Sounds from Yellowstone National Park
God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.
These are the words we dimly hear:
You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand.
Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, trans. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy (Riverhead Books: 1996), 88. (as read in “Richard Rohr’s Daily Meditation” on October 24, 2019)
A prayer attributed to St. Francis
Lord, make us instruments of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let us sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is discord, union;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
…from the cabins in the woods to the condo on the green. So happy I could go and assist in the move.
Funny the things that turn up when moving. Here are just three uncovered oddities at my parents’ home: a can of baking powder marked in the old-fashioned way, a banker’s box made into a “play box” by my daughter more than 20 years ago, and a mummified dragonfly. Treasures of a different sort!
There’s a new queen joining the hive at The Episcopal Church of the Advocate in Chapel Hill and she’s sporting a fine green spot. Can you see her among her drones?