☀️ Time

A Sunday Doxology

I am not a physicist.

I am not capable of even an attempt

at reducing time into complex formulas

and many fellow non-physicists

would scoff when I acknowledge you,

Creator God

for separating light from dark,

for ordering time into units you called

day and night

for establishing their rhythms into

seasons and years.

Time, after all,

belongs to the realm of physics

as something difficult to define

less difficult to measure as

we mark seconds minutes hours weeks

organize into zones

readjust to ‘save’ daylight

worry over waste

fret over scarcity

wish for speed or slowness

according to our whim and fancy,

seeking control when

time is ultimately

yours.

You are the one who has taken eternity,

difficult to define and measure,

taken it in your hand

and set it in the human heart

and even with its tug, its longing, its hope,

we cannot begin to fathom all

you have done

from ancient times to what is still to come.

From everlasting to everlasting,

You are God.

Fine.

☕️ On Walking

A Saturday Caesura

While out on a walk one evening this week, I saw a little girl and her dad at the street corner ahead. She was learning about stop-look-listen before crossing. When they began walking, the dad’s stride was relaxed and casual, solid and sure compared to the skip-bounce tiptoe half-run of the daughter’s effort to keep up. He held her hand, providing an anchor that kept them together even though her child pace could never match his adult one.

As I watched them, I tried to remember if as a child I had ever felt the need to always be half-running just to keep up with the adult world. Even if I didn’t then, I think I do now. . . and it is exhausting.

I had another walking experience this week. It was a long walk, one that generally gets labelled as a hike, but at its core, it was still walking. Once we bushwhacked (a particularly challenging kind of walking) our way into the alpine, we could clearly see the final route to the summit. Striped of their cloak of trees and shrubs, naked mountain ridges can be deceiving, looking either easier or harder than they actually are. To one member of our group, this route looked daunting. She stopped, looked . . . and stayed stopped. Anxiety set in. Then doubt. In the end, the thought of not reaching the summit after working so hard to get this far loosened the fear enough to get her feet moving again.

So we encouraged her and we walked. No skip-bouncing half-running, just steady and sure walking even when the wind whipped around and through us. Look-step. Look-step. I walked and she walked right behind me, not looking left or right or up ahead– just looking at my feet. When I took a step forward on the slope, she stepped right behind me. Anchored this way to possibility rather than fear, she made it to the summit one step at a time across all the space that felt too steep, too rocky, too impossible.

So I’ve been thinking about how we walk through life and who needs us to be steady and sure. About who needs an anchor when the pace is beyond reach and the way seems too much of everything scary and daunting and impossible. The truth? Maybe there is the odd occasion where I am somehow able to be those things for someone else, but mostly (always) I’m the needy one.

The Lord makes firm the steps of the one who delights in him; though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand. Psalm 37:23-24

☀️ Rest

A Sunday Doxology

To the God who offers rest
from the weary weight
  of doing striving becoming,
from the surprising burden
            of emptiness—
Your invitation to come,
    to come
        to come
            to find
rest for our souls,
lingers
with a lengthening sweetness,
with a compelling hope,
with the undeserving promise
of your gentle, humble presence.

🌿 Wind

I worked to the rush of wind today;

it was steady and unrelenting in ways

I was not.

Does the wind ever wish it could just

pause,

know the singularity of a particular

place?

Or must it always be a wanderer on its

way somewhere

reminding us that change

is both unrelenting and inevitable,

never impossible.

That there is a way from west to east

from here to there,

from this to that,

from now to then.

🌿I Wonder

I wonder if the disciples woke up that morning

exhausted from anxious days

heavy with grief

burdened with shame

numb with despair.

I wonder it they had talked and talked and talked

trying to make sense

trying to recall kingdom words they had barely understood

now beginning to settle into something like hope

but if true

suggesting a future far greater than their yearnings

for a return to what was.

I wonder if the only thing they knew with certainty

was that the sun had risen

on another day.

Life continued.

I wonder what they felt the moment they grasped

this truth

in its greatest and most profound sense.