Twenty-five cents buys a handful of chicken feed and minutes of joy for the feathered residents of the Clear Creek History Park. Each chicken looks unique, and I enjoy resting my bones while watching them live in their historically accurate chicken enclosure. I'm fascinated by how different each chicken is - especially the ones that look like they are either wearing fancy feathered hats (or sat under the blow dryer too long). None of them look particularly robust - perhaps that adds to the historical accuracy.
The chickens are one of the last stops on my morning walk along Clear Creek - a walk that has varied little over the decades. After breakfast I leave the hotel, walking down Washington Avenue until I cross Clear Creek. I then slowly walked down the path, being greeted by dog walkers, power walkers, Moms jogging while pushing strollers, college students walking to class, and bicyclists on their way to the bike trails. People almost always make eye contact, smile and speak (unlike where I was for study leave - Pittsburgh - where everyone looks the other way). There are just enough benches strategically placed along Clear Creek to make my morning walk pleasurable. I have favorite places to pause and elevate my knee, whilst gazing at the water and mountains. Each bench allows for a slightly different view - sometimes it is water plus Lookout Mountain, other times it is water plus North or South Table Mesa. Occasionally I get Castle Rock in the view (I avoid looking at the Coors plant). Always I see trees and water. And leaves - cottonwood leaves - littering the ground like a golden carpet. Autumn is here.
I love these benches - they give me a place to rest and reflect before starting on the next push to the next bench. When I get up to Rocky on Saturday and head out on my very favorite trail, there will be no benches waiting for me on that journey. Instead, there are rocks and logs in all the right places, which should provide enough rest to get me all the way to the First Meadow on the East Inlet Trail, and right to my precious "thoughtful spot" - my most sacred prayer space.
I also pray whilst resting on the benches along Clear Creek - I breathe with the water, mountains and falling leaves. And I'm not alone in praying along this Creek, as each morning I see an (easily) 90+ year old physically frail saint who slowly shuffles along the path - looking like she or he lives in that liminal space between this world and the next. Slowly she or he walks, rosary in hand, soaking in every moment - pausing to watch the golden squirrel, or a leaf falling from a tree - or the smile on a child's face. This person takes it all in - every second - and offers back prayer and appreciation. God walking along Clear Creek, savoring creation.
I almost didn't come away for vacation - I was scheduled to go home to Scotland during this time, but circumstances made that trip all but impossible. In the end, I decided to come to this home for a little while, and rest and re-set. Today while walking along Clear Creek, I realized that vacations are a bit like the benches along this path - they provide a place to rest and recollect, so that you can push on through the next hard stretch of the journey.
I make the most of those rest breaks along Clear Creek - soaking in the beauty, resting the knee, appreciating God's presence. May I do the same with this vacation time.
Letting Creation nourish me,
Kim
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Monday, August 26, 2013
Baked, Parched and Cracked Open - With Feathers and Cross in Hand
Wandering in the desert, spiritual or otherwise, is an experience different from life on the mountain - and I am definitely a mountain person. Gone are the lush forests, creeks and wildflowers that are present below the treeline. I have a favorite mountain trail that I have hiked so many times that I can retrace almost every step in my mind - virtual hiking provides the occasional distraction from the desert landscape.
Stark - barren - inhospitable - dry - this spiritual desert was not my first choice. But here I am, and here is the desert, so this past month we've been getting acquainted. I now spend less time fighting it and trying to turn it into the mountains, and more time accepting that it is desert time - so be it! Less struggle, greater appreciation for the subtle beauty even in this terrain - and a willingness to accept it as gift.
I am learning to read the signs of God's presence in the desert - learning to recognize God's fingerprints in this previously alien landscape. I am not one to ask God for signs, having remembered the story of Gideon and the fleece from Sunday School, and my teacher's admonition that Gideon was weak for asking for a sign. She said that we must show God what strong little Christians we are by not asking for proofs of God presence and guidance (a note to all Sunday School teachers - not the best use of the Gideon story). But signs can be incredibly encouraging, especially when one is feeling baked, parched, and cracked open.
How many feathers crossed my path before I noticed that first one? I'm not sure. The first one I noticed was on the ground outside of the house front door - right where I was going to put my foot. I stopped, noticed the beauty of the feather, and went on my way. Later that day there was a feather waiting outside the church door - again, beautiful. The next day I sat outside in the sun in order to make some vitamin D, closing my eyes for a few minutes of rest. When I opened them, there was a baby quail feather resting between my feet. The gifting of feathers continued every day for two weeks - and with each feather, my awareness of God's loving presence was renewed. Such a small sign became such a large source of comfort and sense of hope!
And then Saturday God hit it out of the park! Back in '90s I affiliated with a Benedictine community in NY - the Community of the Holy Cross. I had gone there for retreats since seminary, but waited until then to feel comfortable enough to let the Rule of St. Benedict guide my life. I made a commitment to be an Associate of this Order at one of their daily worship services - it was beautiful! And as a symbol of my commitment to live as a Benedictine, the community gave me a simple ebony cross that was placed around my neck - a cross I cherished, because it was a symbol of my connection to God, the community and all Benedictines.
In 2007 while doing a blessing of the ground (prior to a home being built on it), the cross went missing. I know I was wearing it for the blessing, and vaguely remembered taking it off in my car (which I still drive today). But when I picked my things up to take them out of the car, there was no cross. I tore my car apart looking for that cross, even going back to the place where the blessing took place in the hope of finding the cross lying on the ground. But I had no luck - it was well and truly gone...
...until Saturday (almost 6 years later). It was in my car all along - all but hidden from sight. Seeing it again brought back a flood of memories and a great sense of joy and connection. Although I now live on the other side of the country, I felt an immediate and prayerful connection to that community - and all communities that have been part of my life - and proudly wore that cross for worship this Sunday past. I had a profound sense of these communities all being one - no separation - all the Body of Christ.
And so with feathers and a simple cross and all that it stands for, I continue my journey through the desert. I thank God for these reminders that I do not journey alone, but that God and faithful communities, past and present, journey with me. May my "forty days" bring me to a place of greater wholeness, strength and vision.
Walking on,
Kim
Stark - barren - inhospitable - dry - this spiritual desert was not my first choice. But here I am, and here is the desert, so this past month we've been getting acquainted. I now spend less time fighting it and trying to turn it into the mountains, and more time accepting that it is desert time - so be it! Less struggle, greater appreciation for the subtle beauty even in this terrain - and a willingness to accept it as gift.
I am learning to read the signs of God's presence in the desert - learning to recognize God's fingerprints in this previously alien landscape. I am not one to ask God for signs, having remembered the story of Gideon and the fleece from Sunday School, and my teacher's admonition that Gideon was weak for asking for a sign. She said that we must show God what strong little Christians we are by not asking for proofs of God presence and guidance (a note to all Sunday School teachers - not the best use of the Gideon story). But signs can be incredibly encouraging, especially when one is feeling baked, parched, and cracked open.
How many feathers crossed my path before I noticed that first one? I'm not sure. The first one I noticed was on the ground outside of the house front door - right where I was going to put my foot. I stopped, noticed the beauty of the feather, and went on my way. Later that day there was a feather waiting outside the church door - again, beautiful. The next day I sat outside in the sun in order to make some vitamin D, closing my eyes for a few minutes of rest. When I opened them, there was a baby quail feather resting between my feet. The gifting of feathers continued every day for two weeks - and with each feather, my awareness of God's loving presence was renewed. Such a small sign became such a large source of comfort and sense of hope!
And then Saturday God hit it out of the park! Back in '90s I affiliated with a Benedictine community in NY - the Community of the Holy Cross. I had gone there for retreats since seminary, but waited until then to feel comfortable enough to let the Rule of St. Benedict guide my life. I made a commitment to be an Associate of this Order at one of their daily worship services - it was beautiful! And as a symbol of my commitment to live as a Benedictine, the community gave me a simple ebony cross that was placed around my neck - a cross I cherished, because it was a symbol of my connection to God, the community and all Benedictines.
In 2007 while doing a blessing of the ground (prior to a home being built on it), the cross went missing. I know I was wearing it for the blessing, and vaguely remembered taking it off in my car (which I still drive today). But when I picked my things up to take them out of the car, there was no cross. I tore my car apart looking for that cross, even going back to the place where the blessing took place in the hope of finding the cross lying on the ground. But I had no luck - it was well and truly gone...
...until Saturday (almost 6 years later). It was in my car all along - all but hidden from sight. Seeing it again brought back a flood of memories and a great sense of joy and connection. Although I now live on the other side of the country, I felt an immediate and prayerful connection to that community - and all communities that have been part of my life - and proudly wore that cross for worship this Sunday past. I had a profound sense of these communities all being one - no separation - all the Body of Christ.
And so with feathers and a simple cross and all that it stands for, I continue my journey through the desert. I thank God for these reminders that I do not journey alone, but that God and faithful communities, past and present, journey with me. May my "forty days" bring me to a place of greater wholeness, strength and vision.
Walking on,
Kim
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Relief or Cure?
I have found it important to have structure during this time of being a "caterfly" - this time of being and becoming. I'm weaving more (very good medicine). I'm trying to coax my body into becoming stronger (not a great lover of exercise, but am learning to tolerate it). And I'm keeping a set time for prayer every morning and evening (this I love). In the evening I read a devotional/scripture, and sit with God - often saying nothing. Then I close with intercessions, and expressions of gratitude. In the morning I read a devotional/scripture, and sit with God - often saying nothing. I also set my intentions for the day (forcing myself to write them out so I can reflect on them in a deliberate way), offer thanks and intercessions, and offer the day to God.
Some days pass without any great or small "aha" moments. But they are rare. Usually, something attracts my attention. Sometimes it comes from the devotional; sometimes from scripture. Sometimes while sitting in silence a thought or memory will present itself in that "pay attention!" way that inspirited things often do. I have come to discover that the very act of sitting each day, no matter what, morning and night, is the most important part of this process of discipline and prayer.
Some "aha" moments pass quickly. Others stay, put down roots, and generate a whole new chapter of this transformative journey. July 24th brought one of those put down roots moments, as I read the following from my favorite devotional and felt my heart and mind click into sync:
The ancients tell the story of the distressed person who came to the Holy One for help. "Do you really want a cure?" the Holy One asked. "If I did not, would I bother to come to you?" the disciple answered. "Oh yes," the master said. "Most people do." And the disciple said, incredulously, "But what for then?" And the Holy One answered, "Well, not for a cure. That's painful. They come for relief." (Joan Chittister, The Rule of Benedict: A Spirituality for the 21st Century, p 203).
Relief or cure? Which do I seek?
Which do you seek?
Kim
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Spiral Staircases and Elevators
I am a thinker. I like to ponder ideas, issues and events, weigh options, and formulate responses. It is my nature to enter into an idea or issue and take its spiral staircase deeper (and deeper) into fresh or refreshed understandings and relationships. I think this is why I am drawn to the sayings of Jesus, because they invite me to go ever deeper in my awareness and understanding, and into relationship with the Rabbi.
Tibetan Buddhists know the power of short sayings to focus and train the mind, and deepen understanding. In fact, they have devoted an entire practice to this approach, called Lojong. A reasonably ancient practice, it involves systematic meditation on 59 slogans (sayings), with the goal being a greater understanding of one's perspective (thoughts, attitudes and motivations), which then can lead to freedom from the thought patterns that lead to suffering (and I'm all for freedom from suffering)!
At first glance, some of the slogans appear very basic and self explanatory - Slogan 13, for example, is "Be grateful to everyone." Nice. But I notice that when I try to put it into practice, the slogans have the same "bite" as the sayings of Jesus (everyone - really?). Slogan 21 is problematic - "Always maintain only a joyful mind" (always - only?). Slogan 34 is definitely one to live by - "Don't transfer the ox's load to the cow - Take responsibility for yourself" (I am responsible for my life and my choices, which means no blame game - especially when it feels justified). Slogan 42 is a challenge - "Whichever of the two occurs, be patient" (hmmm...I will sit with that one for some time, because I'm not entirely sure what it means). And one of my least favorites is Slogan 49 - "Always meditate on whatever provokes resentment." Ouch.
Thinking is good, and I celebrate this gift of reason and reflection! But one trap for thinkers like me is that we tend to stay in this cognitive mode and spend lots of time running up and down the spiral staircase, and thereby ignore other forms of knowing that come not from mental aerobics, but from the intuitive heart space - a very powerful kind of knowing. This knowing can feel more like an elevator than a seventy story spiral staircase descent/ascent. Both are needed (both/and, not either/or), but when one is better practiced (thinking, in my case), it tends to become the default response in the system.
Yesterday a dear colleague presented me with a slogan that helped break through the spiral madness of analysis that traps my brain in a perpetual feedback loop, and immediately vented a great deal of personal suffering - elevating both my mood and perspective. The saying she offered me contained only three words, but it simultaneously caused me to laugh, cry, and breathe deeply. Thank you, dear colleague, for what is now my Slogan 60:
"Can't logic crazy."
Indeed!
Smiling,
Kim
Tibetan Buddhists know the power of short sayings to focus and train the mind, and deepen understanding. In fact, they have devoted an entire practice to this approach, called Lojong. A reasonably ancient practice, it involves systematic meditation on 59 slogans (sayings), with the goal being a greater understanding of one's perspective (thoughts, attitudes and motivations), which then can lead to freedom from the thought patterns that lead to suffering (and I'm all for freedom from suffering)!
At first glance, some of the slogans appear very basic and self explanatory - Slogan 13, for example, is "Be grateful to everyone." Nice. But I notice that when I try to put it into practice, the slogans have the same "bite" as the sayings of Jesus (everyone - really?). Slogan 21 is problematic - "Always maintain only a joyful mind" (always - only?). Slogan 34 is definitely one to live by - "Don't transfer the ox's load to the cow - Take responsibility for yourself" (I am responsible for my life and my choices, which means no blame game - especially when it feels justified). Slogan 42 is a challenge - "Whichever of the two occurs, be patient" (hmmm...I will sit with that one for some time, because I'm not entirely sure what it means). And one of my least favorites is Slogan 49 - "Always meditate on whatever provokes resentment." Ouch.
Thinking is good, and I celebrate this gift of reason and reflection! But one trap for thinkers like me is that we tend to stay in this cognitive mode and spend lots of time running up and down the spiral staircase, and thereby ignore other forms of knowing that come not from mental aerobics, but from the intuitive heart space - a very powerful kind of knowing. This knowing can feel more like an elevator than a seventy story spiral staircase descent/ascent. Both are needed (both/and, not either/or), but when one is better practiced (thinking, in my case), it tends to become the default response in the system.
Yesterday a dear colleague presented me with a slogan that helped break through the spiral madness of analysis that traps my brain in a perpetual feedback loop, and immediately vented a great deal of personal suffering - elevating both my mood and perspective. The saying she offered me contained only three words, but it simultaneously caused me to laugh, cry, and breathe deeply. Thank you, dear colleague, for what is now my Slogan 60:
"Can't logic crazy."
Indeed!
Smiling,
Kim
Thursday, June 27, 2013
A Long Car Trip - or Life as a Caterfly
How often God hears my plaintive cry of "are we there yet? What a long trip this is!" The challenge of being a caterfly is that all the familiar comforts of caterpillarhood no longer satisfy, but the butterfly wings are not yet ready for flight. What was is gone, and what is becoming isn't here yet.
All there is is now - the caterfly's reality. There is nothing for this morphing creature to do but settle into the liquidity of change and notice what works - what helps - what brings life - and embrace it. What causes the beauty to emerge - the wings to grow and strengthen - what brings lightness of soul?
Memories of life as a caterpillar are strong - sometimes overwhelming. And although I have a growing longing for the flowers and flight, the familiarity of leaf-munching and terra firma is etched deep in my soul. Although I don't yet understand why, I know that I need the experience of the leaves and the earth in order to fly. I need my caterpillarness in order to realize my butterfly self. Both/and - not either/or. I can't be one without the other. And so in the meantime, it is life as a caterfly.
Change - even good change - is hard. I offer thanks for the wisdom that has been shared with me in a hundred different ways, all telling me to notice what brings life and let those experiences nourish me -
- and learn to love being a caterfly.
Transformation happens in its own time. Right now, I want to learn to enjoy the ride.
With wonder,
Kim
All there is is now - the caterfly's reality. There is nothing for this morphing creature to do but settle into the liquidity of change and notice what works - what helps - what brings life - and embrace it. What causes the beauty to emerge - the wings to grow and strengthen - what brings lightness of soul?
Memories of life as a caterpillar are strong - sometimes overwhelming. And although I have a growing longing for the flowers and flight, the familiarity of leaf-munching and terra firma is etched deep in my soul. Although I don't yet understand why, I know that I need the experience of the leaves and the earth in order to fly. I need my caterpillarness in order to realize my butterfly self. Both/and - not either/or. I can't be one without the other. And so in the meantime, it is life as a caterfly.
Change - even good change - is hard. I offer thanks for the wisdom that has been shared with me in a hundred different ways, all telling me to notice what brings life and let those experiences nourish me -
- and learn to love being a caterfly.
Transformation happens in its own time. Right now, I want to learn to enjoy the ride.
With wonder,
Kim
Friday, June 14, 2013
View from the dancefloor
For twenty years I have prayed the Prayer of Abandon, written by Charles de Foucauld - given to me by a dear colleague and friend during a very trying time in life. I have loved/hated this prayer, often modifying it with a host of qualifiers that took the edge off the concept of abandoning myself into God's hands...
...after all, wasn't I responsible for making the changes, doing the heavy lifting, being in charge of my growth, development and life? Isn't handing over the power to God irresponsible and lazy - taking the easy way out?
I have struggled mightily with where my responsibility ends, and God's begins. If we are dance partners, who leads? Of course I say "God leads," while I immediately try to direct the dance. The tension generated by this prayer drives me crazy!
And yet I pray it morning and evening.
Lately the prayer has been prayed without qualifiers. It is a time of change and transformation in my heart and life, and I have been most frustrated by my inability to shift a few patterns that, while they served a purpose forty or fifty years ago, no longer serve me well. Wise guides encourage me to be gentle with myself and accept that the changes will come with time. I, in the meantime, alternate between trying to bench press the changes into reality and throwing my arms up in despair because they are not happening quickly enough! Why won't things shift NOW?!
Wise guides encourage me to gently immerse myself in that which leads to life, light, and healing - that which is the basis of the changes I seek to make, and trust God in the process. I listen to their wisdom, and then again resume alternating between leaning into this with gentleness and patience, and trying to figure out how to make it happen NOW! But try as I might (and do I ever try), I cannot make change happen. I cannot manage to embody that which I seek.
And then, when least expected - there it is. The shift. The insight. The breakthrough - given as gift, not as prize won or dividend earned. I am stunned - amazed - surprised - grateful - and tears express the "thank you" said by my heart.
Another both/and moment. Each choice to open myself to what leads to life, light and healing helped to prepare my heart for God's freely given gift. But the gift came from God - in God's time, and in God's way. And we dance...together...and the question of who leads is irrelevant!
I am humbled, awed, and deeply grateful for the nurturing love and wisdom of our Mother/Father/Creator.
Dancing with abandon,
Kim
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Safe in the Hands of Fourth Graders
I have been blessed with an abundance of "God moments" while on this retreat, and many involve the natural world. It isn't easy for me to hike (or shuffle, as the case may be) up the hill to the grotto, but I got up there yesterday just in time for the rain to start coming down in buckets! I sat nursing my sore knee and soaking in the beauty of the surroundings, when I suddenly heard a buzzing sound off to my right, and turned to see a lone hummingbird hovering in the grotto for shelter. It rested briefly on a rock, and then headed back out into the rain. I was reminded of a similar visitation on my 50th birthday, when David and I hiked up the East Inlet trail (my favorite trail) in Rocky Mt. National Park (my favorite park) and went as far as the rock shelf (the stopping point when David was a child). After awhile, I sent David back down the trail so I could have a moment to pray and savor the setting (and contemplate how to tell him that my knee was shot and I didn't have a clue how I was going to hike out of there) when all of a sudden a hummingbird came up over the rock shelf and hovered in front of me - close enough to touch. It was such a kairotic moment - I was transfixed, and felt God's ever-present grace enfolding me. Unfortunately transfixed doesn't mean transported, and I still had to hike back to the car (who snuck in and lengthened the trail while we rested on the rock shelf?)! It took twice as long to hike out as it did to hike in, and the pain, at times, was excruciating. But several times along the trail, the hummingbird re-appeared, giving me encouragement and hope - a lesson that God may not fix the situation, but provides ample hummingbird power to see it through.
Today I didn't risk limping back to the grotto, but shuffled instead down to the area known as the park, where I've been told there is a lovely swing in a grove of trees. I found the swing (very lovely) in the grove of trees (peaceful), but after sitting awhile, I felt like exploring a bit further. Encouraged by the birds who were squawking me out of their territory, I headed back towards the road and saw a charming old bench. Actually, my knee saw the bench, and encouraged my body to try it out. It was very old - the kind of bench that has planters built into the side of the bench. And when I looked to the
planter on the right, I was surprised to see a lily of the valley plant (my favorite flower) in full bloom. The fragrance was - well - no word captures it for me. I smile deeply just thinking about the beauty and fragrance of these wee flowers.
Each day since I've been here I've sat in the glider in front of the window and savored a beautiful rainbow. Today's full arch appeared in pieces over time, but when the last bit of the arch appeared the entire rainbow intensified like someone had plugged it in - pow! It startled me by its brightness, and left me uttering the words of the psalmist: Glory. A powerful reminder that such beauty only happens in the midst of showers.
But all of these God moments pale in comparison to today's hope-filled encounter. A fourth grade class was visiting the monastery, and the students and teachers attended midday Mass. For the most part, this is not a chronologically young community (although intellectually and spiritually the community is flexible and fit). Having a class of fourth graders introduced into this mix completely changed the atmosphere. The retired priest was very welcoming to them, and tried his best to include them, but they looked so out of place...and were trying to be ever so still and quiet...and kept looking toward their teachers for direction and guidance...
...until in the middle of Mass, one of the elderly Sisters, who is in a wheelchair, decided she needed to leave. In turning her wheel chair around she knocked over her water bottle. One of the other Sisters picked it up, and helped the Sister back to the infirmary. But as she was wheeled away (all while the priest was continuing with Mass), two of the fourth grade girls noticed that water had spilled onto the floor, and they grabbed the tissue box off the counter and raced over to the spill, kneeling down and trying to clean up the mess with tissues. None of the adults had noticed the water, or if they had, they decided not to interrupt Mass to clean it up. How easy it would have been for one of the Sisters to slip in the water when they went up for Communion! But have no fear - the fourth graders visitors immediately responded with grace and efficiency. Even though they were in a strange place - even though no one gave them permission to get involved and clean up the mess - even though it wasn't their mess to clean up - even in the presence of plenty of grown ups who could have dealt with it, they noticed and acted. As I watched them, I found that I, too, needed tissue. But this water spill was coming from my eyes and heart.
Kudos to the priest for stopping the liturgy to acknowledge the compassion and quick thinking of these young guests! Jesus said child-like faith would bring us into God's presence - and so it did.
The world is in safe hands, so long as God has fourth graders who are willing to show up, pay attention, and be our teachers.
Celebrating hope and grace every place I find it,
Kim
Today I didn't risk limping back to the grotto, but shuffled instead down to the area known as the park, where I've been told there is a lovely swing in a grove of trees. I found the swing (very lovely) in the grove of trees (peaceful), but after sitting awhile, I felt like exploring a bit further. Encouraged by the birds who were squawking me out of their territory, I headed back towards the road and saw a charming old bench. Actually, my knee saw the bench, and encouraged my body to try it out. It was very old - the kind of bench that has planters built into the side of the bench. And when I looked to the
planter on the right, I was surprised to see a lily of the valley plant (my favorite flower) in full bloom. The fragrance was - well - no word captures it for me. I smile deeply just thinking about the beauty and fragrance of these wee flowers.
Each day since I've been here I've sat in the glider in front of the window and savored a beautiful rainbow. Today's full arch appeared in pieces over time, but when the last bit of the arch appeared the entire rainbow intensified like someone had plugged it in - pow! It startled me by its brightness, and left me uttering the words of the psalmist: Glory. A powerful reminder that such beauty only happens in the midst of showers.
But all of these God moments pale in comparison to today's hope-filled encounter. A fourth grade class was visiting the monastery, and the students and teachers attended midday Mass. For the most part, this is not a chronologically young community (although intellectually and spiritually the community is flexible and fit). Having a class of fourth graders introduced into this mix completely changed the atmosphere. The retired priest was very welcoming to them, and tried his best to include them, but they looked so out of place...and were trying to be ever so still and quiet...and kept looking toward their teachers for direction and guidance...
...until in the middle of Mass, one of the elderly Sisters, who is in a wheelchair, decided she needed to leave. In turning her wheel chair around she knocked over her water bottle. One of the other Sisters picked it up, and helped the Sister back to the infirmary. But as she was wheeled away (all while the priest was continuing with Mass), two of the fourth grade girls noticed that water had spilled onto the floor, and they grabbed the tissue box off the counter and raced over to the spill, kneeling down and trying to clean up the mess with tissues. None of the adults had noticed the water, or if they had, they decided not to interrupt Mass to clean it up. How easy it would have been for one of the Sisters to slip in the water when they went up for Communion! But have no fear - the fourth graders visitors immediately responded with grace and efficiency. Even though they were in a strange place - even though no one gave them permission to get involved and clean up the mess - even though it wasn't their mess to clean up - even in the presence of plenty of grown ups who could have dealt with it, they noticed and acted. As I watched them, I found that I, too, needed tissue. But this water spill was coming from my eyes and heart.
Kudos to the priest for stopping the liturgy to acknowledge the compassion and quick thinking of these young guests! Jesus said child-like faith would bring us into God's presence - and so it did.
The world is in safe hands, so long as God has fourth graders who are willing to show up, pay attention, and be our teachers.
Celebrating hope and grace every place I find it,
Kim
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