I woke this morning from a dream where I am standing in the back of the Kent Mercantile store in Kent, TX. Yes, this is a real place, although it may not exist anymore ( I love that sentence. ) In the dream, I am standing in the back of the store, at the end of the horizontal cooler where cheese, cold cuts, and probably other items were kept. The man who worked there when I was riding the school bus, came up to me, handed me an envelope, and said, "Congratulations. You have graduated from seminary." Interesting. I wish I could remember his name. He introduced me to English muffins. Very exotic fare at the time. I liked them, and him very much.
Friday, January 28, 2022
Tuesday, January 18, 2022
Gentle Guidance
"The journey is never dull if we make it in faith. The stillness is never static. And over it all, the open-armed, all-accepting embrace of Christ presides. He is the gate, the goal and the whole way. Our lives are soaked in Christ. There is nowhere he is not."
Thursday, January 6, 2022
The Generous Gardner
My neighbor closed her Chinese restaurant a few years ago. When she was running the restaurant, I would generally see her when one or both of us were in our cars. Now, I often see her either on my morning walks or in her garden. The garden is a new endeavor, and she has done a lovely job. Because of this sighting yesterday, I now think of her as a generous gardener; one who leaves a little something for the bees in January.
Wednesday, January 5, 2022
Epiphany Blessings
This fine writing is a reminder that we will always create havoc as long as we think that this world is for the taking. Life is not for plundering. We know all too well the disastrous results of such primitive thinking. Let us be like the Magi, and simply accept the invitation to make this journey. May we not plant flags, but leave only generous gifts in our wake. Let us travel with dignity and reverence, trusting our dreams and the beckoning stars. God calls us ever on. I am grateful to travel with you for awhile.
of hard work and a long voyage,
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
Is the same moment the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
Climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
~ Margaret Atwood