One of my favorite stories in the bible is the ascension of Christ after his resurrection. If you’re familiar with the story, you might think, Ah, yes, the glorious return of the Son of God to the right hand of the Father! But that’s not the reason. Actually, I haven’t really sorted out what the “ascending” part of the story means to me, what it speaks about my relationship with Christ, or how I can practically apply it to sharing God’s love with the people around me. With one exception.
The disciples were clueless. After years of living with Jesus, they still hadn’t learned why he came to earth in the first place, or what would come next. And I derive a tremendous amount of solidarity from that one, tiny detail. Continue reading Whatever You’re Expecting, Expect a Surprise
An original poem about the dreams we have, both waking and sleeping and the ambiguous demarcation between those two places. Continue reading Ante Meridiem Elicitations
An original poem, a Christmas wish list of sorts, or to inspire the kind of intimacy between friends that can’t be bought, but given freely. Continue reading Gift Card
An original poem, an homage to ancient friends, of the plant variety. Continue reading Secret Trees
A short meditation to be used in times when your life’s direction seems cruelly unclear. Continue reading Meditation: The Mist
It happens every year about this time. I can feel my soul beginning to retreat. My spirit has spent the warmer months of the year fattening itself up, feasting on the sacraments, the scriptures, the communion of the saints, and a host of other rich delights. Now movement is cumbersome, the world grows colder, and a time of rest is calling me. Continue reading “He Comes When Souls in Silence Lie”
Tonight is the windiest night of the year. Our home is locked tight, doors and windows and shutters, but gusty fingers pry their way into the smallest cracks. The chimes which hang on our front porch play a constant A minor, more winter-warning than summer-song.
The leftover leaves, the yellow- and red- and orange-turned-brown, have lost their grips and are tumbling into a wispy maelstrom, miles from home, months from belonging. Yet, despite this chaos, this ordained destruction, in some last conscious effort never perceived by my schedule, my binge-watching, or my quest for shade-grown espresso, each leaf cries out to return to branch and trunk and root, to feel sun and drink water, to go back to the beginning, when everything was green and full of flowers and fruit.
When everything was new.
Continue reading “Everything Made New Again”