Sometimes

by David Whyte

Sometimes
if you move carefully
through the forest,

breathing
like the ones
in the old stories,

who could cross
a shimmering bed of leaves
without a sound,

you come to a place
whose only task

is to trouble you
with tiny
but frightening requests,

conceived out of nowhere
but in this place
beginning to lead everywhere.

Requests to stop what
you are doing right now,
and

to stop what you
are becoming
while you do it,

questions
that can make
or unmake
a life,

questions
that have patiently
waited for you,

questions
that have no right
to go away.

………………….

SOMETIMES

From ‘Everything Is Waiting for You’

and ‘River Flow: New and Selected Poems’

© David Whyte and Many Rivers Press

The River of No Agenda

by Stephen W. Smith

Inside my chest is stored many agendas.

What should I do? Who shall I become? Who needs my help?

I have driven my life by navigating these questions.

Here, sitting by this river, I feel the tiredness of it all.

I came to this place to be alone.

Yet, uninvited companions are somehow here nagging at me.

These old friends whisper their agendas for me.

Fix this! Repair that! Start something new.

They never seem to shut up with their litany of possibilities.

I could remain very busy with these long lists of should and coulds.

Now, another more generous invitation is calling me.

Here, the river is just going by me. It simply flows.

Everything flows.  Nothing is impeded. Not even my heart.

The river reminds me that I am close to this flow;

This wet, moist, life-giving freedom is what I want.

I will join this water soon.

Together, we all will be baptized into the river of no agendas.

 

Poem by Tami Stordahl

Where have I been?

The one who is beginning to appear.

The one born as beloved

Who is just beginning to embrace her belovedness. 

Hidden.

In my lack of confidence.

Twisted.

By the grip of shame. 

Unaware

Of who I could be

Of who I am

Of the freedom

Of the peace

Of the possibilities.

Ready

To say no to limits.

To explore the wide-open

To be ambushed by the one who is love

To be me.

Where have I been?

On the path to now.

On the path to be me.

Beloved.

Count Your Blessings

When upon life's billows you are tempest tossed,
When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost,
Count your many blessings, name them one by one,
And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done. 

Refrain:
Count your blessings, name them one by one;
Count your blessings, see what God hath done;
Count your blessings, name them one by one;
Count your many blessings, see what God hath done.

Are you ever burdened with a load of care?
Does the cross seem heavy you are called to bear?
Count your many blessings, ev'ry doubt will fly,
And you will be singing as the days go by. (Refrain)

When you look at others with their lands and gold,
Think that Christ has promised you His wealth untold;
Count your many blessings, money cannot buy
Your reward in heaven, nor your home on high. (Refrain)

So, amid the conflict, whether great or small,
Do not be discouraged, God is over all;
Count your many blessings, angels will attend,
Help and comfort give you to your journey's end. (Refrain)

Songwriters: Edwin Othello Excell / Johnson Jr. Oatman

Count Your Blessings lyrics © Word Music, Llc

Blessing for the Brokenhearted

by Jan Richardson

Let us agree
for now
that we will not say
the breaking
makes us stronger
or that it is better
to have this pain
than to have done
without this love.

Let us promise
we will not
tell ourselves
time will heal
the wound,
when every day
our waking
opens it anew.

Perhaps for now
it can be enough
to simply marvel
at the mystery
of how a heart
so broken
can go on beating,
as if it were made
for precisely this—

as if it knows
the only cure for love
is more of it,

as if it sees
the heart’s sole remedy
for breaking
is to love still,

as if it trusts
that its own
persistent pulse
is the rhythm
of a blessing
we cannot
begin to fathom
but will save us
nonetheless.

From Jan Richardson’s book, The Cure for Sorrow

For those who are exhausted

A Blessing For one who is Exhausted

by John O’Donohue

When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic,
Time takes on the strain until it breaks;
Then all the unattended stress falls in
On the mind like an endless, increasing weight,

The light in the mind becomes dim.
Things you could take in your stride before
Now become laboursome events of will.

Weariness invades your spirit.
Gravity begins falling inside you,
Dragging down every bone.

The tide you never valued has gone out.
And you are marooned on unsure ground.
Something within you has closed down;
And you cannot push yourself back to life.

You have been forced to enter empty time.
The desire that drove you has relinquished.
There is nothing else to do now but rest
And patiently learn to receive the self
You have forsaken for the race of days.

At first your thinking will darken
And sadness take over like listless weather.
The flow of unwept tears will frighten you.

You have travelled too fast over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of colour
That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.
Be excessively gentle with yourself.

Stay clear of those vexed in spirit.
Learn to linger around someone of ease
Who feels they have all the time in the world.

Gradually, you will return to yourself,
Having learned a new respect for your heart
And the joy that dwells far within slow time.

From To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings by John O’Donohue.

I think I need one hundred days like this!

I Think I Need One Hundred Days Like This!

by Stephen W Smith

This cool breeze by the river bank. A great blue heron feeding in the shallows. The pilated woodpecker serenading the forest with its haunting song. I think I need one hundred days like this!   Slowly, ever so slowly. Here. Now. This! Bit by bit and little by little, I feel a twinge of what may be life.

This cool breeze by the river bank.

A great blue heron feeding in the shallows.

The pilated woodpecker serenading the forest with its haunting song.

I think I need one hundred days like this!

Slowly, ever so slowly. Here. Now. This!

Bit by bit and little by little, I feel a twinge of what may be life.

A steady erosion has happened in me.

It’s taken time to do this damage.

It will take more time to regain what’s been lost.  

The locust have ravaged much I feel now.

Sad stories, and far too many of them, have layered my heart with deep grief.

I think I need one hundred days like this.

But today, I just may have felt my heart again.

As I let this breeze wash over me, is this a baptism of love?

And as silence does what only the deep quiet does,

I sit here and stay here for a while this beautiful morn.

Soaking. Marinating. Feasting . Healing.

What Color is God's Skin? Lyrics

What Color is God’s Skin

Good-night” I said to my little son
So tired out when the day was done.
Then he said as I tucked him in
“Tell me Daddy what color’s God’s skin?”

What color is God’s skin?
I said it’s black brown it’s yellow
It is red it is white.
Ev’ry man’s the same in the good Lord’s sight.”

He looked at me with his shining eyes
I knew I could tell no lies
When he said Daddy why do the diff’rent races fight
If we’re the same in the good Lord’s sight?”

What color is God’s skin?
I said it’s black brown it’s yellow
It is red it is white.
Ev’ry man’s the same in the good Lord’s sight.”

Son that’s part of our suffering past
But the whole human family is learning at last
That the thing we missed on the road we trod
Is to walk as the daughters and the sons of God.”

What color is God’s skin?
I said it’s black brown it’s yellow
It is red it is white.
Ev’ry man’s the same in the good Lord’s sight.”

Words & Music by: Tom Wilkes & David Stevenson

A Blessing For One Who Is Exhausted

Taken from Episode 57 "The Resilient Life, Part 1: The Wilderness"

Each week our Soul Care Conversation Podcast features a Moment to Breathe - it gives listeners a chance to take a deep breathe and contemplate the truth being spoken. We decided to provide each of those Moment to Breathe’s separately for use with your private meditation and contemplation practice.

PRESS PAUSE - and join us for a Moment to Breathe.

A Blessing For One Who Is Exhausted by John O’Donohue

When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic,
Time takes on the strain until it breaks;
Then all the unattended stress falls in
On the mind like an endless, increasing weight,

The light in the mind becomes dim.
Things you could take in your stride before
Now become laboursome events of will.

Weariness invades your spirit.
Gravity begins falling inside you,
Dragging down every bone.

The tide you never valued has gone out.
And you are marooned on unsure ground.
Something within you has closed down;
And you cannot push yourself back to life.

You have been forced to enter empty time.
The desire that drove you has relinquished.
There is nothing else to do now but rest
And patiently learn to receive the self
You have forsaken for the race of days.

At first your thinking will darken
And sadness take over like listless weather.
The flow of unwept tears will frighten you.

You have travelled too fast over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of colour
That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.
Be excessively gentle with yourself.

Stay clear of those vexed in spirit.
Learn to linger around someone of ease
Who feels they have all the time in the world.

Gradually, you will return to yourself,
Having learned a new respect for your heart
And the joy that dwells far within slow time.

Excerpt from, 'For One Who is Exhausted.'
BENEDICTUS (Europe) / TO BLESS THE SPACE BETWEEN US (US)

Love Does That

From Episode 56 “I See You. I Am Here.”

Love Does That by Meister Eckhart

All day long a little burro labors, sometimes
with heavy loads on her back and sometimes just with worries
about things that bother only
burros.

And worries, as we know, can be more exhausting
than physical labor.

Once in a while a kind monk comes
to her stable and brings
a pear, but more
than that,

he looks into the burro’s eyes and touches her ears
and for a few seconds the burro is free
and even seems to laugh,
because love does
that.

Love frees.

Brennan's Letter to the Imposter

Moment to Breathe in Episode 55 “The Imposter: Discovering the False and True Self”

Good-morning, impostor. Surely you are surprised by the cordial greeting, you probably expected, "Hello, you little jerk." since I have hammered you from day one of this retreat. Let me begin by admitting that I have been unreasonable, ungrateful, and unbalanced in my appraisal of you. (Of Course, you are aware, puff of smoke, that in addressing you, I am talking to myself. You are not some isolated, impersonal entity living on an asteroid but a real part of me.)

I come to you today not with rod in hand but with an olive branch. When I was a little shaver and first knew that no one was there for me, you intervened and showed me where to hide. (In those Depression days of the thirties, you recall my parents were doing the best they could with what they had just to provide food and shelter.)

At that moment in time, you were invaluable. Without your intervention I would have been overwhelmed by dread and paralyzed by fear. You were there for me and played a crucial, protective role in my development. Thank you.

When I was four years old, you taught me how to build a cottage. Remember the game? I would crawl under the covers from the head of the bed to the footrest and pull the sheets, blanket, and pillow over me - actually believing that no one could find me. I felt safe. I am still amazed at how effectively that worked. My mind would think happy thoughts, and I would spontaneously smile and start to laugh under the covers. We built that cottage together because the world we inhabited was not a friendly place.

But in the construction process you taught me how to hide my real self from everyone and initiated a lifelong process of concealment, containment, and withdrawal. Your resourcefulness enabled me to survive. But then your malevolent side appeared and you started lying to me "Brennan," you whispered, "if you persist in this folly of being yourself, your few long-suffering friends will hit the bricks, leaving you all alone. Stuff your feelings, shut down your memories, withhold your opinions, and develop social graces so you'll fit in wherever you are."

And so, the elaborate game of pretense and deception begin. Because it worked, I raised no objection. As the years rolled by, you - I got strokes from a variety of sources. We were elated and concluded the game must go on.

But you needed someone to bridle you and rein you in. I Had neither the perception not the courage to tame you, so you continued to rumble like Sherman through Atlanta, gathering momentum along the way. Your appetite for attention and affirmation became insatiable. I never confronted you with the lie because I was deceived myself.

The bottom line, my pampered playmate, is that you are both needy and selfish. You need care, love, and safe dwelling place. On this day in the Rockies my gift is to take you where, unknowingly, you have longed to be - into the presence of Jesus. Your days of running riots are history. From now on, you slow down, slow very down.

In His presence notice that you have already begun to shrink. Wanna know somethin’, little guy? Your much more attractive that way. I am nicknaming you "Pee-Wee". Naturally, you are not going to roll over suddenly and die. I know you will get disgruntled at times and start to act out, but the longer you spend time in the presence of Jesus, the more accustomed you grow to His face, the less adulation you will need because you will have discovered for yourself that He is Enough. And in the Presence, you will delight in the discovery of what it means to live by grace and not by performance.

Your friend,

Brennan

Mary Magdala’s Easter Prayer

I never suspected
Resurrection
and to be so painful
to leave me weeping

With Joy
to have met you, alive and smiling, outside an empty tomb

With Regret
not because I’ve lost you
but because I’ve lost you in how I had you –
in understandable, touchable, kissable, clingable flesh
not as fully Lord, but as graspably human.

I want to cling, despite your protest
cling to your body
cling to your, and my, clingable humanity
cling to what we had, our past.

But I know that … if I cling
You cannot ascend and
I will be left clinging to your former self
… unable to receive your present spirit.

Mary Magdala’s Easter Prayer by Ron Rolheiser in Holy Longing

Such Silence

Such Silence by Mary Oliver

As deep as I ever went into the forest
I came upon an old stone bench, very, very old,
and around it a clearing, and beyond that
trees taller and older than I had ever seen.

Such silence.
It really wasn’t so far from a town, but it seemed
all the clocks in the world had stopped counting.
So it was hard to suppose the usual rules applied.

Sometimes there’s only a hint, a possibility.
What’s magical, sometimes, has deeper roots
than reason.
I hope everyone knows that.

I sat on the bench, waiting for something.
An angel, perhaps.
Or dancers with the legs of goats.

No, I didn’t see either. But only, I think, because
I didn’t stay long enough.

– Mary Oliver, “Such Silence,” from Blue Horses

The Hidden Life - Questions

Here are some ideas to seed your thinking and help spark your creativity about establishing your own ways of learning to live with obscurity as Jesus did.

1. Do a postmortem on a season of obscurity, wilderness, and anonymity that you've experienced in the past. Ask yourself the three questions following this paragraph. Journal your responses, and get together with a few of your friends, asking them to do the same; then share your experiences. See what common ground might surface among you for insights, lessons, and encouragement.

  a. What do you think God was up to in your season of obscurity?

  b. What lessons did you gain from this time?

  c. What honest feelings surfaced in this time about God, yourself, friends, and your faith?

2. A sabbatical is an extended time of being unplugged and unavailable and ceasing from your routine and normal life. It can be a week, a month, a quarter of a year, or longer. If you were to plan your own sabbatical right now, what would you see yourself doing and not doing? Where would you be? What resources would you take with you? Could you make this happen in the next phase of your life? Why or why not?

3. Read Shelley Trebesch's Isolation: A Place of Transformation in the Life of a Leader with your group or class and plan a time to share your insights and observations.

4. What are some creative ways that you can be secluded for a while? Take a week and unplug yourself from technology and people and be alone with God. Or consider a twenty-four-hour silent retreat with a few friends but be careful to remain totally silent during the time. At the end come together and share your insights and feelings about the experience. Try it for longer and see what happens.

5. Interview someone you know who has experienced an extended time of wilderness and anonymity. Ask the person what he or she learned. Find out what the person found valuable and what he or she regretted. What did the person learn about God after that time?

6. Read a biography of someone who has written about an experience of isolation. See what insights you can glean from the person's experience and how his or her story can inform your own.

Blessing for the Brokenhearted

by Jan Richardson

Let us agree
for now
that we will not say
the breaking
makes us stronger
or that it is better
to have this pain
than to have done
without this love.

Let us promise
we will not
tell ourselves
time will heal
the wound,
when every day
our waking
opens it anew.

Perhaps for now
it can be enough
to simply marvel
at the mystery
of how a heart
so broken
can go on beating,
as if it were made
for precisely this—

as if it knows
the only cure for love
is more of it,

as if it sees
the heart’s sole remedy
for breaking
is to love still,

as if it trusts
that its own
persistent pulse
is the rhythm
of a blessing
we cannot
begin to fathom
but will save us
nonetheless.

 From The Cure for Sorrow: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief © Jan Richardson (Wanton Gospeller Press, 2016). janrichardson.com 

Prayer to Welcome the Sabbath

Moment to Breathe from Episode 42: Redefining Success Through Doing Your Inside Job

Lord of Creation,
create in us a new rhythm of life
composed of hours that sustain rather than stress,
of days that deliver rather than destroy,
of time that tickles rather than tackles.

Lord of Liberation,
by the rhythm of your truth, set us free
from the bondage and baggage that breaks us,
from the Pharaohs and fellows who fail us,
from the plans and pursuits that prey upon us.

Lord of Resurrection,
may we be raised into rhythms of your new life,
dead to deceitful calendars,
dead to fleeting friend requests,
dead to the empty peace of our accomplishments.

To our packed-full planners, we bid, "Peace!"
To our over-caffeinated consciences, we say, "Cease!"
To our suffocating selves, Lord, grant us release.

Drowning in a sea of deadlines and death chimes,
we rest in you, our lifeline.

By your ever-restful grace,
allow us to enter your Sabbath rest
as your Sabbath rest enters into us.

In the name of our Creator,
our Liberator,
our Resurrection and Life,
we pray.
Amen

Taken from: Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals by Shane Claiborne and  Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove. 

Romans 8:32-39

From Episode 41 “Becoming an Ordinary Mystic, Part 2: The Seven Deadly Sins And How To Really Change, Not Manage, Your Sins”

So, what do you think? With God on our side like this, how can we lose? If God didn’t hesitate to put everything on the line for us, embracing our condition and exposing himself to the worst by sending his own Son, is there anything else he wouldn’t gladly and freely do for us? And who would dare tangle with God by messing with one of God’s chosen? Who would dare even to point a finger? The One who died for us—who was raised to life for us!—is in the presence of God at this very moment sticking up for us. Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ’s love for us? There is no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing, not even the worst sins listed in Scripture:

They kill us in cold blood because they hate you.
We’re sitting ducks; they pick us off one by one.

None of this fazes us because Jesus loves us. I’m absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us.

The Message (MSG)

Copyright © 1993, 2002, 2018 by Eugene H. Peterson

Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon

by Saint Francis of Assisi

Most High, all-powerful, all-good Lord, All praise is Yours, all glory, all honour and all blessings.

To you alone, Most High, do they belong, and no mortal lips are worthy to pronounce Your Name.

Praised be You my Lord with all Your creatures,
especially Sir Brother Sun,
Who is the day through whom You give us light.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendour,
Of You Most High, he bears the likeness.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars,
In the heavens you have made them bright, precious and fair.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air,
And fair and stormy, all weather’s moods,
by which You cherish all that You have made.

Praised be You my Lord through Sister Water,
So useful, humble, precious and pure.

Praised be You my Lord through Brother Fire,
through whom You light the night and he is beautiful and playful and robust and strong.

Praised be You my Lord through our Sister,
Mother Earth
who sustains and governs us,
producing varied fruits with colored flowers and herbs.
Praise be You my Lord through those who grant pardon for love of You and bear sickness and trial.

Blessed are those who endure in peace, By You Most High, they will be crowned.

Praised be You, my Lord through Sister Death,
from whom no-one living can escape. Woe to those who die in mortal sin! Blessed are they She finds doing Your Will.

No second death can do them harm. Praise and bless my Lord and give Him thanks,
And serve Him with great humility.

Clinging

by Emilie Griffin

He is the one who can tell us the reason for our existence, our place in the scheme of things, our real identity. It is an identity we can’t discover for ourselves, that others can’t discover in us—the mystery of who we really are. How we have chased around the world for answers to that riddle, looked in the eyes of others for some hint, some clue, hunted in the multiple worlds of pleasure and experience and self-fulfillment for some glimpse, some revelation, some wisdom, some authority to tell us our right name and our true destination.

But there was, and is, only One who can tell us this: the Lord himself. And he wants to tell us, he has made us to know our reason for being and to be led by it. But it is a secret he will entrust to us only when we ask, and then in his own way and his own time. He will whisper it to us not in the mad rush and fever of our striving and our fierce determination to become someone, but rather when we are content to rest in him, to put ourselves into his keeping, into his hands. Most delightfully of all, it is a secret he will tell us slowly and sweetly, when we are willing to spend time with him: time with him who is beyond all time.

 Taken from Clinging: The Experience of Prayer by Emilie Griffin. Wichita, KS: Eighth Day, 2003.

Old Maps No Longer Work  

by Joyce Rupp

I keep pulling it out –
the old map of my inner path
I squint closely at it,
trying to see some hidden road
that maybe I’ve missed,
but there’s nothing there now
except some well-travelled paths.
they have seen my footsteps often,
held my laughter, caught my tears.

I keep going over the old map
but now the roads lead nowhere,
a meaningless wilderness
where life is dull and futile.

“toss away the old map,” she says
“you must be kidding!” I reply.
she looks at me with Sarah eyes
and repeats “toss it away.
It’s of no use where you’re going.”

“I have to have a map!” I cry,
“even if it takes me nowhere.
I can’t be without direction,”

“but you are without direction,”
she says, “so why not let go, be free?”

so there I am – tossing away the old map,
sadly fearfully, putting it behind me.
“whatever will I do?” wails my security
“trust me” says my midlife soul.

no map, no specific directions,
no “this way ahead” or “take a left”.
how will l know where to go?
how will I find my way? no map!
but then my midlife soul whispers
“there was a time before maps
when pilgrims travelled by the stars.”

It is time for the pilgrim in me
to travel in the dark,
to learn to read the stars
that shine in my soul.
I will walk deeper

into the dark of my night.
I will wait for the stars.
trust their guidance.
and let their light be enough for me.