Such a quiet morning.
Pale blue sky streaked with gray and white, not even a breeze. The birds are still asleep. The truck that brings the paper is the
loudest thing I've heard so far. Even
inside, no heater, no refrigerator, but the ever-present hum of the computer is
still with us, and keys tapping. Cats
are quiet, at least the striped one is, as he makes his morning rounds of the
yard. It's unusual for it to be so very
quiet and such a contrast to the last couple of days.
Saw my niece's new baby yesterday, a sweet little Claire,
and had forgotten how warm and snuggly babies are, and so small! When your children are all grown, it's hard
to remember they were once so small and so vulnerable! You think you remember, until you are confronted
with a real baby, and you realize that they are a lot smaller than you recall,
still, my babies were all rather . . . large, nine pounds or over and so maybe
they weren't quite so . . .delicate as Claire looks. But she's a bright one, noticing everything, especially the
ceiling fan, but for only seconds at a time, too many things to notice in a
room full of people. Fletcher came in
from helping his grandfather fix Winonah's car, the battery needed replacing,
and said "I'm filthy, I need a shower" and he was pretty dirty, and
he does love their new big shower. He
sang and talked to himself and made laser sounds all through it and came out
all clean and tidy. So full of energy
that you would like to be an energy vampire and steal a little as he would
never notice!
Today is the day for the blessing, and though I do not see
them at the moment, I know the sparrows are out there, singing, and that I will
hear them again.
The Beautiful, Striped Sparrow
In the afternoons,
in the almost empty
fields,
I hum the hymns
I used to
sing
in church.
They could not tame
me,
so they would
not keep me,
alas,
and how that feels,
the weight of it,
I will not tell
any of you,
not ever.
Still, as they
promised,
God, once he is
in your heart,
is
everywhere --
so even here
among the weeds
and the brisk
trees.
How long
does it take
to hum a hymn?
Strolling
one or two acres
of the
sweetness
of the
world,
not counting
a lapse, now and
again,
of sheer
emptiness.
Once a deer
stood quietly at my side.
And sometimes the
wind
has touched my
cheek
like a
spirit.
Am I lonely?
The beautiful,
striped sparrow,
serenely, on
the tallest weed in his kingdom,
also sings
without words.
Mary Oliver
Mary Oliver is not the only poet to have church outside of
church, Emily Dickinson, e. e. cummings, also wrote poems about worshiping in
the outdoors. Perhaps it's the wildness
that appeals to them, perhaps they just feel closer to God among nature. I only know that if God is everywhere I
don't think it matters where you worship, that there is enough grace pouring
down on us for us to be thankful anywhere in any season. When reminded by new babies that grace comes
to us in so many ways, you can pray anywhere, and every thought you have of
gratitude and praise is a prayer, not confined to place or day or time, but any
time and anywhere you lift up your heart in joy or sorrow or gratitude, that is
a place of worship.
Even in the quiet this morning, the sky evening out to a
pale clouded blue, there is grace in seeing the new life budding among the
maple branches, and song in the quiet, echoes of all the birds that have come
and will come to bring us pleasure.
Make your prayer anywhere, and give worship any time you can, Sundays,
or any other moment.
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