The Invitation

 "When we stop complaining, we will be in paradise."  

Kabir Helminski     

 

"Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me."
Revelation 3:20   

  

When I came across the quote by Kabir Helminski, I immediately thought of the passage from Revelation.  If we can stop our mental chatter, maybe we can hear Christ quietly knocking, wanting to share an invitation with us.   

 

Our neighborhood is proving to be a pretty good one for sheltering in place.  We have a small produce market close by, as well as a good meat market - both family owned.  With the assistance of my weekly CSA box, I find I do not have to go to Safeway too often. I have time to cook, read, and do some cleaning, although I confess there a few tasks I am behind on.  I am able to dedicate the first hours of every morning to God in reading, meditation, and prayer.  Then, I either do yoga or take the dog for a walk.  I realize I am fortunate in all of this, and most of the time I am grateful.  Yet, this morning, the political news was disconcerting  (as it often is) and for a moment, I almost lost heart. I wanted to get away: maybe take a journey up the coast where Tyler, Jack, and I could stop and have lunch, do a little window shopping, and then find a small inn where we could spend the night.  Of course, little of that is feasible now. However, as I unpacked my CSA box, I found some beautiful red spring onions and a large bulb of fennel.  I decided that fish grilled with those two vegetables might make for a good supper. I went to the market and fairly quickly was able to purchase some fresh ling cod.  I came home, did a bit of yard work, and admired the beauty of the clover blossoms that seem to be enticing bees and other insects to linger in our yard.  I filled the birdbath, and watered some plants.  When I paused, I realized that a cool breeze was blowing.  I gave thanks. Yes, right where I was.       

 

We really are always invited to let Christ in.  For a moment, I lost sight of that ever present welcome. My door was closed.  I neither heard an invitation, nor was I extending one. The table was not set. Regardless, the invitation was there. The love of Christ cannot be experienced in a wish for things to be different.  Instead, we must feast with Christ on the day we have been given, in the midst of the done, the incomplete, and the downright messy.         

   

photograph: San Leandro, May 2020.  The humble nasturtium reminds me that we can use some good lighting.