Friend Time

Hanging out with friends. Will check back in soon. Cheers!

"The greatest sweetener of human life is friendship. To raise this to the highest pitch of enjoyment, is a secret which but few discover." --Joseph Addison

Let the Little Children Come

So, when and how do we cease to be childlike? Must we? Is it a requirement for adulthood? Jesus said, “Let the little children come.” It sounds so inviting. It certainly feels to me that I am closer to God in a childlike and simple state than in all the seriousness of adulthood.

When did things get so complicated? When did I become the grownup? Is there a button that gets pushed? Is it irreversible? I think the change begins when the world starts to press in. The negative messages start to come. “Don’t do this.” “Don’t do that.” “Don’t act like a child.”

Why the heck not? The kingdom of heaven is for the children of God. Get it? The children—not the grownups—the fuddy duddies—the policy makers. Blessed are the poor, the meek, the humble. Who is more poor (and therefore rich) than a newborn babe? Who is more meek (and thus bolder) than a child who knows no condemnation? Who is more humble (and consequently more brilliant) than one who does not recognize (and yet somehow fully knows) his own beauty?

When does it change? Must it?

“We do not quit playing because we grow old. We grow old because we quit playing.” –Oliver Wendell Holmes

photo by geezer dude

Why I Am A Poet

Last night before retiring, I read the chapter “Why I am Mystical/Poetic” in Brian McLaren’s aGenerous Orthodoxy. McLaren referenced several points from theologian Walter Brueggemann’s introductory essay to Finally Comes the Poet which speaks of the Gospel being a “truth widely held, but a truth greatly reduced. It is a truth that has been flattened, trivialized, and rendered inane.”

Both authors go on to make the point that “reduced speech leads to reduced lives.” The point being how do we resurrect a truth that is buried in prose. Here is what Brueggeman suggests:

“To address the issue of a truth greatly reduced requires us to be poets that speak against a prose world. The terms of that phrase are readily misunderstood. By prose I refer to a world that is organized in settled formulae, so that even pastoral prayers and love letters sound like memos. By poetry, I do not mean rhyme, rhythm, or meter, but language that moves like Bob Gibson’s fast ball, that jumps at the right moment, that breaks open old worlds with surprise, abrasion, and pace. Poetic speech is the only proclamation worth doing in a situation of reductionism, the only proclamation, I submit, that is worthy of the name preaching.”

Makes sense to me. Have you ever tried to describe a deep feeling with words? When I struggled with how to describe Jesus in three lines, prose felt totally inadequate. When the words would not come, they made their way in poetry.

So, here’s to the poets of the world! Which leads to one last offering. This morning I read Tess’ Sunday Collection (always a Sunday favorite!) which aptly this week is a tribute to poetry. Take a look. Read a poem. Maybe write one if you feel so called.

photo by geezer dude

Hummingbird

Keeping our eyes open to the miracles of the world. Somewhere in my history the message was instilled that it was “playing with fire” to consider any interpretation of life outside of the Bible. If this is true, I have to wonder why all these other people, places and things were put on earth (i.e. created) if we aren’t supposed to pay attention to them.

That’s a long intro to say that hummingbirds have been showing up on my path and I think they are trying to tell me something. Some of you may recall that in the winter, dolphins became a symbol for me and reminded me to focus more on breath and movement.

Lately, I have been wrestling a bit with other topics. While I am a full believer that life is a journey to be lived rather than endured, some days the realities of life (pain, teenagers, people with all the answers) send me running for the covers. I am also a proponent of taking the time to rest, quit processing and let things just be for awhile, but realize that sometimes it can get a little too comfy down there under the “woes me” blanket and I need a reminder to ease off the covers.

Enter the hummingbird ☺. I have always been fascinated by these lovely creatures and recently they have been popping up everywhere—always at someone else’s home. Yesterday, however, I stood at my kitchen window and watched a hummingbird enjoying my garden. It was the first time I ever saw one in my own yard. I was spellbound.

This morning when I awoke, I thought “wouldn’t it be nice to just focus on the hummingbird today instead of all the other things?” And so after journaling I decided to look up the hummingbird in “Animal Speak.”

Did you know? (The following are quotes.)

• The hummingbird reminds us to find joy in what we do and to sing it out.
• It reminds us that if we truly enjoy what we are doing, we become light as a feather, and life is rich with nectar.
• The hummingbird can help you to find joy and sweetness in any situation. Its swiftness is always a reminder to grab joy while you can—as quickly as you can.
• The hummingbird is a symbol for accomplishing that which seems impossible. It will teach you how to find the miracle of joyful living from your own life circumstances.

Wonderful and rich reminders from such a little creature. And, so I start this day with the blessing of the hummingbird--in my humble opinion, one of God’s great creatures in a teeny tiny package.

Playing with fire? Hmmm. Maybe, but it feels like a risk worth taking!

photo from google images

Art is an Act of the Soul

“The ego has the power to keep us from making art, but it does not really have the power to make art itself. Art is an act of the soul.” Julia Cameron

My ego tells me not to write.

“You suck at writing. No one reads it anyway or if they do they don’t like it.”

But they keep coming back.

“Maybe. Who knows? You are like the one hit wonders of the 60’s and 70’s. You get a little piece here or there that someone likes, but you can’t really write. You have nothing original to say. Give it up. Fold up the blog. Post a few pictures (someone else’s pictures). Creativity? Give up that stuff. It doesn’t pay. It’s just a hobby anyway. You can write for fun but no one wants to read it. Others have said it all before and what’s so special about you?”

No. Wait. I am special. My art is a gift. A gift I give to myself. I can write for me. I love to write. I love the surprises. I find myself with words and peel away the layers as I write.

Lucy lives. Lucy inspires. Lucy creates. Art comes from the heart. My heart. My heart that is filled with joy. My cup overflows and I choose to give out of that abundance each day. Sometimes it is in the written word. Other days it is in relationship or subtle ways I cannot know.

I choose to give in words, deed and action. My lovely garden. A smile to a stranger. A random act of kindness. And, yes, Ms. Ego, I give with my writing.

It is an act of courage each day to turn down the ego and listen to the heart! Let's go for it!!!