She who prays

Sometimes the smallest thing is the biggest.  At a Convention where I feel faded in the crowd, I am introduced to someone who says this:

I know Catharine

He says,

She has been praying for me

For years.

.

All of a sudden I am she who prays.  This is more than enough.

Shop small

On Thanksgiving a guest said he understood the color of our guest bathroom when he saw the mirror frame made from potato chip bags.  The orange came first.  We looked a long time for that mirror. Then... there it was.  We continue to shop small.  We never know what we'll discover.

Today I will shop small,

Engage the artisans

From around the world:

The one 

Who crafted the frame

Of our bathroom mirror

From potato chip bags,

It perfectly matches

The high-gloss orange

On the walls;

The one

Who made

The orange peel angel,

It hangs from the lamp switch

On my office desk;

All the ones,

All those ones

Who see the world

Through different eyes,

Know that orange peel,

Potato chip bags,

Hold even the wealth of possibility

To match

Our bathroom walls.

Cornucopia

The day after Thanksgiving.  The house is very clean and ordered, many thanks due to the daughter home from college.  The refrigerator is full of leftovers.  I wonder now if the crowd listening to Jesus somehow didn't need as much to eat because of the cornucopia of Jesus himself.  A new thought while the turkey is being made into soup.

We used every dish and plate,

Every piece of silverware

We own.

Somehow,

With all that food

We ate less

Than we usually do.

We talked more.

The turkey was almost forgotten

In the oven.

It collapsed in on itself

A crispy brown mass,

barely recognizable

As a baked bird.

We laughed

And ate more sweet potatoes.

I woke this morning

Wondering about the plural

Of the word cornucopia

How does a person

Pluralize abundance?

Horns (or baskets)

Full of bread and fish?

A refrigerator full of leftovers?

The beginning of turkey soup

On the stove?

Thanksgiving and coffee

Fun fact for today:  Ethiopia has a temperate climate, and it is the place coffee originated.  Happy Thanksgiving!

Turkey in the oven

We rearrange the house

For guests.

We each

Have our own pace.

It will all happen

Before 4:30.

Over coffee

We read the history

Of Ethiopia.

Coffee began there.

We raise our mugs

In honor

Of Ethiopia.

We hope the turkey

Will be done in time.

The gift

I actually had to write this before I could get to the end of it.  It's amazing to me what putting words on a page will do.

The gift of Thanksgiving this year

Will be making sure

The vegan

Possibly fasting

Ethiopian woman

Will know herself

Utterly and completely included.

But

No.

The gift of Thanksgiving this year

Will be the presence

Of every single person

Around the table

No matter what

Each one of us

Can eat.

The whole of it

Feeling philosophical this morning.  Sun shining.  Clouds stunning.  Whether I am conscious or lose consciousness, there's still a lot of life yet to be lived.

So much life

Left to be lived:

Conscious

Yet somehow still

Unconscious.

We never know

The whole of it

Even when we think,

Even when we act,

As if we do.

So much life

Even though

We never know

The whole of it.

Yes and no and maybe

I am home offering slower things.

With the lively one home

The pace quickens

Around me.

I practice doing

What I can do,

Saying no and maybe

And occasionally

Yes.

Let your yes be yes.

Let your no be no.

If it is maybe

Make sure

It is a possible yes.

The pace quickens.

I still practice doing

What I can do

And offering

Slower things.

Room at the table

Convention was different this year.

And so

Lunch in hand

I stumbled upon

The retired clergy

Gathered at a round table

In a quiet corner

Of Convention.

I knew them all.

Come sit with us

They said

There’s room at the table

They said.

So I sat

And ate.

Honor

Figuring out new ways to engage Diocesan Convention.

Last night

I honored who I am

Not who I used to be.

I ordered room service,

Simple spaghetti and meatballs

Delivered on a tray

By a smiling woman.

I honor who I am

Now.

I will join the throng

When I am ready

To join the throng,

Not one moment

Sooner.

Now is to sit in the sun

I have many things to do today.  Now is to sit and soak up the sun.  Maybe the cat is onto something.

Now is to sit

In the sun

Full on my face

So full and bright

I can barely do anything

But drink my morning coffee

Marvel at this light

Come into this morning world

Remind me that now

Merely

Maybe stunningly

Is to soak in the sun

Leave the rest

For later.

Today begins again

It seems I have mastered the art of going back to bed for that extra sleep.  My beloved is winging his way to Denver to pick up our daughter, most of her worldly possessions, and a van.  I love them both. I am home, beginning the day again.

Today begins again

With sun

No gold leaves

But full sun the cat has found

On the bed upstairs.

I went back to bed

After the taxi came,

Fifteen minutes early

In the dark,

Early

A cardinal sin

For your 5 a.m. challenged soul

Especially when you stayed up

Rather later

Than you might.

Today begins again.

You are in the air

Sound asleep.

I am home.

I pay attention

To the cat

The turtle

One client this afternoon.

Today begins again.

There is sun.

Reclamation

Driving or not driving... a decision made day by day, sometimes hour by hour.  I am still getting used to this part of my identity.  Some days it comes easier than others.

I drive home

Alone.

My music plays.

I sing along

Loudly.

For these moments

I remember who I am,

Even if tomorrow

I ask for a ride.

This is also part

Of who I am

These days:

She who asks for rides;

She who drives when it is safe

For her to drive,

Plays her music

Loud

And sings along.

Commentary

In 2007 I left parish ministry, stopped paying into the Church Pension Fund, after 27 years.  Every year I get a statement saying:  if I will only retire, if I will only begin receiving the money I have earned, I will be removed from this limbo, back into the land of the living, albeit... retired.  There is more than one way to live life on the edge of things.  I seem to have discovered more ways than many.

I dropped off the face

When I stopped paying into

The Church Pension Fund.

Compromise

My beloved, the political scientist, sees compromise as a good thing.  He teaches students the importance of compromise, to see that all good political decisions involve some level of compromise. So often we see compromise as something we need to settle for.  I did not choose this, we say.  This is unfair, we say.  My beloved, the political scientist, offers the idea that compromise just might be a good thing.

Again I think

I am compromised.

To move

Just slowly enough,

More and more

To stand on the edges,

To watch the cat

Sleep in the sun.

Again I remember

Not to rush

And

In my half-full brain

Perhaps

Not to think of this

As compromise;

Not to think of this

As my lot in life;

Not to think of this

As forced retirement;

But instead to see

The possible gift.

Healing prayer

This morning reminded me of Quaker meeting, particularly the silent space in the middle meant to provide room for healing prayer.  Even though no one went forward.  Still... there was healing there.

No one went forward

For healing prayer today.

We all knelt in place

Listened to the cello.

Three priests stood at the altar rail

With oil for anointing.

They were ready.

The lessons were about waiting

For Jesus to return.

Something about

The absence of words

The cello

The waiting

In the middle of the service;

Something about the silence space

In the middle

Spoke to me of healing

Even though no one went forward

But instead

Knelt in place.

No words

Were necessary.

Focus

Sometimes I find it odd what gains, then loses, our attention.

The normally bland face

Of Uranus

Is now extremely stormy.

The camera on the comet

Has shut down

In the dark.

Eyes trained on the heavens

The melting ice cap,

Ebola

Have lost

Their audience.

Wars and rumors of wars

The man or woman

On the streets

The person in the pew

Beside us,

They join

The periphery.

We wait for the comet

To streak closer

To the sun.

We hope more light

Will start the data stream

Again.

Meanwhile Uranus

Is stormy.

No one knows why.

What I saw and heard yesterday

Some days there is so much to remember, so much to be appreciated.  If I had known it was ginkgo day, I would made a ginkgo tour.  The alphabet en espanol brought back memories of junior high. Then there was the orange peel angel.  I will have to figure out where she will live in my office.

The ginkgo did

Its all-at-once shimmy of gold. 

The sea of yellow fans dropped,

Always

A one-day pleasure.

Inside

The Spanish class

Learned the alphabet

Twenty minutes at least

Of ABC

All the way to end

Over and over.

I saw.

I heard.

In between

I was gifted with clients

Words and presence and even

An angel

Made of orange peel.

Un-queue

I am in the process of un-queuing.  I never was much of one for lining up, but this seems different. This is part of the process of subtraction, and hence, of redefinition.  As Diocesan Convention approaches, I am even more on the sidelines, learning how to kiss this thing, whatever it is, on both cheeks.

I un-queue,

Step out of line,

Stand to the side,

Or perhaps better yet,

I sit,

Redefine

What I need to do

To be me:

Accept it,

Hold hands with it,

Maybe give it

A kiss on both cheeks,

The way the French people do.

I un-queue.

As long as it takes

A prayer, I think.  Yes, a prayer.  We still wait... as long as it takes.  Amen.

As long as it takes,

I will not count.

I promise

Not to count.

As long as it takes,

Even if forever is multiplied

By forever.

As long as it takes

Until lion and lamb

Sleep together.

As long as it takes,

Until Hell freezes over

And everyone is gifted

With ice skates,

The ability

To do figure 8s.

As long as it takes

For the Kingdom to come.

I will not count.

I promise not to count.

As long as it takes.

Amen.

Rushing

I am sitting in the church library.  At least five people have rushed around me, working to get more things done in a short amount of time.  It seems I cannot rush these days.  So I write pieces on the advantages of sitting still.  I try to convince myself.  I would still rather rush.  The sun just broke through the clouds.  I saw it.  

Everyone rushes,

It seems,

Except for me.

I have learned the value

Of sitting still

Not because I chose it.

No.

It chose me.

I would still

Rather rush.

Every time

I think of one more thing to do

First I must sit still

So it may rest in the place

Made for it,

One more thing

To be done

Or not.

I wonder the colors

Last week was mostly gold.  An unusual week.  I wait for the colors this week will bring.

I wonder the colors

Of this week coming,

Maybe not the golds

Of last week

But surely colors,

Surely more

Than simple shades of gray.

I wonder the palette

Of this week coming.

The day ended gold

A complete gold day, beginning to end.

The day ended gold

With rice and beans,

Cilantro and tomato.

The day ended gold

On complete hospitable ground.

Light in the darkness,

Gold in the conversation,

Possibility at the dining table,

Children running circles,

Prayer in the living room.

The day ended gold

Light in the darkness.

More treasure in a hidden field

Unearthed.

Good times

I love fall mornings like this one.  I am home today, coddling my cough and cold with water and hot tea.  This morning is still, pure, gold, a day begun with laughter.  That first shoe may never even drop.

In the still gold

Of this morning

We speak of how we are,

Each one of us.

Bad things come in threes

I say

Then laugh:

I’ve not even

Seen the first one yet.

He says

That’s a good one.

It’s like waiting for the first shoe

To drop.

We laugh

Move into the day

Still gold at its beginning.

I live for this morning

I still feel the clarity of yesterday, even with the gray sky.  Sometimes I am able to live in the moment, take things as they come.  These are gracious times.  I do not always live here, but this morning...I do.

This morning is gold

Against silver gray

The sun is behind

Thin clouds.

They say the cold

Is coming soon

And with the cold

More winter things.

I live for this morning

Gold leaves

On the palest gray,

Burning bushes still green

In my front yard.

The snow may catch them

Unaware.

Me?

I will take it

As it comes.

Clear eyes

I woke early this morning with clear eyes.  An amazing thing, really.  They have been clouded with allergies and fog-brain as of late, for at least a couple months. Clear eyes.  Here they are again. Alleluia.

The sun shines gold

At this early reclaimed hour.

Enough yellow leaves remain

To filter gold light

Against blue tint,

Just arrived,

Morning sky.

And me?

I woke with clear eyes

To see it.

Different parts of the world

I traveled to Santa Fe this past weekend to visit my sister.  We have some things in common.  We are sisters, after all. We are also very different.  We have separate roads to travel.  It was a good visit.

We pay attention

To different parts of the world

My sister and I