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And the Angels Cry
Holy Spirit
Be Still and Know
This morning, I awoke kind of unsettled. I wandered around in the dim early morning light and gave the cats a snack. Then I poured coffee and settled in my chair with shades drawn. It wasn’t time for light. Yet. I felt “Meh” and I didn’t feel like praying. I just sat. Sometimes just the act of being still is exactly what God wants us to do in that moment. So, I just sat. Just so happened that my dial landed on Ecclesiastes today for my reading plan. Perfect. God has a sense of humor, I knew that but sometimes you need to be reminded.
“Cease striving…….”
And don’t we continue to strive even when we are sitting still? Our minds are almost never inactive. As I settled into the quiet, (in my funk) I sensed the presence of the Holy Spirit, and I remembered another morning. He reminded me of when I was so irritated at the traffic noise, and He prompted me to transform my irritation into an offering of prayer. And so, I did. I prayed for every car I heard and the person behind the wheel. I started to feel a love for all those people hurrying wherever they were going, and all the problems and heartaches (and joys) behind each life. Then I heard the train come through and I prayed for everyone on it. I was transformed.
Even now, when I hear the traffic, I hear something different because when you allow God to work, He can change our normal everyday irritations into something much different. And I could ache like I do, for the pines or the ocean and go to go that quiet place, even my closet, and find that I have come out refreshed as if I had just spent time watching the waves crash upon the shore or hearing the wind making the pines sigh.
God uses what we have. And sometimes what we have is not much, but God is God so He can make our nothing into something if we invite Him with only a whisper of a prayer or an almost thought we don’t even remember thinking.
Then, one more thing happened as I sat down to write this blog. I heard David Nevue play “The Lion and the Lamb” and that song always wiggles me because it takes me back to when blogging was new and we were all like neighbors visiting at the back fence or on the porch conversing over a steaming mug of coffee. Those times were so sweet that it almost hurts to remember. But not in a bad way.
Friends, I hope you can glimpse a bit of eternity today. Pause and remember how it must have been when it was all so new. And how it can be right now as you invite God into your everyday normal and precious life.
Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Philippians 1:2
To Hear You Breathe
I come in just about every morning and listen, listen. You don’t know it but I come in so I can hear you breathe. It makes me feel a peace inside, a calm assurance that you are here. Then, on the heels of that, I feel the sting and loss of what it would be like if you weren’t. Like a cavern it grows inside me from some dark place that remains hidden. It nips at my soul’s heels like a reminder of how fleeting it all is. This waking life. I feel the whole creation longing for redemption……release from the curse we’ve put on ourselves.
Every blade, every leaf, every tree whispers it through the air. Animals and humans alike, desperate for food in a parched land, orphans aching for the mother they once knew. So much suffering. Everyone knows something has gone terribly wrong and everyone pitches in their two cents, wondering what the fix is. Because we are human, and we don’t give up so easily we use different and ingenious ways to patch up the gaping hole in our maimed creation.
We wait for the wrongs to be righted. Because we know they must. We see the heartache flashing across our screens, snapshots of someone else’s grief. Our minds scarcely have time to deal with what we just saw and then comes the next, worse than the first. We live in a world that breathes in life and death, and sometimes in the same moment.
You told me how you prayed for the chicks at the Farm store. That they would have a good life. Oh my gosh it makes me cry and think how wonderful you are. How blessed I am beyond measure to have you. How much easier life would be if everyone had a best friend to soften the blows of this life.
Each morning, I long for that quiet place where I can hear from God again. I seek it but can’t quite find it against the backdrop of noise. But there is this. When I open your Book, I am comforted once again. I open it and feel eternity, life, wholeness there. I cling to the hope and knowledge of its rightness, for in between its pages there is the breath of the Holy Spirit. I don’t even have to flip to the back, I know the ending.
No matter what happens in this life, God already completed the master stroke when He said, “IT is finished.” The “It” in this instance is everything. The whole long story from creation to the end of all things.
Redemption for creation happened in one terrible magnificent instant, making all things new when He rose from the grave. Breaking chains of all kinds forever. The old dead oak standing in the field laughs and starts to bud, the cows run out of the gate to fresh grass, no more slaughterhouse for them. Thorns grow soft and bloom. No humans or animals wake with hunger pains ever again. We all eat kale, except Heaven’s kale will taste like nothing we’ve ever had before. No one kills or dies ever again. And contagious laughter will forever ring through the halls of Heaven.
And the little will chicks peep for joy.
And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” Revelation 21:3,4
Do Words Still Matter?
What words could I add?
In light of all the suffering going on in the world right now, what words could I possibly add that would make any difference at all? It’s a question that writers everywhere ask. The answer, thankfully, always comes back the same, and has throughout history. Words matter a great deal because the written (or spoken) word will always have tremendous power to change. Even if that change is a barely detectable shift in the heart or soul. And there will always be readers. In my formative years, there were no computers, no iPhones. We had each other. Real faces, real places. And the things we read in books. We had no choice but to use our imagination.
Flash forward to 1996. I started work at Intel, Corp. For 20 years I worked alongside many others deep within the heartbeat of the technological age. Together, we built the chips that made it all go. I remember back then people said we would be living in a “paperless” world. And now, in 2022 we are drowning in more paper than ever before. And thankfully, bookstores have not become obsolete. Libraries are still being funded. All is not lost.
When you look around at our current world situation, it would be easy to lose hope. Character seems scarce. Crime is off the charts. And yet, we honor a beloved Monarch who has passed into glory. We honor and pay tribute to Queen Elizabeth because she embodied great character and values not readily seen much anymore. She had the role thrust upon her in her youth, and instead of resenting it, she rose to the challenge and continued to do so for 70 years. Splendidly.
Also as Americans, after 21 years we must pause, at least at some point in our waking moments today and remember 9/11. We all remember where we were that day.
On a more personal note, we have just gone through a massive heat wave here in California and yesterday we were released at last and out from under the 100 plus temps for the first time in several days and weeks. For quite a few days we have been hotter than Arizona which is very rare.
Just being able to take a walk without sweltering was like a miracle. There is something so redeeming in it. Getting out, off the phone, away from the barrage of voices that can so often cause unease and weariness of soul. Come away with Jesus on the mountain and pray. Even He, being God knew how important that was.
And read. If you haven’t read Ray Bradbury’s “Dandelion Wine” I wholeheartedly recommend it. It will restore you to all things good, worthwhile, precious and true. Most of all, read the Word that matters more than any others. His. Peace and Blessings, Lori
Your word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.
Psalm 119:105
The Quiet Hour
It’s the quiet of the morning and I think again of what Thomas Merton said about this time in the marvelous anthology “Book of Hours”
Antiphon:
“The most wonderful moment of the day is that when Creation in all its innocence asks permission to “be” once again, as it did on the first morning that ever was.”
This little book was brilliantly edited by Kathleen Deignan. Somehow, she managed to reduce the mountainous volumes of his writing to this perfect little gem. I reach for this book again and again when I feel the turbulence in my soul that comes from a prolonged absence of my morning quiet time when I think I’m too busy.
My soul tends to wither and fall prey to all kinds of clamor that our world can so effortlessly concoct. This small island of sacred space helps to remind me that:
My soul is big enough to hold eternity.
Big enough to hold Him.
Or, rather, He makes Himself small enough to fit inside me.
A humbling thought, one I have to make myself be silent enough to understand. Sometimes Alexa plays David Nevue quietly. Soft piano hymns fall like gentle rain and the words come from a place I remember.
Miracles never stopped happening.
The possibility is there, we just have to accept the Invitation.
Each morning, my coffee, my time, these conversations, become a kind of Holy communion.
Even more important than a good night’s slumber is this rest for my soul.
Here is a great verse to ponder that I found today in the Good Book:
He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. Ecclesiastes 3:11
It’s now the close of the day. First week back to work and it’s Friday tomorrow. I’m calling that a victory.
Old Friend
It washes over me at unexpected times. That a chunk of my life is missing, E asks me if I want to go by my old home. (She knows I will say yes.) She goes by too after Walmart runs to see what’s what. What changes the new owners might be making. When I drive by it’s as if I’m gazing into the familiar face of a cherished old friend, not a place I once lived. No matter how it changes. I will remember…..
I remember little girl yellow and a record player on the floor. And ruffled chenille on the bed. My Mom so mad at the dog for lifting his leg right after she washed it. I remember backyard Birthdays, sheet thrown over the line and fishing for prizes which my brother and his friend fastened from the other side. Names of neighborhood crushes scrawled underneath the windowsills.
And sounds…..the funky doorbell I can hear so clearly. The particular slam of the screen door, the sound of my Mom singing and her voice telling me it was time to get up for school. My groan as I threw the covers over my head wishing for Saturday.
On the other side of town, I see a sad row of buildings on Main taken over by the homeless, now rampant with drugs and stolen piles of garbage. In my mind I remember the sound our shuffling feet climbing the stairs to the upper room of the Mandarin House Chinese restaurant. We thought we were in Chinatown. The gentle clink of teacups and saucers. Okazaki’s was somewhere downstairs, the Japanese shop where they made the best snow cones.
Memories can save us when everything around us is unfamiliar and changing. We walk about in a world we no longer recognize. We talk about it every day. Are we, (the sixty-somethings) the last to remember a world that was somewhat sane?
Of course human nature has always been the same but I truly believe we are just now beginning to see the harmful effects of endless social media. It can’t be healthy to have events plastered our faces at every turn. The mind reels from it. There is no time for the mind to recover from one tragedy when you’re presented with another.
But thankfully, some things will always remain the same. The important things. God knew there would come a day when we would need to derive comfort from looking up at the unchanging planets. He knew we would always need to gaze into the innocent eyes of a newborn to keep cynicism at bay. And to stand in wide-eyed wonder on the shore of an ocean which seems endless.
It is Sunday, June 5, 2022, the day of Pentecost. Fifty days after He rose. And God is still in control. And I remember one day long ago when the Holy Spirit touched down in my little world. On a cold, foggy, miraculous December day close to Christmas.
The Spirit will not always strive with men, but He was with me that day. And He’s with me still. I close my eyes and hear the peace murmured, the rustle of clothes and muffled kneelers leftover from Episcopalian days, and the Doxology from my Baptist days. And singing “Morning is Broken” on the dewy grass at a Methodist Sunrise Easter service.
Life is good. Because God is.
First Sunday of Lent
Each evening the sun’s rays hit my Mom’s sheep and birdhouse at exactly the same spot. I never planned it that way, it just happened. Sometimes the cat poses along with the sheep putting himself squarely in the portrait. More than likely he’s only following the last bit of warmth before evening.
This morning I was leafing through my Dad’s Book of Common Prayer. He had written a note over part of the Eucharist seen below:
This made me smile. I know Dad was proud of his Scottish and English heritage. Since I did my DNA a few years back I’ve found that I’m 28% Scottish. I previously thought I was more English.
I read aloud and as I did, I recalled the soft murmur of voices in the chambers of my heart and memory. I remember the sounds in the old St. John’s church when it was on Lee Street in the middle of town. I heard the soft insulated thumps of prayer kneelers going up and back down. Dust motes floating through stained glass light; I heard us saying the words of the Eucharist all at once:
We lift them to the Lord
It is right to give Him thanks and praise
So many years later it’s as if I’m there. And there are so many other church services down through my youth, Baptist, Methodist, Non-denominational, weekend Church retreats, you name it. My folks were denomination hoppers for a while and now I’m glad they were. Because the common denominator running through them all was tradition, and community.
More than that, it was Jesus.
I remember faces, voices from the past, too many to count. I thought again how grateful I am to have this rich heritage of Churchgoing. Those memories hold you together in all those in between times in the desert of faith when you’re trying to recapture what you’ve lost.
What I am sad about is that I am wondering if my generation will be the last to remember the old hymns. I can still chime in with the melodies even if some of the lyrics are lost. I can see the value in churches holding fast to keeping their traditions alive. In a world that is spinning out of control, it’s comforting to know you can attend church and parts of it at least, will still ring true. Still hold to tradition.
The fundamentalist in me misses altar calls. Remember those? The closing music starts up, and the Pastor stands at the front, invitation open. Hopeful hearts pray while eternity waits. Then one courageous individual stands and scoots across knees out of the row and into the aisle. The most dramatic and personal moment in the church for me was that moment. I was fourteen. I grabbed Mom and she went with me.
And the great miracle is that as Christians, we carry this living cathedral wherever we go. Held safely in the shelter of our hearts. A turn of the key, sealed for the day of redemption. As parents, the most invaluable gift we can give our kids is something, or most importantly someone bigger than themselves.
To deal with life’s blows you need this.
In closing, join me in prayer for our war weary tear-stained world. For you, for me, and the Ukrainian people and (no doubt, many Russian people) many of whom are not in favor of what is going on.
God of the nations, whose sovereign rule brings justice and peace, have mercy on our broken and divided world. Shed abroad Your peace in the hearts of all and banish from them the spirit that makes for war, that all races and peoples may learn to live as members of one family and in obedience to Your law, through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen
Anglican Church, Diocese of Perth.
How it Started
There is no nature apart from God, but there is no reversing the phrase. Apart from God, there can be no nature. If you try to convince yourself otherwise you are lying to yourself and the very laws of physics. Someone set this all in motion and the One who did can just as easily stop it all. Every day we bear witness to a miracle when we wake if we choose to see it. With 330 species of just hummingbirds alone can we really say with a straight face that all of this just evolved? Does saying it with the utmost sincerity make it true?
I hear a resounding no as I sit and watch the day start once again by the river. The river otter is busy crisscrossing over to one side and the other. A fish jumped in the same place three times, casting rings that caught the light. Geese heralded their way before I actually saw them in formation across the sky. And what about this love and companion that animals seem to want from us, and we from them?
A cat sits contentedly from her vantage point on my lap watching for fish to jump. Animals are yet another extension of the great love of God. Evolution can’t come close to explaining the emotional connection between domestic animals and our mutual need for each other. This kind of love and bond can only be explained by God’s great love for us.
Once again I am captivated by how the book of John begins…….In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by Him; and without him was not anything made that was made.
And the Word started it all……
Animals, Belief, Christian living, Creation, Everyday Faith, God’s love, Holy Spirit, Jesus, Nature, Prayer, Reflection, Walking with God
The morning is quiet and the mockingbird sings, picking up the same endless melody he closed with last night.
David Nevue hymns play softly in the background and I am praying for my nieces little cat who is very sick. Seems to be something she ate. There are little teeth marks in the interlocking rubber floor mats in the bedroom. And now there is a big bill, but that pales in comparison to a girl who is heartsick. Oh Lord, sometimes we just get tired of all the sorrow. The world is weary. We are weary too.
As I sit here amidst my tears there is a joy deep down resting at the bottom of my soul, in a feathered nest. It’s that quiet peace God gives. The living promise that He will never leave us or forsake us. That there is still joy for the taking. The assurance that in the end, all will be well.
I walk outside and see yet another mangled baby bird that will never sing a note. This is the fourth. Why do things have to die? I guess sometimes things can be rescued and sometimes they can’t. I think of the little mouse I saved one morning. Two bluejays were attacking it mercilessly. They would pick it up in their sharp beaks and then drop it to the ground. The mouse was terrified and when I went to pick it up it squeaked in fright. The poor thing didn’t know I was trying to save it.
I could feel its little heart beating in my gloved hand, and then it was my turn to be a little afraid. What if it ran up my sleeve? I hurriedly carried the stunned little creature to safety and settled it beneath some shrubs. I wonder if that’s how God feels about us? We fight so hard when He’s only trying to save us from ourselves.
He looks down at the way we’ve chosen to mangle our world, our lives, and then He watches as we walk right past the gate that would swing wide and welcome us in.
He longs to pick us up and settle us in the only place we will only ever find peace and safety? “Rest my child,” He beckons. Finally, exhausted by all our own efforts, we collapse at His feet. He welcomes us, takes us as we are.
He’s the God of second, third, seventh, one-thousand chances. This morning I didn’t think I had any words at all. But God supplied a few, as it turns out.
The train sounds in the distance, life propels forward. And the joy outweighs the sorrow once again. Despite everything, we have hope. Pray with me friends? That a little cat a girl loves will be okay today.
Extraordinary Grace
This is a thankful post on a day we celebrate things like that. It’s about a regular day, yesterday, which was just about perfect. To start, I was off work and the anticipation of having five days off contributed to a general feeling of well being. That in itself is something to give thanks for. In addition we had a real honest to goodness storm with rain and wind. It wreaked havoc with leaves, branches and debris in its wake, but the air was fresh and clean and I took deep life-giving breaths as I stood on the river bank.
The river rolled by looking so smooth and pure I had to stop and say what I call an “awe” prayer. It’s the kind of prayer that is more just an exclamation of exultant joy at the beauty that God has given us. The yard was a mess. I dragged a few big branches to the river’s edge and threw them in. I took a few photos and then went back up our little hill to the Motorhome.
The floor Elaine put in looks fantastic, gives it a whole new look. It was a real pleasure to see that ugly linoleum gone. I found a classical Christmas station which was very pretty but was a bit melancholy so I switched it to Smooth Jazz Christmas and that added to the general feeling of well-being.
After we got ready to tackle items on our list, we went to breakfast at the Hollywood cafe and as usual the staff was wonderful and the food was excellent. We had Joe’s special which was scrambled eggs with hamburger, cheese, fresh spinach with hash browns and toast. We stopped by the Animal Shelter to measure the shelf for the carpet for Coco. Last time I was there he had a terrible trying to get a grip on the slick shelf.
After that we got all the stuff on our list including baseboards to finish off the floor. We had a great time getting everything on our list. I saw some truly miserable people at the grocery store which made me sad for them. I have been where they are.
There was a time not so long ago where I was unmoved by everything. It was a tough time. I didn’t care about reading, nature, anything that usually lifted my spirits. If not for Elaine (and lots of prayer) I don’t know what I would have done. She patiently told me to snap out of it and that made me laugh despite myself. Seriously though, it took lots of prayer, counseling and “motoring” through it. And the Doctor put me on a low dose of Zoloft, which I still take. There may be a time when it’s right to go off of it, but for now it’s working for me.
I guess that’s why I am so grateful for the good days. I remember the despair. There are many more good days now and I enjoy going to the library once again. People wonder why I go every week, but it’s like a tonic to me, even with all the homeless hanging around there. I am happy books make me happy again.
The end of the day had a bit of drama but nothing that tarnished the day for me. The opportunity presented itself to give Mom a hug and that was appreciated. We ended the day with a bit of Amaretto, a yearly Christmas treat. I fell asleep to the sound of rain again. It was marvelous.
It put me in mind of another day a long time ago when Mom and I had a good day together and we were listening to Susan Boyle sing “A Perfect Day.” Mom said, “This was a perfect day.” I told her, yes indeed, it was.
It lives in my memory, and so will this day. I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving from my humble Prayer Closet.
Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night. Rainer Maria Rilke
Lori's Prayer Closet 