books and prayers and things
When I read this today, I thought to myself, “Has she seen my desk, my bedroom, my house?”
“Wherever I have lived my room and soon
the entire house is filled with books;
poems, stories, histories, prayers of
all kinds stand up gracefully or are
heaped on shelves, on the floor, on
the bed. Strangers old the new offering
their words bountifully and thoughtfully,
lifting my heart.
Come by Here, Holy Spirit
I came across this lovely and challenging poem for Pentecost Sunday by Mark Berry (Here).
Waiting, Waited,
Some Non-Morbid Musings on Death
A couple of days ago I went through about an hour of weeping. A cry-fest, if you will. Now, those who know me are not startled a bit by that revelation. My tears reside just below the surface, not waiting, but anticipating the next chance they have to escape. It was said of St. Francis that he had the gift of tears. I guess that makes him and I some kind of kin.
This, however, was not my normal get teary at a moment of joy or lament. It was a level up from that. It was more related to convulsing or even heaving. To make it even stranger, I was alone sitting in my living room, really not looking for a reason to cry.
Prayer: Before the Day is Out
A beautiful and moving prayer from Walter Brueggemann that I used in my sermon this morning.
Before the Day is Out
A Poem from a Friend
Here is a poem that was just published from my friend, Shann Ferch. His words are deeply reflective and redemptive. I love him and his art.
Here is the link where you can find it online: Here
Your Strange Super Power – October 30, 2012
A prayer written while flying yesterday…
You are so gracious…though holy, you give and accept.
Rest
A short prayer from my time at St. Gertude's
A view from the Monastery——————-
More from Mary Oliver
Another lovely one from Mary Oliver – she is such a wonderful artist.
Logos (a poem of the bread and fish)
Thoughts on Growing Old/er
The tree with the old dog, Buckley
This morning (my birthday) I was reading some poetry to my wife outside under our lovely birch tree in our front yard. Sitting under this tree has been the launching pad for some of our most stimulating conversations. With a cup of coffee or glass of wine, an endless line of wonderful friends have sat with us under this colossal tree over the years. It reminds me of what Eden must have been like.
Anyway, I stumbled upon this next passage, which captured my thoughts about aging and stirred in me a bit of an existential moment.
More From Oliver
The Uses of Sorrow - Mary Oliver
(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)