Releasing and Receiving in Time

Jesus made it clear to the young man who wanted eternal life to come to come to him as a matter of course, like so much of the rest of his life had, that emptiness – openess – is a prerequisite to receiving. Both Jesus and the young went away sad because his hands were so full of so many wonderful things that he had no capacity for the answer to his question.

As we come to the turn of the year, this story makes me wonder what my hands hold that limit my ability to receive the new coming?

There are all kinds of things this past year has brought that I find myself still holding onto. Some were damaging when they first came – and continue to be so. I know that the longer I hang on to them, the greater the damage will be. But I have kind of gotten used to them – have even adjusted how I think and live to make room for them. I bring them out every now and then, reliving the hurt and the disappointment all over again. They will gladly travel with me into the new year – but will undoubtedly limit my capacity for the new just as surely as they have done already.

The only way to receive, is to release. So, I must forgive – those who have hurt me, intentionally or not. They shall not have control over my capacity for wonder for one more moment. Release is more important than payback. Release prepares me for the new. Payback dooms me to repeat the old.

As it turns out, I must also release myself. In sorting through the contents of my hands, I find all kinds of coulda, shoulda, wouldas. They circle in an endless spiral of regret, the fuel of disabling shame – and they have to go! I must not allow what might have been to limit what might still be!

Of course, tt is not just painful things I have to release. Like that young man, my hands are full of some pretty wonderful things. They were meant for the moment – meant to pass through, to be used – but I have managed to hang on to them, making them the measure of wonder going forward. But now I find my hands full with yesterday’s wonder – and without capacity for tomorrow’s! Best to enjoy each moment. Then let it go – with thanksgiving and sacrifice.

Release makes way for receiving. It is the only thing that does. No better time than now.

Keeping Watch at Night

It had been a

     long

          dark

               night

    

Generations    

     in the deep

     dark silence

Not a word

     not a song

     not a glimmer

     of light in

     the east or

     anywhere else

And there

     they were.

     just doing what

          was expected

     keeping watch

          at night.

In a moment

     the silent darkness

     simply ended

          the sky itself

          erupting

               with wonder

               with good news

               of a great joy!

     New song

     flooding out

          from silence

     Light shattering

          the deep dark

And to whom

     was unexpected song sung

     did longed for light come?

     To those

     keeping watch

     at night

          as expected.

Waiting in the Dark

 We sit

     still

     waiting

          in the gathering

          growing

          darkening

     dark

Images of

     horror

     slide seamlessly

     in and around

     a mosaic of

          tragedy

     faces

          shaded with

          the textures of

          humanity

          joined now

          by stark

          white

Hope stretched

     gossamer

     pulled

          distorted

          thinned

     by loss

     upon heart breaking

loss

     not lost through

misplacement

          waylayment

          delayment

     but taken

          wrestled away

          stolen

     all but

               gone.

         

We sit

     still

     longing

     waiting

          for dawn

     Willing

          a single

          candle’s

               light.

     

No Room

The bathrobed inn-keeper’s voice

     breaks with

     age or

     awareness

          “There is no room

               at this inn.”

     As they turn

     wearied

     and make their way    

     off-stage

          he, watching them go,

          remembers

               and calling says

          “You can use the stable

               if you want.”

     They want.

          And there in the

          splendor of an empty

          stable, their son is born.

History corrects –

     no inns

     no innkeeper

          They were staying

          in an ancestral home

          crowded, perhaps, by

          taxpayers, like them.

But still

     no room

     no place

          for their son

          to be born.

Except a deserted

     back cave seasonally    

     used by the animals.

Not much different

     these days.

          still crowded out

          still no room

               in.

Are We There Yet? (Advent One)

 The voice comes floating

     from the back seat

     of my mind.

Maybe the deep pull

     of the there

Maybe the impatience

     with the getting

Still the voice

heard once

     heard hundreds

     of times

More than the

     longing for

     arrival

          is the desire

          to be…

               there.

               There.

But…

     not now.

not yet.

Still miles to go

     before

     there.

     There.

It will not come

     sooner for the

     longing

Best enjoy the

     getting there

     while we can

     while we must

    

It alone

     prepares us

     for the being

     there.

     There.

Thanksgiving: The Usual Suspects

The routine tracks of my Thanksgiving reflection take me back to familiar places and people on this day set aside for it. That is as it should be, I think. The usual suspects, because they are usual, are all too often taken for granted – not forgotten, exactly, just not remembered with deliberation. And that, too, is probably as it should be.

Some, long since gone, are so woven into the fabric of my life that it is sometimes hard to know where I stop and they begin – which thoughts mine, which theirs. Coming over the distance of years, their voices are crystal clear, forming the soundtrack of my inner life, blending into a symphony of meaning. Still others have been the mirror in which I have known myself – and like a mirror, have all but disappeared into purpose.

Grateful for colleagues at the various places I work, whose ideas challenge and change the way I think, or who ask just the right question at the right time – beginning a new adventure. Laughter weaves its way through conversations, giving them an effervesence, a liveliness that is deeply refreshing. Working with people who care so much about what we do together challenges me, humbles me, encourages me.

And for those, closer still, knowing best – forgiving most – holding lightly, but closely. Sharing the messy, chaotic journey through the ebbs and flows of becoming, as much part of me as I am of myself – maybe more. Just thinking around the table gives pause for unspeakable gratitute. Each one, themselves. What gifts of grace – laughter, listening, hearing unspoken connections of understanding over time, sentences finished without words, worlds of meaning in a raised eyebrow, a half-smile, depth in shared stillness.

Then, unfashionably perhaps, but looking into the mirror – seeing who is there, as aware as ever of faults and failings – still, thankful for the gift of my life – of me. To do less would be to undermine the thanksgiving for those above who have helped me become – and will, until done.

And, most of all, for Him in Whom all thanksgiving – indeed, all life – is made possible. Enabling wholeness through the wonder of giving thanks – inviting me into His own life, bringing what I am, finding place at the Table.

Thanks be to God.