Rest

Our culture invariably supposes that action and accomplishment is better than rest, that doing something--anything--is better than doing nothing. Because of our desire to succeed, to meet these ever-growing expectations, we do not rest. Because we do not rest, we lose our way. We miss the compass points that would show us where to go, we bypass the nourishment that would give us succor. We miss the quiet that would give us wisdom. We miss the joy and love born of effortless delight. Poisoned by this hypnotic belief that good things come only through unceasing determination and tireless effort, we can never truly rest.
And for want of rest, our lives are in danger.

{Wayne Muller, Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal and Delight in Our Busy Lives}

Geese

Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

Mission Statement | Complete

To illuminate and articulate the theological authority of women, resonating with and empowering those who have been marginalized, oppressed, and systematically excluded by the church.

Prose No. Six

I wonder why it's so hard for me to choose - to decide - to make a move.

Fear has captured me so strongly in her grip, paralyzed me - almost.

I agonize over if I'm making the right choice, the best choice, who will be affected...

What I want for myself resides somewhere near the bottom of my checklist.  So far down I often forget about it, or can't find it, or get tired of looking for it.

I used to be braver than this.  I don't remember how I lost her {courage} but she has nearly faded away, now.

The baby birds outside my bedroom window flew away today.  

I didn't watch them go, but I'd been stealing glimpses of their preparation for days.

They would stand as near the edge of their temporary home as possible.  Wings flapping wildly, puffing up their little bodies to occupy as much space as they could, crying eagerly.

They were focused single-mindedly on their purpose.

And I stood behind the window, grimacing, whispering worriedly, don't go - you're too little - you're not ready.

But they knew better.  They were ready to go and they did not wrestle over the choice to fly.

Prose No. Five

She

knew it would be hard to go home again.

The house

would be a different color.  

There 

would be a marked change, somehow.

She wanted to replay

small memories, one more time.

Prose No. Four

When over half of the morning disappears in a daze of switching fans on, turning them to (first) blow cool air in and (then) hot air out, trying to find the witching hour when it suddenly becomes hotter outside than in and racing to imprison the house from the heat of the day ... when this is what summer means, I am so over it.

I'd like seven days (okay, maybe five) of eighty degrees and then, fall please.  I'm ready now for crisp, cool air with the hint of a fireplace burning in the early morning, foamy cappuccinos with nutmeg, sweaters, falling leaves.

Or maybe - I'm just ready for an air conditioner.

Monday, Monday ...

I don't particularly enjoy Mondays. I just love the weekends sooo sooo much.

Generally, I am pretty grumpy on Monday mornings, and even more so today because I am completely behind with school and I actually need to be ahead because on Thursday I am going to be here for 4 days.

**********

I have a cozy chair in my bedroom that's nestled underneath my window and beside my bed. I push an ottoman out in front of it and sprawl out most of the day on Mondays and Thursdays. It's the best place to think and read, but not so great to write (this might be why my back hurts all the time).

The last couple of weeks I've been watching a bird throughout the days I spend on my chair. She has a nest in the tree that's just an arms length from the window sill. She's spent so much time in her nest recently, I knew she must have babies on the way.

They hatched today. I heard them. A very quiet, mysterious crack and then an eruption of shrill chirps. They are so incredibly tiny and I want to just sit and watch them, but Mama is nervous. Every time I get up to watch her fed them, she ruffles her short feathers and hops around a lot, casting me irritated, sideways glances. So I'll have to be content to just listen, today.

Maybe I'll catch a better glimpse tomorrow.