Omens, Messages, Revelations & Being Goosed by Grace: Part One
Do you ever get the feeling that Life is sending us a message? Does the world seem rife these days with little memos for the soul? Could it be that our Higher Power is trying to get our attention? Are we being poked and prodded and pushed in a particular direction -- or at least down the road less traveled?
I think we have been put on notice by this pandemic and its quarantine pal. They are quite the dynamic duo. I suspect the primary messages are to slow way down, listen way up, and be wide awake. I would underline the wide part, as we need to be stretched and to grow and to mature.
Every day I wonder when our culture will finally choose to mature. Aren’t we a bit weary of acting like adolescents, all consumed in Self and popularity and image? I would think we must be hovering somewhere near the bottom. How low must we sink before we can say this is indeed NOT the good life?
I believe we are being called back home. We are witness to a God waving arms wildly to grab our stupor-soaked attention, and point us on the way back to life – only this time, on Life’s terms. I suspect that Life’s conditions are quite simple. Celebrate being human, and choose to grow-up.
I find that many of us are exhausted by all the lies and deceit and lack of trust. I see us being severely depleted spiritually, and longing for our souls to be refreshed. We have parched souls. They are shrunk and shriveling, and cracking into tiny crevices. Our souls are no longer just weathered, they are withering on the vine.
So…now we have a vast expanse of time available to us, and if we listen, we can hear the stones telling us to RECEIVE. Stop trying to achieve and accumulate more and more of what matters less and less, and like the gaping beak of a hungry baby bird, be poised to be nourished.
The nourishment will come slow at first. A tiny trickle. A tickle of a breeze. A gentle goosing. It will be the Spirit seeking access to our souls, and offering the sweet nectar of moisture. Wet with flow, possessed of a current, and moving in a positive and productive direction. Don’t push the river, it will manage to flow all by itself. The earth often does and can speak.
This is another Advent. We are being called to prepare the way of the Lord. We are being asked to patiently wait for directions. We are being invited to clean out the clutter of our souls. We are being cleansed on the inside – our baptisms are always ongoing, almost daily.
It is a Christmas of a kind, a birthing. There will be no huge star to guide us. It will be less flashy and far less full of stuff. The decorations will be few in number, and only from the earth. Maybe a pine bough or two, a few cones, a clump of holly. We will not sing carols, but we will hum melodies of joy. There will only be one gift per person, and no nametags to tell us for who, or from whom.
The gift is our Life. It requires no foil or bow. It just begs to be unwrapped and lived.
I think we have been put on notice by this pandemic and its quarantine pal. They are quite the dynamic duo. I suspect the primary messages are to slow way down, listen way up, and be wide awake. I would underline the wide part, as we need to be stretched and to grow and to mature.
Every day I wonder when our culture will finally choose to mature. Aren’t we a bit weary of acting like adolescents, all consumed in Self and popularity and image? I would think we must be hovering somewhere near the bottom. How low must we sink before we can say this is indeed NOT the good life?
I believe we are being called back home. We are witness to a God waving arms wildly to grab our stupor-soaked attention, and point us on the way back to life – only this time, on Life’s terms. I suspect that Life’s conditions are quite simple. Celebrate being human, and choose to grow-up.
I find that many of us are exhausted by all the lies and deceit and lack of trust. I see us being severely depleted spiritually, and longing for our souls to be refreshed. We have parched souls. They are shrunk and shriveling, and cracking into tiny crevices. Our souls are no longer just weathered, they are withering on the vine.
So…now we have a vast expanse of time available to us, and if we listen, we can hear the stones telling us to RECEIVE. Stop trying to achieve and accumulate more and more of what matters less and less, and like the gaping beak of a hungry baby bird, be poised to be nourished.
The nourishment will come slow at first. A tiny trickle. A tickle of a breeze. A gentle goosing. It will be the Spirit seeking access to our souls, and offering the sweet nectar of moisture. Wet with flow, possessed of a current, and moving in a positive and productive direction. Don’t push the river, it will manage to flow all by itself. The earth often does and can speak.
This is another Advent. We are being called to prepare the way of the Lord. We are being asked to patiently wait for directions. We are being invited to clean out the clutter of our souls. We are being cleansed on the inside – our baptisms are always ongoing, almost daily.
It is a Christmas of a kind, a birthing. There will be no huge star to guide us. It will be less flashy and far less full of stuff. The decorations will be few in number, and only from the earth. Maybe a pine bough or two, a few cones, a clump of holly. We will not sing carols, but we will hum melodies of joy. There will only be one gift per person, and no nametags to tell us for who, or from whom.
The gift is our Life. It requires no foil or bow. It just begs to be unwrapped and lived.
Omens, Messages, Revelations & Being Goosed by Grace: Part Two
I've always been convinced God has a terrific sense of humor. I mean really, just witness a swarm of mosquitos or butterflies; phlegm or tears of joy; a red cheeked child after sledding or having a full-blown tantrum in an aisle at the grocery store. Our Creator knows how to tell a joke, and only a few of them take our breath away. When we are at the age when we are rounding third, and home plate appears to be a hole -- well, that is quite the punch line.
I imagine God these days sitting in a large leather rocker, savoring a hot mug of well creamed coffee. (Yes, we all think of God in self-idealized images.) There is a sweet look of satisfaction smeared across the sky of face. There is a pleased look, touched with just a hint of pleasure. It is the attitude which radiates, and beams herald the sacred opportunity we have to change our ways.
The demand for change is one of God’s most consistent messages, and one we have effectively learned to screen out. God comes calling. We pretend to be deaf. God raps on our soul. We don’t wish to let in a complete stranger. It is a game we play, and, like a pinball machine, always frustrating as Hell. We will lose each and every time we play.
God looks content to the point of pure smug. God has gotten us to pay attention, and to take notice. God is saying in silent stunning words of familiarity, “I TOLD YOU SO!” It is like when we get good and sick, still trying to please everyone and be perfect, but our cold or flu flings us to bed, and forces us to sleep and sleep, and drink water, and take two aspirins, and, well, just plain stop whatever we were doing. REST.
This is much the same. We now have no excuse for not slowing down, taking time to savor the silence and solitude, and receiving the myriad ways God will continue to point us in the direction of intimacy and beauty and goodness. It will be like being a child in a parent’s lap, listening to a wonderful story. It is a story you will want read again and again. It is the story of just how sacred is this Life of ours.
They call this a quarantine. We are in isolation. We are being protected from the germs. The soul begs for just such protection, only from the germs of greed, and bigotry, and meanspirited divisiveness, and that which expands the Gap to the point of breaking God’s heart. Our soul yearns to soak in an ocean of Grace, to float upon its gentle back, and rock away the worries and fears, and to be made new and fresh and clean.
Life is not about speed or stuff or being busy. It's about being aware, alert and alive. The good life is, no shock here, all about doing and being good. We now have time to consider how we might actualize our supply of goodness.
This goodness is our human nature. We are beloved. We are God’s own cherished children. We are graciously born enough. We get an “A” in this course, and all we have to do, is show up for class. Be present. Be a presence. Your presence is the gift (or present) you give. Just choose to give it – here and now.
I imagine God these days sitting in a large leather rocker, savoring a hot mug of well creamed coffee. (Yes, we all think of God in self-idealized images.) There is a sweet look of satisfaction smeared across the sky of face. There is a pleased look, touched with just a hint of pleasure. It is the attitude which radiates, and beams herald the sacred opportunity we have to change our ways.
The demand for change is one of God’s most consistent messages, and one we have effectively learned to screen out. God comes calling. We pretend to be deaf. God raps on our soul. We don’t wish to let in a complete stranger. It is a game we play, and, like a pinball machine, always frustrating as Hell. We will lose each and every time we play.
God looks content to the point of pure smug. God has gotten us to pay attention, and to take notice. God is saying in silent stunning words of familiarity, “I TOLD YOU SO!” It is like when we get good and sick, still trying to please everyone and be perfect, but our cold or flu flings us to bed, and forces us to sleep and sleep, and drink water, and take two aspirins, and, well, just plain stop whatever we were doing. REST.
This is much the same. We now have no excuse for not slowing down, taking time to savor the silence and solitude, and receiving the myriad ways God will continue to point us in the direction of intimacy and beauty and goodness. It will be like being a child in a parent’s lap, listening to a wonderful story. It is a story you will want read again and again. It is the story of just how sacred is this Life of ours.
They call this a quarantine. We are in isolation. We are being protected from the germs. The soul begs for just such protection, only from the germs of greed, and bigotry, and meanspirited divisiveness, and that which expands the Gap to the point of breaking God’s heart. Our soul yearns to soak in an ocean of Grace, to float upon its gentle back, and rock away the worries and fears, and to be made new and fresh and clean.
Life is not about speed or stuff or being busy. It's about being aware, alert and alive. The good life is, no shock here, all about doing and being good. We now have time to consider how we might actualize our supply of goodness.
This goodness is our human nature. We are beloved. We are God’s own cherished children. We are graciously born enough. We get an “A” in this course, and all we have to do, is show up for class. Be present. Be a presence. Your presence is the gift (or present) you give. Just choose to give it – here and now.
Omens, Messages, Revelations & Being Goosed by Grace: Part Three
A quarantine can be boring as Hell. It can feel like being stuck watching the movie GROUND HOG DAY, when every day is exactly the same as the one before. It can even be irritating, like trying to untie a knot, and only managing to make the knot tighter.
A quarantine can also be an ideal time to reminisce. To be aware of the fact that you are CHOOSING to reminisce is key. Otherwise, memories can randomly dart in and out of consciousness with no more pattern than the crazed flight of a moth around a flame.
Genuine reminiscing is an art. It begins in complete stillness, absolute silence, and accompanied by a nostalgic aura which twinkles like candlelight. One must invite memories in for a visit, and embrace them upon arrival. Then, in the spirit of being a good and gracious host, we need to listen attentively.
On a recent morning, feeling reluctant to endure yet another “stay at home and stay safe” day, I decided to entertain my memories. I got my mug of heavily creamed coffee, and sat outside in reasonably warm sunshine. I let my whole being quiet. I opened my soul to their arrival. I closed my eyes. I do not know why it helps, but it does.
Soon they began to knock on the door to my heart. I was pleased to be remembering favorite folks who I had lost. No real surprise there, as they are always looking for a chance to be back in touch. They remain frequent “guests” in recent years, and a good chunk of my reminiscing is all about listening to my losses.
However, there was a sharp shift on this morning, a change of direction and purpose, as if my soul had other plans. I was soon enmeshed in reflecting upon ways I had wronged those I loved most dearly. I was literally reviewing a roster of disappointments, betrayals, failures, flaws, flops, and numerous mean-spirited and slicing comments. Trust me, it wasn’t pretty. I mean marriage alone can be a veritable minefield.
The memories then moved on to examine grudges I still carried, wounds which remained open or heavily scarred, and occasions when I had felt neglected or wrongly accused, or when I could not begin to comprehend why I was so misunderstood. This list was, of course, both fresher and longer.
Soon my contented and calm morning was swirling with the chaos of recalling Life’s many failures to love or forgive. I stopped myself. I said “STOP!” out loud. I stood up. I sat back down. I sighed. I took a swig of coffee. I breathed deeply ten times.
Soon, a morning mist appeared. The sun grew stronger, and highlighted the rays. It was a touch of God sky, and I laughed. I suddenly recalled the words of a good friend, who upon nearing his death, repeatedly told me, “Forgive everyone, everything, William. It is just plain smart.” I considered those words for several bloated minutes.
Mercy. How lovely it can be. How restorative. How powerfully transforming. Whether giving or receiving, it is always unforgettable. Isn’t that incredible. ALWAYS unforgettable. We never forget when we have been shown or show mercy. It is stunning, like the sight of blood when we prick our finger. We are awed by the sight of it, and overwhelmed by the difference it can make in our perspective. How it alters and rearranges our attitude.
Forgive someone today. Maybe yourself. Maybe your Higher Power. Maybe your neighbor. Maybe the politician you hate. Maybe the person who sees the world through a wholly different lens than you. Just let memories of being forgiven or forgiving, inspire more of the same. Choose to BE MERCY. Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I mean, and you know how – just do it!
Forgiveness is highly contagious, just like this damn virus.
A quarantine can also be an ideal time to reminisce. To be aware of the fact that you are CHOOSING to reminisce is key. Otherwise, memories can randomly dart in and out of consciousness with no more pattern than the crazed flight of a moth around a flame.
Genuine reminiscing is an art. It begins in complete stillness, absolute silence, and accompanied by a nostalgic aura which twinkles like candlelight. One must invite memories in for a visit, and embrace them upon arrival. Then, in the spirit of being a good and gracious host, we need to listen attentively.
On a recent morning, feeling reluctant to endure yet another “stay at home and stay safe” day, I decided to entertain my memories. I got my mug of heavily creamed coffee, and sat outside in reasonably warm sunshine. I let my whole being quiet. I opened my soul to their arrival. I closed my eyes. I do not know why it helps, but it does.
Soon they began to knock on the door to my heart. I was pleased to be remembering favorite folks who I had lost. No real surprise there, as they are always looking for a chance to be back in touch. They remain frequent “guests” in recent years, and a good chunk of my reminiscing is all about listening to my losses.
However, there was a sharp shift on this morning, a change of direction and purpose, as if my soul had other plans. I was soon enmeshed in reflecting upon ways I had wronged those I loved most dearly. I was literally reviewing a roster of disappointments, betrayals, failures, flaws, flops, and numerous mean-spirited and slicing comments. Trust me, it wasn’t pretty. I mean marriage alone can be a veritable minefield.
The memories then moved on to examine grudges I still carried, wounds which remained open or heavily scarred, and occasions when I had felt neglected or wrongly accused, or when I could not begin to comprehend why I was so misunderstood. This list was, of course, both fresher and longer.
Soon my contented and calm morning was swirling with the chaos of recalling Life’s many failures to love or forgive. I stopped myself. I said “STOP!” out loud. I stood up. I sat back down. I sighed. I took a swig of coffee. I breathed deeply ten times.
Soon, a morning mist appeared. The sun grew stronger, and highlighted the rays. It was a touch of God sky, and I laughed. I suddenly recalled the words of a good friend, who upon nearing his death, repeatedly told me, “Forgive everyone, everything, William. It is just plain smart.” I considered those words for several bloated minutes.
Mercy. How lovely it can be. How restorative. How powerfully transforming. Whether giving or receiving, it is always unforgettable. Isn’t that incredible. ALWAYS unforgettable. We never forget when we have been shown or show mercy. It is stunning, like the sight of blood when we prick our finger. We are awed by the sight of it, and overwhelmed by the difference it can make in our perspective. How it alters and rearranges our attitude.
Forgive someone today. Maybe yourself. Maybe your Higher Power. Maybe your neighbor. Maybe the politician you hate. Maybe the person who sees the world through a wholly different lens than you. Just let memories of being forgiven or forgiving, inspire more of the same. Choose to BE MERCY. Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I mean, and you know how – just do it!
Forgiveness is highly contagious, just like this damn virus.
Omens, Messages, Revelations & Being Goosed by Grace: Part Four
In recent years, it has happened several times. Not daily, weekly, or even monthly, but often enough to take credit for being a pattern. A thought will cross my mind, squeal its breaks, take root, and announce its message. It is almost as if God has a deep desire to get my attention, or drive home a particular point. There are simply certain messages I seem to receive on a regular basis. Not like clock-work, but definitely timely.
“Everybody has a story, and most of them we do not know.”
This is a message which has popped up repeatedly. Whenever I seem to be in a critical or evaluative mode, I am met with the spiritual fact that I do not know the who, what, or why of a person’s words or actions. I simply don't know the whole story. I lack details, a background or history. I am making an assessment on only an impression.
God is frequently reminding me that I have no idea. I am jumping to a conclusion. I am taking something way too personally, or inserting my own Self into the equation. I am making an assumption, and a potentially damaging one. I am leaping way ahead of myself. I have failed to be patient and persevering in the gathering of data or input.
Most of all, I believe God is reminding me I would be far better off were I to surrender the matter to a Higher Power, and to eliminate the need to come to any conclusions. So often our bright ideas go quickly dim, and our incredible insights turn out to be incredibly flawed. Letting it go is often the smarter answer. Just walk away from it.
If ministry has taught me anything about being human, it is that we are all like a Charles Dickens story, with a huge cast of confusing characters and plots and points of view. Most of the time, we haven’t a clue why someone says or does anything. We have no deep I insight into their motivation, or insight into their motivation, or longing, or hope.
Most of all, we fail to grasp the pain most of us carry most of the time. We are a private people, and we lug our burdens and dirty laundry around at our side. People may get the sense that we limp or lean to one side, but since they cannot see the load we carry, they have no idea of its weight.
We also have no idea about that particular day’s events. We have no idea how the day itself has shaped or formed or transformed an attitude or perspective or reaction. We fail to be aware of the timing of a comment we might make, or if it is indeed a good time, or a ripe time, to deliver a message. Timing is often everything. It can be a time rich with receptivity, or a time which is emblazoned with spray paint which reads…DO NOT TOUCH. It is often better to wait until we know, or to even ask if this is a good time to talk seriously about a matter, but, remember, most of us are consummate liars most of the time.
“Of course, you can say that. You can say anything you want. We are family, or close friends, or Christians, which ever fits the situation. How many relationships have been lost to trusting words like those? I would bet a few.
I am not advocating not dealing with something you feel strongly about, or an issue which begs to be addressed. What I am saying is to be careful when and where and how you say it, and ask yourself if you have enough information to understand how someone might respond. Yes, there is always going to eb risk involved, but we can reduce that risk dramatically by being kinder, more careful, a little cautious, and not honoring our compulsive need to get it out, over their deeper need to keep it hidden a while longer.
Maybe the bottom line here, is taking the time to collect the stories. Get to know a person well, before you make any assumptions. Put in the work of intimacy before you make an intimate suggestion or remark. Ask yourself if you are being truly loving, or just needing to get something off your chest and onto theirs.
Be disciplined. Think it through. Go over every option and angle. Are you ready? Are they ready? Can you handle the consequences? Is it necessary? Might this sort itself over time? Might you need to ask for help in your assessment?
I cannot tell you how often these days, at age seventy, I will simply smile to myself, and say, not now, not here, or it can wait. Waiting is not always an excuse, but one sure way of asking for God’s input on the topic.
“Everybody has a story, and most of them we do not know.”
This is a message which has popped up repeatedly. Whenever I seem to be in a critical or evaluative mode, I am met with the spiritual fact that I do not know the who, what, or why of a person’s words or actions. I simply don't know the whole story. I lack details, a background or history. I am making an assessment on only an impression.
God is frequently reminding me that I have no idea. I am jumping to a conclusion. I am taking something way too personally, or inserting my own Self into the equation. I am making an assumption, and a potentially damaging one. I am leaping way ahead of myself. I have failed to be patient and persevering in the gathering of data or input.
Most of all, I believe God is reminding me I would be far better off were I to surrender the matter to a Higher Power, and to eliminate the need to come to any conclusions. So often our bright ideas go quickly dim, and our incredible insights turn out to be incredibly flawed. Letting it go is often the smarter answer. Just walk away from it.
If ministry has taught me anything about being human, it is that we are all like a Charles Dickens story, with a huge cast of confusing characters and plots and points of view. Most of the time, we haven’t a clue why someone says or does anything. We have no deep I insight into their motivation, or insight into their motivation, or longing, or hope.
Most of all, we fail to grasp the pain most of us carry most of the time. We are a private people, and we lug our burdens and dirty laundry around at our side. People may get the sense that we limp or lean to one side, but since they cannot see the load we carry, they have no idea of its weight.
We also have no idea about that particular day’s events. We have no idea how the day itself has shaped or formed or transformed an attitude or perspective or reaction. We fail to be aware of the timing of a comment we might make, or if it is indeed a good time, or a ripe time, to deliver a message. Timing is often everything. It can be a time rich with receptivity, or a time which is emblazoned with spray paint which reads…DO NOT TOUCH. It is often better to wait until we know, or to even ask if this is a good time to talk seriously about a matter, but, remember, most of us are consummate liars most of the time.
“Of course, you can say that. You can say anything you want. We are family, or close friends, or Christians, which ever fits the situation. How many relationships have been lost to trusting words like those? I would bet a few.
I am not advocating not dealing with something you feel strongly about, or an issue which begs to be addressed. What I am saying is to be careful when and where and how you say it, and ask yourself if you have enough information to understand how someone might respond. Yes, there is always going to eb risk involved, but we can reduce that risk dramatically by being kinder, more careful, a little cautious, and not honoring our compulsive need to get it out, over their deeper need to keep it hidden a while longer.
Maybe the bottom line here, is taking the time to collect the stories. Get to know a person well, before you make any assumptions. Put in the work of intimacy before you make an intimate suggestion or remark. Ask yourself if you are being truly loving, or just needing to get something off your chest and onto theirs.
Be disciplined. Think it through. Go over every option and angle. Are you ready? Are they ready? Can you handle the consequences? Is it necessary? Might this sort itself over time? Might you need to ask for help in your assessment?
I cannot tell you how often these days, at age seventy, I will simply smile to myself, and say, not now, not here, or it can wait. Waiting is not always an excuse, but one sure way of asking for God’s input on the topic.
Omens, Messages, Revelations & Being Goosed by Grace: Part Five
We need to practice social distancing. This is sort of absurd in a culture so deeply divided, and where community or intimacy are as rare as a Burmese ruby. It feels slightly idiotic to keep our neighbors at bay, when we often don’t even know their names.
Yet, this is where we are at, and must be, and adapting to isolation is a new daily exercise. Alone is quite new for many of us, but of us who are widows, it is old hat. Solitude isn’t so much scary as is it suffocating. It takes the wind out of us, and can kill a mood really quick; like a child’s nightmare scream when Mommy and Daddy are trying to be romantic for the second time that month.
We are trying to find some new rituals, or create some healthy habits, or just find practical ways to still feel positive and productive. Hope is really hard these days. Hope demands to be for everyone, everywhere, and eternal – which tends to put it in the damn difficult category.
Our culture is not fond of difficult. We want it quick and easy, and without a hitch. We dislike discomfort. We loathe adversity. We hate hurdles. Don’t even get me started on service or sacrifice or suffering.
Let me suggest something simple. In fact, KEEPING IT SIMPLE is almost always good advice. Chase beauty. Yes, that is right, play tag with beauty. Spring is waiting for you outside, and it is so ready to play. Chasing beauty is spiritual re-creation. At its best it is dazzling, and at it worst, it is just plain pretty.
Spring makes us feel like a child. It ignites our curiosity and arouses our imagination, with fun, gentle breezes and puff clouds against azure skies. Spring is so proud of what it has to offer, and loves having the chance to show off.
Have you noticed Spring yet? Did you pause to witness the trees draped in lime lace? Did you notice the butter yellows of the daffodils, the forsythia fireworks, or the dandy dandelions? How about those Crayola colored tulips, especially the big bulbous red ones? Did you inhale the fragrance of lilacs, or the pastel palette of fruit trees in pinks and ivories and corals?
It is an extravaganza out there. Behold. Be held in awe. Receive the beauty of this season. Think of it as seasoning your day. Lifting your spirits. Energizing you to make someone else’s day. Reminding you that the whole bloody works are a miracle, and that real entertainment does not cost a dime.
So, rather than sulking or stewing or feeling stuck, just go for a ride or a walk or a good long sit, and enjoy the blessed view of yet another magical Spring. Let yourself remember the grimy grays of February, and the winds whit bit your face with tiny pellets of salted ice. Think back to your hands aching from the cold, or your feet taking forever to warm. Then come back to Spring, and smile. Smile for a good long while.
This Spring I have spent untold hours hunting buds and blossoms and bursts of color, and enjoyed the adventure of looking for a good shot with my very old 35 mm camera. I like having to wait to see the photo developed, and cling to the ritual of slow old way of doing photography.
Spring itself, however, is anything but slow. It is like a gypsy, moving on just after it arrives. I suggest you prepare now for the gilding of September, or the blazes of October. November will arrive lugging goblets of brittle browning gold and burnished pewter. December is a holly branch which heralds a time of glistening and joy.
Yet, this is where we are at, and must be, and adapting to isolation is a new daily exercise. Alone is quite new for many of us, but of us who are widows, it is old hat. Solitude isn’t so much scary as is it suffocating. It takes the wind out of us, and can kill a mood really quick; like a child’s nightmare scream when Mommy and Daddy are trying to be romantic for the second time that month.
We are trying to find some new rituals, or create some healthy habits, or just find practical ways to still feel positive and productive. Hope is really hard these days. Hope demands to be for everyone, everywhere, and eternal – which tends to put it in the damn difficult category.
Our culture is not fond of difficult. We want it quick and easy, and without a hitch. We dislike discomfort. We loathe adversity. We hate hurdles. Don’t even get me started on service or sacrifice or suffering.
Let me suggest something simple. In fact, KEEPING IT SIMPLE is almost always good advice. Chase beauty. Yes, that is right, play tag with beauty. Spring is waiting for you outside, and it is so ready to play. Chasing beauty is spiritual re-creation. At its best it is dazzling, and at it worst, it is just plain pretty.
Spring makes us feel like a child. It ignites our curiosity and arouses our imagination, with fun, gentle breezes and puff clouds against azure skies. Spring is so proud of what it has to offer, and loves having the chance to show off.
Have you noticed Spring yet? Did you pause to witness the trees draped in lime lace? Did you notice the butter yellows of the daffodils, the forsythia fireworks, or the dandy dandelions? How about those Crayola colored tulips, especially the big bulbous red ones? Did you inhale the fragrance of lilacs, or the pastel palette of fruit trees in pinks and ivories and corals?
It is an extravaganza out there. Behold. Be held in awe. Receive the beauty of this season. Think of it as seasoning your day. Lifting your spirits. Energizing you to make someone else’s day. Reminding you that the whole bloody works are a miracle, and that real entertainment does not cost a dime.
So, rather than sulking or stewing or feeling stuck, just go for a ride or a walk or a good long sit, and enjoy the blessed view of yet another magical Spring. Let yourself remember the grimy grays of February, and the winds whit bit your face with tiny pellets of salted ice. Think back to your hands aching from the cold, or your feet taking forever to warm. Then come back to Spring, and smile. Smile for a good long while.
This Spring I have spent untold hours hunting buds and blossoms and bursts of color, and enjoyed the adventure of looking for a good shot with my very old 35 mm camera. I like having to wait to see the photo developed, and cling to the ritual of slow old way of doing photography.
Spring itself, however, is anything but slow. It is like a gypsy, moving on just after it arrives. I suggest you prepare now for the gilding of September, or the blazes of October. November will arrive lugging goblets of brittle browning gold and burnished pewter. December is a holly branch which heralds a time of glistening and joy.