A Poet's Holy Muse

Spring alternately bristled and curtsied this week. 

Cutting, crisp winds with rain and intermittent low temps one moment, 

upstaged by bold rays of sun the next day, 

teasing our trees and budding bulbs to release their fragile blooms.

Amidst the indecisiveness of the outdoors I ventured into the library 

where fortune blessed me with an introduction to poet Jane Kenyon

by way of A Hundred White Daffodils, 

a collection of her essays, interviews, translations,  and poems.

Pleasantly, as rain flooded the back ponds, I discovered a new favored writer.

Jane Kenyon is a highly regarded contemporary poet whose work is greatly influenced by her Christian faith. 

She writes,

“It was my habit to speak to Him.

His goodness perfumed my life.

I loved the Lord,

he heard my cry,

and he loved me as His own.”

From “Woman, Why are You Weeping”, p.207

* * * 

And later in reading an interview with  Bill Moyers,

Jane claims: There are times when I feel I’m given poems.

Bill Moyers: How do we cultivate that in ourselves?

Jane Kenyon: We have to get quiet. We have to be still, and that’s harder and harder in this century.     ...

Moyers: How did you come to write “Let the Evening Come”? So many people say that is the favorite of your poems.

Kenyon: That poem was given to me.

Moyers: By?

Kenyon: The muse, the Holy Ghost... I felt I needed something redeeming. I went upstairs with the purpose of writing something redeeming...this just fell out.

* * * 

This happens, does it not? In just this way. 

In our creative experiences, as one writes, strums, or applies oils to canvas, sensing a hand in union with eye and the heart, 

the Creator present in our inner musing 

to guide our efforts to record His creation.

A Hundred White Daffodils illuminated these early brooding days of spring, 

these expectant and watchful days Lent.

“It’s not just more flowers I want, it’s more light,

more air for flowers, more sun for cheerfulness...

and a hundred white daffodils that grow after dusk 

against the unpainted boards  of an old barn.” 

From “The Phantom Pruner”, p.50

[Originally posted 2014]

Honored to Pause

Morning light slipped onto the sill.
Rays arriving with the dawn rarely reach this niche of glass,
rarely attract notice.
Dispersed refractions glimmer among the prisms; 
brilliance within a microcosm, serendipitous and transient.
Honored to pause, 
witnessing the gift ...
acknowledging too,
the multitude of random wonders that flourish unseen.

May you witness the gifts,
Lisa 

Sabbath in a Sanctuary of the Oaks

"Faith sees a beautiful blossom in a bulb, 

a lovely garden in a seed, and a giant oak in an acorn."

William Arthur Ward

Photograph by Lisa Moreland

Today's Sabbath was experienced 

in the sanctuary of the Oaks.

Paths lace the curvature of a creek and its pooling ponds that flow through the neighborhood. Decades of consistent water has populated the shoreline with a variety of stately Oak trees. Their diversity is never more apparent than in autumn, as acorns of every size, various patterns, and a range of color cascade from leafy canopies, down through the limbs, to cover the ground with an abundance of uniquely capped nuts. 

Photograph by Lisa Moreland

Their scattered presence speaks boldly to the soul.  Boldly, as evidence of the Creator's mandate for diversity in all species.  Boldly, as examples of His sustaining provision in all seasons. Boldly, according to St. Bonaventure, as an inscription of God's "footprint", along with all things that cover the earth. 

"God writes the Gospel, 
not in the Bible alone, 
but also on trees, 
and in the flowers and clouds and stars."

Martin Luther

~

May your Sabbath be filled with God's tender presence and reassurance,

Lisa

Linking with these faith writers: Spiritual Sundays, Scripture & a Snapshot,  & Coffee for the Heart. Click on the links to read more posts. 

Heed a Song Sung for the Spirit

“Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, 

and watching for this purpose with all perseverance 

and supplication for all saints…” 

Ephesians 6:18 WBT

A songbird trills its melody just outside the kitchen window, 

a back drop to the rote routines of morning; 

brewing tea, let the dog out, light a candle, empty the dish rack, pour milk over cereal. 

Refreshed from sleep, thoughts are quiet. 

Attention is allowed to settle effortlessly on patterned sequences of tasks and paths around the kitchen. Familiar movements follow: cupping the mug, spooning cereal, holding a match to the wick, opening shutters for the first glimpse at day. 

In the midst of rinsing the bowl, 

candle fragrance rising, 

and still sipping tea, 

the bird’s song register’s again. 

Still singing. 

The mind’s attention sharpens. 

Movements cease. 

Silently I hear – You’re missing this.

Return to the table. Search the foliage rich view beyond the window for the feathered resident. 

Sit with the song. 

Hear deep in your marrow a song sung for the Spirit within, by the same Spirit that permeates all. Awaken to the soul’s response as whispers begin my own morning’s praises and prayers, joining the song bird’s melody.

Though the songbird has ceased, 

candle fragrance fills the room 

and prayer continues in gratitude for heeding the Holy Spirit’s invitation.  

“Devote yourselves to prayer, 

being watchful and thankful.” 

Colossians 4:2 NIV

A Wander by Water

Visual Prayer Journal image: assorted papers, 

acrylic, ink, original art prints, and photos.

It could be a steadily streaming creek bed, pulsing white frothed waves, or the glassy mirrored surface of a shore bound lake. 

Water draws me to its banks in all its lulling variations: coursing under bridges, spilling down rocky falls, undulating in rolls against the sand.

Trees forest its banks. Wildlife populate its shores and depths. Humanity casts fishlines, feeds ducks, spreads picnics, and stroll along its banks. A rippled pattern of reflected light in liquid hues of blues, greens, grays, changing with the hour, the season, and the temperament of the sky. An ever morphing panoramic pallet. 

Christine Valters Paintner writes about contemplative walking as “listening to what God has to say to me”. Soulfully “trying to be present to life as it is and respond to the call of the world to your heart”, such that the journey essentially becomes a “mini-pilgrimage”.

A lifetime of walking roads that circle lakes, paths that follow rivers, beaches that edge the ocean’s shores, trails that meander ravines of rocky creeks. Walks charted across every region, strewn across memory, laced together in the continuous sense of sacred presence in the midst of a divinely created world.

Quotations taken from Eyes of the Heart by C. V. Painter

~

Linking with Give Me Grace, Coffee for the Heart, Let Us Grow, Simple Tuesday.

Authentically Marked

Once pristine architectural elements bear witness to decades long past. 

A worn sheen etched by the passing of generations.

Peeling layers curl back, breaking free of walls long attached.

Flakes, chips, lost pieces of life lived in the past. 

Color aged, turned across years, 

burnished and shredding 

until sanded surfaces are revealed. 

The story is not lost with the surface. 

It is deepened by the layered revelations of wear.

Character is transformed, 

authentically marked by existence; 

serving a purpose 

across days strung by time.

At our best,

we are called to live a similar story.

~

Linking with Tell His Story, Coffee for the Heart, and Give Me Grace.

Lo! How a Rose E're Blooming

This year the rose blooms remain far into December, 

velvety petals still opening to the sun’s strong rays. 

Hardy shrubs retaining foliage,  

bursting with color beneath towering trees 

that have shed all their splendor and stand bare in contrast, 

spindly against the horizon. 

Tender blossoms, uncommon, out of season. 

Just as the birth of the holy babe was uncommon. 

Not explicable in the timing, the mother, or the place. 

Tender buds opening still, precious babe, coming still; 

despite the certain cold that lies ahead. 

Lo! How a Rose E’er Blooming

16th century German hymn, author unknown

Lo! How a rose e'er blooming

From tender stem hath sprung

Of Jesse's lineage coming,

As those of old have sung.

It came a flower bright

Amid the cold of winter

When half-spent was the night.

Isaiah 'twas foretold it,

The Rose I have in mind;

And so then we behold it,

The Virgin Mother kind.

To show God's love aright

She bore to us a Savior

When half-spent was the night. 

~

May unexpected mercies bless you in this holy season!

Lisa

Jeweled Leaves

The jeweled leaves scattered like gems spilling from a chest of treasure, reflected the setting rays of light. How does one see that and not be drawn to kneel low to view so much momentary beauty.

Crawling low to frame the image and catch the light’s stream across the park’s wide yard, clicking repeatedly as the sun slid steadily beyond the horizon. Leaves casting transparent color and curving form against emerald grasses.

In the grass, seated on that carpet of verdant green; how long had it been since I last felt the surface of soft living turf… countless times; walking by this miniature world raising spires of green praise to the sun, to Creator God… me, passing it by without a thought. 

Barbara Brown Taylor writes in An Altar in the World, of Jesus’ walking into the countryside, by the sea, into the desert, and from town to town. This gave Him time to move slowly, to notice the vineyards, to look up into the sycamores, to see the people, the sparrows, the lilies of the field, the bushes seeming to burn brightly, and to hear God’s voice. 

A slower pace can become an act of reverence.

An appreciation of minute details heightens a sense of sacred design and holy presence.

“Remove the sandals from your feet, 

for the place you are standing is holy ground.” 

Exodus 3:5 

Linking with Weekend Whispers, Monday's Musings, and Coffee for Your Heart.

November: An Invitation to Gratitude {Sacred Waiting}

Photograph by Lisa Moreland

November: An Invitation to Thanksgiving {Sacred Waiting}

Cloudy November days, the ones that hint at rain and blow chilly against the window panes. Soft grey skies a stark contrast to the brilliance in the leaves that toss and tumble across the patio. 

Gazing out across the the woods, mind pondering the brief days left in November, musing on to Christmas. 

The thought arrives... of the young woman two millennia ago waiting, already. 
Many months she has already carried her child. 
Carried sacred knowledge silent in her heart through the passing of three seasons. 
Her whispered thanksgiving already keen for long, long months. 
Her Christmas already a living truth, a swollen heaviness, a beating heart, a mother's patient wait. 

Humbled. 
Grateful.

The trappings of my times fade in importance as I imagine her. 

Two millennia ago she continued the waiting 
with thanksgiving and silent hope. 

*   *   *

Listen to her story as it is sung in this stunning version of Hallelujah.

Additional Posts in An Invitation to Gratitude Series:

Day 1 Attentive Listening
Day 2 Boundless love
Day 3 Time Away
Day 4 New Roads
Day 5 Legacy
Day 6 Indian Summer
Day 7 Transforming Power of Gratitude

Day 8 Homefires
Day 9 Between Times

Linking with the Weekend Whispers, Still Saturday, Coffee for the Heart, and Tell His Story. 

Click on the buttons below to read posts by these communities of faith filled writers.
Click here to link with Share Your Cup Thursday.

November: An Invitation to Gratitude {New Roads}

November 4: An Invitation to Gratitude {New Roads}

A canopy of trees arching across the road, captivating in every season, though reaching a pinnacle of beauty as the trees turn to their autumn splendor. As I approach it is not unlike entering a cathedral. The awe of such grandeur reaching heavenward, God's design of seasonal change accented in a bounty of color.

The road threading through the woods disappearing around a bend or over a hill, the destination unknown. Yet I would not have arrived to partake in the beauty overhead if I had not been willing to travel the unknown road that God offered.
Continuing the journey, this one, or any other that is charted on the geography of a life stretches knowledge of unknown worlds and unfamiliar people. 

In our faith we are taught to do just that. Travel far, at least in the heart. Expand ourselves beyond known places to embrace all that is within our reach to meet the measure of God's use of our talents and potential to extend His glory in the world. 

Grateful for the ever new roads that He guides me to explore.


Additional Posts in this Series:
Day 1 Attentive Listening
Day 2 Boundless love
Day 3 Time Away

November: An Invitation to Gratitude Series {Time Away}

November 3: 

Time away. Uncharted days intended for restoration. Extended sessions of simply watching the day open and close. Hours, when left unscheduled, become fertile ground for new conversations, thought filled impressions that birth new intentions. Seeking to hear God's whispers as waves roll.
                 

~

Additional Posts in this Series:
Day 1 Attentive Listening
Day 2 Boundless love

November: An Invitation to Gratitude {Love}

November 2: An Invitation to Gratitude Series

Little guys. A joy beyond words. Born this month five years ago. Twirling dervishes of exuberant life! Exploring, building, creating; engaging with the world at a runners pace. Appreciative of the boundless love that their lives have brought to mine, as well as, the reminders and insight their unrestrained living brings to my attention.
                                          ~

Additional Posts in this Series:
Day 1 Attentive Listening

November: An Invitation for Gratitude {Attentive Listening}

November 1: An Invitation for Gratitude Series

Early morning light rises to skim the ripples of wind blown streams. Grateful for practices of faith that draw us into quiet and attentive listening to Holy Spirit prompting as each day dawns.

*   *   *

Links to the full series of An Invitation to Gratitude:

Day 1 Attentive Listening

Day 2 Boundless love

Day 3 Time Away

Day 4 New Roads

Day 5 Legacy

Day 6 Indian Summer

Day 7 Transforming Power of Gratitude

Day 8 Home Fires

Day 9 Between Times

Day 10 Sacred Wait

Untethered: One More Gate to Heaven

The first leaves loose their moorings, sailing gracefully from above.

Slowly, they spiral and slightly tilt. 

Cast off from the tethers of elm or oak, pecan or maple, released in a brief and dazzling flight. Spread wide, kite-like, captured in a crosswind, they sweep back and forth. 

Occasionally lifted by an updraft, tossed in a swirl of crimson, mustard, and bronze ultimately falling as gravity draws them ever downward. Destined to assemble as a mosaic, carpeting vast spaces. 

In delight I revel in the glory of color cascading from the boughs and wonder at the bounty that has hung far overhead all summer long. Souls touched by such wonders whisper prayers, knowing the whole world is the house of God. 

“ The whole world is the house of God…

I can stop …long enough to see where I am…

I can flag one more gate to heaven, 

one more patch of ordinary earth with ladder marks on it, 

where the divine traffic is heavy…

instead of walking right past it… 

say a blessing before I move on to wherever I am due next.” 

  An Altar in the World, Barbara Taylor Brown

*  *   *

Linking with these communities of writers sharing thoughts on faith: Weekend Whispers, Still Saturday, Coffee for Your Heart

Suspend Worry and Wrestling

This post from my archives, Suspend Worry and Wrestling, recently caught my attention. The message remains ever so true as it was in 2011, well worth revisiting the wisdom of that day. Join me. Feel the wind against your skin and glory in the luxury of that!



Old Dog sprints stiffly to the water’s edge; darting, nose skimming, reading the news of critterdom left on scented surfaces. A banquet of scents hangs in the air to inhale and savor. Bird song, rabbit skittering, and turtle sightings entice Old Dog from branch to brush and then back to the water’s banks. 

The beleaguered, burdened human trails behind, mentally distant, unheeding, unseeing. A heavy heart and weighty concerns veil the senses. Dappled light dances across shaded lawn but eyes don’t really see. A canopy of green foliage rustles overhead as breezes shift and sway; but ears don’t really hear.

In time the Old Dog, satiated with the frenzied hunt for smells; settles and revels in the shade, nose attentive to buffeting scents carried on the wind. 

A glance toward my Old Dog turns into a full measured pause. It’s clear his aging self has troubles of his own: sight has dimmed, hearing and muscles are much diminished. And yet, I hear the interior Spirit suggest; Notice, your Old Dog knows well enough to be here. He knows well enough to sense the cool of shaded grass on fur free skin, to lift the nose and savor the smells in the breeze, to feel the wind in his fur, and glory in the luxury of that, the divine restoration of that!

I feel my eyes widen, mind stumbling to be alert. I settle in the shade and strive to suspend worry and wrestling to attend. Water rushing over the rocky falls fills the ears. 

Wind buffets warm across skin and lifts hair. The essence of wood, wind, and water, the marvel of it all, fills the breath, slows the heart, and quiets thought. Listen for that which one can hear only in spiritual stillness. To see what can only be seen with the soul, to sense the holy in the moment. 

                      

 The Spirit of the LORD will be with you to give you understanding, wisdom, and insight.     

   You will be powerful, and you will know and honor the LORD.  
Isaiah 11:2 (CEV)

Human fears lift...
and shift... 
reframed by deeper awareness and divine meaning that transforms into peace filled strength. 

… to be renewed in the spirit of your minds…  
Ephesians 4:23 (ESV)

Smiling now..., 
grateful for the gift received. Old dog and human head home renewed by divine nudging.

*   *   *



Linking with Still Saturday, Weekend Whispers, Coffee for the Heart, and Tell His Story.