I have great faith in all things not yet spoken.
I want my deepest pious feelings freed.
What no one yet has dared to risk and warrant
will be for me a challenge I must meet.

If this presumptious seems, God, may I be forgiven.
For what I want to say to you is this:
my efforts shall be like a driving force,
quite without anger, without timidness
as little children show their love for you.

With these outflowing, river-like, with deltas
that spread like arms to reach the open sea,
with the recurrent tides that never cease
will I acknowledge you, will I proclaim you
as no one ever has before.

And if this should be arrogance, so let me
arrogant be to justify my prayer
that stands so serious and so alone
before your forehead, circled by the clouds.

*Rainer Maria Rilke*

"You never know what may cause them. The sight of the Atlantic Ocean can do it, or a piece of music, or a face you've never seen before. A pair of somebody's old shoes can do it...You can never be sure. But of this you can be sure. Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where, if your soul is to be saved, you should go next."
• Frederick Buechner •

(This was originally introduced to me by tim keel : as always his insightful thoughts inspire and encourage me, read how these words resonated in his life, they can be found @timkeel.com.)

...i have always been fairly sensitive, in my family, i have typically been considered fragile. one of the things my siblings were pretty successful in doing for me, was to be careful not to hurt my feelings-even my younger sister would say she knew in that way that she may be the youngest, but i was the baby (most tender-hearted) of the family.

As i grew older, i found tearing up in situations caused others to respond to me in all kinds of unexpected ways...in first grade when i was reprimanded for talking too much in class, i cried...the teacher could tell i was sorry and allowed me to go to recess unpunished. Then in fourth grade, when Mr. Johnson gave me detention, for talking too much in class, he found it very hard to keep me afterwards because of my "big ole crocodile tears". and of course getting pulled over by a policeman has provided opportunities to make use of a couple of kleenex, however, it was purely natural, and not 100% foolproof-I've had my share of speeding tickets nonetheless. i'm not saying these outpourings were meant to be manipulative, just that even at an early age, i noticed that other people could be affected by my vulnerability.

But later in life, this ability to "turn on the waterworks" was not as socially acceptable. My parents were very strong emotional role models. i saw my mother cry a handful of times in my life. My stepDad was ironclad, bone dry. Mostly, the times that they found me among my personal puddles, i wasn't dying, injured, or scarred physically-i'm actually fairly stronghearted and can take most things in stride. My feelings however, have Undoubtedly known one primary place of residency, my sleeves. There are only so many times can you be told to pull yourself together and act your age - before you begin to hold it in. This was just their way of protecting me and helping me understand that other people could be affected by my vulnerability.

Years of training myself to keep it together have gone by. until years recently, i allowed myself a good cry, on occassion. But I noticed it seeping back out during a morning prayer between services among the church staff. These tears reminded me of the ones that fell after the birth of my first daughter. They just came, I could not hold them back, and they felt...good. Then I noticed that the lumps in my throat softened during sweet times, and i am now comforted in the way my cheeks become moistened by the streams that seem to flow frequently. Much more often than I ever imagined letting happen. But this passage reminds me that i am not in control of this phenomena, these joy drops from the midst of lifes circumstances, that permeates this being.

...so when i hear a grown man from our community share a story about hurt and healing, and apologizing for his tears...i have one response-it is my honor, brother.
...And then i am reminded, how other people could be affected by my vulnerability, and to that i also say... it is truly my honor.

In the secret of His presence

In the secret of His presence how my soul delights to hide!
Oh, how precious are the lessons which I learn at Jesus’ side!
Earthly cares can never vex me, neither trials lay me low;
For when Satan comes to tempt me, to the secret place I go,
To the secret place I go.
When my soul is faint and thirsty, ’neath the shadow of His wing
There is cool and pleasant shelter, and a fresh and crystal spring;
And my Savior rests beside me, as we hold communion sweet:
If I tried, I could not utter what He says when thus we meet,
What He says when thus we meet.

Only this I know: I tell Him all my doubts, my griefs and fears;
Oh, how patiently He listens! and my drooping soul He cheers:
Do you think He ne’er reproves me? What a false Friend He would be,
If He never, never told me of the sins which He must see,
Of the sins which He must see.

Would you like to know the sweetness of the secret of the Lord?
Go and hide beneath His shadow: this shall then be your reward;
And whene’er you leave the silence of that happy meeting place,
You must mind and bear the image of the Master in your face,
Of the Master in your face.

•Ellen Lakshmi Goreh•

I WILL not follow you, my bird,
I will not follow you.
I would not breathe a word, my bird,
To bring thee here anew.


I love the free in thee, my bird,
The lure of freedom drew;
The light you fly toward, my bird,
I fly with thee unto.


And there we yet will meet, my bird,
Though far I go from you
Where in the light outpoured, my bird,
Are love and freedom too.

•George William Russell•

...i put this in the journal (titled SOAR) i made for the JW Art Auction

Praying

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

~ Mary Oliver


Making the House Ready for the Lord

Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but
Still nothing is as shining as it should be
for you. Under the sink, for example, is an
uproar of mice—it is the season of their
many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves
and through the walls the squirrels
have gnawed their ragged entrances—but it is the season
when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And
the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard
while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;
what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling
in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly
up the path, to the door. And still I believe you will
come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox
the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know
that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,
as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.

~Mary Oliver

For now i am posting these 2 poems together...i am sure they go hand in hand, even as i punch in the title of this post, i realize the worth of this gift of words, given to me - as i have found in the past that what God places on my heart in these times, usually has meaning to come later-and so these 2 are sharing this space

Whispering to each handhold, "I'll be back,"
I go up the cliff in the dark. One place
I loosen a rock and listen a long time
till it hits, faint in the gulf, but the rush
of the torrent almost drowns it out, and the wind --
I almost forgot the wind: it tears at your side
or it waits and then buffets; you sag outward...

I remember they said it would be hard. I scramble
by luck into a little pocket out of
the wind and begin to beat on the stones
with my scratched numb hands, rocking back and forth
in silent laughter there in the dark--
"Made it again!" Oh how I love this climb!
-- the whispering to the stones, the drag, the weight
as your muscles crack and ease on, working
right. They are back there, discontent,
waiting to be driven forth. I pound
on the earth, riding the earth past the stars:
"Made it again! Made it again!"

~Mary Oliver

...something loved, comes to an end...someone loved, receives a new beginning