still unfurling

     Leaves unfurl little by little. It doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time and light and warmth and good soil and water. At first, they are tightly wrapped. Then one small tip unfolds and then another until they are completely unfurled.

     We unfurl little by little, too. It doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time and light and warmth and good soil and water. It’s hard to imagine now what we will look like completely unfurled.

 Father, when I get impatient with myself or ______ today, please remind me that we are both still unfurling.

 “[W]hat we will be has not yet been revealed.” 1 John 3:2

the forest dance

     I sat for a while watching the beauty of the morning sun dancing on the forest floor and dancing on the green leaves. I didn’t envy the beauty I saw. I didn’t want to make it my own. I didn’t compare my own beauty to the beauty of the forest dance. I didn’t think of myself at all. I just watched, free and easy.

     Then I wondered what today would be like if I watched other people the way I watched the forest dance – enjoying their beauty and letting it water my soul.

     So I tried it at a party. I looked for beauty in everybody I met. I enjoyed their stories and their eyes and their laughs and their looks. I let their beauty water my soul. I didn’t judge or categorize or compare them to myself. I didn’t think of myself at all. I just watched, free and easy.

     Thank you for shining through.

“In Your light, we see light.” Psalm 36:9

stop look and listen

     When kids are learning to cross the street, we teach them to stop, look and listen first. “If your ball goes into the street,” we say, “don’t just run into the street after it. First, stop, look and listen.” They practice, and after a while it becomes a habit.

     Yesterday, I practiced, too. Instead of just running to my usual kneejerk reactions, I practiced stop-look-and-listen before I started worrying or labeling or giving an opinion or whatever. It gave me just enough time to relax my grip and breathe a deep breath and ask for help.

     Stop-look-and-listen was a relief and a surprise. Even the half hour on hold with customer service didn’t tie me in knots.

     I’m going to practice again today. I hope it becomes a habit.

“Gentle me / Holy One / into an unclenched moment / a deep breath / a letting go. . . .” Ted Loder

“[A]sk God, who gives generously. . . .” James 1:5

good gifts

     For the past few days, I have watched parents giving good gifts to their two-year-old.

     They enjoy him. They enjoy watching him discover things (like the splash that pebbles make in a stream). They enjoy watching other people enjoy him. They enjoy him just the way he is, without any shoulds.

     They’re patient with him. When they want to get him dressed and he wants to be a dump truck beep-beep-beeping as he backs away from them, they wait. They know he’ll come back.

     When he’s tired of playing or he bumps his head or something scares him, he goes to his mom and sinks into her for a while, all limp and content. He stays until the holding is enough, and then he runs and plays again.

     They are his safe place. They pay close attention to him. Their eyes and ears are always open to him, no matter what else they’re doing. They let him explore and they give him small choices, but they’re always keeping him safe.

     His little days are filled with the good gifts of good parenting.

     So are mine.

“If you . . . know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts. . . ?” Matthew 7:11

weather

     Weather is a funny thing. It changes.

     Yesterday was cold and rainy. The wind blew, and we wore layers and raincoats. It was a gray, heavy, inside-looking-out sort of day.

     Something in me hunkered down for a long spell of gray, heavy, inside-looking-out days. I didn’t really expect it to change. It felt permanent.

     But it wasn’t. It changed.

     Today is a surprise – a shining, blue-skied day, all warm and welcoming. Now I can’t imagine all this sunshine and color ever turning to gray.

     I guess weather is a lot like life. When it’s all gray and cold and struggle and sorrow, you feel like it will be gray and cold and struggle and sorrow forever. But it won’t.

     After a while, the sun always surprises you again.

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” Psalm 30:5

really here

     A few days ago, I heard somebody say, “I’m feeling here – not just physically here, but really here. All here. Present. And that doesn’t happen often. It’s unusual for me.”

     That made me wonder how often I’m really here, so I’ve been watching and noticing. I’ve been asking myself, “Where are you?”

     Usually, the answer is not-really-here. I’m either living in a past moment or jumping ahead to a future moment or wishing the present moment were different than it is – wanting to change where I am or what’s happening.

     That seems like a waste of now, so today I’m going to practice being really here -- seeing and hearing and feeling and living right here in this present moment.

     I’m new at it, so I may only be really here a few times today. But that’s okay. I’m just a beginner.

“And God called to the Man: ‘Where are you?’” Genesis 3:9