quickly the quiet quenched
All that a parched soul
Longed for
Intimacy entangled
And the waves rocked the two
Shed of distraction clothed in the salt
The sea
And all He gave
Creation clothed them in itself

elizabeth w. marshall/writer/poet/noticer

Today is day 5. May your soul rejoice in quiet noticing. The praying mantis on my kitchen window earlier this week was a guidepost. His fragile silhouette, eyes wide open, arms bent with a knowing. He, a  gentle nudge, a subtle reminder to bow in quiet reverence. A mantis  marked my morning with the mention of prayer, a posture of quietly communing. Listen, can you hear the day calling you, inviting you. The art of noticing surely says come play and see. Come as you are and bow and give thanks for the God-beauty slipped into the cracks and crevices of an unfolding day.

The series is here if you’d like to read the earlier parts of this journey. And please hear the invitation to subscribe, follow on twitter and facebook or just show up when you feel lead. You are welcome here. Under the shade of this place is an old wicker rocking chair with pillows piped in cotton ticking. I’m pouring sweet tea with lemon slices and cold water over mountains of crushed ice. I will be here while you go off to notice. But I am going out for awhile to do some searching and seeking, to look and to listen for surprises in my day. They are calling me to come look, like child. And listen with an ear bent for beauty. Ready, set, go notice.

The sea pronounces something over and over, in a hoarse whisper; I cannot quite make it out.

Annie Dillard

And I Heard Be Still

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 4 Comments

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I heard you arrive. Your breathes, some rushed and hurried. Some slow and halting. You stepped across the threshold to this place. And when you came you brought yourself. As you are today. In this moment now. Let’s capture this day together. It must be an art, no science, this noticing. It must be practiced and possibly never perfected. But there is joy in the practice. Ready, set, go notice.

Aren’t we all archeologists digging in the soil of our very lives. Chipping through the rock and rubble looking, even longing for the shiny. The diamonds in the rough and rocky. Ah but there is beauty in the rusty patina places. The layers of living leave their beautiful marks. They paint strokes of story and telling, leaving whispers, shouts even of what has happened here. Don’t we long to know what lies just below the surface. The untold story. The unseen beauty, hidden art, waiting glory, buried treasures of extravagant grace.

We the curious seek a soul knowing. Early on we toddled around touched everything, put everything to our lips and in our mouths to answer the question what is it. Why do we slow down in our discovery. Halted by age, slowed by a deliriously jadded heart. Frozen by complacency. Settling for the whatever.

Seeing past the very surface, the cliches, the what is clearly showing brings joy and gratitude. I saw the spanish moss last night, dripping in all its grey glory, majestic like cashmere scarves thrown over the shoulders and limbs of the oaks. And I saw God’s creative wonder, His very intricate design. And I said yes to His world, anew again.

I was in the Presence of The Living God. In a world watermarked by the wispy strokes of His creative hand.

I am dancing in a place of quiet searching. I am looking with a hungry heart. I am slowing down to see and listening to the whisper of be still.

We prayed last night to the sound of crickets and cicadas. Our little village bible study. Our first night. Doors wide open. Fall sneaking in to still our frenzied hearts. We struggled with our calendars to make a schedule for our group. Oh the irony. We are studying simplicity and are calendars do not want to bend into the schedule of twelve weary travelers.

But the chorus of night’s choir calmed. And a  soliloquy of sudden singing soothed us while we prayed. And I heard be still.

Listen with me, see with me, in the middle of the messy living. Cry out with me, pray with me in the still of the fallen night. Look with me into the deep crevices of wonder. Find with me the lyrical and the lapping rhythms of the day. See with me past the surface, into the God places slightly hidden from view. Wonder with me at the treasure trove of buried beauty. Excavate the layered living. And mine the God Beauty of this day.

spanish moss


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Push it. Examine all things intensely and relentlessly.  — Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

(This is day three. Are you following daily. Let’s notice together. Visit me on facebook, on twitter, or subscribe to this journey. Click here to read all posts in this 31 day series. Did you notice I said how grateful I am to have you here. I am grateful you are here. Truly.)