Journal of Sacred Work

Days 288-289 - Sightless Among Miracles

"The miracle is not walking on water. The real miracle is walking on the earth." Thich Naht Hahn

   She lies curled in on herself amid wrinkled sheets. Her thoughts are a secret to us, but perhaps not to our imagination. Ordinary sight glances and moves on. Our deeper sight senses beauty in this image where we see shapes only because of a few curved lines. 

   Liz Wessel shared a quote with me recently from the great artist Eugene Delacroix: “The eyes of many people are dull or false; they see objects literally; of the exquisite, they see nothing.”

   Your decision to see with "dull eyes" or to open to "the exquisite" is very personal. It takes work to learn the appreciation of the sacred.

   Your choice to live as a caregiver can be soul-splitting. You want to help, yet it is never enough. You want to care deeply, but deep caring can be agonizing.

   You seek to share the mystery of healing with your patients, yet the process of healing is a constant mystery. You know the miracle of Jesus walking on water, and yet you immediately understand what Hahn says. If our hearts are open, it is truly a miracle to walk the earth.

   Splitting the moon means understanding the moon as a metaphor for more than romance. The bright side of the moon is the place where passion is celebrated. The dark side of the moon is informed by the dissatisfaction that desire ultimately brings. 

   Passion can be satisfied. Desire cannot. Splitting the moon means choosing on which side you will live.

   And there is that strange third life option. It is the choice to avoid the risks that passion and desire bring. 

   Most of humanity occupying the developed world seems content to choose the gray land of order and safety. If you are poor or physically at risk, this may be reasonable. 

   But, for those lucky enough to enjoy a modicum of economic security and health, it seems a waste to choose a gray life when rainbows abound. 

   There is an ancient prayer whose author I don't know. I came across it about ten years ago and I share it with you today:

   "Days pass and the years vanish and we walk sightless among miracles. Lord, fill our eyes with seeing and our minds with knowing. And let there be moments when your presence, like lightning, illumines the darkness in which we walk.

   "Help us see that the bush burns unconsumed and we, clay touched by God, will reach out for holiness and exclaim in wonder: 'how filled with awe is this place and we did not know it.'"

-Reverend Erie Chapman

Photograph: Split Light - copyright Erie Chapman 2011 

Days 285-287 - Our Inner Companion

"...perhaps a world/ that is quietly sensed/ across the air/ in another's heart/ becomes the inner companion/ to one's own unknown." - John O'Donohue

   So often, I wonder what it is that sensitive souls seek when they turn to read a meditation. Peace, inspiration, and refreshment are the usual answers. But of these, peace is the most elusive.

   What I love is that you have come here with some hope for renewal. Together, we seek an inner companionship with our own serenity, riffling through recollections of other encounters. 

   "There are many things/ we could have said,/ but our words never wanted/ to name them;..." O'Donohue wrote ahead of the lines quoted above. 

   This past weekend I attended a high school reunion. As is often true, friends not seen in decades materialize with features altered by the arc of long life.

   Who are these companions today, the ones I have fixed in my mind's eye as seventeen or eighteen-year olds? I asked myself.

   We formed bonds as teenagers. Now, at grandparent age, we talk with each other like archeologists discussing an ancient civilization.

   Stories seek to recreate the giddiness of high school when our futures lay hidden. Now, we know how our lives have unfolded. We even know the names of classmates who have fallen along the way.

   We share an inner companionship wrought from shared experiences. Now, we look at each other knowing it is impossible to live together as we did back then. Our particular relationships are grounded in the past, not the present. 

   I know we each were thinking things "we could have said" but couldn't or wouldn't name. 

   What sweet energy can pass unnamed between you and me? Words are never adequate for the most meaningful experiences we have with each other.

   How can I describe my heart when I sense your soul engaging mine - whether sitting by your side or writing across great physical distance? What words can be appended to the relief I feel when you ease my loneliness with an affirming comment, an expression of kindness, a reaching out in a way that "is quietly sensed across the air in another's heart."

   Strange how strangers may become inner companions. I can never meet the late John O'Donohue, but he has brought me more strength and inspiration than I can describe.

   Long gone from this earth is Emily Dickinson.  She and I have been intimate companions since I discovered her in that high school I attended so long ago. 

   Odd how I will never meet so many of you. Yet, by sharing words our "inner companions" have sensed kindred spirits, and greeted each other with Love. 

   Perhaps, this is what is most precious in our lives: to hear and be heard, to love and be loved, to touch when we can, to quietly sense each other within each day.

-Erie Chapman

Days 263-264: “Eat that Frog”

 

"Anyone can do any amount of work, provided it isn't the work he is supposed to be doing at that moment."  -Robert Benchley

Note: Weekend essay offered by guest contributor, Liz Wessel.

In a recent Journal entry (September 3, 2011 ) I shared thoughts on Sabbath and our need to step out of our daily routines and into the sacred. Today’s reflection will journey towards the other end of the spectrum and explore our need to accomplish chores. At the close of a busy week, entering into a Sabbath weekend is a welcomed reprieve from the chaos. Yet, it can be hard to truly relax when unpaid bills are looming, the house is a mess and the home repairs that have been waiting for an embarrassing long time.

I’ve heard it said there is nothing more fatiguing than a job left undone. Just being aware that a task is undone can weigh us down, then multiply it by 10 because of procrastination and…ugh! To be honest, on Saturday mornings regardless of my good intentions I lack motivation to tackle chores. When I begin my chores I feel as though I am trying to walk through water my movement slow and labored. Fatigue sets in and by body seems to go on strike. “No, you have pushed me all week and I am not going to do another thing!” Besides in truth, I’d much rather spend my precious time doing things I enjoy. Then, I hear my deceased mother-in law's voice in my head say, “Liz, the chores will always be there (and you will not), relax.” That's when I usually cave but still I have this lingering discontent with my perceived self languor.

It all comes back to balance each day, does it not? Yet, it is so much easier said, than done. I believe it is necessary to have time to renew and to experience the joy in being alive. The trick is to be able to experience our time without a nagging, underlying worry of what is left undone.

Chris Cade, shared a one minute video by Brian Tracy that I would like to pass on to you. Food for thought so to speak. I never did like frog but I am willing to give this a try. I hope you will find it a helpful reminder.

~liz Sorensen Wessel

Note: Pencil drawing by ~liz

 

 

Days 261-262 - The Price of Grace

    Today is the day of all days, separating itself out from its long line of ancestors to embrace us. Tonight is the night of all nights, leaning down to wrap us in the comfort we need.

   "Can we just talk about right now?" a friend of mine asked her son. "No," he replied. "Right now is too raw."

   "What did he mean?" I asked her. 

   "Maybe there wasn't enough distance in "now" to protect him," she said.

   There's a lot of safety in imagining a distant future. There can be a fine comfort in coloring in the shape of some moments from our distant past.  

   Many of our life moments can feel too hard to face.

   The past sails safely in the wake of our days. The future floats ahead like music not yet heard. 

   "Now" sits right in front of us, a moment we can embrace or dodge. 

   We can experience so many of our days as gray and predictable. But, the day itself is no such thing. It holds as much gold or lead as we choose to mine from it. 

   Tonight can be just another night. But, the night knows nothing about our expectations. It waits open-armed.

   The embrace of life becomes hard for those whose only goal is safety. And safety is a fine objective amid the storm of pain caregivers see each day. 

   Some time, some day, some night, perhaps we can choose a complete embrace rather than a hesitant one. In some "now" we can choose to release ourselves from our parents warning voice.

   There's nothing harder than to embrace a difficult present. There nothing more difficult than to hold on to a sweet moment - to extend it so that we may savor it just a bit longer.

   "From the beginning, hasn't it been the same:" Stephen Dunn writes "the need to woo/ a stranger so you'll not be mutinous alone, to lie down knowingly among the nettles and the thorns?"

   We have "the need to woo" the present. But, "now" may, itself, be the stranger that steps back from any kind of qualified embrace.

   An oft-spoken line in the world of theology is that "Grace is free, but not cheap."

   The high price Grace requires is that we pay for her by facing every moment, not just the happy ones. Lacking this, we fall into the half-light of ordinary life. 

   Today offers itself to us. Tonight beckons. 

-Erie Chapman

photo - Crepe Myrtle Trunks & Boxwood 2011 Erie Chapman

Days 258-260 - Choice?

   "The Beloved is gracious and merciful, allowing every soul free will to follow illusions or to choose Life..." - Praying With The Psalms

   It's 3 a.m. An exhausted mother who is also a practicing physician hears her baby cry once again. She has risen six times already. Should she choose to let her baby cry himself to sleep this time? Can she care for her patients the next morning if she's up all night caring for her baby?

   It's usually easy to make choices for others. Can we really make choices for ourselves in the way the above prayer suggests? 

   It's a question that has dogged every generation. When do we hold a rule breaker accountable? When do we decide that someone cannot be held responsible because of youth or mental illness?

   Society is designed to establish boundaries and enforce them. We need to be safe and we also need to be free.

   How we answer questions about free will determines our approach to both caregiving and life. When we see an obese patient, do we assume they lack will power? When a drug addict enters the emergency department, do we judge them"bad?"

   On the other hand, don't we have to take responsibility for things we do that harm others? How much of a defense is it to say, "I had no choice?"

   Of course, there is no simple answer. Early Calvinists believed in predestination. God had already determined our path and we had nothing to do with it. This view persists amid many to this day.

   Everyone loved comedian Flip Wilson's old routine in which he would commit some wrong and shout, "The Devil made me do it." Who wants to take responsibility when we can blame some force outside of us?

   I have spoken with people afflicted with schizophrenia. How are we to fasten society's bridle on them when they hear powerful voices telling them to break away, voices that seem as credible as any judge?

   What sanctions should society choose when adults break rules they may think are no longer relevant? An imperfect world cannot deliver perfect solutions.

   The answer may live in the half-light of life itself. We know that the river of Love flows through this world. Yet, it is so hard for us to trust that her sometimes swift current will bath us in spiritual safety.

   The world, with all its temptations, beckons. Strange to life is that what may look wrong can be right.

   Everyday, I drive down Rosa Parks Boulevard. Ms. Parks broke the law. Today, we honor her for her choice.

   Rules may tell a caregiver visiting hours are over. On occasion, Love may tell us to bend rules.

   The older I get, the less inclined I am to judge. For the world is flooded with confusing signals. 

   Love is always present. If only it were simple to see her clearly amid the world's shadows. 

   Fortunately, "Love is gracious and merciful."

-Reverend Erie Chapman

Days 256-257 Poem: "The Story of Life"

  Submitted by weekend  guest contributor ~liz Wessel

 

Sometimes people come into your life and you know right away
that they were meant to be there,
to serve some sort of purpose
teach you a lesson,
or to help you figure out who you are
or who you want to become.
You never know who these people may be
(possibly your roommate, neighbor, coworker, long lost friend, lover,
or even a complete stranger),
but when you lock eyes with them,
you know at that very moment they will affect your life
in some profound way.

And sometimes things happen to you that may seem horrible,
painful,
and unfair at first,
but in reflection you find
that without overcoming those obstacles
you would have never realized
your potential, strength, will power, or heart.

Everything happens for a reason.
Nothing happens by chance or by means of good luck.

Illness, injury, love, lost moments of true greatness, and sheer stupidity
all occur to test the limits of your soul.

Without these small tests, whatever they may be,
life would be like a smoothly paved, straight, flat road to nowhere.
It would be safe and comfortable,
but dull and utterly pointless.

The people you meet who affect your life,
and the success and downfalls you experience,
help to create who you are and who you become.
Even the bad experiences can be learned from.
In fact,
they are probably the most poignant and important ones.

If someone hurts you, betrays you, or breaks your heart,
forgive them,
for they have helped you learn about trust
and the importance of being cautious
when you open your heart.

If someone loves you, love them back unconditionally,
not only because they love you,
but because in a way, they are teaching you
to love and how to open your heart and eyes to things.

Most importantly,
"If you LOVE someone tell him or her,
for you never know what tomorrow may have in store."

 ~Author Unknown~

 (Note: Above photo is of building art by a New Orleans artist. The artist created chalk boards out of boarded up abandoned houses and invited people to repsond to the question at hand.)

Days 254-255 What I Want You to Know

  When I am very old and fall sick, I want you to take care of me. If I seem wizened and disoriented, there is something I want you to know.

   When I was the seven year-old in the photo, my dear childhood friend Jill Bloksgaard (nee Rutkin - a friend to this day) and I would cast a spell on our Schwinn bicycles that transformed them into horses. Draping a rope across the handle bars, we would mount our animals and shout "Giddyap" just like Hopalong Cassidy and the other cowboys who roamed the range of our 10" black and white television screens.

   After rounding the block a couple times, slapping our legs all the way as if they were horse's flanks, we would pull up at a neighbor's lawn, tie our horses to a palm tree, spread out gray blankets and light an imaginary fire. All along, we kept a close eye out for marauding bad guys. Periodically spotting one, we would blast away with our silver-barreled cap guns until all opponents were eliminated. 

  The danger thrwarted, we would say, "We better turn in for the night." Lying down beneath the California sun, we would pretend to sleep - sometimes for as long as thirty seconds.

   Who could sleep when cattle rustlers lurked nearby? We needed to be sure our cap guns were loaded.

   We needed to have as much fun as possible. And we did.

   If you were my caregiver, I would want you to know about the seven year-old cowboy and some of the other roles I have played - anything that you would help you understand that I am more than my troubled body.

   Inside every elderly patient (strangely and frequently described by caregivers as little as in, "That little old man") are the thousands of stories that make up that patient's life.

   Obviously, the elderly are so much more than the wrinkled bodies whose legs may not work and whose ears may have trouble making out our words. When we imagine the stories each person has within - their troubles and joys - we are so much more likely to treat them with love and respect.

   Absent that, we run the risk of diminishing these precious souls. The "little old man" may be left for hours on a gurney in a hallway staring up at fluorescent lights. The confused old woman who can't remember our name may have her call light ignored.

   You may hold memories of a childhood when you spoke to dolls or flew like a super-hero or played games with your friends up against dinner time.  When I can see the various lights in you, I find them in myself.

   I hope our caregivers will imagine our life stories when we are transformed, on any given day, from caregiver to patient. If they do, than we may journey together to that strange and loving land called Healing. 

   When you are very old and fall sick, Love will be with you and know your stories.

-Reverend Erie Chapman, J.D. 

Days 251-253 - Married to the Earth - And Scarred by Her

    I looked down to read. When I looked up, the sun had slipped away leaving shadows dying beneath the coiled hose, the empty chair, the quiet oak.

   We are brides of the sea. We are husbands of the air. We are married to the earth that loves us, nurtures us and also holds us captive until our end.

   Our bodies are stronger than we think and more fragile than we assume when we wake on a given morning, full of energy, into a day certain to be uncertain.

   Some morning, as neuro-intensive care nurse Deadre Hall reminds us, our strength may be cut by a sudden blow we receive here on mother earth:

   “Maybe we start our day thinking everything is fine but we don’t know," she says. "We have some terrible accident or a stroke and suddenly we can’t move. That’s what I’m here for. To look after people who’ve been struck down.”

   Thank God for caregivers like Deadre. We may not give them a moment's thought until suddenly we live desperate for her healing touch. We need Deadre's hands and the wholeness of her heart.

   Caregivers we never knew may abruptly become our link to a world that has changed for us. For our consciousness has been jarred into another place.

   "I suppose most of us will kiss/ a terrible scar to prove we can live with it," poet Stephen Dunn writes.

   But, that is not so for all of us. We may choose to hide our scars because they are far too painful to embrace.

   In his shattering book, The Best Day the Worst Day, Donald Hall describes his life and final days with his wife, the great poet Jane Kenyon, who died at age forty-seven of leukemia. "Crushed together into one room and one fact, we began the new routiness that became our lives," he writes.

   Gifted messengers of Beauty, these two souls had felt their spirits soaring until the moment a doctor told Jane: "You have leukemia." Married to the earth, as are we all, they suddenly felt their world quake.

   What salvation may we find as we struggle to hold onto our marriage with life? When life turns hellish, we may want to give up all together.

   Whatever choice we select, the only comfort can be Love. Vocatus at que non vocatus deus ad erit. Called or not called, God is present.

   "There's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we may," Shakespeare wrote to us over four centuries ago. Yet we can only seek to hew them thinking, right or wrong, that we can make our journey safe, that our worst scars may be healed with kisses, that we shall remain whole.

   When we turn away from God, life becomes darkness. When we welcome Love, our marriage to the earth is sealed with eternal peace.

-Reverend Erie Chapman

Days 249-250: Echoes of Compassion

"What a thing it is to sit absolutely alone, in the forest, at night, cherished by this wonderful, unintelligible, perfectly innocent speech, the most comforting speech in the world, the talk that rain makes by itself all over the ridges, and the talk of the watercourses everywhere in the hollows! Nobody started it, nobody is going to stop it. It will talk as long as it wants, this rain. As long as it talks I am going to listen." -Thomas Merton

Weekend reflection offered by guest contributor Liz Sorensen Wessel.

A week of scorching hot 100° weather, the last sun baked days of summer in southern California. The morning awoke to sounds of thunderous clouds, readying themselves to rush in like relief workers and ease the pain of Mother Earth’s dry parched skin. Oh, let the rain come, let it rain down in prayers to answer to our deepest need. Rain fall softly, teach us your hidden gift of surrender. You echo earth’s cries with compassion, offering us a nurturing response.

 
What is it about the rain that encourages us to slow down and savor life’s simple pleasures? As we linger without an agenda or a “to do” list we are naturally drawn into a more peaceful state. This morning I have lit candles to honor this sacred time to “rest in Thee.”

 I recall that as children it was exhilarating to run outside barefoot in the rain without any cares. Today, for a fleeting moment, I felt childlike again and wanted to throw off my shoes and run free. Instead, I stepped outdoors and let the first big drops splash my face. Then, I stood under the protective eaves of our home and listened to nature’s outpouring cascade from the sky. I watched the torrents and wished they might also wash away all worries.

"Those sweet words we shared between us,
the vault of heaven has concealed in its heart.
One day they will pour down like
the rain and our secrets will
germinate in the soil of this universe. "
                                                                                                    -Rumi

 I wonder what it is like where you are today. What the Spirit might be gently whispering to you. I wish for you quiet moments of peacefulness and little things that delight your soul.  

~liz Sorensen Wessel

Note: pencil drawing by ~liz & internet photo by unknown photographer

Days 247-248 "Our Secret Destiny"

    
   Twenty-seven steps will take you to the top of the hill in my back yard. It might take you about that same number of steps to walk the gangway to a ship bound for Bermuda or to board a plane to Paris.

   Most of my friends love to travel to faraway places or at least to dream about doing so. In London or Istanbal, they contemplate deplaning into exotic lands that may reveal their "secret destiny."

   All kinds of travel will, of course, tell us something about ourselves. Strange to some, I would rather take the twenty-seven steps than to fly to Tokyo.  

   "The script of individual destiny is secret;" John O'Donohue wrote. "it is hidden behind and beneath the sequence of happenings that is continually unfolding for us."

   I look at my one-year old self and wonder about what secret destiny I have discovered - and what of my then thirty-nine year old dad, now departed, and my mom, who's shadow appears at the bottom of the photo?

   Our most sacred journey can just as likely lead us down a hospital corridor as it can to Rome. Traveling the distance from my eyes to yours in a sacred way can yield more treasure than I could ever find on an itinerary-focused trip to Istanbul.

   It is the traveler, not the travel, that leads to the discovery (or leaves hidden) our secret destiny. The discovery of our destiny turns not on the future, but on our willingness, right now, to find the courage to cross the threshold that both beckons and frightens us.

   It is tempting to think that distant travels can fulfill the our most important life dream. It is difficult to see that the way I approach everyday encounters may reveal my destiny in an even more powerful way.

   "...so often we opt to continue the old pattern, rather than risking the danger of difference," O'Donohue tells us. "Like spring secretly at work within the heart of winter, below the surface of our lives huge changes are in fermentation...you can ask yourself: At which threshold am I now standing? At this time in my life, what am I leaving? Where am I about to enter? What is preventing me from crossing my next threshold? What gift would enable me to do it?"

   It is so easy to toss aside these questions, and so enriching to our existence to embrace them. The old patterns always seem easiest. But the old patterns cannot reveal our finest destiny. 

   Jesus traveled a tiny distance on this earth. His journey around the globe continues.

   We may be so stuck in patterned living that we don't even notice the gold that is laid before us right now. If we don't find the courage to open our hearts we will fail to discover our secret destiny, the one that may be hidden in the journey my hand can make to meet yours perhaps finding, there, Love itself.

-Erie Chapman 

Days 244-246 - Just You

 As of September 4, 2011 at 2:33 P.M. (C.S.T.) the world held 6,959,939,818 people.  -World Population Clock

   Soon, there will be seven billion.

   And just you.

   You are the performer. You are the audience.

   You are the caregiver. You are the patient.

   In the beginning God welcomed you into the house of your body. You have made your house a home.

   You are the daughter of the sun. You are the son of the earth. You are God's only child.

   Unnumbered scars map your heart. Veins of gold illuminate your spirit and there is no doubt that you are the only one who can touch those veins, read the life of the leaf, know love's throbbing dance. 

   The chapters of your being are written by the sounds that have entered you and the scents that have breezed your memory. Your skin recalls sacred touch and angry slap. Warm zephyrs and the breath of winter know just you. 

   Your eyes have seen the world's prism, felt's pain's spasms, watched beauty curve, been cut by the serrated saw of the ugly. You have noticed the texture of tree bark, heard your feet touch the forest path, felt your body pierce the lake.

   Your tongue remembers bread. Rain has healed your throat.

   You are the only person who knows how you feel, thinks what you think.

   Yours are the words that matter. There is nothing more important then your presence.

   In your rooms live the only people you have ever known. Your hands alone know the feel of this moment's air.

    Just you know the glories of your day. Only you know the agonies of your night. 

    You are the single one who knows your hardest truth. You are the only one who can tell your story.

    [On September 4, 2011 at 2:36 p.m. the world held 6,959,941,211 people.]

    During the minutes you read this essay, Love welcomed another thousand into this world and received hundreds who left it.

   Soon, there will be seven billion.

   And just you.

  -Reverend Erie Chapman  

 

Days 242-243: Holy Time

“If the angel / deigns to come /it will be because / you have convinced / her, not by tears / but by your humble / resolve to be always / a beginner."

                                                                                                                                  -Rainer Maria Rilke

Note: weekend essay offered by guest contributor Liz Sorensen Wessel.

There is a natural rhythm to this Holy dance of life, of days turning to night and returning to greet us anew. A kaleidoscope of Divine patterns manifest in movement and stillness. We know that our heart faithfully contracts and pauses between each beat. We see how the miraculous in and out flow of our breath mirrors the ebb and flow of the ocean waves.  We are like stars in the night sky, traveling in a circular motion of birthing and dying, of rising and setting with the sun, of unlimited endings and beginnings. In our turning, we intersect and connect to create the most beautiful song in all the universe; the irreplaceable song of our lives.

Our days can accelerate in a hectic pace and busy agendas may take on an inflated, false sense of importance. When we allow this time and again, we risk losing touch with the sacred rhythms of our soul. We risk remembrance of how to be in communion with the Divine and with each other. To be hoest, I write this essay for me as much as for you. My work schedule has been in overdrive for some months now.  Writer, Rod MacIver describes the dilemma well, " The problem is the push and pull of surface stuff. The distraction, the inclination to believe I'm not getting enough done, the emotions. The resistance to putting time into meditation. But beneath all that there is a big quiet pond. A pond at night when the little sliver of a moon radiates a golden hue. And at the edge of a pond, a bird sings into the night. I dive down into it and find images and sometimes even answers."

Honoring a natural balance between work and rest is essential for our well-being or as Erie encourages, "living a full life."

The Sabbath is an age-old tradition of resting in gratefulness. I first experienced Sabbath as a teenager while living in Vermont. A Jewish friend invited me to share in their intimate family gathering. We arrived just before sunset Friday evening. We began with the ritual of lighting the candles and reciting sacred prayers. Homemade bread was then passed, as we each broke a piece off to share with the person next to us in a gesture of loving affirmation. Next, we enjoyed a lovely meal amid peaceful conversation. After dinner, some played stringed instruments while we sang songs. That night, my friend and I slept outside in a large teepee, (family artisan trade). We lit a campfire and crawled into the warm cocoon of our sleeping bags as the chill of the autumn night swirled up through the portal to join the stars above. I still remember that magical evening, all these years later with great fondness. 

Keeping the Sabbath is a conscious decision we can make to acknowledge that it is time to STOP. We will pick up again later. For now, it is time to relax the frantic pace, to rest, to celebrate, to Love. When we take time, we are valuing our relationships; with family, friends, ourselves and those we love near or far. Carving out time  and offering our full presence is a most precious gift.

There are many ways in which, we can delight in the Sabbath. Even little snippets of time in which we can rest and perhaps engage in something we love. Author, Wayne Muller in his book called "Sabbath" suggests "Choose one pleasurable activity that is easily done and takes little time. Place a flower in a cup by your bed. Sing a song from beginning to end. Take a crayon and make a simple drawing. Do something simple and playful every day. Let the power of a simple act of creativity stop you, slow your pace, interrupt your speed. Notice how willing you are to be stopped. Notice how it feels when you are."

Thank you for your friendship and for making the Journal a part of your Sabbath weekend.

Days 240-241- The Face of Mystery

 "Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery..." - Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek .

   Cross-legged before a campfire about fifty years ago, I heard a counselor read Saxon Kessinger's poem "The Indispensable Man." The image I recall lives in this odd second verse: 

"...Take a bucket and fill it with water,
Put your hand in it up to the wrist,
Pull it out and the hole that's remaining,
Is a measure of how much you'll be missed."

   My teen-aged self was startled. I thought I mattered, that I might even become a "great" man. Instead, my life was as evanescent as a ripple in the night-dark lake beyond the flames.

   Suddenly shipwrecked on the island of humility, I couldn't tell whether I felt better or worse. How marvelous to submit to God. But, what was I to do if my life was no more than "a faint tracing on the surface of mystery"?

   "We must somehow take a wider view," Dillard advises. "...If the landscape reveals one certainty, it is that the extravagant gesture is the very stuff of creation."

   I take Dillard's words to mean that everything in the world is miraculous. Why not live with passion?

   "...beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there," she writes.

   One study reflects that many of us peak at nineteen. After that, most give up. Passion falls victim to safety. Creative energy fades.

   What a tragedy.

   Passion is our option. We can choose to do as little as possible or we can engage each other and the world. We can live all of our years instead of just the first nineteen.

   If we are only a "faint tracing" we can choose to do good for its own sake. Not because acts of compassion will make some lasting mark on the face of the temporal world, or even that we will win God's favor.

   Every day, caregivers have the sweet chance to meet the needs of another. Every night, we can thank the hand of Love for cradling us through another day. Every dawn, we can renew our passion to encounter the world with all its cruelty and grace as a holy place.

   We have to make an effort. We have to choose a full life rather than to retreat into the half-light of the guarded heart.

   How are we doing training our ears to listen to the guidance of poets and seers who bring us hard-won messages that cannot be decoded with simple glances? The artists and saints of the world have glimpsed the mystery and brought back news. Beauty and Grace lie without and within.

   "The least we can do is try to be there" when they arrive. The most we can do is make the "extravagant gesture," to open our spirits, and even to open the door to others with whom we may share Love's glory.

-Erie Chapman

Photograph - Eyes Study 4c - copyright Erie Chapmand 2010