Carried On the Wind

 I was actually able to visit a memory care community last week. Almost all the communities SpiritCare currently serves have been closed to visitors for a month or so. During these  interruptions, I often lose my sense of rhythm. I was reminded of this when I realized I had left my Bible at home. Fortunately, our song sheets always include a few lines of scripture. Just enough, especially in memory care where too many words generally causes confusion.   

I enjoy passing out the song sheets. It gives me a chance to say hello and let people know that I am glad to see them. These moments help me get an overall sense of  who is with me that day. In this particular visit, one resident was completely focused on her coloring sheets. While her motor skills were poor, I appreciated her choice of bright colors. She even had on a sweater that was a bold red with white polka dots.  I said good morning and told her where I was placing the song sheet should she want to sing. She did not acknowledge the sheet or me, but continued with her task. I complimented her on her colors and moved on. 

I did notice that after we had sung a couple of hymns, she looked up and smiled.  She nodded her head with the music. I smiled and nodded my head in return. Afterwards, when I was gathering the song sheets, she surprised me by standing up.  She began to speak with much excitement. However she had almost no discernable voice. What I was hearing was  a rush of air. I could not make out even one word. Yet, on another level we understood one another. She pointed up and I felt certain she was enthusiastically speaking of her love of God. I just kept nodding and smiling and saying yes. It was a sweet moment that included a hug from her. I thanked her, and when we left, I waved good-bye. She did the same.  

Walking into this community is like walking into a very nice hotel. It is beautifully appointed, and the grand piano is tuned and cared for. The residents are well dressed. Yet, even wealth cannot hold Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia at bay for long, and that knowledge makes these visits even more poignant. However, God's love also knows no boundaries. I was reminded of that first Pentecost when a sound arose like wind from heaven and everyone understood one another. Such understanding is possible as long as at least one of us remembers that our native tongue is love.     

   

They were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages as the Spirit enabled them to speak.

Acts 2:4      

 

image: San Leandro, January 2022  

Not a Word

 Yesterday I drove Tyler to Kaiser for his follow-up appointment after his cataract surgery. When we arrived, I dropped him off so he could check in. I parked the car and found a chair in the front entryway of the building. I knew Tyler could easily find me there when his appointment was over. I soon settled in, and I appreciated the natural lighting that shone through the glass doors. I had a book with me, but I often set it down to simply watch the people move in and out of the building. Some appeared to be in poor health, and leaned on a companion or a walker for assistance. Others looked to be confused about where they should be. They looked anxiously about seeking direction from somewhere or someone. Fortunately, an information board was close by to help them get their bearings. Those who were coming in to do their morning work were easy to recognize. They wore prominent badges and moved with a sense of assurance of knowing where they were expected to be. Alameda county has a diverse population, so I was not surprised to see a few women wearing beautiful hijabs. Other women had hair that was either in disarray or tucked under a baseball cap. However, one woman, who walked slowly with a walker, had her hair pulled up and back, secured with a beautiful silver clip. Not a hair was out of place. Another older woman had tucked a plastic plumeria blossom in her hair. I remembered the scent of that beautiful flower and I silently thanked her. There were men as well. Some wore clothes that were very tidy. Others, well, not so much. Everyone wore masks. Everyone appeared to have some place to go, even if it was only to return to their car. 

I found it interesting that in the midst of those comings and goings, I was one of the few who was not expected anywhere except right where I was (Really, that is true for all of us.) I was grateful for the reprieve. I was also grateful that author Diana Butler Bass had given me something to think about. In her book, Freeing Jesus, she comments that the English translation of logos in John 1:1, as Word ( "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God")  was actually a poor translation. She writes, "Logos means "ground or speech or expectation... the very ground of divine being, the breath of God, the presence of the holy in and through all things." Having never felt particularly inspired by John 1:1, I was grateful for the reminder that I was sitting in sacredness. I became aware that I was breathing not just my own breath, but the breath of the movement all around me, and of life even beyond the building. In that moment I heard not a word. I knew only life sustaining breath. I also knew that in that breath healing and wholeness could be found.  

  

  

image: plumeria, San Leandro, 2014. 

Non-Searching

 "I suppose it is the completeness of the commitment that frightens us. But commit yourself but once and you will know from your own experience the love that casts out all fear. It takes many people years to come to that moment of commitment. Yet whether it takes years, months, weeks, or days is of no importance. All that is of importance is that each of us, as best we can in these earthen vessels, is as open as we can be to the essential truth of union."    

John Main, Silence and Stillness in Every Season   

image: an aging camillia blossom, January 2022   

 

Graduation

 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.

image: San Leandro, January 2021. I came across this rose shortly after I muttered to myself, "I am so tired of photographing roses."

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." 

This morning, at least for now, I finished reading Web of Silence by Laurence Freeman. I want to share these concluding words of the book for in them I find a universal truth. By all means, if you want to substitute another word for Christ, do so. If the pronouns bother you, change them. I think sometimes we get too wrapped up in such details. Fortunately, meditation moves us beyond words and concepts, leading us to understand that our words are meant to reveal a path. They are merely  an invitation to travel together for a while.  Let us go gently, grateful that our compass is Love.   

 

Blessings on your journey. 

   

image:  Villa Maria del Mar, October 2021 . This is certainly not a perfect photograph, but it always makes me smile. 

 

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.   

May we all be so generous with the life that is all around us.    

Today is Epiphany. Let us watch for the wise ones as they pass through. If we pay attention, Wisdom will always share her gifts.   

        

"It is very difficult to try to determine what it is that makes a person want to meditate. It has puzzled me over the years. There seem to be so many reasons why people start to meditate. But I think there is only one reason that keeps people meditating. That I think we could describe as a growing commitment to reality."  

Father John Main, OSB   

     

 

  

image: San Leandro, January 2022. I had to lean over my neighbor's fence to take this picture so it is not perfectly composed. The bee would not be still, and neither would the dog.  

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. 

The moment when, after many years
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      

       

  

image: I cannot find the name of this painting, but it is attributed to the illustrator, Joseph Christian Leyendecker (1874-1951).  It came to me via the FaceBook page, Sacred Christmas.