I thought it was God's mic

But it wasn't.
Let me explain.

Sitting in the church I grew up in,
home visiting family. Happy to be there.
Comforted by the people and things that haven't changed much at all.
Inspired by the things that have.

That morning, the Scripture story, done as a dramatic reading
(Isaiah 6:1-8, in case you're curious.)

One person, off to the left - Isaiah.
Another person, standing toward the center - an angel.
God stands off to the right.

The story builds until it is God's turn to speak.
The words are spoken but the sound doesn't carry.
It seemed God's mic was turned off.

But then I realized, the problem wasn't the mic.
The problem was at the sound board.
God's volume was turned all the way down.

Which got me thinking.
How many times in my life have I turned God's volume all the way down
and all the other voices all the way up?

Taking a step back, to enlarge the perspective,
I wondered, hey, who is in charge of the volume controls?

I thought the problem was God's mic.
But it wasn't.

It was me.

Powerful love

She is no longer real steady on her feet,

but her love is so powerful it can knock you over.

Tonight she holds tightly, choosing to be there again.

Her fingers, gnarled with living, hold his hand,

once calloused and rough, now soft and smooth.

She anchors him to this time and place, 

so he doesn't drift off on a solitary journey, 

confusion his only companion.

She leans into him, laying her head on his shoulder.

He closes his eyes slowly, the beginnings of a smile.

(Sometimes the beginning is all you get and you make it enough.)

A familiar song fills the room,

stirring memories of another time. Maybe? Maybe not?

Yes, I think maybe.

An early winter darkness fills the window

marking the season better than the calendar on the wall.

Soon she will kiss him on the cheek and leave his room,

returning to the house they shared.

Reaching for him during the night

unable to bridge the distance between what was and what is.

Coming back again and again

to make sure he knows he is not alone.

She is no longer real steady on her feet,

but her love is so powerful it can knock you over.

It can also lift you up.

Learning to Meditate

Looking beneath the water's surface. There.
A smooth stone. The size that fits in your your hand just right.
Worn smooth by the river. By life. By God.
Is God?
And then, "kerplunk." The ripples push away the thoughts.
(Breathe in. Breathe out.)

Seeking stillness. Seeking peace. Clear water.
Another glimpse of what is beneath.
"Kerplunk" - obscured again.
Perhaps obscurity provides focus?
(Breathe in. Breathe out. Be still.)

Then a thought floats up like a bubble from the bottom.
"Focus on the stone, not the ripples, you silly goose."
Oh, I think I see.
(Did I really just get called a silly goose?)
"Kerplunk." More ripples.
Concentric circles moving out from the center.
(Breathe in. Breathe out.)

Looking beneath the water's surface. There.
A smooth stone. God?
Yes, God.

Learning to Meditate: Part II

Trying to see beneath the surface.
The calm still water below the ripples.
Looking again for the stone, the one that fits perfectly in my hand.
(Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus.)

Seeking. Searching. Holding my breath.
Popping back up, too full of my own air to remain beneath.
(Breathe in. Breathe out. Release.)

There, on the water's edge,
a shore covered in stones.
Too many to recognize one,
alike in their uniqueness.
But wait, I see it. It is there.
(Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax.)

It was always there.
The wisdom from above.
Pure love. Gentle peace.
Willing to be found.

Learning to Meditate: Part III

Here's what I see.

Angry loud rushing water within the watershed of my spirit.
A swollen river, turbid and strong.
Rushing by. Threatening. 

Be still and know that I am God.
(Breathe in. Breathe out.)

There, the water slows and clears.
How? I have no idea and it doesn't matter.
The feeling shifts from angry to playful.
Calming. Quiet.

I can see the bottom. Clarity returns.
There it is, my rock.
There all along, just obscured for a time
by the rushing water.
Forcing me to stop. No, not forcing, inviting.
Transformed.

Be still and know that I am God.
(Breathe in. Breathe out.)

I feel a presence. Beside me? Within me?
A tear slides down a cheek (not mine)
and into the still water creating ripples.
Of joy, not sadness.

A hand reaches out to take
what I did not even realize I was clinging to -
a large, heavy, cumbersome, jagged rock.
Some would call it a burden. (You have one too, yes?)

In its place, a smooth stone fits perfectly in my hand.
Easy to hold. Rounded by the water. By life.
To make the exchange I realize I have to let go.

Be still and know that I am God.
(Breathe in. Breathe out.)

Release.

For Earth Day (2016)

Thinking about the places
where the trail meanders through the trees,
spider webs touch my face,
the winter wren moves through the understory
with a song big enough for the mountains,
this is where I find life's rhythm.

The places where sunlight erupts into wildflowers
set to a backdrop of high ridges and peaks,
where this present moment and tomorrow's hopes
interweave like the mountain breeze and my breath,
this is where I find life's balance.

The places where God the Father
comes together with Earth the Mother
in the oldest of trees, the infinite shades of green,
the smallest, most intricate flower,
this is where I find the greatest peace.

These are the places where I become aware
that I cannot be here without making an impact,
which encourages me to be careful, intentional, and grateful,
because this is where I find harmony.

These are the places
where I cannot separate what I believe
from how I live.

Learning to Meditate: Part IV

Eyes closed. Focusing inward.

(Breathe in. Breathe out. Be still.)

Seeking the center. Looking for my stone.
The rounded river rock that fits just right in my hand.
Did you see that?
Held in his palm, it covers the scar.
Forgiveness? Yes.
(Breathe in. Breathe out.)

Kerplunk. The stone drops in the pool.
Ripples form outward.
A finger touches my chin,
lifting my viewpoint beyond the first ripple.
Ahhh... there's more, yes? Beyond me.
Now I see.
(Breathe in. Breathe out.)

Worry watches from the edges.
Its presence is tangible. Almost.
Then it dissipates, moving outward with the ripples.
Release.
Moving outward with my breath. Trust.
(Breathe in. Breathe out.)

Release and trust.