Yesterday I engaged in some "back to school" shopping with my son. I have to admit the headiness this elicits in me. I love the rows of backpacks, the pencils and pens, markers of a myriad of colors, scissors, compasses, protractors. And then there is the paper….notebooks, college and regular ruled lines for smaller and larger writing, reams of computer paper, and my personal favorite, the Mead Composition notebook, black-speckled cover, sewn seam and bound with a strip of fabric-like tape. It screams"Write something, marvelous, something important in me!"

There is something about the tools of education, particularly in late August and September, that gets my urge to learn going. I feel the rush of possibility as I walk the aisle. I know some children see it as a chore. Purchasing these supplies seems a sentence to drudgery for them. Others, I know, long for the supplies their classmates have that they cannot afford. That knowledge always breaks my heart. I want everyone to have the best tools possible to open the world of education. Sadly,we know from test scores that this is not the case.

The people I have met in my life who have remained vibrant into their senior years are those that have given themselves over to the pursuit of learning. They are the ones, who in their later years, still take classes, read the newest books, stretch their held beliefs, go regularly to the library, attend lectures, see the latest exhibit or play…challenge themselves to continue to grow. For them, the path of life is a never-ending source of evolving knowledge and experience. They are a constant source of inspiration.

These life-long learners have taken seriously their God-given potential…their on-going love of the world and its possibilities drive their desire to know, to learn, to grow. As Marianne Williamson wrote so beautifully: ‘We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it is in everyone. As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same."

I am thankful for those whose dedication to life-long learning has given me permission to be revitalized at this time of year….to grow, to learn, to shine….to try once again to fill my Composition book with words and dreams.

"God made the earth and established the world by wisdom, through understanding stretched out the heavens. At the voice of God there is a tumult of waters in the heavens, and the mists rise from the ends of the earth. God makes lightnings for the rain and brings the wind out of the storehouses." Jeremiah 51:15-16

Rain….water from the heavens…lightning…tremendous thunder. That’s what we experienced here last night. After a long summer’s drought, the skies opened and rain came down…so powerfully that the earth could not absorb it fast enough. The winds tore through tree limbs sending them shattering to the streets. And all around, thunder moved in what seemed like a circular motion around the horizon, in an eery, deafening noise. The lightning caused the same brilliance of fireworks that fills the skies after the end of a 4th of July celebration. It was cause for celebration on many levels.

The drought has been with us all summer and this one rain will not save the crops, and the fields and  farmers that have suffered. As they go about reordering their lives from lack of rain, many of us that live in the city feel a small relief that our flower gardens are watered, a luxury really in the big picture.  The lack of rain will affect the vegetables that come to our table but not the future of our livelihood, the future of our children’s dreams, even our home. But those who are tied inextricably to the earth know the deep connection of rain and sun and the power of too much and too little.

As I listened to the thunder last night, safe in my living room, relaxing on the the couch, I thought of the things we often say to children when they are frightened by the sound of thunder. "Oh, listen, God is bowling." "Someone just upset an apple cart in heaven." These sayings serve to divert the attention of the frightened by sending their imagination spinning. "Bowling….does God wear bowling shoes? What size?……Do they eat apples in heaven? What about ice cream?" As the imagination reels, the fear dissipates. What a gift!

These little tricks we play to keep our mind off those times when we are feeling vulnerable, particularly human, out of control, will continue as long as there are people to tell stories, people who need comfort, as long as the imagination flourishes. The scriptures are filled with stories that attempt to explain the unexplainable, written by our ancestors as they sought to describe in story and image how the Holy moved through their landscape, their lives.

Today I am filled with gratitude for soaking rain…for at least a momentary relief….for imagination, for story, for the comfort they all bring.

"Look at everything as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time." Betty Smith

Some years ago, I spent a month in Salzburg, Austria. A friend and I were traveling and we had settled into a room we rented in the house of a charming Austrian couple. Each day we would head out early and walk to a nearby cafe for our morning coffee and decadent pastry. We would sit, like true Austrians, for hours, nursing a cup of rich, strong coffee reading the paper, keeping tabs on the rest of the world and what was happening in the United States. Our daily walk to the cafe took us through a park, along the river, where mothers and children gathered, where older men played a lawn bowling game, people walked leisurely and often. Around us the Alps encircled us with strong, snow-capped arms.

My friend and I continued to be awestruck each day by the beauty of the mountains, the splendor of this setting so foreign to us. We often talked about whether or not the natives continued to be struck with the beauty that surrounded them or was it all just ho-hum-home to them. As far as I remember, we never really asked anyone that question, so I still wonder.

This weekend I was struck with what it means to look…really look…and know that you are preserving the moment, savoring with your eyes, ‘seeing it, as if, either for the first or last time.’ As I held a long awaited baby of friends for the first time, I examined her toes, her eyebrows, her fragile limbs and beautiful, sweet face…certainly a miracle I was witnessing for the very first time. As I observed a father walk his youngest daughter down the aisle, I watched looks of joy and hope, of gratitude and deep love pass between them…..a holy moment…..filled with firsts and in some way lasts. Looking…..seeing….preserving….filing memories.

So often I have driven down the highway and will not remember what I have just passed. I am moving at the speed of light…..not looking, not seeing, neither for the first, the last, or any time.  While I do not live surrounded by the Alps, I am privileged to live near the Mississippi River, near gorgeous lakes, surrounded by brilliant flowering plants. I am also blessed each day to meet and greet family, friends, neighbors and strangers….each with faces that delight me and for which I am grateful. Each deserves the intentional look that strikes wonder and awe in my heart.

May this day find me….find you….looking, really looking, with the wonder of first looks and the gratitude of last looks.

"God saw everything that was made, and indeed, it was very, very good."   Genesis 1:31

"We are not blessed because we are wealthy, we are wealthy because we take time to bless." Wayne Mueller, Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal and Delight in Our Busy Lives

Consecrate….it is one of those words most often used in the church, not one we throw around in our daily language. Consecrate means to ‘make holy’, to en-holy. Most often, I believe, it has more to do with taking the time and intention to recognize the holiness that resides within all Creation. Singer, songwriter Peter Mayer has a beautiful song called "Everything Is Holy Now" in which he describes how he once divided the world into the "holy" and the "not"……but as he has lived he has learned to recognize the holy in everything…the red-winged blackbird, the communion host, the scriptures, stories told around the campfire, water in the lake, water in the baptismal font….all holy.

Consecrating takes time and intention…to notice, to name, to experience gratitude, to offer blessing and thanks. It need not happen…should not happen…only in church. It can happen every morning when you turn on your computer….do you really understand how it works?….are you thankful for its gifts to you?….offer your blessing, make holy this techno-moment. As you drink that first sip of coffee, do you think of the many hands that planted and harvested the beans, loaded and delivered the coffee, those that transported it and ground it, perhaps even brewed it, for your morning wake up……holy hands, connecting each moment with the next until it reaches your grateful lips. A moment worthy of a blessing, a consecration.

I am about to celebrate yet another wedding this weekend. It has been a summer of weddings…couples young and old, making a commitment to one another to share their lives through all that life will bring them. It is first and foremost a legal act. Couples receive a license to wed, register with a county office and could be married there if they chose. But most, through tradition, faith or family expectation……. choose,if they are able, to have their marriage performed in a church. Consecration…that is what we are doing when we celebrate a wedding in the church. We are claiming the moment as holy, recognizing the Sacred that moves among us, and in offering our blessing to a couple, we consecrate their marriage. It is a simple…yet bold act. To recognize and claim the Holy within our midst, to offer ourselves, to offer the couple and their life together, and to bless and offer our gratitude……to make holy the moment.

As you move about your weekend activities, may you recognize the holy moments…… and the Holy in your midst. Blessings to you………………

"Our life is a pilgrimage with and into the heart of God." Martin Wallace

Pilgrimage….it is not a word we use often.It is an "old" word. It conjures up heavy, medieval clothing, horses perhaps, certainly self -sacrifice, if not danger. We know pilgrimage is more than a vacation…..different than a trip. Have you ever taken a pilgrimage? Traveled to a place, knowing, hoping, expecting to experience the Holy there? Longing to be changed or transformed in some way?

Martin Wallace, the creator of these Celtic words seems to invite us to think of the experience of our every day walk, our ordinary days as pilgrimage. He goes on "Life is a purposeful pilgrimage, not an aimless meandering trail." The question is "Whose purpose?" Mine? God’s? I certainly seem to be meandering much of the time but maybe that is just my perception……maybe others see it differently….maybe so would the Holy One.

I guess I thought of this because we sang one of my favorite songs at church on Sunday which refers to ‘pilgrims’. I have been singing it in my head ever since. "Will you let me be your servant, let me be as Christ to you, Pray that I may have the grace to let you be my servant, too. We are pilgrims on a journey, we are travelers on the road; We are here to help each other, Walk the mile and bear the load."

That is the kind of pilgrim I can imagine being…..the kind of pilgrim I pray I am. One who wakes every day with the humble hope of being more purposeful, less meandering. One who recognizes those who also walk the path,those who show up as the face of God someplace between the water cooler and the copy machine. One who puts on walking shoes and heads out….on the journey….with and into the heart of God, step by step, day by day, year by year…..rarely traveling very far from where we lay our heads.

"I will hold the Christ-light for you, in the nighttime of your fear; I will hold my hand out to you, Speak the peace you long to hear. I will weep when you are weeping, when you laugh I’ll laugh with you. I will share your joy and sorrow, ‘Til we’ve seen this journey through."   The Servant Song, Richard Gillard

"Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and the pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis, all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace." Frederick Buechner

One mother I know looks forward to the time in the summer when her children become bored. She has never been one to enroll her children in multiple camps and enrichment programs. She relies on the swimming pool, the library and the bounty of "playing outside" to shape the experience of her children’s summer. Of course she recognizes that she has the luxury of doing this. Her work schedule is flexible and her means sufficient.

I thought of this her yesterday when I came home and greeted our younger son. When I asked how he was he replied: "Bored." He has finished the new Harry Potter, the things of early summer that seemed so fulfilling and exciting have worn thin, friends are a little tired of one another, so he’s "bored". I have to admit to feeling a little glee at this. It means he’s had a long enough break from school, he’s ready for something new, something more challenging. Too often, it feels to me as if our children….we….go from one exciting, stimulating experience to the next.

There is value in boredom. Often it is the place of creativity. Boredom provides the lens to see those mountain top moments in a new light, to celebrate them more fully. Boredom can lead to new additions to tried and true recipes…..a side trip down a never traveled road…..the choice of a biography over the always chosen novel…..the act of simply enjoying staring into the middle distance, seeing the intricacies of spider webs on familiar flowers and fences.

Buecher says "all moments are key moments", even those born of boredom. Here is an invitation to curl up with your boredom today. Rest in it, wallow in it, savor it. I have no doubt it might lead you to grace.

"Within the circles of our lives we dance the circles of the years, the circles of the seasons within the circles of the moon within the circles of the seasons, the circles of our reasons within the circles of the moon. Again, again we come and go changed, changing. Hands join, unjoin in love and fear, grief and joy. The circles turn, each giving into each, into all"  Wendell Berry.

Things are changing…can you sense it? If you are awake early, and walk outside, there is the faintest scent of autumn, that crisp air tinged with moisture that signals the change of August heat into the coolness of September days. Walking in the evenings there is the sound of crickets creating a hum in the background that provides a musical score for the setting of the Sun, the changing of the season. Different bird songs are heard…there seems to be an urgency to their sound. Our pansies have finally faded, holding on longer than so many annuals to their sweet colors. Over the weekend I removed them from planters, replacing them with baby mums……the flower of fall. The squirrels in our yard are also busier than usual, running wildly, chasing one another, chewing noisily on the black walnuts they have knocked prematurely from our trees. They sense the change and are preparing. Each day is shorter than the one before, night falling while the air is still heavy with warmth.

The children, too, play more frenetically, riding bikes with abandon down the middle of the street. They know their freedom is coming to an end. A kindergartner across the street marched up and down the sidewalk last week wearing his new backpack, proud and excited with the change about to happen in his life. The backpack which dwarfed him now will give way in not so many years to larger containers that carry his belongings. This was confirmed by the truck next door packed with boxes, books, equipment….. and dreams of the young woman headed back to college.Soon we will load our own car with our son’s belongings as he heads to his second year away from home. Where did the summer go?

Change. We crave it. We long for it. We dream of it. We work diligently for it. It is woven into the very fiber of Creation. And now we have the privilege of being present to its arrival. It carries both hope and a bittersweetness. What has been will not be again…….what is to be is yet unknown.

May we be granted the eyes to see the beauty of it all and a heart to hold the gift of change, of changing.

"Listening looks easy, but it’s not simple. Every head is a world."   Cuban Proverb

Today will be another day guided, hopefully, by the wisdom of my horoscope. "You’ll learn all you need to know by listening more than you talk." read today’s message to me and those born under our sign. It is a message that conjures humility in an extrovert….an often opinionated extrovert….one who often thinks by talking. So today, I should be about the work of listening, you say? It will most surely be a welcome state for my colleagues and family.

Listening. As I read these words, I remembered a book I had purchased some time ago. Practicing the Sacred Art of Listening: A Guide to Enrich Your Relationships and Kindle Your Spiritual Life by Karen Lindahl. It is one of those books that looked so good at the time, one I could use in a class or retreat, but has remained unopened. "It happens at work and at home, with strangers and close friends, in heated debates and in quiet conversations, you hear someone speaking, but often you don’t truly listen." writes Lindahl. Perhaps I’ll get around to reading and using it sometime soon.

While in conversation, so many times, I am preparing my ‘brilliant’ reponse to what is being said. I am not truly listening. In conversation with my children, I am often trying to impart some words, thought to be wise, when what they really need from me is my full attention, my deep listening, rather than the words I ‘dreamed’ would inspire them or set them straight. Listening….it is one of the greatest gifts we offer another …the gift of our undivided, nonjudgmental presence to their words, their thoughts, their vulnerability, their strength.

When our children were in preschool, I remember the teachers saying "let’s put on our listening ears" as they began to give directions for a project or lesson. Today I plan to put on my ‘listening ears’ and walk out into the world. I know there are important words to hear, even more important lives to witness. Today, my prayer is that ‘listening’ will be my spiritual practice. I invite you to join me. Who knows what we may learn?

For most people in the Twin Cities yesterday was spent with split attention….part was on our work, caring for children, running errands, daily tasks….the other on the news of the bridge disaster….who, how, why? The television and radio coverage was filled with stories of near misses, extreme bravery, eye witness accounts and mostly reactions and feelings. In a state that doesn’t think of itself as very emotional, people had the need to talk about how this tragedy has affected them. There were poignant stories and informational ones. All offered with the best intent. Each one connected us in a deeper way….reminded us of what was truly important…..holding loved ones, kissing our children, climbing out of the sea of uncertainty toward understanding how to try to fix what has happened.

Prayers were offered all over the cities, in churches, on streets, in cars speeding to work and in those gridlocked in traffic created by others trying to find new roads to travel without the use of the bridge. There is a unification in this kind of tragedy….everyone realizes how much we have in common, rather than how different we are.The frivolous gets stripped away and we are left standing in our simplest forms….human beings who need each other for help, for healing, for hope.

Over the next days we will continue to watch and wait in some kind of solidarity with those families who have no answers.we hope, for their sake, it will not stretch into weeks or longer.  Our prayers will continue to surround them and hold them in our humble, human ways. We will watch as divers and engineers, firefighters and police officers do their difficult work…..work most of us could never imagine doing. We will listen as people try to place blame and second guess what might have been, what should have been. We will hear government officials make promises they hope they can keep.

But each morning as we leave for work, for school, for a long awaited vacation, for the weekly drive ‘up north’ to the cabin, we will whisper the words Anne Lamott  reports her church says to each person who goes on a trip: "Traveling mercies: love the journey, God is with you, come home safe and sound."

May it be so for you and for those you love. May it be so for all those we never meet.

Traveling mercies…..

"They say that one of the reasons for tragedy is that you
learn important lessons from it…appreciation for your normal life for one
thing….a new longing for things only ordinary…the feeling is that we are so
caught up in minutiae, slicing tomatoes, and filling out forms and waiting in
lines and emptying the dryer and looking in the paper for things to do, that we
forget how to use what we’ve been given. Therefore we don’t taste the plum. We
are blind to the slant of the four o’clock sun against the changing show of
leaves. We are deaf to the throaty purity of children’s voices. We are assumed
to be rather hopeless. Swallowed up by incorrect notions, divorced from the
original genius with which we are born. Lost within days of living this
distracting life. We are capable only of moments of single seconds of true
appreciation and connection. That is the thought."  Elizabeth Berg, Range of Motion

As I awoke this morning, after spending time into the late hours watching news coverage of the I-35W bridge collapse, I thought again of these words from a novel I read long ago. At the time I read the book, I was so struck with their truth that I copied them and have kept them for probably 10 years.

Tragedy. It has a way of waking us up and making us remember the vulnerability with which we walk in the world. It also has the ability to remind us of the gift of the simple, the gift of each ordinary day. And tragedy also puts into blinding perspective what is truly important. I knew this last night when my son called to let me know he was safe, as my family called from around the country unsure of our usual driving patterns, as friends around the cities checked in with each other with urgency, "Are you o.k.?". Tragedy, the great equalizer in the mountains of mostly unimportant worries and busy-ness.

Today, as those trained and knowledgable in recovery and cleanup in tragedies like the one we have witnessed do their work, our prayers are with them. May they be safe and have courage. Today, as the families and friends of those who were on the bridge begin to grapple with what happened, what to do now, how to take whatever steps must be taken, our prayers are with them. May they have comfort and peace. Today, as we walk into the world, vulnerable as we all are, may grace surround each of us…..help us to taste the plum, see the light, hear the children’s voices…..not hopeless, but thankful in our very bones.