Where is God in this day? This day where I find myself cursing the phone that won't stop ringing, the endless emails and the long to do list. This day where I find myself whining in exhaustion at 9PM, in line at the Goodwill to buy the white button-down shirt my daughter needs tomorrow for a school performance- the shirt I've already searched 8 stores to find- as my kids dance loud and dizzy circles through the aisles. And this day when the first moment of silence I've had all day is broken by a knock at the door, "Can I come in? I've had a hard night..."
Surely, God is present and moving in me. I feel wholeness in the movement toward compassion- in the prayers for a grieving friend, in the awareness of the fragility of life, in the hug of comfort for an over-stressed co-worker, in the moment of a conversation when I know to stop laughing and be silent- to be reverent and honor the unspoken pain. It's in the wave of so many unexpected rushes to deeper meaning and call beneath the chaos...and the moment when I stop steaming with frustration at the long wait and begin to see the people around me as human beings, struggling with their own lives: the woman haggling over the price of a coat at the goodwill- for whom every cent seems to count; and the man who shuts down his register early- who appears exhausted and longing for a break.
And surely God is present in others- in those unexpected gifts of generosity I don't expect. Maybe a part of me thinks I don't deserve them, that I have to carry life all on my own. But to block a gift is to create false separation- isn't this also to block the flow of God? ...So I say thank you, thank you, thank you-- to the friends who take tasks off my to-do list (who do not wait for me to ask); for the moments of connection and the appreciation of my family; for the invitations to my soul that come in places I do not expect- whether it is the executive office or the Goodwill; for the flow of collaborative creativity- beauty and poetry- in planning a worship service in shared ministry; and for all the countless gifts that are being offered- like tiny hands supporting me from so many places- if I can let go and let in.
The fire of life moves in me and all around, and is transformed- from selfishness to interconnection. From anger and self-pity- to gratitude and compassion. From me to we. From separation to love.
Surely, God is present and moving in me. I feel wholeness in the movement toward compassion- in the prayers for a grieving friend, in the awareness of the fragility of life, in the hug of comfort for an over-stressed co-worker, in the moment of a conversation when I know to stop laughing and be silent- to be reverent and honor the unspoken pain. It's in the wave of so many unexpected rushes to deeper meaning and call beneath the chaos...and the moment when I stop steaming with frustration at the long wait and begin to see the people around me as human beings, struggling with their own lives: the woman haggling over the price of a coat at the goodwill- for whom every cent seems to count; and the man who shuts down his register early- who appears exhausted and longing for a break.
And surely God is present in others- in those unexpected gifts of generosity I don't expect. Maybe a part of me thinks I don't deserve them, that I have to carry life all on my own. But to block a gift is to create false separation- isn't this also to block the flow of God? ...So I say thank you, thank you, thank you-- to the friends who take tasks off my to-do list (who do not wait for me to ask); for the moments of connection and the appreciation of my family; for the invitations to my soul that come in places I do not expect- whether it is the executive office or the Goodwill; for the flow of collaborative creativity- beauty and poetry- in planning a worship service in shared ministry; and for all the countless gifts that are being offered- like tiny hands supporting me from so many places- if I can let go and let in.
The fire of life moves in me and all around, and is transformed- from selfishness to interconnection. From anger and self-pity- to gratitude and compassion. From me to we. From separation to love.
This is beautiful! I, too, feel those tiny hands, and am grateful for them. Sometimes it feels, together, like too much to accept . . . an overblessing, undeserved. There is a kind of peace, though, in noticing them, and calling them out one by one. My hope: that on this day I might make gifts of myself as well, when and where they are needed.
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