This Little Love

I went out in the dark of night to get some space away from an exhausting day. Over my house hung a sliver of the moon and a star, side by side. I’m sure it was a planet, but which one, I don’t know. The two of them looked as if they could have been holding hands, gazing into one another’s eyes with deep affection. I smiled at the thought of celestial friendships—how everything hanging in God’s sky is in perfect harmony.

I breathed in the cool of the night, God’s own breath, and I wondered, Why can’t we be in perfect harmony with each other? I went to bed with the desire to live in peace and harmony with all of God’s creation, praying for my heart to be fully open.

Tell Me Your Dreams

Tell me of the well-worn path in which you’ve lumbered, year after year, to arrive at the place of your dreams,  and I’ll tell you to open your fist, soften your grip, and veer off, away from that dusty rut your feet know so well. Explore the outlying brush, the thickets, the mossy bogs, the dead trees fallen from some mighty storm. Explore the terrain that terrifies you.

The destination of our dreams is not a separate place, tucked away at the end of the journey. The destination is the journey; this pinpoint in time, right here, right now. It’s the mud and muck. The snow and ice. The scorching heat and the dry long days that threaten to destroy tender living things. It’s the incandescent joy, the overwhelming happiness, the sublime touch of your lover’s hands. It is everything. For your treasure is simply, your life. This breath. This exhale. This next breath.

Tell me your dreams and I’ll tell you that you’re living them, right now, no matter how far off on the horizon they may appear to you. Because you’re on your way. And the path can’t be torn away from the destination. They are one and the same.

 

 

Do You Hate The Rock?

Someone threw a rock and shattered my elderly neighbor’s window. A few of us who live on the street gathered outside of his house to assess the damage. “Sorry, Tom, that you have to deal with this,” a neighbor said to him.
“Don’t you hate people who do this kind of damage?” asked another. Tom shook his head. “No, I don’t. I feel sorry for them.”
“You’re a bigger person than me. I’d hate the person who broke a window at my house,” chimed in another.
“It was a rock that broke my window. Should I hate the rock?” Tom asked.
“But a person threw it,” a woman said.
“Yes. That’s true. But it was the pain inside the person that caused them to throw the rock. I can’t hate that pain. I can only feel compassion for it, for I too, have felt pain,” whispered Tom. I drew in a quick breath, surprised at Tom’s wisdom, his Christ-like heart.
Neighbors shook their heads. I heard one whisper the word “crazy” as they walked away. I remained, not yet wanting to leave the company of such a dear man.
“Do you need any help cleaning up?” I asked.
“No, but thank you for asking,” Tom answered.
“Thank you, for your loving heart,” I said.
“Is there any other kind to have? We must help each other heal from our pain that causes destruction in life,  not hate it,” he said as he rested his hand on my shoulder.
“The world would be a better place if we could do that,” I said. It would be a better place, indeed.

Love In Action

My friend was struggling with life decisions that seemed overwhelming to her. I did my best to not give unasked for advice. My truth fits me, but it may not fit her. So I kept my mouth shut and listened to her. We strolled around the lake, taking our time to admire the ducks and geese as she shared all that weighed heavy on her heart.

As the sun tipped from her highest point and began her slow slide down towards the horizon, we ended our walk and parted ways. But not before my friend hugged me and said, “Thank you for listening. Thank you for letting me hear my own words. It was helpful.” I held her for a few moments, pressing my heart to hers.
“I’m honored to listen to you,” I said.

Listening is love in action. It’s how we help each other find the truth. Let’s not forget that. Let’s not forget to listen. Deeply.

 

 

Don’t Let This One Do The Driving!

I got dressed to go to an important meeting. A soft winter’s rain fell as I walked to my car. What if it turns icy before I get to where I am going? I thought to myself as I slid into the driver’s seat. That worry set off a cascade of other worries that began with the gut-wrenching phrase, “What if?” I felt uneasy, so before I put the key in the ignition, I paused.

“God? You there?”
“Always,” He answered immediately.
“I’ve got a really big meeting today. I need for it to go well. Any suggestions?”
“Kick fear out of the front seat. Ask the other’s to sit up front with you.”
“The others?”
“Curiosity. Wonderment. Gratitude. Let them be your companions today. You can even let them drive. My Dear Child, you’ll never be rid of fear entirely. But you can insist that it sits in the back seat and never, ever, drives.”
“What do I do if it talks incessantly back there?” I asked.
“You can listen politely, say thank you for its opinion, then turn your attention to other things. Curiosity, wonderment, and gratitude will eventually drown out fear’s voice.

I started the engine and backed out of the driveway. Looking over my shoulder, I imagined fear sitting quietly in the back seat. I looked to my right and imagined curiosity, wonderment, and gratitude sitting next to me. I pondered which one would make the best driver for my meeting. I chose curiosity to lead the way, along with God’s good grace.

“Thanks for the advice, God,” I said. “Fear will probably come along, but I won’t let it drive.” The rain that had been steady all morning, disappeared. The sun peeked her sweet face between the clouds. And curiosity asked a hundred questions about the day ahead, all filled with excitement and possibility.

“Thank you, God!” I said out loud, as gratitude took the wheel for a moment. “Thank you, very much.”

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