Birds, bikes and starfish

     You can’t see them in this photo. 

     As I ran past a small pond this morning, a large white egret flew in, without even a single flap of her snowy wings.  At almost the same moment, a great blue heron took off across the pond with a couple of strong, slow flaps, looking like a small airplane, almost skimming the top of the water.  Two large birds in full flight, crossing paths, reflected in the water below.

     I stopped running to watch.  I didn't have a camera or even my cell phone so the photograph exists only in my mind.  I've written and deleted several drafts thinking about the metaphor or the message - but realized all I need to say is that it was beautiful.  It was a magnificent moment and thankfully, I had enough sense to stop running and pay attention. I pulled out my earbuds, silenced Lady Gaga, and listened to the sounds of the pond.

        The egret sailed across the street to another pond.  The heron landed on the far side and carefully folded his wings.  I watched for another moment, put my earbuds back in and started running again. But I remembered the silent, tranquil flight of those birds all day. 

AF

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     I bought a new bike a few weeks ago, and suddenly I feel like I'm part of a different world. There is a new language (cadence, century, peloton), a new wardrobe (which must include padded bike shorts), and most of all new community. People I had never met approach me to compliment my bike, share favorite places to ride, ask about car racks and accessories. And others who were already friends are now my peloton on Saturday mornings, offering advice, encouragement, and fellowship to this new rider. I thought I was just buying a bike, but I got so much more.

SS

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What remains unseen

     I watched a charming movie last night with my oldest son, both of us staying up too late, but enjoying the time together. We watched “The Magic of Belle Isle” with Morgan Freeman, a re-coming of age story about a writer finding his voice again. He mentors a child writer in the film telling her ‘always look for what you cannot see.’ He teaches her the power of imagination and more importantly the power of hope and love. 

     Recently on a long beach walk with my two younger sons, we ran across hordes of starfish and sand dollars. We literally had to skirt the starfish to keep from stepping on them and gathered sand dollars as if we were on an egg hunt. I taught them how to spot them past a covering of sand. It was a magical day, despite our sunburns, a sandy bouquet. As a parent I do try to teach them to find what they cannot see. Sometimes, especially if life events are dragging us down, it takes a bit of imagination.

DB

Summer!

     Summer.  It’s shoes off time - that time of year when the shoe pile at the foot of the stairs grows ever larger - a pile of flip flops, Chacos, Tevas, running shoes. You know it’s summer when footwear gets kicked off at the door.  And this week, with both girls home, shoes will be everywhere.

     Taking off your shoes says “I’m slowing down, I’m through with the “doing” of the day, now I can just ‘be.’”  In summer, it’s a kick back moment, but it’s also a moment to remember the goodness of the life we live.   God stopped Moses in his tracks.  “Do not come any closer," God said. "Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground."    My back porch is not Horeb, the mountain of God, and I don’t see a burning bush anywhere close by, but moments at home, of being family, of simply being present to life can be all be holy ground, if I can pause long enough to let that awareness sink in. 

     In Seasons of Your Heart, Macrina Wiederkehr writes “Taking off your shoes is a sacred ritual...It is a way of celebrating the holy ground on which you stand.  If you want to be a child of wonder cherish the truth that time and space are holy.  Whether you take off your shoes symbolically or literally matter little.  What is important is that you are alive to the holy ground on which you stand and to the holy ground that you are.” 

     So, go kick off your shoes, celebrate summer and remember you are holy ground.

AF

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Ridin Solo

I took the kids to see Disney's Brave and was pleasantly surprised to see a strong heroine, Merida, who doesn't need to be rescued by a prince. She whips out arrows while on horseback, nailing targets on the move. Disney is way overdue is sending out a healthier message to young girls about following their talents and passions, without waiting on that perfect prince.

In author Eric Klinenberg's book, "Going Solo," he makes the interesting observation that we're becoming a nation of independent souls who are crafting new ways of going solo. In 1950, only 22 percent of American adults were single, but that has changed today to be 50 percent with 31 million—roughly one out of every seven adults—living alone. He brings out the fact that our demographics are changing with the number of people living alone making up 28 percent of all U.S. households, which makes them more common than any other domestic unit, including the nuclear family. I'll be honest. As a family gal, that makes me sort of sad.

But you have to love Brave's heroine Merida. She stays true to herself, refusing to chose a husband she doesn't love. More importantly, she learns the lesson of pride and how it tears the fabric of relationships, a lesson she'll dearly need should her prince-sometimes-charming ever show.

         For that matter, even if he doesn't.

The best movie I've seen in awhile is The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, where a bunch of people on their last leg so to speak find more authentic ways to live their lives and relate to others. I think we have to drop our masks and Hollywood conditioning to do that. I caught myself in Brave looking for the Hollywood "love interest" part of the script. Good for Disney, he was a no show. Merida had to do the hard work of growing all by herself.

DB

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     Never thought to find myself here,

     On this middle-land, this in-between.

     Water on either side, tide rising.

     Where do I go?

     I've come too far to return.

     A growing pool separates me from the safety of beach.

     But out there, in the depths,

     Who knows what I'd find?

     Or what might find me?

     I don't have all I need to go that way.

     Maybe in time, I will.

     But the tide is rising faster than my courage.

SS

Movies and macular holes

       As Hurley and I were running and walking through Palmetto Islands County Park today, I saw a lot of these old live oaks draped in Spanish moss, and it brought to mind once again a movie I watched a few days ago, Terrence Malick's "The Tree of Life."  There is a literal tree very similar to this one that is seen many times in the film.  But the title is also metaphorical, calling us back to the biblical creation story in the book of Genesis, where the tree was in the Garden of Eden.  I can hardly describe the movie.  It is by far the most spiritually moving and thought-provoking film I can recall seeing.  It is also one of the most aesthetically beautiful.  I don't want to give too much away to anyone who might want to see it (and I definitely recommend it, with the caveat that it is unlike any movie you've ever seen, so don't expect traditional anything), but I want to share a few moments that resonated with me.  

      The film opens with words from the biblical book of Job onscreen:  "Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth . . . when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?" (Job 38:4, 7)  This same question -- "Where were you?" -- will be spoken in prayer by several members of the family whose story forms most of the main plot (if you can call it that).  The themes are so universal, the doubt of God's presence in times of trial, the demands to know why tragedy has befallen someone close to us, someone so good or young or both.  I think what I love about this movie is that it dares to ask out loud many of the same questions that have been on my heart at one time or another.  In snatches of whispered prayers, mostly from our protagonist family's eldest son, Jack, (sometimes as a child, sometimes as an adult) and his parents, who do not even have names besides Mother and Father.  

     Dialogue is spare.  Long stretches of the movie pass with only music or sound effects or even silence.  In juxtaposition to the family's grief, we have a nearly 20-minute sequence that aims for nothing less than to show the creation of the universe.  Beautiful does not begin to describe it and how it made me feel.  And over those images of nebulae, planets, volcanoes, waterfalls, bacteria, even dinosaurs, we continue to hear, sporadically, heartfelt whispered prayers.  "My hope, my God. . .  How did you come to me, in what shape?  What disguise? . .  How did I lose you, wandered, forgot you? . .  Was I false to you?  Lord, why?  Where were you? . .  Did you know? . .  Who are we to you? . .  Answer me. . .  We cry to you. . .  You let a boy die.  Where were you?"  Then we see onscreen a figure of light, shimmering, constantly changing shape, almost dancing.  Is this a representation of God?  Perhaps.  It is not an answer to all these questions that I and so many have asked, but it is a response.  

     Whatever else the film may have to say about God, it seems clear that the God of this portrayed universe is both present and busy.  The movie leaves us with indelible images of beauty and grace, like bread crumbs forming a trail that leads to God.  It awakened me to such sights in my real life -- the color and pattern of the clouds at sunset, a helping hand offered by one child to another on the playground, even something so simple yet majestic as this tree.

SS

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     We’re on day 4 of face down time.  My mother-in-law is staying with us as she recovers from surgery to repair two macular holes in her eye.  The surgeon repairs the holes (caused when the vitreous gel pulls away from the retina - I’ve learned a lot of eye anatomy this week! ) and then inserts a bubble of air into the eye which acts as a splint or a band-aid - holding the patch in place while it heals.  The tricky part is the recovery.  In order to hold the air bubble in the right place, the patient must remain in a face down -  face parallel to the floor - position for at least 7 days .  Face down.  Walking, sitting, sleeping, eating.  24/7.  

      I find myself holding my own head down in sympathy or perhaps encouragement as I hold her arm for balance. You can’t see much when your face is parallel to the floor. Lines in the hardwood. Stains on the carpet.  Cracks in the driveway.  You miss the big picture and it's hard to see where you are going.  But since you can't lift your head,  you begin to look more closely.  What are those white chips in my driveway cement?  Where did that black stain come from?  Why is my shoe laced crooked?  So many things to explore - in just a small square foot of the universe.   You see where your feet are touching the earth, where you are grounded.  

       We need the view from 40,000 feet to get the big picture and move forward, but sometimes we simply need to see where we stand. 

AF

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 GODS AND MEN Olivier Rabourdin as one of a group of Cistercian Trappist
 monks who are part of the life of a mountain village in Algeria in the 1990s.

As Lent approaches, I’ve been thinking about how to physically connect with the season – what I could give up or add that physically brings me to a more spiritual plane. I got the answer Sunday when I stayed home from church trying to avoid a migraine I could tell was coming on. Instead, I curled up with the movie, "Of Gods and Men," not my typical movie fare, but something I felt oddly drawn to. I was treated to a rich spiritual blessing watching the quiet, seemingly boring lives of eight monks, in the wrong place at the right time in Algiers. The movie follows how each finds his own pathway to a deeper relationship with God. It left me stunned by their fanaticism for peace and the director's artistry in capturing it. It’s such a rare sight, one that lights a candle in this time of terror and materialism, shedding light on how not to be overwhelmed by the tides of evil, doubt and oblivion.

Next time you need some quiet or inspiration, pop a bowl of popcorn and settle in. The movie is a gift that has to be unwrapped slowly to be best enjoyed. Like faith. It’s my challenge to find ways during Lent to be more quiet and do more courageous listening as they model in the movie.

DB