The Wall Between Two Gardens

“Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.” Khalil Gibran

It is late Christmas day. It has been a good day, a quiet day, and in the stillness of the afternoon, l have spent much time pondering sadness. While sadness may seem like an unfit topic for this day of celebration, it is, nevertheless, a feeling that abounds during the season. Often juxtaposed against the expected emotions provoked by “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays,” sadness can be buried amidst the stack of holiday cheer.

Today is a day to be celebrated and for which to be thankful. So, what is this “wall between two gardens” of which Gibran speaks? For some reason, I am reminded of another quote (by Mother Teresa, I think) where she speaks of having her heart break wide open so that the whole world may fall in. I sense this breaking of heart in myself while at the same time there is a sense of peace and thankfulness. Must we break wide open to find peace?

How can the two co-exist? Is this the paradox of love? Of God? The garden of heartbreak and the garden of thankfulness. The wall of sadness between humanity and divinity. The human part of me wants to focus on the sadness and where I don’t feel like my desires are being met, but the holy will not let me rest there. The divine requires me to remember that ALL my needs are fulfilled and I am never alone even when I may feel lonely. God is with me and I hear the words, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

So why the sadness? Why the wall between the gardens? Images are evoked of the joy of the birth of a new babe and the sadness of his death on a cross—before his resurrection. Ahh—maybe that is the wall of sadness; the sting of death before resurrection.

It seems that this is the place we live today—having not yet experienced our own resurrection to glory, but having tasted it; known the glory in brief moments—the birth of a child, the smile of a stranger, the gift of a song. These reminders start to fracture the wall of sadness and meld the gardens—the garden of birth and the garden of resurrection. This Christmas day, hope is tangible. It is a time to celebrate and experience the glory of God. And, it is a time to sit with the sadness between the two gardens and be thankful. Merry Christmas and Amen.

photo by bill hughlett

Mystery and Mastery

A question is mulling around in my mind. It is a question of movement and waiting—of mystery and mastery. I ponder; can there be movement in waiting? A sigh. A breath. A tear. The rise and fall of the chest. The twinkle in an eye. For I believe waiting does not mean ceasing to live. It is, in my reality, living more deeply and intentionally.

“Wait here,” a mother says to her child. The child can either hold his breath and try to remain perfectly still, living in fear. Or he can begin to examine the world around him--the ant on the ground, a bee tasting sweet nectar or the wind rustling through the trees. In this waiting, this examination of mystery, is he not living more fully and mastering life?

Waiting for the birth of a child, the coming of a Savior, the easing of a pain. Waiting does not mean becoming frozen or comatose. It can be just the opposite. A heightening of awareness. Feeling the very structure of your being—the beams and concrete of your soul; the bare branches of your nakedness; the child inside the mother’s womb.

This living into the mystery is the mastery of life. It is appreciating each moment instead of worrying or analyzing what it will mean later, or like the compliant child, waiting and holding his breath until the very life goes out of him.

So breathe, feel your heart, listen to the rhythm of the earth. The axis has shifted slightly and the light will grow stronger day by day. Remember that without the dark of night, a star cannot shine. So wait. Wait intentionally; not for mastery but for the sake of mystery and all it has to offer.

We cannot see the wind except when it blows through the trees. From where does the rain begin? Was the earth created in seven 24-hour days or billions of years? Mystery. We can move toward mastery, but it is in the movement that life happens. It is the dash on our tombstone—what happens between the day we burst forth from the womb and our final earthly breath. It is movement as subtle as listening to your own heart beat or watching an ant crawl on the ground. And, it is movement as great as facing your deepest fears or having the courage to wait patiently in the darkness.

photo by bill hughlett

Good Morning, Sunshine

Good Morning, Sunshine.

Smile. Rest. Pause in the day.
Take a slow start for
often even goodness—-the bursting of joy-—moves things too quickly.
So pause. Consider things slowly & thoughtfully.

Spend time with a friend. With God.
Listen to the words of a song. Take them in. Absorb them.
Stop to smell the roses. Let their fragrance permeate your soul.

Watch the sunset. The sunrise. Embrace the seasons of life.
Touch a baby’s skin. An aged person’s wrinkles.
Experience the beauty.

Look into another’s eyes. Eyes surrounded by a dirt-crusted face & filthy hair.
Look into the soul. You may see Jesus there or
you may see yourself—hurting and longing for something more.

Slow down.
Take a walk and really see what is around you.
Ride the bus. Smell the smells. Feel the life.
Encounter Christ in the midst.

I met Faith at a bus stop. So beautiful. So memorable.
Was she real?
A stranger in the midst?
An angel?

Take time to smell the coffee. Feel its warmth. Be soothed by it rather than jolted and injected.
Breathe.

Listen to the sounds of silence.
A whispering fan. A chirping bird. A passing car. Notes of a softly playing guitar.
Sounds of silence. Sounds of quiet. A pause in the new day.

Consider things to be done slowly.
The start of the new day. The evening's close.
Prayer. Peace. Patience.

Good Morning, Sunshine.

photo by maryjane hughlett

If I Bring Myself

If I bring myself to you will you rise to meet me or will you flee in fear?
Worse yet, will you advance with attack and retaliation—flinging harm into my face & heart,
using my truth & beauty as weapons against my soul?

“Stand firm,” my heart speaks out. The truth is real.
Stand firm & gently in your beauty.
It will terrify some. They will seek to harm—lashing out with tongues dipped in poison.
But, the poison will turn back to them to be ingested.

You are strong and pure—able to metabolize the poison. Your beauty is not too much.
The truth in your soul is yours and yours alone. Perfectly created & designed; snug inside its cocoon, metamorphosing daily, renewed in the Spirit.

A snake’s venom cannot reach the floating butterfly. Therefore,
Fly away for a time. Rest and feel the wind beneath your wings. Soar.
Remembering the return will be necessary—crucial.
A cocoon is needed for a season not a lifetime.

Spread your wings and share your beauty. It is not too much.

photo by bill hughlett