Morning Birds, Summer Water, Affirmations of Faith

There are those moments, when you are deep within them, there is nothing else around you except the intensity of all that your senses can absorb there. It is as if you are holding your breath while there, and then, exhaling, it passes. You then have the convergence of what was, what is and what will be - the demands of all that keeps us from being fully present and all too often prevent the digesting, listening, hearing, seeing, and holding what it was we inhaled. Only later when you hold those moments can you see that they were moments of prayer, Holy conversation, places of being invited and accepting "be still and know that I am God", and knowing you can trust the One who gifted you with it.

In a recent one of those moments I had stepped out into the early morning to retrieve some firewood. The curtain of the night was slowly being drawn back and morning light was beginning to filter through the trees that reached up. Unseen, resting in the branches, sat the birds who had begun to awake and welcome to the day - songs that came to me in surround sound as I walked across the frost carpeted ground. With my arms full of wood I stopped, waited, and inhaled. This birthing of a new day was a glorious moment where the earth, the sky, and the birds of the air came together in praise to the Creator. I was drawn into this Holy place where my soul could say "yes" as an affirmation of faith, a prayer of gratitude and a "good morning God" conversation. My heart, mind and body were invited to be postured in prayer as I stood in the garden with my arms full of firewood and the morning light making its way through the trees. I momentarily forgot it was cold out there!

Her daughter used to love lying on the surface of the water in the pool and it was so hard to get her out of the water. My friends' daughter would let the warm water hold her body, let it carry her and ease the pain of her chronic illness. It also became her place of prayer - the place to "be still and know that I am God."

Listening to my friend tell this story in her sermon brought back my own 'prayer upon the water'. It was the summer of 1999 when I had been living in Castellammare di Stabia for 4 months, had stopped speaking in English, and had begun to lose the 'mozzarella' skin tone that set me apart from the locals of this southern Italian town. The luxury of time, of hot sun under the Mediterranean sky, gave endless hours to spend lying out on the glorious blue water. Lying there, hot sun on my back, my hands dangling in the water and my chin resting on the mattress cushion, I watched the surface move and glisten thinking how easy it was to simply remain on the surface of life. Moving my head over the edge of the air mattress, what was going on beneath the surface of the water was visible. With only my hands in the water, I could see through the turquoise liquid, where little fish captured my attention. There is so much beneath the surface that is fascinating, different, enchanting, and very real. I thought of those who can put on a mask and head beneath the surface, letting that area show them new sounds, a different perspective and a much larger picture than what I experienced on the surface. If I could go beneath this warm relaxed place I was lying...if I would begin to live life in the depths, to see it, hear it, know it in a different dimension? Looking back, those summer water days were not just random thoughts - they were prayer, my soul seeking far more than I already knew. Being held up, floating, listening and waiting, those sighs were Holy moments of conversation with the Beloved. The Beloved was already taking my whole being into the deeper places of living, preparing me to consciously take that journey. Was this sighing in the summer sun, in the place of waiting not knowing what life held for me, not only a place of invitation but it was also an affirmation of my faith in the One who heard the silent prayer for a life of living beyond the visible, beyond the surface and into the places where only the two of us would go?

Almost 10 years later now, I found the roar and the sighing of the waves rolling in on this warm spring day reminded me of many chapters in my life that have been written beside the sea in places far from where I now live. This beach, my beloved beach here at home, has been the site of altars being built, tears on sand at my feet, laughter, vows, summer evening conversations shared over wine, cheese and fresh bread, a quite place alone with a good book. These places where the ceiling is the sky have been unorthodox places of worship, the sounds of nature being the opening bars leading my soul to praise the Beloved, the Almighty, the One who is so vast out there, and so intimately present within me. The litergy between the Creator and creation are an ever tender invitation into places of Holy Conversation - conversations that become a deeper grounding and affirmation of my faith in God and relationship with the Trinity. Somewhere in the morning, in the birds, in the constant motion of the sea, in memories, and in what I have held today, are the unknown number of stones/pieces of Divine interactions that ground me and have created my own affirmation of faith.


Prayer:
"I believe, O Lord and God of the peoples,
That Thou art He Who created my soul and set it warp,
Who created my body from dust and from ashes,
Who gave to my body breath, and to my soul it possessions.
Father, bless to me my body,
Father, bless to me my soul,
Father, bless to me my life,
Father, bless to me my belief."
pg 30 Beginning Again
Mary c. Earle

Old Friends

They are both old friends - one has kept my husband company in his many years alone and the other was a friend who let me speak without words in my many years alone.

Yesterday as Astrophe ventured outside and lay on the deck, I watched her settle down in the warmth of the spring sunshine. She has spent almost 20 year following my husband around as he worked on the property creating something beautiful out of this raw land. Now she has a broken hip and the warm bathroom floor is where she comes once the weather cools down until it is warm enough again to take her frail body outside. Picking her up you feel her thinness and fragility, yet she snuggles into your shoulder, placing her head into your neck and begins to purr, to sing, reminding you she still has comfort to freely offer. She is a comforting little friend to me now too.

Almost 23 years ago I traded my original piano in when it needed far more work done on it than I could afford. This one came home with me and has provided a place to let the music become the words that could not be articulated - either for celebration or for grieving, or just for being. For the past 7 years it has been played by many hands as it sat in the great room at Linwood House. But now this old friend to come to our little house in the woods and for me once again to be the voice for the words I cannot always express.

There are many old friends we have on our journeying. Some speak with us, others speak for us. But who or whatever they are, it is wonderful when we are in the same place together.

Grounding In The Midst of Change

What gives us comfort in times of change? What brings us stability in times of change? These are two questions my husband asked me, knowing they were questions that would come up in a meeting he was heading out to. So with my hands wrapped around my hot cup of strong coffee, he getting ready to head out the door, we spent a few minutes sharing our thoughts and realities pertaining to these questions.

Change is certainly not seasonal; it is momentary and constant and I find myself less attuned to the small changes and not very ready for the big changes that come along! I never feel quite prepared for the surprise of changes that are not of my own choosing. When they are my own choice I am not prepared for the layers of my life that shift when I embark on road. Everything inside me begins to shift and in order to stay grounded I seek places of safety, whether I am aware of it or not.

My inner being, that inner place of knowing, seeks safety in ways that seem so normal, so ordinary and every day. These are ways that are not consciously seeking safety but they are every day tasks that settle my racing thoughts, agitation, and actions that bring me back to being present.

As the two of us held this question together my answers were things like wrapping my hands around a hot cup of coffee or tea, bathing with only candles to light the room, sitting down at the piano to play, settling into my big arm chair with my feet up and putting on contemplative music, centering prayer, sitting at the edge of the sea, or walking in the wind. What is it about these tasks the brings grounding in the midst of change? Perhaps there is some deep answer to this question but in this moment my answer is just the simple observation that these ordinary things draw me into a place of knowing and experiencing God as present. I think I see that my faith and those places of Holy Presence in the ordinary are so real and so much a part of daily living and how the Spirit so faithfully draws me to those places. And that feels sure, grounded, and safe in the changes that continually unfold around me.

The Cello

My enchantment with the cello began many years ago. It wasn't the sound of the cello that initially drew me in but the embrace in which it was held by the musician who would so intensely caress it and draw the sounds from within this very responsive instrument that was deeply sensitive to the one who held it. Somewhere around 1986 we went to the Honen's International Piano competition to watch the two finalists give their best on the beautiful 9'2" gleaming black Bosendorfer concert grand piano. My love of classical piano, and a 3rd row, slightly to the right seat in the concert hall, was sure to give a great view as the Russian competitor played the "Rach 3" and the Italian, Chopin's Piano Concerto #2 (still one of my favorite works of music). Yet for all the pianists passion and drama, I was seduced by a cello and the one who embraced it and become one with it. While the individual sound of the cello was enveloped into the many voices of the orchestra, it alone called to me and drew me into the music that surrounded us all.

The book our book club is currently reading is The Spanish Bow by Andromeda Romano-Lax. It is the story of a young boy who inherits a bow when his father dies. It takes young Feliu Delargo a number of years before he discovers the bow belongs to the cello and not the violin where upon he falls in love with this instrument. In the story Feliu meets up with Edward Elgar and Feliu is asked to play Elgar's Cello Concerto in E Minor. Feliu expected it to be a piece that would need orchestral accompaniment. Elgar replies "I chose the cello for a reason of all the instruments, it is the one that sounds most like a human voice. I would ask you to play humanly, that's all."

Thinking about the cello as "the one that sounds most like a human voice" is perhaps why so many of us sink into a space of such contentment when we hear the cello being played. At our Taize service I could hear the cello speak out, a lone voice at times, and my heart opened even more to embrace this sacred time of contemplation and being present with the Almighty. Those deep resonating notes call out to me and sometimes they speak of joy, at times they are the voice of tears, or even more deeply the notes of an inner anguish that seems unheard. The most inner part of our being longs to be heard and given voice to, and yet, it is not always a human that can call it out of us. Music is a powerful invitation to let our feelings and thoughts explore journeys we are afraid to travel alone.

The cello also speaks of being embraced and held securely, firmly, lovingly and with intent. The cellist embraces the instrument with a oneness, a picture of refusal to have too much space between them in order to create the sweet music. As a human being there is always the longing to be heard, to give voice to what lies deep inside, and the need to be embraced and feel the heartbeat of another; where the humanness of one is recognized and acknowledged. The composers emotions, story, hopes, agonies - they reach me and connect us together. It is an embrace across time, distance, culture.

This beautiful instrument is always a reminder of being seen, being heard, and being embraced - actions that give visibility and honor to each of us. There is music within us all and there are those extraordinary people who are on our road of life. Their presence draws the music out of us because, like the cellist, they have embraced us, seen us, and heard us and given us the sacred space in which to create our own life melodies and voice to them. Our stories connect to that of another and we each begin to hear the music together.

Hope... in Process

I have read some excellent articles recently on hope and keeping hope in the process of walking through places that are difficult. Looking at these fresh colourful ranunculus and the espresso pots that produce wonderful strong rich cups of coffee sitting on our kitchen windowsill, I thought of how comfort and beauty keep hope alive.

We have decided to paint the main floor of our little house and because there is nowhere to move all the furniture it is being shifted incrementally around the room as my husband paints the walls! The dance of the furniture!! This is in preparation for bringing my beloved baby grand piano home again. It has been well used in the wonderful great room at Linwood House and it looks so beautiful there but...I have missed having it right here to play early in the morning or late at night, or in those moments when only creating music can give voice to what my soul needs to say. So we have shifted some furniture and are painting the room in preparation. The hope of having my piano available is so exciting for me.

Our home sits on just over 2 acres of land and it is completely surrounded by beautiful trees. We have our own inner sanctuary here with open spaces and a beautiful labyrinth that David built a number of years ago. Over the years the trees, of course, have grown and stretched and reached higher, and in their growing have also shut out some of the light. The garden patch sits in the shade most of the time and so in order to bring in more light, and to plant a garden, some trees needed to come down. What a mess it looks right now...over 20 trees are down, no longer vertical, but horizontal on the ground and splaying their dying limbs all over the garden. There is a lot of work to be done to take the little branches off and carry them to the perimeter of the property to continue building the berm, and then the trunks will need to be cut up into pieces for firewood, carried to the wood shed and stacked to provide the heat source for next winter! We can't see the lawn for the trees - never mind seeing the forest for the trees as they say!

There is chaos in the house and chaos in the garden but all of this is an essential part of the process of creating light, life and joy within our home and our lives. We are hoping for so much more to be added to how we live here, how we can eat, and how we relax and enjoy our home and allowing our creativity to take on an expanded life. Winter is still here, but there is hope for spring and the joy of the fruit of our labours in summer. Now even the hammock will be in the warmth of the sun instead of the coolness of the shade when it is hung up.

Winter is a time of stillness that is essential to movement. A few days ago there was snow but today I have discovered the fresh shoots of tulips, daffodils and crocus reaching up to greet the new season of life. The stillness often does not give visibility to the life that is held and waiting for the whisper that is hope to call it forth.

Colourful ranunculus and a strong cup of coffee - the endless wonder of natures beauty and those things we hold in our hands that comfort us. These are two things that speak of hope in the process of moving through whatever road we need to walk to move more deeply into our God given purpose. Seeing colour and the smell of good coffee also reminded me that God allows us to experience Holy Presence as we let our senses stay awake and alert. Stillness in places like Centering Prayer and our contemplative Taize service are another kind of wonder where the Spirit lets me experience the presence of the Trinity.

I smile as I stand at the kitchen window, surrounded by chaos that is both beauty and life in process.

"Love is my chosen food, my cup, holding me in its power.
Where I have come from,
Where'er I shall go,
Love is my birthright, my true estate."

From Psalm 16, Psalms for Praying
Translation by Nan C Merrill

Life Prayer

Gentle me,
Holy One,
into an unclenched moment,
a deep breath
a letting go
of heavy experiences,
of shrivalling anxieties,
of dead certainties,

that, softened by the silence,
surrounded by the light,
and open to the mystery,

I may be found by wholeness,
upheld by the unfathomable,
entranced by the simple
and filled with the joy
that is You.


-- by Ted Loder, from his book "Guerrillas of Grace", copyright (c) 1984 Innisfree Press.