Sunday, January 25, 2015
An ordinary Mass.
I kneel, eyes closed
and there is your Face.
I know it's you.
I feel your otherness,
Your eyes are closed,
no sharp features.
I think later; poor, peasant face.
You are right with me
another world around us.
The flock stands and I
want to stay.
I obey, up and you are gone.
something to regret always.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
Behind the altar of our humble church are floor to ceiling windows and outside those windows that is a tall rock garden with a waterfall.I have witnessed a butterfly land there one hot August day; the day of a friend's funeral.Her funeral program had a butterfly on the cover.An occasional squirrel will scramble to the top to eat a nut of some kind.Neighbors.
Today, the water was beautiful, glittering and frozen solid.It is the closest we Georgians will get to frozen ponds.The psalm for today is perfect for what I am feeling:"You will draw water joyfully from the springs of salvation."
I have written before about the young man who attends our church when he can.He, who helped me become aware that my mother had been with me in Australia by means of a butterfly visit.
After mass, he asked this question:"Do you have a deceased sister?" "Yes," I said."Did she die of something to do with the liver ?" "Yes."Did her life involve a cane?""Yes,"I said, stunned.
Before I continue, I need to tell you that I adored my older sister, my only sibling, four years senior.Also, that we rarely got along.I often wondered why and then found the answer in a novel, of all things, and it rang true.When there is little nurturing or love to be had, siblings become competitors.The best time was after she married, left our 8x10 bedroom and became my confidante.I treasured her wisdom and her openness to all my foolishness.She brought a brother-in-law and nieces into my life that I love deeply.So there was good times, too few.I prayed about the lost years in a chapel once and heard this:"You will get that time back."I don't know what that means, I don't have to.
A few years before she died in 2008, she tripped over a laundry basket and broke her ankle and walked with a cane from then on.
Anyway, my friend Tim said he saw my sister with me at Mass.I believe that the space between the here and gone is very thin but what I heard next brought tears.She had her cane outstretched between her hands and was dancing.He said that she wanted me to see that.
Saturday, January 10, 2015
A time of bareness.Insideness and early dark. Bluest of sky but little warmth from the sun.New beginnings.Crows in the trees and turkeys boldly coming to the door and looking in.Frozen birdbath with crows wondering where to dip their corn.
Advent is over and, quite surprisingly, the days and the journey led to unexpected places.I have joined three groups on line:one to do with the Rosary, one with Christian writers and another exploring the life of Blessed Charles de Foucald.Having done that, I am being richly rewarded with postings from many different seekers throughout the world.The blessings pour into my already overflowing wooden bowl.
Beyond the mystery of rosaries said, poems read and prayers written in the Algerian desert; in the midst of the wonders of crackling brown leaves, grey, bare tree branches, a bright hawk circling over head, a brown colored river that starts near the Atlanta Airport in a debris ridden seepage, is this:
A family at church suffered a setback just before Christmas.I felt strongly that we needed to give an anonymous donation since they have children and it is the time of gift giving.My husband was totally agreeable or I am not sure it would've happened.The day after Christmas, a check arrived for that amount plus a hundred dollars from American Express.A refund from an error we knew nothing about.