A WONDER ALWAYS TRUE
The water in Rita's dish froze during the night, and the grass, now at seven in the morning, still has a white patina. The sky above Sunshine Hill is the robin's egg blue of early morning, but later today it will turn the deep blue of Autumn as it contrasts with the burnt gold of the remaining oak leaves. We lost many of the leaves on Thursday in a big wind. Lorie, from the hill across the way, stood on her porch awestruck by the great whirls of leaves lifted from their branches into the air and then strewn across the ground. God dances with what has died, loosening it from its attachment to earth in gracious swirls of compassion and love. God prepares for a winter rest and then the new birth. The breath of the Spirit filled her.
Does this sound too dreamy to be true? It is more than true. More than dream. It is a truth of which we only catch glimpses from time to time in the spiraling of the leaves, in the bridal veil effect of an ocean off-shore wind, in the tender care of a good friend. All of us could fill in our own revelation here of what is more than true, that caught us by surprise, that caught us up, that opened our eyes for an eternal moment to seal itself upon our spirits. It is a sign that no matter what our lives have been, what the nature of its failures and disappointments, what might be our broken dreams, our deepest betrayals of our original vision, we hold an overarching Wonder within our spirits – actually ONE with our spirits – and this Wonder is true, always faithful, and our most profound Self, the Christ Paul experienced and refers to time and time again in his letters. To the community in Galatia he said: "…I live, now not I, but Christ lives within me." And here, this morning in the prayer of the Church, I'm reminded that he says similarly to his disciple, Timothy, "We may be unfaithful, but Christ is always faithful, for he cannot disown his own self." I read that to mean that the Christ living within me is one with my own self---so no matter how broken I might be, Christ is whole, and I will never be disowned.
This is my birthday weekend, and these thoughts came as a gift to me during morning prayer. It also came to me that since, in my second year of grieving John's death, I seem unable to sustain the expanse of consciousness required to write or even edit a whole manuscript, I could at least fashion my morning meditation into words and share those snippets of life on my Sunshine Hill Blog.
Who knows what this might become? I certainly don't. But it also gives my friends and acquaintances and even strangers the freedom to read or not to read. Eventually I will post pictures (when I figure out how to do that). I suspect that I'll end up posting several genres of writing: meditation, journaling, stories, memories, poetry, etc. I invite you to come with me on this last year of my sixtieth decade. Your companionship is a blessing in my life's pilgrimage.