Seeking Spirit

new address

2007-07-21T23:11:00.000-05:00

seeking spirit

Waiting for Rain

2007-07-21T10:57:00.000-05:00

Song of the Rain

Kahlil Gibran

I am dotted silver threads dropped from heaven by the gods.

Nature then takes me, to adorn her fields and valleys.

I am beautiful pearls,

Plucked from the crown of Ishtar by the daughter of Dawn to embellish the gardens.

When I cry the hills laugh;

When I humble myself the flowers rejoice;

When I bow, all things are elated.

The field and the cloud are lovers

And between them I am a messenger of mercy.

I quench the thirst of one;

I cure the ailment of the other.

The voice of thunder declares my arrival;

The rainbow announces my departure.

I am like earthly life,

Which begins at the feet of the mad elements

And ends under the upraised wings of death.

I emerge from the heard of the sea

Soar with the breeze.

When I see a field in need,

I descend and embrace the flowers and the trees in a million little ways.

I touch gently at the windows with my soft fingers,

And my announcement is a welcome song all can hear

But only the sensitive can understand.

The heat in the air gives birth to me,

But in turn I kill it,

As woman overcomes man with the strength she takes from him.

I am the sigh of the sea;

The laughter of the field;

The tears of heaven.

So with love -

Sighs from the deep sea of affection;

Laughter from the colourful field of the spirit;

Tears from the endless heaven of memories.

BLOGGING BREAKFAST

2007-07-09T14:20:00.000-05:00

Our favorite waitress in a "special pose."

Two or three times a week my husband and I have the great pleasure of having breakfast together at our local spot, Cindy's Pancakes also known as Pancakes Plus.

We love the people who come there daily: they are the locals, the workers, the older couples, and the men who make it a habit and especially like to sit at the counter, read their paper, and drink their coffee.

The help are all well-connected and most have worked there for years. They have learned to work as a unit. They help each other to make the tasks flow. They can fill in and substitute to do all of the jobs. They have forged life-long friendships working together.

They get to know all their customers very well. They observe their comings and goings, and miss them when they haven't been there as usual. They chat about all these things with their patrons, the ones who want to chat.

I love the place and the people.

WAITING FOR THE WORLD TO CHANGE

2007-07-08T12:35:00.001-05:00

MUSIC BRINGS US TOGETHER AND THE LYRICS GIVE US A MARCHING SONG. GOD HELP US TO TAKE CARE OF OUR HOME, THE EARTH AND MAY WE ALL WORK FOR PEACE!

Waiting On The World To Change - John Mayer

Me and all my friends
We're all misunderstood
They say we stand for nothing and
There's no way we ever could
Now we see everything is going wrong
With the world and those who lead it
We just feel like we don't have the means
To rise above and beat it

So we keep waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
We keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
It’s hard to beat the system
When we're standing at a distance
So we keep waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change

Now if we had the power
To bring our neighbors home from war
They would have never missed a Christmas
No more ribbons on their door
When you trust your television
What you get is what you got
‘Cuz’ when they own the information ooohhh,
They can bend it all they want

So while we're waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
We keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
It's not that we don't care
We just know that the fight ain't fair
So we keep waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change

(Guitar solo)

We're still waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
We keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
One day our generation
Is gonna rule the population

So we keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
Know we keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
we keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
Waiting on the world to change
Waiting on the world to change
Waiting on the world to change

BLOOM WHERE YOU ARE PLANTED

2007-07-05T09:30:00.000-05:00

Bloom where you are planted

No creature is fully itself till it is, like the dandelion, opened in the bloom of pure relationship to the sun, the entire living cosmos.- D.H. Lawrence

Once conform, once do what others do because they do it, and a kind of lethargy steals over all the finer senses of the soul.- Michel Eyquem de Montaigne

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.- e.e. cummings

Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.- Oscar Wilde, De Profundis, 1905

How much easier is self-sacrifice than self-realization.- Eric Hoffer

Rabbi Zusya said that on the Day of Judgment, God would ask him, not why he had not been Moses, but why he had not been Zusya.- Walter Kaufmann

and finally: "A nation of sheep will beget a government of wolves."--Edward R. Murrow

WHERE EAGLES FLY

2007-07-02T18:13:00.000-05:00

Eaglewatch
Limuw's First Flight
Memories 2007 - Part II
Up Up & Away!

Videos of the bald eagle's nest on Santa Cruz Island off the coast of California. Web cam sponsored by Institute for Wildlife Studies (IWS) and Ventura County of Education (VCOE).

SHALOM

2007-06-28T16:15:00.001-05:00

There's a sweet, sweet spirit in this place
And I know that it's the spirit of the Lord
There are sweet expressions on each face
And I know that it's the presence of the Lord
Sweet Holy Spirit
Sweet heavenly dove
Stay right here with us
Filling us with your love
And for these blessings
We lift our hearts in praise

Isaiah declares, "The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me, because the LORD has anointed me; He has sent me to bring glad tidings to the lowly, to heal the brokenhearted, To proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners."

THE QUIET FAITH OF MAN

2007-06-26T22:23:00.000-05:00

For two decades our family has lived near this farm in White Plains, Maryland. It was always reassuring to me to pass by it because it is so much like farms in Ohio, my childhood home. The changes of the seasons would come and go, and I would quietly mark the subtle differences in the trees, wildlife, crops, and even the wild flowers along its pastures. Quite recently the farm was sold to developers.

This may be its last season of productivity as farm land. I grieve the inevitable changes as do many passersby, who along with me have enjoyed the changing seasons on the farm.

Today, I happened to come by when the workers were harvesting the grain. I remember when they first plowed and seeded in the Spring. I took pictures shortly after the green shoots came up and cast their color on the contours of the farm.

I hope you will enjoy these photographs as much as I enjoyed taking them. ..........Sharon

A tractor makes its way along the fence line

And drops the seeds precisely in a row

If the rains are kind and the winds don't take the topsoil

Before too long the crops will start to show.

The farmer sees the fields around him growin'

He whispers something low beneath his breath

Perhaps a little prayer to help the growin'

Perhaps a word of thanks for all the rest.

A baby child is born along the highway

A tiny little thing upon the land

An okie with his dreams out on the byway

Lifts the tiny baby in his hand

The woman smiles a little smile of knowing

And whispers something softly in his ear

Perhaps a little prayer to help the growing

Perhaps a word of comfort through the fears.

There's a storm tossed ship tonight out on the ocean

There's a soul somewhere adrift out on the blue

There's a dreamer with his eyes upon the heavens

They're all looking for a way to make it through.

You trust the moon to move the mighty ocean

You trust the sun to shine upon the land

You take the little that you know

And you do the best you can

And you leave the rest to the quiet faith of man.

Bill Staines

MY BLOG'S FILM RATING

2007-06-26T08:48:00.000-05:00

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FIRST DAY OF SUMMER

2007-06-21T12:49:00.000-05:00

WHAT SHALL WE GIVE THE CHILDREN?

2007-06-19T10:07:00.001-05:00

2007-06-19T08:12:00.000-05:00

Child Of Mine

Bill Staines

Child of mine, you are the wildest wind and the dearest dream
I will ever know.
Love's lasting light shines out from deep within this father's heart
As I watch you grow.

Child of mine, you are the break of dawn and the brightest star
I will ever know
Love's lasting light comes shining on and on from this mother's heart
As I watch you grow

Chorus
There is a road, and that road is all your own
But we are here, you need not walk alone.
To face, not fear each coming new unknown
Is the way to lift your wings

Child of mine, you are the sweetest song and the greatest gift
I will ever know.
Child of mine, where spirits fly above there is but one
that belongs to you.
So let it grow and it will thrive on love
For it is love that sees us through

You have the hands that will open up the doors
You have the hopes this world is waiting for
You are my own, but you are so much more
You are tomorrow on the wing, Child of mine.

WE ARE lyrics by Asaya Barnwell, Sweet Honey in the Rock

For each child that’s born,

a morning star rises

and sings to the universe

who we are

We are our grandmothers’ prayers

We are our grandfathers’ dreamings

We are the breath of the ancestors

We are the spirit of God

We are

Mothers of courage

Father of time

Daughters of dust

The sons of great visions

Sisters of mercy

Brothers of love

Lovers of life

Builders of nations

Seekers of truth

Keepers of faith

Makers of peace

Wisdom of ages

We are one.

On Children

Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,

which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them,

but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children

as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,

and He bends you with His might

that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies,

so He loves also the bow that is stable.

WHAT SHALL WE GIVE THE CHILDREN? (author unknown)

....The open sky, the brown earth, the leafy tree, the golden sand, the blue water, the stars in their courses and the awareness of these.
Birdsong, butterflies, clouds, and rainbows. Sunlight, moonlight, firelight.
A large hand reaching down for a small hand. Impromptu praise, an unexpected kiss, a straight answer.
The gift of enthusiasm and a sense of wonder. Long days to be merry in and nights without fear. and most of all,

The memory of a good home.

BEST DAD, HANDS DOWN

2007-06-18T23:18:00.000-05:00

Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. Elizabeth Stone

There is no stronger need in childhood, than the need for a father's protection. S. Freud.
She's got her Father's eyes, her Father's eyes: Eyes that find the good in things,
When good is not around.
Eyes that find the source of help,
When help just can't be found.
Eyes full of compassion, seeing every pain. Knowin' what you're going through,
and feeling it the same.
Just like my Father's eyes,
my Father's eyes. Amy Grant

Blessed is the man who hears many gentle voices call him father. Lydia M. Child, in Philothea

Father and Daughter

If you leap awake
In the mirror of a bad dream
And for a fraction of a second
You can't remember where you are
Just open your window
And follow your memory upstream
To the meadow in the mountain
Where we counted every falling star

I believe the light that shines on you
Will shine on you forever
And though I can't guarantee
There's nothing scary hiding under your bed
I’m gonna stand guard
Like a postcard of a Golden Retriever
And never leave till I leave you
With a sweet dream in your head

I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you

Trust your intuition
It's just like going fishing
You cast your line
And hope you'll get a bite
But you don't need to waste your time
Worrying about the market place
Try to help the human race
Struggling to survive its harshest night

I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you

Paul Simon

LET'S BE FRIENDS, ENCOUNTERS OF THE FIRST KIND

2007-06-15T15:06:00.001-05:00

As some of you know, we have a house full of animals: four doves, two cats, a Quaker parakeet, a dog, two canaries, and some fish at the office. In addition, we live across from a lake in a little wooded area with birds of all shapes and sizes.

Our cats and dog have always had an active sibling relationship. Our oldest cat is 19 years old and she has a definite "stay to herself personality." She has always been this way, but will come and warm up when we are very quiet. The other cat and our dog respect this and give her wide berth.

We feed the wood ducks frequently and they come over to our yard and pay us a visit every morning and sometimes later during the day. We also go to visit their various families at the lake whenever our granddaughters come over, and at other times when we have a few minutes. Mika, our dog, always goes along. Over the months the ducks have come to know that they can trust Mika to hang around and not be a problem for them. Occasionally she will playfully scamper toward them, but this is rare. The ducklings are now learning to trust Mika also. Each fall the mature ducks move on to other lakes and streams and the young ones stay behind to winter over and raise their own new babies the next year. We faithfully feed them through the cold winter months, as do most of our neighbors.

Our cats give space to our birds, although our younger cat does like to annoy the canaries by poking her paws in their cage. I guess you could call it play time.

So we have many of those moments of encounter in our animal family world: watching the first hello, the thoughtful pause, waiting for trust to be established.

These pictures that I have found on the internet in a variety of places captures some of the essence of animal relationships. I hope you enjoy them.

Thanks to letsbefriends.blogspot.com for several of the pictures.

Sharon

WHO WILL WATCH THE HOME PLACE?

2007-06-10T04:20:00.003-05:00

Deep friendships that have lasted a life time. Friendships that have spanned a continent with unspeakable losses that frame their innocence and wonder. Grace-filled days. Music filled nights and weekends. Back-yard carry-in dinners at friend's homes. Babies. Kindergarten. God-parents. Sharing of family ties. Flower and vegetable gardens. Workouts and saunas. Running and walking. Tennis. Afternoons in the Park. Music festivals. Exploring our pasts and deepening our present. Fixing our cars. Birthdays and breakups. Leaving and being left. Tears, laughter and personal triumphs.

Yesterday morning I had an opportunity, when Lewis and I were picking up some potting soil and half-price mulch, to listen to a track from a CD of an old dear friend of mine.

Her name is Sallie. I haven't seen her face for many years now, but I hear from her still and I think of her often. Christmas before last she sent me her latest CD. We were once in a strong friendship circle. There was Debbie, Ruth, and Betty and all the men. Boyfriends and husbands. And more.

We worked together and learned our craft of therapy together. Our lives moved on. Decisions were made. For Sallie, it was the West that called her, where the "rivers change direction, across the Great Divide." Sallie and I loved to sing harmony and play instruments together.

She was the original Song Catcher. She went to all the festivals in West Virginia for many years and made friends with Hazel Dickens and others who sang the way my mother sang, the shaped note songs, the passed down musical traditions that can be traced back to their Celtic roots. In her group's CD she sings them perfectly, the exact inflections of rhythm, the nuances of harmony and wording. I am but a connoiseur and enjoy the singing and the songs. She is the real artist.

I wanted her to stay. It was so hard to say goodbye. I cried and cried. Just as I did when Debbie left. And when we moved away ourselves.

My primary craft at the time was my work as a therapist, developing and directing a child mental health service, teaching family therapy technique with eager learners as my colleagues. We were each other's teachers, and serious about it. We did not compete but revelled in each other's growth and change.

We each moved on. But the grief went deep. And yesterday morning I cried for a long spell as I listened to Sallie's sweet and clear voice. I put the track on repeat and listened over and over again as she sang these words:

Leaves are falling and turning in showers of gold

As the postman climbs up our long hill

There's sympathy written all over his face

As he hands me a couple more bills.

Chorus:

Who will watch the home place

Who will tend my heart's dear space

Who will fill my empty place

When I am gone from here.
There's a lovely green nook by a clear running stream
It was my place when I was quite small
And its creatures and sounds would soothe my worst fears
but today they don't ease me at all.

Chorus

In my grandfather's shed there are hundreds of tools.
I know them by feel and by name.
And like parts of my body they've patched this old place
When I move them they won't be the same.
Now I wander around touching each precious thing
The chimney, the tables, the trees
And my memories swirl 'round me like birds on a wing
When I leave here, oh, who will I be

Who will watch the home place
Who will tend my heart's dear space
Who will fill my empty place
When I am gone from here

Music lyrics, courtesy of Laurie Lewis, click title above to hear and farm pictures are of my Grandfather's farm...
Click here and listen to Wild Coyotes, Sallie's band, play on WV public radio show
and here is the http// address: wildcoyotes-stringband.com

100 (PLUS) YEARS IN MY HOME TOWN

2007-06-06T09:42:00.000-05:00

Lynchburg, the town where I grew up in Highland County, Ohio, was a robust community at the turn of the twentieth century, much because of a successful distillary that was located there. However, the economic times were soon to change, when the local women's temperence union was successful in obtaining political pressure to remove the distillary from the area. If you click on the letter written by the owners of the distillary in 1915 warning of the economic impact, you will see that they were saying they were not so much interested in selling it locally as they were interested in exporting it. These local church women, some possibly from the church pictured below, won the day. The rest, as they say, is history. click Crusades to learn more

Today the WCTU is the oldest voluntary, non-sectarian woman's organization in continuous existence in the world. The WCTU is a founding member (1888) of the National Council for Women (Frances Willard was its first president) and the International Council of Women in 1893.

The gray-toned picture was taken after part of the distillary was converted to a feed mill (Ewing's) Below are my junior high school, the local Christian church, and a recent downtown scene. The other feedmill picture below and taken more recently is much more similar to how it looked when I was there in the 50-60's. By that time it still functioned as a feed mill. The building in front was the locker where we kept our frozen meat that we had butchered.

These last pictures were taken after the turn of the 21st Century by a photographer whose family is from Lynchburg, along with a picture I found of the new local library. I am very happy to read of how large and active the library is. When I was a girl growing up that is where I spent many of my afternoons. Mrs. Wilt, the librarian, was always helping me discover new good books. The covered bridge was on our route home to the farm from town and now the road has been re-routed to help form a park.

I BIND UNTO MYSELF TODAY

2007-06-03T12:05:00.000-05:00

I bind unto myself the Name,
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One and One in Three.

By Whom all nature hath creation,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
Praise to the Lord of my salvation,
Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

I bind unto myself today
The strong name of the Trinity
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One and One in Three.
I bind this day to me forever,
By power of faith, Christ’s incarnation,
His baptism in the Jordan River,

His cross of death for my salvation,

His bursting from the spiced tomb,

His riding up the heavenly way,
His coming at the day of doom,
I bind unto myself today.

I bind unto myself today
The virtues of the starlit heaven,

The glorious sun’s life giving ray,
The whiteness of the moon at even,

The flashing of the lightning free,
The whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,
The stable earth, the deep salt sea,
Around the old eternal rocks.

I bind unto myself today
The power of God to hold and lead,
His eye to watch, his might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need,
The wisdom of my God to teach,
His hand to guide, his shield to ward,
The Word of God to give me speech,

His heavenly host to be my guard.
Against the demon snares of sin,
The vice that gives temptation force,
The natural lusts that war within,
The hostile men that mar my course;
Or few or many, far or nigh,
In every place and in all hours,
Against their fierce hostility
I bind to me these holy powers.

Christ be with me,
Christ within me,
Christ behind me,
Christ before me,
Christ beside me,
Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me.

Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ in quiet,
Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

*Presiding Bishop's homily at House of Bishops' closing Eucharist The icon above is Rublev's and it depicts the relationship of the Trinity. Bishop Schori discusses her views of this icon and its implications in her sermon. You can go to it by clicking on the link at the beginning of this paragraph.

An excerpt: "Recall Rublev’s great icon of the Trinity, and the way in which each of the members of the Trinity looks in a different direction. They are not gazing out into space, however, but at another being, at another of those present around the circle. If we are created in the image of that social God, we too are invited to look as God does, toward another image of God, to turn our eyes upon Jesus—and also on the many images of God all around us.
"The ability and willingness to focus on those many images of God around us is fundamental to our lives as Christians. God has the ability to hold all of us together in one field of view, affirming each one as child and beloved. Our baptism into the life of God is about seeing as God sees, with integrity."

BLUE ON BLUE

2007-06-02T16:23:00.000-05:00

Hypothetical Arms in the Milky Way, Courtesy National Geographic

Bishop Robinson

2007-06-02T11:56:00.000-05:00

Bishop Robinson

Chorus:
And here's to you, Bishop Robinson,
Jesus loves you more than you will know.
God bless you, please, Bishop Robinson.
Heaven holds a place for you today,
Hey, hey, hey

We'd like to know a bit about your sexuality
We'd like to help you learn be our guest.
Look around you, all you see are sympathetic eyes,
Stroll around at Lambeth, just don't force us to confess.

Go back in the hiding place where no one ever goes.
Stay there in the closet with the rest.
Just a little service to our Anglican affair.
Most of all, please, hide it from the press.

Koo-koo-ka-choo, Bishop Robinson,
Jesus loves you more than you will know.
God bless you, please, Bishop Robinson.
Heaven holds a place for those who pray,
Hey, hey, hey

Sitting on a sofa on a Sunday afternoon
Don't think about your marriage or your fate.
Try to laugh, and not shout about it,
Now you've got to choose
Every way you look at this you lose.

Where have you gone, Jesus, Lamb of God
Your children turn their lonely eyes to you.
What's that you say, Bishop Robinson.
The Holy Spirit guides and comforts you.
Woo woo woo. Woo woo woo.

adaptation from Simon and Garfunkel's Mrs. Robinson; picture courtesy of New Hampshire Episcopal Diocese

I AM SPIRIT LED BY LOVE

2007-05-30T08:47:00.000-05:00

I am the ship,

My billowing sails will hold, though tempests lash and tear!
The hungry waves in fury seek to rend me bow to stern, undaunted I remain...
My Captain steers our course into the sun.

I am the Light. Though monstrous shadows lurk with cunning guile,
And seek to shroud the way . . . to cow the self with phantoms of the night,
Courageously I shed my radiance . . .dispel the gloom.

I am the force That staunchly stands immovable and firm . . . foundations strong. Savagely protective . . . pliable . . . serene
I am the soul of adoration, weaving dreams of stardust , cosmic ecstacy.
I am the Alpha . . .the Omega . . . the dream . . . reality, that brings rich promise of eternities to come.

I am spirit led by love . . . your other self am I . . .
The song of hope that whispers in the breeze with soft caress, I beckon and entice towards mystic shores.
Aspiration by Ann Davies, 1943

INTENTIONALITY

2007-05-28T11:10:00.000-05:00

The secret of beginning a life of deep awareness and sensitivity lies in our willingness to pay attention. Our growth as conscious, awake human beings is marked not so much by grand gestures and visible renunciations as by extending loving attention to the minutest particulars of our lives.

Every relationship, every thought, every gesture is blessed with meaning through the wholehearted attention we bring to it. In the complexities of our minds and lives we easily forget the power of attention, yet without attention we live only on the surface of existence.

It is just simple attention that allows us truly to listen to the song of a bird, to see deeply the glory of an autumn leaf, to touch the heart of another and be touched. We need to be fully present in order to love a single thing wholeheartedly. We need to be fully awake in this moment if we are to receive and respond to the learning inherent in it.

Christina Feldman and Jack Kornfield, Stories of the Spirit, Stories of the Heart, More on book, and order through Amazon

PENTECOST PROMISE

2007-05-27T11:28:00.000-05:00

Bishops Klusmeyer (W.Va.) and Curry (N.C.) arrive

Presiding Bishop
Katherine Jefferts-Schori listens to the preludes

Yesterday, in the nave of Washington Cathedral, Shannon S. Johnston was consecrated as Bishop Coadjutor of the Diocese of Virginia.

The liturgical service was one of joy, solemnity, and beauty with a variety of musical contributions and including a traditional Anglican chant sung by those in attendance. Bishop Johnston will ultimately succeed Bishop Peter James Lee who will retire in 2010 and now leads 195 congregations of the Diocese of Virginia through a particularly stormy time of dealing with breakaway parish issues that have arisen as a result of the consecration of a gay bishop within The Episcopal Communion.

Johnston long time friend Rev. J. Neil Alexander, Bishop of Atlanta, delivered a bell-ringing sermon and reassured us all that the ordination of a new bishop is an act of faith and a sign of hope and it sends a message to the naysayers that "Our faith is strong and vigorous....we will not give up," He urged Shannon Johnston to follow the example of the first Bishop of Canterbury, whose feast we were celebrating, to witness to the Resurrection, and to "call us from things passing away...so that a new creation is a present reality for those who are in Christ," continuing Jesus' mission of justice and mercy.

Alexander challenged him to faithfully serve the common good with words of encouragement and to boldly and relentlessly speak truth to power in the public square and in the church for those who are unable to speak in their own behalf, those whose voices are not heard: the hungry and the homeless, the sick and infirm and also "those who suffer from unrighteous discrimination because they are differently blessed."

Presiding Bishop Katherine Jefferts Schori led the service while thirty Bishops from around the Communion encircled and laid hands on Johnston as he kneeled and then was presented to the congregation as he affirmed his consecration saying, "My spirit rejoices in God our savior!...My heart today is indeed very full."

To watch a webcast of the Consecration, available through the National Cathedral, click the blog title and scroll to 50 minutes to begin the service after the preludes. To go to the sermon scroll to 1 hour 50 minutes. This photo courtesy of AP

Magdalen friends, Eleanor from Vienna, Va. and Christopher from Philadelphia chat with Lewis (WA) before the service.

An informal reception was held in the Bishop's Garden

OUR FINE FEATHERED FRIENDS

2007-05-26T03:01:00.000-05:00

SUPREME LIGHT

2007-05-23T12:27:00.000-05:00

PHOTO COURTESY OF ICHIMUSAI

Thou art the Supreme Light
Thou art the supreme light, and the eyes of the pure soul shall see Thee, and clouds of sin shall hide Thee from the eyes of sinners.

Thou art the light hidden in this world and revealed in the world of beauty, "In the mount of the Lord it shall be seen."

Shelomo Ibn Gabriol

Therefore, if your whole body is full of light, and no part of it dark, it will be completely lighted, as when the light of a lamp shines on you." [Luke 11:36]

"I honor the place in you in which the entire Universe dwells, I honor the place in you which is of Love, of Truth, of Light and of Peace, When you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, we are One." Namaste

GRANDPARENTS

2007-05-20T06:55:00.000-05:00

Grandma. Grandma. Music to my ears. I love the sound of these words. As I come through the door, the girls look up, and seeing me, they often come running toward me, with arms open and smiling. It melts my heart.

BOKA. BOKA. THAT IS THE NAME GIVEN TO MY HUSBAND BY THE GIRLS. HE IS A FRIEND TO ALL CHILDREN. AND HE LOVES TO SPEND TIME WITH THE GIRLS AND THEY KNOW IT. HE QUICKLY JOINS THEM IN THEIR REVERIES AND EXPLORATION. USUALLY HE HAS A GENTLE AND REASSURING TOUCH. SOMETIMES, THOUGH, HE GETS GOING WITH THEM, JUST AS HE DID WITH OUR BOYS. THEY GET ROUGH AND TUMBLE AROUND THROUGH HIS ARMS AND ONTO THE FLOOR. SOMETIMES IT IS A BACKWARDS SOMERSAULT, OTHER TIMES A RIDE ON HIS BACK AROUND THE FAMILY ROOM.

Yesterday we went for a ride in Northern Virginia. We stopped by the beachfront on the other side of the Harry Nice Bridge and enjoyed watching the fishermen and families along the edge of the water. One family began to form along the edge and their profiles were so interesting I reached for my camera and took a few shots.

They were young and vigorous, but as I listened to the play I heard the young boy cry out, "Grandma, Look!" They were picking up rocks and skipping them along on the surface of the water and his had been a success.

IN MY PRACTICE I SEE YOUNG PEOPLE WHO ARE GOING THROUGH A TIME OF DEPRESSION. ONE OF THE LOSSES THAT OFTEN STANDS OUT IS THAT OF A GRANDPARENT. I HAVE LEARNED THAT MANY OF THESE YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN HAVE FOUND THEMSELVES PRIMARILY ATTACHED TO A GRANDMOTHER WHO RAISED THEM, OFTEN WHEN PARENTS WERE BUSY TRYING TO MAKE THE MONEY NECESSARY FOR THEIR SURVIVAL OR JUST TOO IMMATURE TO ASSUME THE PARENTING ROLE. GRANDMAS HAVE STEPPED IN.

Retirement plans are forestalled, vacations rearranged: all for grandchildren. And these grandparents wouldn't want to have it any other way. It is their joy and satisfaction in life.

WHERE ARE ALL THE (HONEY)BEES?

2007-05-17T06:59:00.000-05:00

HONEYBEES www.gpnc.org/honeybee.htm

The central feature of the bee hive is the honeycomb. This marvel of insect engineering consists of flat vertical panels of six-sided cells made of beeswax. Beeswax is produced from glands on the underside of the abdomens of worker bees when they are between 12 and 15 days old. House bees take the beeswax and form it with their mouths into the honeycomb. The cells within the comb will be used to raise young and to store honey and pollen.

The comb is two-sided, with cells on both sides. ....the cells are perfectly uniform in shape. Not only that, but the combs are built a precise distance apart depending on whether they are meant to contain food or young bees. The nursery area of the hive is called the brood comb, and that is where the queen lays her eggs.

(and from Wikipedia) Hives consist of a single queen bee, a seasonally variable number of drone bees to fertilize new queens and some 20,000 to 40,000 worker bees. The worker bees raise larvae and collect the nectar that will become honey in the hive. As they leave the flower, bees release Nasonov pheromones. These enable other bees to find their way to the site by smell [10]. Honeybees also release Nasonov pheromones at the entrance to the hive, which enables returning bees to return to the proper hive[10]. It is believed by scientists that one reason for the collapse of colonies in the United States is that the bees are losing their ability to "sense" their direction and return to the hives. Picture is courtesy of Wikipedia.

THE CRISIS

From last night's Anderson Cooper 360 degrees: (Photo courtesy of Richard Fuller)

...researchers say up to one-third of all the honeybees in the United States have vanished. And no one knows why exactly. Scientists are scrambling to explain the sudden, mysterious die-off of honeybee hives -- something they've named "Colony Collapse Disorder" -- before it gets worse. (These)....experts say honeybees are responsible for one-third of all the food we eat; and according to the U.S. Dept. of Agriculture, they add $15 billion to the bottom line of the agriculture industry.

(Anderson Cooper and his staff)...traveled to Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, to meet the man who first sounded the alarm about the mystery and pressured the government to investigate. In the course of two months, he says he lost some 80 million bees -- 2,000 of his hives. And he's not alone. Beekeepers in more than 25 states and Canadian provinces are reporting major losses, too.

....(at) the USDA Bee Laboratory in Beltsville, Maryland, and Penn State University (scientists) are performing bee autopsies and DNA work. (And they)....are looking at a combination of a relatively new insecticide along with an increase in bee viruses. It's a one-two punch that weakens the bees' immune systems and leaves them susceptible to pathogens. They expect to announce preliminary findings in the next few weeks.

And while some of the affected hives seem to be improving, experts at the USDA say that is because there is more food available for the bees during the warm spring. They warn it's still too early to tell whether America's honeybees can overcome this mysterious disorder.

THE BREEZE

2007-05-16T09:13:00.000-05:00

The naked earth is warm with Spring,

And with green grass and bursting trees

Leans to the sun's kiss glorying,

And quivers in the sunny breeze.

~Julian Grenfell

Morning Spring Breeze, adapted from original poem by R.L. Stevenson

Up with the sun, the breeze arose,

Across the lake from my repose,

Gentle she rustles far and wide

To stir my dearest at my side.

Throughout the morning tale she tells;

Both gull and geese her strength repels

But then within each rhythmic swell

They turn again and forward sail.

God calls us, and the day prepares

With these sublime and gracious airs:

I take my refuge in their flights

These are the Spring's most holy rites.

I bask inside this womb of earth.
Where with the morning came rebirth
God calls me from inglorious ease,

Forth to travel with the breeze

BENEDICTINE GARDEN FLOWERS

2007-05-14T16:14:00.000-05:00

IN SEARCH OF COMMUNITY

2007-05-12T23:36:00.000-05:00

Today my husband, Lewis, and I attended a ceremony in which a Magdalen Pub friend became
an Oblate of St. Benedict, having associated herself
with the Benedictine Sisters of Virginia.

The intention of oblation is to "be concerned about striving to be a daughter or son of God and a temple of the Holy Spirit. This means that an Oblate offers one’s self (the meaning of the word “oblate”) for the service of God and others to the best of one’s ability.....(carrying) out the usual duties of one’s particular state in life, wherever one is, continuing whatever profession or occupation in life one has by caring for - family, friends and others."

One of the Sister's spent time with those of us who attended and supported the Oblates in their commitment process and shared at length about the community and its work. My husband went along with a group and another Sister for a walk through the "Place of Peace."

The monastary is located in the gentle rolling hills of Virginia, near Manassas and "A Place of Peace" now includes an eleven-circuit labyrinth, a beautiful setting among cedars of the Stations of the Cross, extended wildflower and perennial gardens, two farm silos that have been transformed by large stained glass windows as symbols of peace, along with an ancient grotto.

We both found the community to be warm, open, and spiritually refreshing and we enjoyed the opportunity to be with our friends from the Magdalen Pub.

At right are Magdalen pub-sibs Grace, Susan (Benedictine Oblate), myself, and Eleanor in a group photo (courtesy of Eleanor).

THE GOOD ENOUGH MOTHER

2007-05-11T15:49:00.000-05:00

Mother's Day 2006

My mother is gone now. Gone since October. I miss her a lot sometimes. Something inside me misses her, although it is hard to describe exactly how I feel this. Fortunately for me, I have a sense of completion about our relationship.

That was not always the case. We had a breach in our relationship that happened when I was about ten years of age. It was a result of the stress of my father's illness on each of us. We withdrew from one another. It was a matter of coping. I felt sorry for her and she felt helpless and at a loss as to how to fix what was going wrong between us.

Even though this was happening and continued over the next thirty years at least, we never directly talked about it. I could not because I did not want to talk about the feelings and I did not want to make her feel more anxious and criticise in any way. I realized always how much she was doing, how fully she filled her difficult shoes, and the fragility of our lives during the months of my father's illnesses and times between.

Eight years ago she came to live with me and my husband. She called me one day, as had been our agreement, and told me that she thought the time had come. She could no longer really care for herself; her friends were overwhelmed with some of her needs and could no longer be a sufficient social cushion and support. Her mind was "going." She was having difficulty concentrating and keeping her life straight. She was no longer safe driving herself.

So we drove the U-Haul to her Senior Apartment in Ohio, with our two older sons in tow, and helped her move to our home. Her friends and neighbors helped. I arranged a celebration in her honor so that she could say a proper goodby and within days she was the newest member of our family.

It was a tough adjustment. My mom was a messy sort of person. I am an orderly home-body: a bit over-concerned about cleanliness if anything. She seldom washed her hands and would leave a virtual trail behind her in her going from task to task. She was a cook, had even been a cook for her living at one time, and we were commonly eater-outers.

She wanted to cook for us. And more than anything else, she wanted to "sit and visit." Her sitting and visiting was often an experience of hearing the rendition of stories that I had heard many times before in my life: stories about her family whom she loved dearly. She was the epitome of the holder of oral tradition. Detail, after detail. Day in and day out. The more she loved a family member the more she could remember the tiniest of interactions with them. Family life of sixty and seventy years before. She could tell you the weather, who was there, what they said, what they looked like and describe the scene so that you could picture it clearly in your own mind. Her stories, while fascinating, wore me out. As much as I wanted to show respect for her and patience to listen, my tolerance would quickly be reached.

We made a way of life together that worked for her and for my husband and myself. We spent a lot of time at our office. She learned to go on with her life at the house without us and to not focus her life so much on ours. We developed some patterns and rhythms. Going to the store. How to arrange the kitchen cabinets. How to keep the bathrooms in order. How to stay out of each other's way. Often there was less social time than she would have liked. Other times, we had much fun and spirited sharing together, sometimes involving the extended family and visits with grandchildren and eventually great-grandchildren.

She took absolutely no interest in our church family. "I don't like that kind of church!" said it quite plainly. Another issue was that she had problems with bladder control and it made her ill at ease socially. She virtually refused to put herself in a position of being embarassed by having an accident with strangers present. At least, I was soon to learn, she would take some of these risks with me and we could have an emergency kit with us at all times so that we could safely make trips to the grocery or other events such as a concert.

She liked going to my son's church. It was a contemporary service, with gospel groups, music flashed on walls, and a walk in atmosphere so that those who attended could even bring drinks with them to their seats. It was a wonderfully spiritual process, with prayer and liturgy crafted to bring the group together in worship. On one occasion, as she was taking a fast trip to the restroom, her underclothes literally fell down around her ankles. The minister, who loved my mother dearly, and was especially fond of her as the most senior member of the congregation, helped her along and made sure she was able to save face but both ended laughing aloud when my mother made a good joke of it. She had a great sense of humor and laughed easily.

There were seven major surgeries, including open heart, hip replacement and a resection of her colon because of cancer. Extended cancer care. Difficult transitions. But mother was tough and brave and she almost always kept a positive attitude and "can do" approach to recovery. When she was given the final diagnosis of stage three/four cancer she even found a way to face her final trial in life with dignity and compassion for others.

This is when we bonded the most deeply. I was caring for her everyday, seeing to her most intimate needs. We had already talked through our issues and I had come to understand her way of dealing with the stress we had endured. But seeing her decline and maintain her reserve and face the daily demands of cancer progression, I came to finally recognize more fully her gentility, her kindness, her big heart and how it had been broken in our early lives together.

We had never had words, except for a couple of times in my childhood. There was little reason to discipline me, because I was generally spirited but definitely obedient. And she did not need to run a tight, tight ship and respected my personhood. She loved being with us daily and provided an amazingly secure environment for my brother and me even through the worst of life trials.

And she loved my father dearly, illness and all.

She was a great lady. And I do miss her. But I feel good about how we ended our journey together and while I don't know exactly the qualities of the spirit life she has entered I do know that she is safely in the hands of her Lord, the One she truly followed and loved as best she could.

MORNING RURAL IMAGES

2007-05-09T14:07:00.000-05:00

Farmer's Market, Hughesville

Amish and Mennonite Outdoor Market, Southern Maryland Regional Library

Charles County Barns

Bird Songs at Dawn

2007-05-07T18:01:00.000-05:00

The last few weeks we have been able to leave our windows open in our home. The morning symphony of numerous birds awakens us. I have been so moved by these morning greetings that I decided I would try to find a poem and some pictures that might capture them.

I looked and looked and then I had a memory of singing a choral work from the Australian Bush which replicated the morning sounds of birds in its lyrics. The Maryland Choral Society, under the Artistic Direction of Jason Gotshall, sang Iain Grandage's Three Australian Bush Songs just a few seasons ago. I looked around online and found a section of the work that captures the sounds of the Australian Kookaburra (above), Currawongs (below), and Cicada. This section, Dawn and Birds, is sung by the Dawson County High School Chamber Chorus. I recommend its sound to you. You may have to click again the proper title listing after clicking the site below.

Three Australian Bush Songs

The Yard Sale

2007-05-06T04:52:00.000-05:00

The last few weeks we have been preparing ourselves to detach from our "belongings". They so "belong" that they have been with us for our several decades together: my husband's chest of drawers from his high school years, a small cherry stand that was a part of my bedroom set when I was a young girl. All in all, in the world's valuing: about three hundred and thirty-five dollars worth of something.

In our valuing they had been worth much more: so much that we had moved them hundreds of miles and from state to state, not wanting to part with them. Heart truth be told, we still don't.

Some of the items we sold, if you could call it really a sale and not a giveaway of sorts, were my mother's. They were the hardest for me and I put many of them in a pile labeled "free". I enjoyed watching folks sorting through and taking these little treasures with them as they slipped into their cars and drove away.

The greatest blessings of the day were the friends and family who came and helped us with the project. They were sensitive and aware. They realize this is a life event and were gentle with their suggestions and generous with their time. They nudged and listened and sat and stood as docents in our yard, gathering in the nickels and dimes.

A Japanese neighbor girl came by twice with her mom. She was brought in her stroller, but timidly walked over to peruse the lawn blanket covered with stuffed toys. She chose one and showed her mom who gave her a quarter to pass along. It was a big task for her. She hesitated, almost to a complete stop, in the process. She must have felt the better for it because when mother circled back and the little girl stopped again, she quickly chose a smaller animal from off the blanket, and passed a nickel this time with hardly a wrinkle of emotional distress!

Other stuffed animals, carefully chosen by Lewis and me decades ago for our young children, found new doggy homes. Real doggy homes. Human doggy owners lovingly checked out the toys to make sure they would not be a mess when doggy teeth would finally wear through the fabrics and stitching. One stuffed animal, a fox, was an immediate hit. Very soft and pliable. So did a lamb with a bell and long legs.

The fox was one I had bought for Lewis at some happy young moment in our lives: Lewis is the fox in our magic forest.

I am the duck. I was named the duck by my friend Dale. Dale, the whale, has been gone now for twenty-some years. Dale's wife Jan, the squirrel, works in a library out West. A squirrel will always make a good librarian.

We lived in a magic forest together once. We had a story book with ourselves in it as characters. That was Dale the Whale's idea. He was a good story-teller. Such a good story-teller that he went full time and became a preacher.

So, when the doggy mother took the fox: I remembered us all then. Our magic forest. Our laughter and friendship.

Memories were being sold by the minute yesterday morning.

RED SUNSET

2007-05-05T00:27:00.000-05:00

Sailors believe that red sunsets are a sign of better weather tomorrow.

FROM A DISTANCE: POEMS FROM SPACE TRAVELERS

2007-05-03T23:51:00.000-05:00

I am an incurable romantic
I believe in hope, dreams and decency
I believe in love,
Tenderness and kindness.

I believe in mankind.
I believe in goodness,
Mercy and charity

I believe in a universal spirit
I believe in casting bread
Upon the waters.

I am awed by the snow-capped mountains
By the vastness of oceans.

I am moved by a couple
Of any age – holding hands
As they walk through city streets.

A living creature in pain
Makes me shudder with sorrow
A seagull’s cry fills me
With a sense of mystery.

A river or stream
Can move me to tears
A lake nestling in a valley
Can bring me peace.

Leonard Nimoy

"High Flight" by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
Magee was a teenage poet when he wrote "High Flight." Magee died in his Spitfire on December 11, 1941 at the age of 19, just a few weeks after penning the poem.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds -- and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of --
wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence.
Hov'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew --
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

MOUNTAIN LAUREL

2007-05-03T15:19:00.000-05:00

Mountain Laurel

Within our laurel's blooms I spy by chance

two catbirds, improvising ear to ear,

as each upon the other's art descants.

I stand in awe of how the two cohere.

Aware of me, perhaps, they flush, and clear

the laurel, soaring to our neighbor's orchard

and leave the scrawny poet in me tortured.

leland jamieson (click blog title to go to home page)

In all the years we lived in the mountains of West Virginia, one of the most cherished experiences I have is of becoming familiar with Mountain Laurel. It thrives throughout the woodlands there. It is such a delicate pink flowering plant and has blooms are that are so beautifully structured and intricate.

Gray Catbird courtesy of Wikibooks.org

MAY DAY, MAY QUEENS AND FESTIVALS AND WISHES

2007-05-01T15:38:00.000-05:00

Many years ago, one Easter Sunday morning when my husband and I lived in Barboursville, W.Va., and had a small three year old son, a young neighbor girl of ours paid us a Sunday visit. She was dressed in a simple pastel dress, was wearing matching heels and short white gloves. She was also carrying her Bible and had just come from church.

She came by to wish us a happy Easter. She was warm and her intentions filled our life with her sweetness for a while on that Spring day. We were away from family and friends, having moved to a new home in a faraway place. We were touched and reassured by her gentle presence.

I have often wondered, if I could do my life over again, just what one thing would I change? My answer, and it always remains the same as I ponder the thought: I would learn to be more of a "lady." To have more manners, to be more thoughtful, more serene, and polite.
I would enjoy even more the feminine things: dresses, babies, flowers, scents, giggles, and a lightness of being. I would not want to be one of those "as-if" ladies who wear their appearance of femininity as a mask for a heartless drive to power. I'd just want to be softer and lighter, more serene and gracious than I am, like the young girl that Easter morning.

These days I enjoy seeing these traits develop in my granddaughters in the encouraging arms of their mother. She carefully does their little nails and puts the matching bows in their hair. She insists that they mind their manners and learn to share. She always speaks well of them and offers a gentle embrace. Today's blog is to honor young ladies, their beauty, innocence and joy of life.

I pray that the world will become safer for them all.

THE MAY QUEEN by ALFRED LORD TENNYSON

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;

To-morrow ’ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year;

Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day,

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green,

And you’ll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen;

For the shepherd lads on every side ’ill come from far away,

And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers,

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers;

And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray,

And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass,

And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass;

There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day,

And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

All the valley, mother, ’ill be fresh and green and still,

And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,

And the rivulet in the flowery dale ’ill merrily glance and play,

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,

To-morrow ’ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year;

To-morrow ’ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day,

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

WATCH DANCE AND WEAVING: May Day Festival at Bridport Mountfield Green 2005

A SUNDAY FAMILY EVENT: BUILDING A PLAYCENTER

2007-04-30T07:45:00.000-05:00

ANNMARIE NATURE CENTER and a personal story

2007-04-29T22:43:00.001-05:00

from website description:

Annmarie Garden is a thirty acre public sculpture park located in scenic Solomons, Maryland. The Garden features an inviting paved path that meanders through the woods past permanent and loaned works of outdoor sculpture. The recent addition of sculpture on loan from the Smithsonian Institution’s Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden has increased the number and significance of works of art in the park. The Garden is open daily and is an intriguing place to explore how art and nature merge....Annmarie Garden is an enchanting place.

Beginning in 1935, Mr. B. Y. Morrison,...Director of the National Arboretum, began hybridizing azaleas at the Plant Introduction Station in Glenn Dale, Maryland. By 1952, over 400 hybrids had been introduced. The goal of Mr. Morrison's work was three-fold. First, he wanted to develop plants with profuse, huge, and varied blooms. Second, he wanted to develop plants that were cold-hardy. Third, he wanted evergreen azaleas that would bloom from mid-April to mid-June. The resulting collection of azaleas, known as Glenn Dale Hybrids, are a spectacularly varied collection well represented at Annmarie Garden.

Annmarie is our family's cat. She is now ten years old. When my youngest son left for college I was feeling much loss. So we went over to the Gardens for the weekend to see the artist's work that was on display and to enjoy the beautiful grounds. We had once lived near Annmarie Gardens and thus enjoyed the bayside environment even more.

As we were driving away, I asked my husband to pull the car over so I could take a closer look at the beautiful gate (one side of which is pictured above). It turned out that the Director was posted there and she had a shoe box with little wet kittens inside. Someone had left the tiny kittens in the Gardens parking lot. Four had survived and the Director had given them all baths because they were "quite a mess," she said. I picked out the one that I found especially appealing, took her home, and she has been my treasured cat. For several weeks she would sleep beside me in the bed at night. She grew to be a beautiful and refined feline. She ultimately had two litters of wondrous kittens and when we had her neutered it was a hard thing to do. She is a Tuxedo Gray and has similar markings to our Mika, a Boston Terrier. They are very attached and jealous with one another and quite a funny pair. I will always be grateful to the Gardens for being the original home of my cat, Annmarie.

Now is the time to visit......all the Azaleas are in bloom.

SPRING by RUMI

2007-04-27T16:24:00.001-05:00

SPRING

taken by my son at

Cypress Swamp Nature Center

Again the violet bows to the lily.

Again, the rose is tearing off her gown.

The green ones have come from the other world,

tipsy like the breeze up to some new foolishness.

Again, near the top of the mountain

The anenome's sweet features appear.

The hyacinth speaks formally to the jasmine.

Peace be with you. And peace to you, lad.

Come walk with me in the meadow.

The Friend is here like water in the stream,

like a lotus on the water.

The ringdove comes asking, Where, where

where is the Friend? With one note

the nightingale indicates the rose.

Many things must be left unsaid because it is late,

but whatever conversation we have not had tonight,

we will have tomorrow.

Earth Day 2007: Happiness Is a Smaller Eco-Footprint

2007-04-24T09:55:00.000-05:00

by Stephen Leahy (excerpt)

....(A)fundamental issue in modern culture is separation from nature,” she says. “We don’t see that we are connected to the natural world.”

With more people living in cities than in rural areas for the first time in human history, the delusion of separation is likely to worsen.

A recent scientific study found that more children knew the characters of the video game Pokemon than could recognise an oak tree or an otter, according to the Ecological Society of America, a Washington DC-based organisation of 10,000 ecological scientists.

....And yet there is ample evidence that children who connect with nature perform better in school, have higher academic testing scores, exhibit fewer behavioural challenges, and experience fewer attention-deficit disorders, the ESA said in a recent statement.

The evidence is unequivocal that a focus on materialistic lifestyle makes people less happy,” Thompson said.

“The index clearly shows that you can have a better quality of life with less use of resources,” he said. However, despite these facts and decades of talk about sustainability, all economies are still based on the concept of endless growth.

....The things that bring us joy or happiness and a good life don’t have to cost the Earth,” Marks told Inter Press Service.

KING OF PEACE WALKS THE HEALING PATH (a link)

2007-04-22T07:46:00.000-05:00

The labyrinth here is a tool to use in contemplative prayer and meditation. Labyrinths are often confused with mazes. But while a maze has dead ends and blind alleys, the labyrinth has only one path leading both in and out of the center. The labyrinth is flat. One can always see the center. The destination is assured, so that the mind can be still and attentive.

Walking the labyrinth clears the mind and gives us insight into our spiritual journeys. The labyrinth does nothing on its own. It is simply a tool helpful for many people in deepening their prayer lives. Each walk into and out of the labyrinth is a unique opportunity to meet our creative, loving God through contemplative prayer.

The pattern above is the labyrinth pattern built into the floor of Chartres Cathedral in France more than 800 years ago. It is the best known Christian labyrinth design, and the pattern for the labyrinth to built into the floor of the worship space in our new building at King of Peace....

Walking the Healing Path

WATERFALL Cris Williamson

2007-04-19T16:09:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, it takes a rainy day

Just to let you know
everything's gonna be
alright. Alright.

Sometimes, it takes a rainy day, just to let you know
everything's gonna be
alright.

When you open your life to
the living, all things come
spilling in on you.

And you're flowing like a river, the changer and the changed.

You got to spill some over, spill some over, spill some over, over all.

Filling up and spilling over, it's an endless waterfall. Filling up and spilling over, overall.

Filling up and spilling over, it's an endless waterfall. Filing up and spilling over, overall.

Sometimes, it takes a rainy day, just to let you know everything's gonna be......alright.

The Changer and the Changed (click to order)

BLACKSBURG PRAYER

2007-04-17T13:46:00.000-05:00

Photo, Amy Sancetta, AP

Loving and compassionate Lord, we pray for all those who were injured, suffered loss of friends and loved ones, and all who have died in this terrible tragedy. Receive and comfort them in Your arms.

Strengthen and heal those who responded and whose spirits were injured by this tragedy as they sought to protect and aide these students and teachers.

And for those who now travel and seek the reassurance of reuniting again with loved ones we pray that you will place your gentle healing breath upon each of them that they may always feel the warmth of Your love and protection. In Christ’s name we pray.

if you would like to light a candle for the victims, click

Candle Vigil Page

to read Sheila McJilton's poem click

April Gun Metal Morning

Sojourner's Magazine

Grief Article.

SHRINE MONT WEEKEND 2007

2007-04-15T07:45:00.000-05:00

The road to Shrine Mont in the early Spring is filled with verdant meadows, hillsides and mountains, red buds and dogwoods in bloom, bright green cow pastures, and my favorite seasonal change of all, the pale burgundy buds and chartreuse leafings among the treetops

One usually arrives to find dinner ready and waiting in the large dining hall. The hall is in an old hotel surrounded by porches on three levels. If you go to the third floor you will be enchanted by the ballroom that was used by gentrified Easterners in the 1800's when they came many miles by buggy to bathe in its medicinal spring waters.

Becky, here shown with her grandchildren, was one of the hospitality folks who welcomed us to the weekend in Hall House, the customary gathering place for those from our parish. We have been coming to Shrine Mont since the late 1980's and spend the weekend in worship, outdoor exploration, group games, and especially in lots of laughter and relaxation.

Once the welcoming circles and activites are complete for the evening, we settle down for worship. This year, Martha, our priest, began the weekend with an Order of Compline that was adapted from the New Zealand Prayer Book

Saturday starts off with a big breakfast and afterwards many of us hike to either the Fire Tower or the Cross a shorter distance up the mountain. I didn't quite make it to the Cross, but another weekender hiked back down the mountainside with me and we sat for a spell on the Adirondack chairs, got better acquaintanted, and were then joined there by my son. During the day the parish children are cared for and take up some kind of learning and craft project.

Saturday evening is a time of continued worship, organized games, more food and fellowship and sometimes extends to the wee hours.

Sunday morning we usually gather for worship at the outdoor Shrine, but this year we were rained out and had our morning service at Hall House using an Iona Eucharistic prayer.

Sunday dinner is always fried chicken and all the fixin's. Then its time to say goodbye and head home. Here is a picture of my son, who was driving ahead of me heading down the moutain pass.

Returning home by way of Luray Caverns past skyline drive is a beautiful southern route home.

Cloud-veiled Blue Ridge Mountains in early Spring

MOOSE IN THE MORNING, MAINE

2007-04-13T08:54:00.000-05:00

Misty Morning in Maine http://www.brendatharp.com/

A poem of life and art by one of our Poet Laureates, Mona Van Duyn (1921-2004).
Moose in the Morning, Northern Maine

At six a.m. the log cabins

nose an immense cow-pie of mist

that lies on the lake.

Nineteen pale goldfinches perch

side by side on the telephone wire

that runs to shore,

and under them the camp cow,

her bones pointing this way and that,

is collapsed like a badly constructed

pup tent in the dark weeds.

Inside, I am building a fire

in the old woodstove with its rod overhead

for hunters' clothes to steam on.

I am hunting for nothing—perhaps the three cold pencils

that lie on the table like kindling

could go in to start the logs.

I remember Ted Weiss saying,

"At the exhibition I suddenly realized

Picasso had to remake everything he laid his eyes on

into an art object.

He couldn't let the world alone.

Since then I don't write every morning.

"The world is warming and lightening

and mist on the pond

dissolves into bundles and ribbons.

At the end of my dock there comes clear,

bared by the gentle burning,

a monstrous hulk with thorny head,

up to his chest in the water,

mist wreathing round him.

Grander and grander grows the sun

until he gleams, his brown coat

glistens, the great rack,

five feet wide, throws sparks

of light. A ton of monarch,

munching, he stands spotlit.

Then slowly, gravely, the great neck lowers

head and forty pounds of horn

to sip the lake.

The sun stains the belittled

cow's hide amber.

She heaves her bones and bag

and her neckbell gongs

as she gets to her feet

in yellow blooms of squaw-weed.

On the telephone wire

all the little golden bells are ringing

as that compulsive old scribbler, the universe,

jots down another day.

I KNOW A GREEN CATHEDRAL

2007-04-10T14:24:00.000-05:00

I know a green cathedral,
a hallowed forest shrine.

Where trees in love join hands above
to arch your prayer and mine.

Within its cool depths sacred,
the priestly cedar sighs.

And the fir and pine lift arms divine
unto the clear blue skies.

In my dear green cathedral
there is a quiet seat.

And choir loft in branched croft
where songs of birds hymn sweet.

And I like to think at evening
when the stars its arches light.

That my Lord and God treads its hallowed sod
in the cool, calm peace of night.

Next weekend we'll be heading out to Shrinemont for a Getaway Weekend. What a beautiful place it is, and it will be a time for reflection, relaxation and good company with friends!

EASTER IMAGES AND SHAPED NOTE VERSE

2007-04-09T10:12:00.000-05:00

THE GARDEN HYMN

The Lord into his garden comes,

The spices yield a rich perfume,

The lilies grow and thrive.

Refreshing show'rs of grace divine

From Jesus flow to ev'ry vine

And make the dead revive.

And make the dead revive.

O that this dry and barren ground

In springs of water may abound,

A fruitful soil become.

The desert blossoms as the rose,

When Jesus conquers all his foes,

And makes his people one.

NOW THE GREEN BLADE RISETH, LOVE IS COME AGAIN

2007-04-07T09:35:00.000-05:00

THE CAKES......

Today is a day of

extraordinary celebration. Right in the middle of the Easter weekend. What a day. We wake up to snow. It covers large areas of ground, rooftops, tree limbs, and as it melts, there is a Spring fairyland all around us.

THE TWO PRINCESSES

AT THEIR BIRTHDAY EVENT

Today is our granddaughters' third birthday(s). Our son and his wife hosted a party for family and friends, large and small. We were able to enjoy spending time with old friends and some even came to join us from as far away as Charleston, South Carolina. There was lots of laughter, proud parents and grandparents, uncles, aunts, great aunts and uncles, and most of all, a prized new baby in our daughter-in-law's family.

Now the green blade riseth from the buried grain,

Wheat that in the dark earth many days has lain;

Love lives again, that with the dead has been:

Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.

In the grave they laid him, love whom men had slain,

Thinking that never he would wake again.

Laid in the earth like grain that sleeps unseen:

Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green,

Forth he came at Easter, like the risen grain,

He that for three days in the grave had lain.

Quick from the dead my risen Lord is seen:

Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.

When our hearts are wintry, grieving, or in pain,

Thy touch can call us back to life again;

Fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been:

Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.

Good Seed, Good Soil, Abundant Harvest Gwen Meharg

Hallelujah Nuns

Gethsemane and Golgotha...watercolor by Graham Easthope

2007-04-05T08:29:00.000-05:00

On that glad night, in secret, for no one saw me, nor did I look at anything, with no other light or guide than the one that burned in my heart. This Night guided me more surely than the light of the noon to where he was awaiting me--him I knew so well--there in a place where no one else appeared.

St. John of the Cross, Dark Night of the Soul

Pictures from Gethsemane, one from the 1930's while the color photo is contemporary and both show the same olive tree.

Come, come whoever you are
Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving. It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vow
a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.... Rumi

BAPTISM (WATER)

2007-04-03T15:11:00.000-05:00

The Light On the Water by Molly Wolf

You pursue light on water, but you don't actually ever catch it; children learn that one very early. But at the shingle beach, the light seemed to stop, and so did I, and looked out at it. The glow of the water against the softness of the sky.

I'd gotten sadly cynical about love of late; I'd seen it bash itself like this water against the rocks, making no apparent difference, retreating in what looked like defeat. I'd seen how spirituality can become a way of evading one's own real issues, how Godwardness can actually be a full-out flight from painful realities. And I'd retreated myself into the silence of...not unbelief or disbelief, but belief suspended in the chaos and pain. I had found myself retreating into a silence devoid of any whisper of God.

Yet here was a light on the water, no longer moving, still not reachable, but there. Just for a moment, I knew that, however little it looked that way to me, I too was standing in the same light. Just for a moment I knew that while I felt like a darkness absorbing the light, to God I was water reflecting in its glory.

The wind died down for a moment, and just for that moment, I felt all the warmth of the April sun. I thought how quiet God's victories might be. Maybe for some, there's the glorious knock-knock-you-off-the-donkey experience, but that's never been my way; always for me, it's not the rainbow but the groundwater quietly seeping up from sources I can't begin to imagine.

I thought of the quiet sense of right that comes in the shrillness of wrong, of the painful, healing silence that enters when the shouting falters, exhausted, of the emptying-out that leaves you not lonely but peaceably alone.

To Review the Book: WHITE CHINA: FINDING THE DIVINE IN THE EVERYDAY

DID THE WOMAN SAY

2007-04-02T09:27:00.000-05:00

My song is love unknown,
my Savior's love to me,
love to the loveless shown
that they might lovely be.
O who am I
that for my sake
my Lord should take
frail flesh and die?

He came from his blest throne
salvation to bestow,
but men made strange, and none
the longed-for Christ would know.
But O my friend,
my friend indeed,
who at my need,
his life did spend.

Sometimes they strew his way, and his strong praises sing,

resounding all the day hosannas to their King.

Then "Crucify!"is all their breath,

and for his death they thirst and cry.

Why, what hath my Lord done? What makes this rage and spite?

He made the lame to run, he gave the blind their sight.
Sweet injuries! Yet they at these
themselves displease, and 'gainst him rise.

They rise, and needs will have my dear Lord made away;
a murderer they save, the Prince of Life they slay.
Yet steadfast he to suffering goes,
that he his foes from thence might free.

Here might I stay and sing, no story so divine:
never was love, dear King, never was grief like thine.
This is my friend, in whose sweet praise
I all my days could gladly spend.

DID THE WOMAN SAY

Did the woman say,

When she held him for the first time in the
dark dank of a stable,
After the pain and the bleeding and the crying,
"This is my body, this is my blood?"

Did the woman say,
When she held him for the last time in the
dark rain on a hilltop,
After the pain and the bleeding and the dying,
"This is my body, this is my blood?

Well that she said it to him then,
For dry old men,
Brocaded robes belying barrenness,
Ordain that she not say it for him now.

Frances Croake Frank

The Church Gray Goose Struts Its Stuff

2007-03-30T12:58:00.000-05:00

Is this really a crisis?

Which way do I lean?

Let's go in peace to love and serve the Lord!

A Thoughtful Gift

2007-03-28T20:18:00.000-05:00

Last weekend we were expecting that it would be our last time this year to spend time with my brother and his wife Nancy. For several weeks Roger had been working on a set of tables and chairs to be used by the granddaughters on their playhouse roof garden.
I would estimate that Roger spent more than 40 hours carefully planning, cutting, constructing and finally painting these intricate chairs, including an adirondack chair he cut out based on one he looked at in our neighborhood, along with a matching picnic table. As you can see here, the table is quite an accomplishment. It was a thoughtful gift, don't you think?

So, the granddaughters and all the family were invited over to see what Roger had done and to enjoy the new playhouse addition. Here are the pictures we took Saturday of Emily in play, along with Annabelle in a game of "I have your nose, I have your ear" with aunt Nancy. Noses and ears were disappearing into the funniest of places, only to be found by Annabelle with great glee. Here Nancy is offering Annabelle back her ear while Uncle Roger and daddy look on.

EL DORADO--EL SALVADOR--OSCAR ROMERO

2007-03-25T14:40:00.000-05:00

In the legend of El Dorado the legendary king Zipa used to cover his body in gold and, from his raft, he offered treasures to the Guatavita goddess in the middle of the sacred lake. This old Muisca tradition became the origin of El Dorado legend.

El Dorado is also sometimes used as a metaphor to represent an ultimate prize or Holy Grail that one might spend their life seeking. It could represent true love, heaven, happiness, or success. It is used sometimes as a figure of speech to represent something much sought after that may not even exist, or at least may not ever be found. Wikipedia

We have a new restaurant in our little town, El Dorado. It is run by El Salvadorian immigrants who came to the United States to escape the bitter life in their home country. The waiter spoke softly with me of the memory of the years of war in their country, of brothers, friends and families lost, of a society that was shattered in a long war.

He shared with me the memory passed on to him by his father: of a time when his homeland was sufficient to provide its people a manner of living. He came here when he was a young boy, not speaking our language. Now he speaks it seamlessly.

He tells me he is the owner and created their menu. They make good food. So good that the new restaurant stays full through the lunch and dinner hours.

He is surprised that I know anything about his country, about the war, and what they endured. He tells me he feels for the people of Iraq because he knows how the war affected him and his family.

Yesterday was the birthday of Oscar Romero, martyred bishop of El Salvador, who said: “Let us not tire of preaching love; it is the force that will overcome the world. Let us not tire of preaching love. Though we see that waves of violence succeed in drowning the fire of Christian love, love must win out; it is the only thing that can.”

JESUS GATHERS HIS CHILDREN : REACTIONS FROM AROUND THE COMMUNION

2007-03-22T08:02:00.000-05:00

Bishop John Howe of Florida:

I think there has been a better sense of collegiality than we have experienced for a long time.

Susan Russell (Priest):

"This was a huge step that the American church was not willing to go back into the closet about its inclusion of gay and lesbian people in order to capitulate to those who would exclude us...."

Michael Hopkins (Priest): A Day for Humble Thanks: I slept well last night for ther first time in weeks...

Elizabeth Kaeton (Priest): ...a simple, clear, strong statement that this is who we understand ourselves to be as a family of God, and that we are willing to stand by all of the members in our family.

Father Jake Stops the World: Thank God! It is a good day to be an Episcopalian!

Father John (Priest): The bishops show themselves to be a mature, adult, self-differentiated body with the savvy to push back the anxiety thrust upon them by the Primates.

Richard (Caught by the Light) Priest: I am almost speechless....This raises a serious question for many, from the Archbishop of the Church of Nigeria, to the Primate of the Southern Cone, to the Archbishop of Canterbury. . .Do you really want to aid and abet one of the worst aspects of Western culture: the severing of relationship when the going gets tough -- the real threat to our unity in Christ?

Click above title for today's article by New York Times on the Bishop's Meeting.

and mine:

Antiakinolaestablishmentarianism? OR I'M NOT SURE I CAN DO THIS
Goodbye, Anglican Home (a song from the wrong side of the Atlantic)

you were home of Shakespeare and Chaucer

the rubrics I learned but never had to write down

you were the ancient graves near the Thames

the lofty Cathedral where little boys sang

Tallis, Tavener, Durufl, Ives, Purcell

nearby Whitehall, Trafalgar, and Ludgate Hill

messages from the ABC I sometimes read

at nights before I went to bed

the Sunday services, those at Christmas Eve

the processions with princes and Queens in their grief

you were the tiny brass crucifix

and the smell of incense, in thurible mixed

you were the balcony with pipes of all sizes

liturgy spoken in well cadenced phrases

post-wedding pictures, baptismal cries

fragrant altar flowers, and smiling eyes

you were the coffee, the tea, and the cakes

the wooden seats that made young hips ache

an awkward hug at the passing of the peace

the momentary innocence of confessional release

a man for all seasons standing in his time

preparations, a prayer book, both bread and wine

always the questions, rarely demanding an answer

the poetry of psalms, the liturgical dancer

the raising of prayers for those hurt, lost and alone

for a friend in need, or on their way home

the candles extinguished as the service ends

a moment of silent kneeling and matters to mend

my place of second birth, my spiritual door

now you're the dream we lived before

THIS IS THE DAY THAT THE LORD HAS MADE

2007-03-21T08:57:00.000-05:00

Yesterday the House of Bishops of the Episcopal church rejected demands of leaders of the Anglican Communion to alter our polity and accept intrusion of the Prelates in our Communion. This was done on account of our full inclusion (blessing same-sex couples and consecrating a gay bishops) of gay persons.

When I read the news online, I was immediately filled with relief and joy and a deepened regard for the courage of our Bishops.

Thanks be to God

Sharon

Read Mind of the House resolutions

http://www.episocpalchurch.org/3577_84148_ENG_HTM.htm

And we are reminded by anothe blogger that: "On this day (March 21) in 1556, after denying earlier forced recantations, Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Cranmer, author of the Book of Common Prayer, was burned at the stake by Queen Mary.

SAINT PATRICK'S DAY POETRY

2007-03-15T21:30:00.000-05:00

Deep peace of the running waves to you.

Deep peace of the flowing air to you.

Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.

Deep peace of the shining stars to you.

Deep peace of the Son of Peace to you.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight's all aglimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now,

for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Harmony shall echo and re-echo

Throughout the length

And breadth of the world

When each human being

Values the beauty and divinity

Of self-offering

Sri Chinmoy
The Hope of Loving

Meister Eckhart

What keeps us alive, what allows us to endure?
I think it is the hope of loving,or being loved.
I heard a fable once about the sun going on a journey

to find its source, and how the moon wept

without her lover’s warm gaze.
We weep when light does not reach our hearts.

We wither like fields if someone close

does not rain their kindness upon us.

Early Spring: Rainer Maria Rilka

Harshness vanished.

A sudden softness

has replaced the meadows' wintry grey.

Little rivulets of water changed

their singing accents. Tendernesses,

hesitantly, reach toward the earth

from space, and country lanes are showing

these unexpected subtle risings

that find expression in the empty trees

How wonderful it would be if one could onlybe worthy of hearing the song of the grass.

Each blade of grass sings out to God

without any ulterior motive and without expecting any reward.

It is most wonderful to hear its song

and worship God in its midst.
The best place to meditate is in a field where things grow.

There one can truly express his thoughtsbefore God.....
The best place is to meditate is in the meadows outside the city.

One should meditate in grassy field, for grass will awaken the heart

Nachman of Bratzlav Trans. Aryeh Kaplan

RETURNING HOME

2006-12-08T14:31:00.000-05:00

This is the farmhouse in Ohio where I spent most of my childhood. The tree in the foreground is a persimmon, believe it or not. We raised cows, pigs, chickens and other animals on occasion. I was responsible for gathering eggs and cleaning them and later for milking and separating the milk. My brother and I also carried water since we did not have indoor plumbing and we lived in a separate house on the farm.

These pictures were taken at my mother's Ohio burial service on November 1, 2006. The dark clouds with sunshine piercing through awaited us as we arrived back Clinton County on our way to take my mother's casket to the funeral home. It was a quiet journey, and Lewis and I placed a burning candle in the cup holder of the van to help us mark the time along the way.

It was a cold and rainy day when we had her service, but despite the weather, several members of our extended family and friends were there to give us comfort and show respect and caring for my mother. On the right is my brother Roger and my mother's long time friend and minister Mary Cochran. Mary is 93 and was able to participate in my mother's funeral service, along with Sandy Taylor, mother's minister from Maryland. Sandy comforted my mother in the last days of her illness and officiated at her Maryland funeral. We were grateful that she was able to go with us and help us in Ohio as well.

Seated at the table left to right on the other side are Agnes, my husband's mother, Lewis' sister Susan, seated behind her; and two of mother's classmates, Colleta and Ada Jean, from the Blanchester class of 1942. My mother's sister's sister-in-law Lorena Burton and her husband Bill are next at the table. Next to them is my cousin Joyce Sexton who is seated across from her husband Charles and next to her is another cousin Dale Dunn. On this side of the table are my brother, Roger, and our cousin Herb Dunn and his wife Lois. Mary, mother's minister, is bending forward in the foreground.

Welcome to my blog site.

It is a daunting task to decide what is most important to share on cyber pages. Rather than have the written word convey my thoughts and feelings, I have decided to use photographs as my primary means of self-expression. I will also be offering brief essays, site suggestions, and pictorial clippings that you may wish to review.

I hope you like this site format and find it meaningful enough to make return visits.

Having so recently lost my mother, I find that grief is my inner guest and I move forward in slow and sometimes uncertain steps.

Thanks for visiting my site.

Sharon