lenten journal
you have nothing to say forget what the flowers told you or the smile from the little one in front of you at the coffee shop how can you give voice to the joy of a schnauzer or speak to the grief that rises with the sun day after day
lenten journal
unending pie “good thing love is an unending pie” were the closing words from a friend after seeing pictures of our new pup Loretta running through the snow grief has swirled through the season like an unending blizzard squalls of sorrow drifts of absence melt into tears that pool and
lenten journal
We drove up to Hartford for the Connecticut Flower Show today and were caught by surprise by light snowfall--enough to cover the ground and remind us of how little snow we have seen this winter, and send me to writing. unseasoned it will not make sense to most for me
poetry
My sermon this week grew out of three verses where Jesus talks about seeing ourselves as salt and light, and his words set me thinking about metaphors, particularly the metaphors we use to understand who we are. Thanks for reading. The sermon title gives me reason to also add if
poetry
failer it’s been thirty years since we first watched Phil Connors keep waking up in Punxsutawney trying to figure out how not to live the same day again and again and again he failed failed failed . . . someone calculated that it took about thirty-four years of February seconds for Phil
poetry
hardship “Hardship is routinely hidden.”--Kieran Setiya the sentence came at the end of the second paragraph I’m not sure he meant for it to be as significant as it was as I read down the page I think about people I meet our stories were mostly hidden we
poetry
get rhythm I live with an arrhythmia I know of what I speak it’s awfully hard to dance when you cannot find the beat somewhere along the way as I traveled through my week the metaphor extended ‘cause we still can’t find the beat to life beyond these
poetry
meal prep the boxes of dried pasta in my pantry are harbingers invitations to improvisation promises that dinner can be something even on nights when I don’t know what to cook set a pot of water to boil and then open the fridge and find what wants to be
poetry
puzzling the last time I saw a puzzle spread out across the table was at my mother’s apartment some time after my dad died we sat across from each other she and I like we did when I was in high school each of us choosing a section the
poetry
meal as metaphor this penultimate night of the year was the night to make something out of everything to use up--no--to make the best out of a few things whose refrigerator visas had run out a pork tenderloin baby potatoes and green beans all had promise the supporting cast included
advent journal
without you if I quote the words you can probably say them with me “you've been given a great gift George: a chance to see what the world would be like without you” but the gift of without that most of us get comes wrapped as grief the
advent journal
the work of the people the liturgy of our life together begins with breakfast or a walk certainly a coffee some days the invocation is offered by NPR or TODAY a podcast or an old song we exchange the reading of our calendars, listing our obligations and appointments we go