That Patient Gardener

This morning I was making coffee and glanced out the window. The view that greeted me caused me to stop and look closer. My densely green trellis was adorned with a single bright blue morning glory. The first bloom of the summer had appeared.

As part of my gardening learning curve I am now in possession of this important piece of information: when I over-water my morning glories, they will not bloom. Unfortunately, the other plants resting next to them need that water or they will not live. So, being faced with the choice between morning glory blossoms and nothing else growing in the large clay pot, I opted for a green summer.

It's now officially autumn. The majority of my flowers have faded and I have ceased to tend them with any care. Even my hardy mums are about finished. But this morning I saw the first of dozens of morning glories ready to burst forth in the vibrant color I was waiting for...in June.

My thoughts went to my reflection on pruning in "Receptivity." Many friends have commented on the significance of finding ourselves "bound sticks" in the ground--just when we were expecting fruit. My lone morning glory reminds me of the opposite truth--fruit can appear when we are least expecting it. "Weeping may remain for the night, but joy comes in the morning" has just taken on visible imagery for me. Tonight I again affirm that "the Father will take all the time he requires...He is a very patient gardener." (Songs of Assent, 67) But rather than serving as an encouraging reflection on the cultivation of patience, I offer it tonight as a joyful reflection on the delightfulness of God's surprising timing.

P.S. As of Sunday morning there are now 15 blossoms on my fruitful vine.

Living in the Questions

Jesus' response to Mary's oblique comment about the lack of wine at the wedding of Cana is "Woman, what does this have to do with me?" Mary's response? "Do whatever he tells you." (John 2:4,5) His response to Peter's cryptic question about the future of John's life at the end of the same gospel is "What is that to you? You follow me." (John 21:22)

Woman, what is that to me? Friend, what is that to you? I think my life would be lived in much greater freedom if these questions were inscribed upon the deck of my soul. I am so easily distracted by attempting to dictate what Jesus ought to be up to, and trying to control what my neighbor ought to be thinking, saying or doing.

Everything from what my son ought to be doing his last year of high school to what the church ought to be doing at this point in history churns in my soul with restless regularity. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to living in the kind of peaceful waters that navigate my heart toward the wise responses to these questions: Do whatever He tells you. You follow me.

Perhaps buoyancy, viewed from this direction, could be considered the grace of living in the right questions. When I do so, I find that I have more than enough to keep my heart and both hands fully on deck.

"Treasured"--A New Song of Confidence

A friend of mine has just released a new book called "Treasured: Knowing God by the Things He Keeps" Leigh McLeroy writes honestly and beautifully about encountering the God who loves her in the midst of real hurts in real life. In this book McLeroy tells her own story of confidence in the God who sees, knows and loves her. And she does it through concrete symbols that bind up reality for all of us: things like a fig leaf, a scarlet cord, a dry waterskin.

The latter belongs to Hagar. Like all of these chapters, Leigh dances between the Old Testament stories and her own journey. Both moments leap off the page. And because McLeroy is so honest, the words create a transparency that invites the reader to join her there.

For example, her chapter entitled "A Dry Waterskin" ends this way: "Like Hagar, I have a God who knows my name. A God who sees. I have never been lost to Him--and neither have you. The scrap of an old waterskin remains to tell the story. He sees. he knows your story. You are His. He has His plans for you. He has been long in the business of naming names, and oh how He loves the sound of yours!"

I need stories that strengthen my confidence in the God who sees. Life is full of vulnerable places that would benefit by concrete objects like a waterskin set right down on my soul's coffee table to be picked up and pondered at reflective moments. "Treasured" is full of such lovely stories.

Remembering "Ma"

Tonight I find myself thumbing through my very worn copy of "Grapes of Wrath." I have another "clean" copy downstairs on my respectable living room bookshelves. The one resting on my desk was already used when I bought it, and is now held together with tape. But it bears the markings from the first time I read this incredible novel in my mid 40's. I return, over and over again, to the extraordinary wisdom, confidence and buoyancy of "Ma." John Steinbeck's initial description of "Ma" through the eyes of her eldest son continues to inspire (and convict!) me. Oh, Lord, strengthen my heart, my responses and my actions! May they reflect you in the good times and in the hard ones.

"Tom stood looking in. Ma was heavy, but not fat; thick with child-bearing and work. She wore a loose Mother Hubbard of gray cloth in which there had once been colored flowers, but the color was washed out now, so that the small flowered pattern was only a little lighter gray than the background. The dress came down to her ankles, and her strong, broad, bare feet moved quickly and deftly over the floor. Her thin, steel-gray hair was gathered in a sparse wispy know at the back of her head. Strong, freckled arms were bare to the elbow, and her hands were chubby and delicate, like those of a plump little girl. She looked out into the sunshine. Her face was no soft; it was controlled, kindly. Her hazel eyes seemed to have experienced all possible tragedy and to have mounted pain and suffering like steps into a high calm and superhuman understanding. She seemed to know, to accept, to welcome her position, the citadel of the family, the strong place that could not be taken. And since old Tom and the children could not know hurt or fear unless she acknowledged hurt and fear, she had practiced denying them in herself. And since, when a joyful thing happened, they looked to see whether joy was on her, it was her habit to build up laughter out of inadequate materials. But better than joy was calm. Imperturbability could be depended upon. And from her great and humble place in the family she had taken dignity and a clean calm beauty. From her position as healer, her hands had grown sure and cool and quiet; from her position as arbiter, she had become as remote and faultless in judgment as a goddess. She seemed to know that if she swayed the family shook. and if she ever really deeply wavered or despaired the family would fall, the family will to function would be gone." (John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath, Ch. 7)

Can we have literary mothers (and fathers) in the faith? I most certainly believe so. This description of "Ma" stirs up deep longing to be me want to rise and take firm hold of "the inadequate materials" in my life. Vision turns to prayer before the words have had a chance to settle. 'Tis a gift I do not take for granted.

Wisdom's Sister Susanna

I picked up a compilation of prayers throughout the ages tonight, and found this prayer by Susanna Wesley. It sounds a great deal like my discussion of fantasy lives (p. 112ff), and I had to smile at finding such an articulate description of a similar challenge 250 years ago. Susanna writes,

• "Save me from leading an imaginary life in the ideas of others, and so to be eager and forward in showing myself to the world. Forbid that I should retain, improve and adore this fictitious being, while stupidly neglecting the truth. Help me not to contend with men's interest, prejudices, and passions, that rarely admit of a calm dispute, when it can be innocently avoided. May I be so far a lover of myself as to prefer the peace and tranquility of my own mind before that of others, and if, after doing all I can to make others happy, they yet remain obstinately bent to follow those ways that lead to misery, I leave them to your mercy." (Prayers Across the Centuries)

Susanna's words rang even more true to me as I had recently engaged an honest, intense conversation over our common struggle to "retain, improve and adore the fictitious being" while stupidly avoiding the truth. I appreciate Susanna's self acceptance, preferring the peace and tranquility of her own mind, and am grateful for one more window into this internal struggle that so often robs us of energy, peace and joy. May the prayer of yet another mother of the faith encourage us as we, too, fight the mental battles that free us to live inside the present tense moments of our own lives. May the Lord lay his hands on our disordered minds and speak peace to us!

Receptivity in the Storm

I suppose my Maine stories will eventually dwindle. Apparently not yet. My friends and I had been gifted with one glorious day after another, but, for me, there was one thing yet lacking as our week drew to a close. I really wanted to see a storm.

I was in the little island village on Friday noon when the wind began to pick up and the islanders began to cast concerned looks at the sky. That was my cue to head back to my cottage atop the rocks at the ocean’s edge.

For the next hour I watched the most remarkable storm blow through. We could see dark fingers of cloud formations reaching toward us from the mainland as the wind picked up. At one point I was standing bare-foot on a rock just below our steps, almost unable to keep my balance as the wind howled around me, and I watched the lighting streak across the horizon.

Eventually I moved indoors as the water, blowing sideways, hit the shingles of our weathered cottage with blinding intensity, and, then, passed on to the other side of the island and out again past the island’s eastern coast to the vast ocean beyond. Within an hour the sun shone again, and rest of the day was bathed in a cool, fresh breeze.

Today I found myself on a much calmer shore, the dunes along Lake Michigan, thinking about that storm and how often the Lord uses storms to crack against the rocks in my own soul and make room for water, and thus life, where nothing but barren land had grown before. Sometimes the storms are very visible, and I join others in hunkering down until the wind has passed. But at other times, the storm is blowing very hard in a corner of my soul that only the Lord can really see. He reaches with fingers not unlike those clouds and finds the rock he wants to crack and the tender seedling struggling to grow up through it. And my job? To stand firm and let the storm blow. For on the other side of my Lord's storms are always refreshing breezes and renewed land. For these I wait in expectation.

Deep Calls to Deep

Not long ago I was searching for simple worship formats for a retreat, and found myself on a site I had discovered years ago. The site, as well as the community, has grown in the interim, and I was so attracted to the simple depth of these prayers that I ordered their prayerbook, Celtic Daily Prayer: Prayers and Readings from the Northumbria Community, HarperSanFrancisco, 2002.

The Northumbria Community is on the extreme northeast of England, a rugged place firmly bounded between Scotland and the North Sea. But, for me, the westerly orientation of my Maine Island meets their eastern coast in more than geographical affinity. I am struck this morning by two fundamental dimensions of this lovely book.

The first is the Invocation of the Holy Spirit:

Most powerful Holy Spirit,

come down

upon us

and subdue us.

From heaven,

where the ordinary

is made glorious,

and glory seems

but ordinary,

bathe us

with the brilliance

of Your light

like dew.

There she is again--the glorious ordinary, caught up into heaven that she might actually bless the earth.

The second striking feature of this book is "The Community Rule of Availability and Vulnerability"

I say 'Yes, my Lord'

in all the good times,

through all the bad times.

And here my heart sings. This is the central theme of "Songs of Assent" and they rightly name the same life lesson as vulnerability and accessibility. The community writes, "This involves availability to God and to others--expressed in a commitment to being alone with God in the cell of our own heart and to being available for hospitality, intercession and mission. Intentional vulnerability is expressed through being teachable in the discipline of prayer, saturation in the Scriptures and being accountable to one another..." (p.10)

I may live on the other side of the pond, but, in my most alive moments, my heart invokes this same prayer, and wants to live by the same rule. Deep does call to deep--even when my life is lived out in a sub-division on the west edge of Chicago (with one amazing week on that Maine coast.) But it gets pretty rugged here at times, too. May my heart remember and live in this space with the same clarity and confidence as is manifest in these wise prayers.

www.northumbriacommunity.org