Thursday, May 19, 2011


The shape of my life, recently, has followed the frantic ups and downs of our midwestern spring: drawn-out chill giving way to sticky-hot and then back again to surprise fog and near-frost. We have had rain, and clouds, and rain, and patches of blue sky and sun illuminating new grass so green one's eyes water just to look at it.

These have not been easy days. They have held their celebrations, given up the sweet joys of accomplishment and family meals, friends' faces glowing in candlelight over dishes of sorbet, kind words and myriad generosities. But these days have also held their pains, their disappointments, their unanswered questions, their headaches (literal and not-so literal).

As a follower along the Way of Christ, I take comfort in the rhythms of scripture. This coming Sunday's lectionary readings have been tugging at me:

My times are in your hands.

Like newborn babies, crave pure, spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow in your slavation, now that you have tased that the Lord is good.

And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. You may ask for anything in my name, and I will do it.

I also take comfort in the blue of my plate, the weight of my knife and fork, the solidity of a potato and roasted green beans and dusting of salt and pepper. Our days are not accidental, and the beauties in them do not leave us unattended.

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