Just Faith, Everyday

Wind blowing at twenty to thirty miles per hour through tall pines sounds to me like surf pounding shore--both meditative and restorative to a mind addled and overworked. I sit and listen--just listen. It's rare, this giving in to the senses, making it a prayer. I seek again a prayerful practice, and it turns out I need go no further than my seat at home to get to this Holy Grail. I look to the slant of sun, the way it drapes on different parts of the house at different times of day. I smell the savor of food prepared by willing hands, made excellent by a desire for something delicious and nourishing. I touch the warmth of tiny hands on the babe in my lap. All prayer. Taking this further, I'll cultivate presence--mindfulness in my everyday interactions. Ordinary, everyday encounters, ones I take for granted, I'll elevate. Bring understanding and love to the fore--speak only to nurture (I need to work on this). Harbor no resentment. These take real work, and are the ...

OK, so I nearly went nuts the other day, trying to do too much at once. I thought I would end up doing laps around my house, screaming and blathering, and that someone would come and "swaddle" ME and take me away. Thankfully, I knew enough to do what many a girlfriend has suggested before I even had a baby: take a mental break. What I've found over the years doing this is that stepping back and taking stock has evolved into a physical, spiritual, AND mental phenomenon. Let me go ahead and suggest this to any of you struggling to stay afloat--it's well worth the pause in your life. Taking the break, though, reminded me of perhaps the most sobering aspect of motherhood (or adulthood, for that matter). There's more to life than just me. Hear me out--this isn't a downer. Of course that ice cream (ok, Skinny Cow ice cream sandwich) and walk in the park was something I absolutely needed and deserved-- I'd spent all day grading miserable papers and caring for ...

Just some quick thoughts before I go to sleep. Today is the anniversary of my Baptism. The rain patters overhead on our thin roof, everyone snores about me (husband, daughter, dogs), and I sit here and think of the many ways my faith has led me to this point, with and without my help. I find it extraordinary. There are so many ways to initiate one's life--some we choose and some foisted upon us. Yesterday I recalled that phone call of dread three years ago when I heard my uncle had died--and all the changes since then. He's anointed, in the heavens with all those our family misses, and his death began in those left behind a desire to be healthy, to love fully, live wide and large. It was a different kind of baptism--death and birth and everyday living can grace us with those moments. Sometimes the most ordinary experience can make us stop in our tracks and think of the life we're given. The other day it was watching my dog, Dot, lift her head and howl straight up at t...

Met with an old friend today, and was so glad to pick up where we left off; for awhile I was worried I had lost him. Catching up I knew we’d both experienced quite a bit in the time we hadn’t seen each other: we’d both lost and gained things central to our lives. Driving home, I though about our chat, about what I am grateful for in my life, and looked out and ahead--at the abnormally warm, sunny day (for a January in Georgia, anyway), at the stands of pine trees flanking the road. My tranquilly snoozing daughter in the backseat paired with what lay ahead of me got me to thinking about the cliche. Why is it that often we can’t see the forest for the trees? In every way I catch myself on this one, and know you might, too. I’ll be looking at other peoples’ houses or clothes or whatever, wish for more or different, and forget to take a look at what I have, however humble. We live in a really small space, but we’re surrounded by trees, visited by a wide variety of birds in all their co...

I used to make cards for people--when I was little I dreamed, for a bit, of drawing and writing for Hallmark. Mostly I believed that I could make someone smile with construction paper, markers, crayons, and a good word. At least, the old lady who was home-bound on Raymond Street thought so. Or my aunts and uncles, friends and siblings. However cheesy (you may think) Hallmark is (and often I do, too) we can say that it’s a manifestation of the way we seek to communicate with each other--in serious, silly, loving, or odd ways. Some don’t know how to put those words together, but I have always felt compelled to create my own combination of images and grace, little prayers in a compact package. Guess I haven’t changed much. I’m reaching back always to that guileless sense of self I had at 10 or 11 years old, knowing that if I just gave it my whole heart, that all would be well. I believed my father when he said that whenever I was afraid I should pray the Our Father. I am, as everyon...

I am remembering the holiday of my youth, the reason why it was so exciting. Time slowed down for play, for naps, for catching up. I hear rain smattering windows, see leaves floating down, brown, orange. They are a living poem. Overwhelmed by beauty, I look down at a sleeping girl, one big pout, long eyelashes. Her warmth is a dream. She IS real. Sometimes I have to remind myself, rub my belly, consider where I've been, consider the wonder of it. Joy and Wonder. These are my mantras this holiday, Advent--awaiting--what? I already have so much! How could I receive more? God recreates us as we wait, each day converting our hearts into joy. I want to give this joy and wonder, help others see it. Maybe joy comes in knowing that the little things of life make the best gifts: port, cheese, chocolate, and good conversation with a friend on a cold night; creating a satisfying voice in my writing; connecting with family over silly squabbles and lovely moments shared; helping a stude...

Halloween was never a time of unbridled fun; for that matter, not much was in my altogether protected childhood. My remembrance was activity restricted: get in the car and go across town to family households. We got good candy, and popcorn balls, and little toys; the joy of flitting through the streets in costumes creative and flowing was for the other kids on the block. It wasn’t until I had my firstborn daughter that I was able to flit from door to door with my little ladybug. Look for the front porch light, they said. I had never looked for a front door light, didn’t even know that was the agreed-upon sign. It’s wonder for me--we look up and down the streets as we stroll, swinging loot bucket in hand, gathering super-cape and looking to the withering sunlight, feeling the nipping cold. It’s wonder. Every day I find a new thing to wonder at, and this light-on-the-porch-everyone-knew- about has led me into various reflections on the nature of communication. Doesn’t it seem dange...