Space for God

Sometimes I am overcome by the blessings that abound in my life. I am privileged to be part of a transformative process for others and in the process am continually renewed and transformed myself. Last week, I spent time in West Texas at a ranch some would call barren and desolate. I would call it anything but that.

I wish I were a poet so I could describe all the wonder around me; like the army of minuscule ants streaming up and down the porch pole; the small bird so confident, swaying and speaking from the top of a cottonwood tree; the soft brown bunnies frolicking in the grass; the paintbrush of color spread across the field—shades of red, maroon, violet that I cannot describe mixed with layers of yellow and golden wildflowers; the occasional fuchsia petals looking like purple round porcupines perched on top of gentle stems so inviting yet hiding the tiniest barbs to protect their lovely necks; the buzzing flies and biting mosquitoes, while not my favorite, also have their place.

The gentle breeze touches my skin—Yahweh speaks; clouds so light they look like feathers; a bobwhite calls in the distance. The earth sways with the voice of God, so soft and tender this morning in stark contrast to the majesty and power of the booming thunder and brilliant light show witnessed the night before. The pounding rain turning the red dirt into clay ready for the potter to mold.

My heart cries, “Mold me. Shape me. Wash over me. Cleanse me. Make me pure of heart and gentle like the breeze; strong as the storm yet pliable as the clay. Meet me here, oh God.”

The gentle wind responds, “I am here. Give me space, and time will cease to exist.”

The grass blows in the breeze like stalks of wheat ready for harvest. The grape vines are gone, left in their place a pathway of tiny white flowers. The earth continues. Nature finds its path, its rhythm. The breath of life. The voice of God.

What if with every breath we call God’s name? My heart is here giving God space. God--the ultimate poet. Romantic. The scribe of the world. Magnificent artist. Ultimate in glory. Amen.

Passionate Loess

“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” --Howard Thurman

Have you ever watched a grown man turn into an excited little boy right before your eyes? Or witness a woman so filled with energy that she glows like a kid at the circus? Those transformational moments are Passion—with a capital P. They are life-giving not only for the participant, but also for the lucky bystanders.

We can find passion in the most ordinary of things. I can only imagine the delight and playfulness that God has for creation. Saturday, I had the pleasure of witnessing a man share his passion. Kevin Pogue is a professor of geology (among other things) at Whitman College in Walla Walla and this past weekend led a tour of the wine country land around the area.

While I enjoy a nice glass of wine, I am certainly no connoisseur; and, although I love digging in my garden, I distinctly remember being bored to death in my freshman geology class (Rocks with Ross) at Oklahoma State University. Saturday, however, the earth came alive and took on new dimensions as we stood in the hot Eastern Washington sun mesmerized by our tour guide.

We learned about basalt and loess (a fancy word for dirt) and the Walla Walla valley’s alluvial fan (a term I kind of remembered from geology class). We heard how finer grapes are produced when the root has to struggle for water. We were wowed by a vineyard planted in 30 feet deep river rock with flourishing rose bush sentries guarding each row.

All of those things were delightfully captivating and upon reflection I wondered how that happened to be. Now it could be that I have matured and my attention span increased since my freshman geology class over 30 years ago. Possibly it is because I have significantly more interest in the earth and creation that surrounds me every day. While both observations are probably true, I would have to say the magic of the day came in watching and listening to someone do what they truly love. Think about this, he was talking about DIRT for goodness sake.

Nevertheless, when he stood on the side of a small “Grand Canyon,” warned us to steer clear of the rim that has been known to “spontaneously disintegrate” and then said, “what the heck” and charged off the side of the cliff, he became a young spirit romping through the tall, probably rattlesnake-infested grass to show us what he wanted to communicate. While we gasped from our safe viewpoint and muttered, “Oh, I wish he hadn’t done that,” the earth transformed from just dirt and the man transformed from a middle-aged person into a passionate being that made even the most inert of objects (rocks and dirt) become exciting and interesting. It was truly a gift to behold and experience. Now that is Passion!

Oh, that we could all find what makes us come alive. Tell me. What is your passion? Do you know?

photos by bill hughlett (another man sharing his passion!)

For My Son

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." --Ralph Waldo Emerson

This post is in honor of my beautiful boy who turns 18 tomorrow.

Grace on the Bus

If you don’t know the kind of person I am and I don’t know the kind of person you are, a pattern that others made may prevail in the world and following the wrong god home, we may miss our star. --William Stafford

Do we really know the people around us? Do we even know ourselves for that matter? This week I returned to riding the bus amidst the previous week’s headlines of increased assaults and overcrowding.

It was one of those Seattle mornings where it’s hard to tell if the sky is going to break wide open into sunshine or burst into a deluge of rain. What would the day look like? After a bit of seat shifting between bus stops a middle-aged man landed in the seat next to me. He said, “good morning” which is something different in itself. Most riders just plug into their media (headphones, newspapers, books) and pretend the person next to them doesn’t exist. Soon we were sharing a bit of conversation as he relayed pieces of local good news—a lost runner had been found, baby falcons had hatched. Hmmm. I thought, this doesn’t feel like the bus described in last week’s paper.

The bus felt even lighter on the afternoon ride home even though it was five o’clock traffic and the coach was really crowded. The bus driver was amazing. The word ‘grace’ comes to mind. He let people exit from the back door rather than push through to the front. I witnessed riders offer seats to mothers and children. I saw strangers engage in light-hearted conversation. I saw a woman exit through the back door and deliberately walk around to the front and pay her fare (others had not done this) and then I watched that pattern repeated over and over with no real expectation from the driver.

The bus driver was our guardian for that short period of time and he did an amazing job. He was a keeper of peace, not with enforcement of rules but with kindness and a lightness in the air. Grace. He could have insisted everyone push through the crowd. Instead, he opened another door.

Through what door will I enter the world today? In what small ways might I hope to alleviate someone else’s burden—possibly their need to push and shove to be seen or heard? How will I see goodness and seek to know the person who stands before me or sits beside me? How will I follow my own star and not the headlines of another? How will you?

Pay Attention

"Our purpose is that which we most passionately are when we pay attention to our deepest selves." --humanitarian, Carol Hegedus

photo by lucy