A Wink, A Blink and A Nod: Guest Post at A Field Of WIldflowers, #SmallWonder Link Up

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Today I am guest posting at Kelly Chripczuk’s blog, A Field Of Wildflowers. Join me, won’t you?  I am honored to be joining this beautiful community this morning for their #SmallWonder link up. My words begin like this…

I am measuring beauty and grace in increments of fragmented seconds. Small flakes of wonder, and flecks of time the size of a radish seed are grabbing and holding my attention, turning my chin with fingers, with skin. The hand of God calls me to look. The Trinity corals me into a hemmed in place for my soul to rest. ( to  read the rest of A Wink, A Blink and A Nod click here.

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Do you know the writing home of Kelly Chripczuk? Visit A Field Of Wildflowers to read more of Kelly’s own words. And find her at @inthefieldswGod on Twitter.

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Perhaps: A Prayer

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Perhaps: A Prayer

If I speak at just the right time
With just the right words
With well-chosen volume, tone, tenor and pitch

Perhaps
There will be an ear to hear the real sorrow in my heart
Of the one’s who bear a real generation after generation hurt

Perhaps
If I pray at just the right time, under the steeple that holds all the people
With well-chosen words
In four-walls, holy and hallowed, sacred and filled with appropriate  thee’s and thou’s

A crack in the hardness will melt a bit
Mercy and grace will find a way through it
Healing will look and find her way in

But what if I do
Much more than I have
Bearing more weight than the things that I’ve said
Imagine each of us
Able
Perhaps
To do and make change
Touch someone, reach someone
With acts of reconciliation, healing and love

Every word
Every prayer

Maybe they will be multiplied over and over again
Rippling and ebbing
Flowing from this shore to that shore
East coast and west coast
Flooded in acts of loving our neighbor
Asking forgiveness
And simply doing the one thing we all can do
Love

Love is a verb
Do justice, love mercy

Make my days matter
Multiply my remaining
Give me a heart for the hurting
And place me on roads inward to work toward
A long season of sacred healing

Take all I have
And use it for good
Amen
And amen, again and again

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The Unwrapping

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I was a ripper. A peaker. An unnoticing receiver. Noticing by default. The things under my nose. You can’t miss what lies in wait to capture you, hold you and wrestle you to the ground. By grace, we are entrapped by the beauty of surprise and ordinary miracles.

By grace, He holds our chin and turns our heads. With beauty.

We are the walking dead if we miss it all. I glanced a ways away and I was no longer there. I was gone. Hurled into the land of Alice’s world and a Narnia place.

I had to leave. Forgive me. The crowd was a cacophony. The china on chargers held me too. But for awhile. And then I left, to keep my peace. To go and find it. To hold fast to my soul and to open my eyes to the better banquet. One nestled in trees and leaves and lawns.

I was always an eaves-dropper. Picking up and honing in. Not missing the sounds surrounding a soul on the run. Even when I was barely awake.

And so I have some small gift. That I must unwrap. So that I may unwrap, the beauty.

Oh, how grievous I would be, if I had missed the blossom, as big as the Queen’s head or the Cheshire Cat. While dining on the finest of fine.

Seeing the shadows dance on white linen and spotless glass. Silver to the right and to the left.

I left to find more. Avoiding a melancholy grief.

Missing the divine, the holy, the huge?

Never unwrapping the gifts?

Oh how dreadful it would have been. To have never seen. Those ordinary, most extraordinary of things.

Finding Joy In Your Own Backyard

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If you have been reading here for any length of time you know my fixation with the word and, as well as the logogram the ampersand. I believe there is always more. And the more I consider why I love and, the more the nuances of the word bubble up. And meet me in the understanding of why. And is a connector. And I am connected to my world via people. (This week alone, I have had rich encounters with friends and writers. Writers and friends.) And via this space I call home.

I can stay and go. Travel and remain. Fly and remain grounded. Be still and know. That what is right here is rich and full of promise. That the soil is dark and full of gifts, right below my pink toes and my bare feet.

I love the idea, both figuratively and literally, of finding joy close to home. Of curating a life from which we don’t need to take a vacation. Of being increasingly at peace in the little space within our arm’s reach. Settling in and extracting peace in the place we call home. I cannot count my spaces. Not here and now. There have been many. My passion for renovating and decorating and for change has carried me, along with my husband and children, on a journey of transforming spaces into homes. The rewards have been grand. The homes have provided us with an anchor for living and loving.

My closest confidante knows my old wrestlings. And my new ones. She knows my achilles heel. And my wounds, my scars and my heart cries. God knows them well too. The older version of me longed to travel. And I got up and went. But now, my life is stationary. But not stagnant.

It if rife with discovery. Teeming with beauty and delight.  But it is a journey of staying within a wonderful radius. One tightly drawn close to home.

I have been many places in my life. I travel in place to recall. I reach back in my diaries, my remembering places, my trunk of letters and memories and into the faded photographs which tell stories of Paris and New York. I revisit. Reach back. And go to the place again. Of the countryside of France where I was a nanny for a small sliver of time. To Athens and Alaska. To St. Andrews and Florence. To Lake Cuomo and Tuscany.

There is reward in the revisiting. Memory feeds my dimming desire to go to a place which is not here.

But when I see the Magnolia blossom the size of my head, on the tree beside my home and across the street and by the Deerhead Tree, I have unearthed treasures in the nearby. When I step through my neighborhood, padding around, I see marvelous wonder in the warm eggs from my neighbor’s hens. A trip to my garden, early in the morning, as my rooster crows, is my own living breathing “Alice in Wonderland”.

And it is all I need. To live out this circuitous journey of discovering joy in my own backyard. I am far from here. I am in a land of unwrapping the spaces under me. Below me, beside me and around me. Be Still and Know.

There is so much more here and there than I first believed.