A young seminarian spoke at services this morning, and she called on a scriptural passage that included that there had been rejoicing. She explored how often in scripture that we read what is around the rejoicing, but don't really consider that the rejoicing itself is as important.
Leaving the church in downtown DC in the middle of the "peak" weekend of the Cherry Blossom Festival, I couldn't help but think of her words as I looked at nature rejoicing around me. I wish I knew the names of all of the blooming trees and bushes, but suffice it to say, they were exploding in a range of whites and pinks, accented by the yellow of forsythia all about. I stopped and chatted with a homeless "friend" after leaving the Metro, and as the warmth of the sun bathed us, we talked about how wonderful the singing of all the birds.
Those who have read this blog for a while know how excited I get when nature produces splendid displays. Astrologically, I am an earth sign. I don't follow astrology all that much, but I wonder if that is why I am so impacted by nature. I know there is nothing that makes me feel closer to God than one of these explosions of nature.
Today, I can't help but wonder whether rejoicing with nature isn't similar to the scriptural references to rejoicing. We get caught up in whatever is happening on stage and totally miss the splendor of the sets the establish the tone for our lives. I am going to be very intentional this season about letting all the "stuff" that is going on in my life be less important and allowing the rejoicing of nature around me be what is truly important.
Showing posts with label Nature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nature. Show all posts
Sunday, April 12, 2015
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Clouds
When Washington turns steamy, as it has this week, my workout turns to swimming laps, instead of walking, biking, or running. I put in my 35 minutes today, and then, as I often do, fell onto a lounge chair to dry off and read a bit before heading indoors again.
As usual, the air that had been stifling 40 minutes earlier was quite pleasant when I am dripping wet. When I finished my magazine, I lay back and looked upward. What I saw nearly took my breath away with its beauty: cobalt skies generously clouded with puffy white and light gray clouds. My first thought was: is the sky this beautiful all the time, and I've been so nose-down that I've forgetten to look up?
As I lay there, the movement of the clouds was both mesmerizing and tranquilizing. A thicker layer of lower clouds parted occasionally to reveal whispier, higher ones. I have no idea what the distance between them was--maybe 50 feet, maybe 500, maybe more. They held their own mystery.
The heavier, lower ones appeared to be moving north while the whispier, higher ones were moving southward. I don't think that is possible, but that is how it looked. As I contemplated their mysteries, I became consciously aware that I was totally relaxed. What a rich feeling--relaxed and conscious of it.
My eyes drifted shut, and I relished the relaxation. When I opened my eyes again, the heavier clouds had disappeared, leaving a sea of cobalt, simply decorated by what appeared to be 1,000 dandelions gone to seed and sent scattering by a giant puff from a mysterious source. I've been here for awhile now, alternating between watching and closing my eyes. Each time I open them, a new skyscape awaits.
I like to think I am pretty good about observing beauty in the natural world about me, but this afternoon I've decided that I don't look up nearly enough.
Sometimes in the midst of the crazy pace of my daily work world, I sneak off for 10 minutes to the patio in the roof of our office building: it always relaxes me, but I think I've almost never looked up at the clouds. Today I believe they might be nature's antidote to the chaotic world in which I find myself. I feel a bit wicked to have discovered such a decadent secret, which I can use at my choosing to mellow out. And, I will, grateful once again for all the gifts that are ours for the choosing.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
As usual, the air that had been stifling 40 minutes earlier was quite pleasant when I am dripping wet. When I finished my magazine, I lay back and looked upward. What I saw nearly took my breath away with its beauty: cobalt skies generously clouded with puffy white and light gray clouds. My first thought was: is the sky this beautiful all the time, and I've been so nose-down that I've forgetten to look up?
As I lay there, the movement of the clouds was both mesmerizing and tranquilizing. A thicker layer of lower clouds parted occasionally to reveal whispier, higher ones. I have no idea what the distance between them was--maybe 50 feet, maybe 500, maybe more. They held their own mystery.
The heavier, lower ones appeared to be moving north while the whispier, higher ones were moving southward. I don't think that is possible, but that is how it looked. As I contemplated their mysteries, I became consciously aware that I was totally relaxed. What a rich feeling--relaxed and conscious of it.
My eyes drifted shut, and I relished the relaxation. When I opened my eyes again, the heavier clouds had disappeared, leaving a sea of cobalt, simply decorated by what appeared to be 1,000 dandelions gone to seed and sent scattering by a giant puff from a mysterious source. I've been here for awhile now, alternating between watching and closing my eyes. Each time I open them, a new skyscape awaits.
I like to think I am pretty good about observing beauty in the natural world about me, but this afternoon I've decided that I don't look up nearly enough.
Sometimes in the midst of the crazy pace of my daily work world, I sneak off for 10 minutes to the patio in the roof of our office building: it always relaxes me, but I think I've almost never looked up at the clouds. Today I believe they might be nature's antidote to the chaotic world in which I find myself. I feel a bit wicked to have discovered such a decadent secret, which I can use at my choosing to mellow out. And, I will, grateful once again for all the gifts that are ours for the choosing.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Friday, June 20, 2014
Beauty Many Places
Twenty years ago when I first left Oregon to move to North Carolina, the first thing my friends would ask on my monthly business trips back to the West Coast was "When are you moving back?" I'd laugh, and, to their incredulity, I'd say "Never." They just couldn't imagine I could move from such a beautiful place as Oregon. There certainly were many beautiful places in Oregon. AND...North Carolina also had many beautiful spots.
When I left the Midwest for Oregon in my twenties, friends there also questioned my sanity when I left "God's Country," the name many Hoosiers call Indiana. There were many beautiful places in Indiana and Ohio, where I'd lived during two college years.
I've driven across the United States several times and on each trip I've discovered beauty in almost every state. In trips abroad I've found beauty in many spots there as well. Despite what my friends in Indiana might believe, if God created special places of beauty, he/she was most generous with them.
I am writing most of this post in Wilmington, Delaware, where I've just spent a lovely day. The gem in the crown of this city is certainly the riverfront, and as I think of beautiful places I've visited, they've often had focal points of water.
Wilmington's Riverfront includes several aspects of others in one setting. It is beautifully landscaped along a wide brick and concrete path, which is actively used by runners, walkers, and cyclists. Yesterday I took the water taxi from one end of the city to the other and back again. Like San Antonio, Wilmington's riverfront hosts several restaurants which were packed and bubbled forth with music and laughter...and cheers for World Cup goals from one. Crewers rowed their skulls along the river.
Wilmington also hosts some bits of human history. Harriett Tubman had led over 700 slaves to freedom using her Underground Railroad which ended in Wilmington. During World War II, Wilmington fostered freedom in a different way: it was the largest producer of US Navy ships in the country. What had once been shipyards now hosts the Riverfront path I have walked several times since arriving.
One of the unique characteristics here, though is the "urban wildlife preserve." Behind meticulously tended landscapes are wilder sanctuaries throughout, culminating in several hundred acres of preserved marshland at the end of development.
As I've reflected on this and lots of other places of beauty, I started to use the word "extraordinary," but "extraordinary" implies out of the ordinary. Beautiful places so abound in our world that they are not out of the ordinary. Perhaps that is a problem. We've become so accustomed to the beauty around us that it has become ordinary, when it should quite rightly be remarkable. The brooks and streams, wild flowers, trees, and every other creation ought to take our breath away...daily, even hourly. Sadly, most of the time it passes unnoticed.
If we would just notice what is working, we might also notice people cooperating and collaborating. Ever notice when someone is attempting to open a door with their hands full (and sometimes when they aren't) that another person often opens the door. Or, ask for directions in a public place, and several people within earshot will add pieces. Comedian Jon Stewart once described that we know how to cooperate by explaining that cars making their way onto a freeway alternate methodically without direction. The way that we cooperate and collaborate is a thing of beauty, which we seem to ignore until it stops working.
I've written about gratitude many times in this blog, but today I am wondering what it would be like if we all noticed both the natural beauty around us and the generally cooperative spirit of humanity. Maybe that is where the gratitude journaling helps: it forces us to sit and remember things of beauty--natural and human--around us. But, I think real magic might happen if we focused our intention on noticing beauty in the moment...oh, what a beautiful world it could be.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
When I left the Midwest for Oregon in my twenties, friends there also questioned my sanity when I left "God's Country," the name many Hoosiers call Indiana. There were many beautiful places in Indiana and Ohio, where I'd lived during two college years.
I've driven across the United States several times and on each trip I've discovered beauty in almost every state. In trips abroad I've found beauty in many spots there as well. Despite what my friends in Indiana might believe, if God created special places of beauty, he/she was most generous with them.
I am writing most of this post in Wilmington, Delaware, where I've just spent a lovely day. The gem in the crown of this city is certainly the riverfront, and as I think of beautiful places I've visited, they've often had focal points of water.
Wilmington's Riverfront includes several aspects of others in one setting. It is beautifully landscaped along a wide brick and concrete path, which is actively used by runners, walkers, and cyclists. Yesterday I took the water taxi from one end of the city to the other and back again. Like San Antonio, Wilmington's riverfront hosts several restaurants which were packed and bubbled forth with music and laughter...and cheers for World Cup goals from one. Crewers rowed their skulls along the river.
Wilmington also hosts some bits of human history. Harriett Tubman had led over 700 slaves to freedom using her Underground Railroad which ended in Wilmington. During World War II, Wilmington fostered freedom in a different way: it was the largest producer of US Navy ships in the country. What had once been shipyards now hosts the Riverfront path I have walked several times since arriving.
One of the unique characteristics here, though is the "urban wildlife preserve." Behind meticulously tended landscapes are wilder sanctuaries throughout, culminating in several hundred acres of preserved marshland at the end of development.
As I've reflected on this and lots of other places of beauty, I started to use the word "extraordinary," but "extraordinary" implies out of the ordinary. Beautiful places so abound in our world that they are not out of the ordinary. Perhaps that is a problem. We've become so accustomed to the beauty around us that it has become ordinary, when it should quite rightly be remarkable. The brooks and streams, wild flowers, trees, and every other creation ought to take our breath away...daily, even hourly. Sadly, most of the time it passes unnoticed.
If we would just notice what is working, we might also notice people cooperating and collaborating. Ever notice when someone is attempting to open a door with their hands full (and sometimes when they aren't) that another person often opens the door. Or, ask for directions in a public place, and several people within earshot will add pieces. Comedian Jon Stewart once described that we know how to cooperate by explaining that cars making their way onto a freeway alternate methodically without direction. The way that we cooperate and collaborate is a thing of beauty, which we seem to ignore until it stops working.
I've written about gratitude many times in this blog, but today I am wondering what it would be like if we all noticed both the natural beauty around us and the generally cooperative spirit of humanity. Maybe that is where the gratitude journaling helps: it forces us to sit and remember things of beauty--natural and human--around us. But, I think real magic might happen if we focused our intention on noticing beauty in the moment...oh, what a beautiful world it could be.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Wonder
Nothing touches the wonder of Nature for me. Some even believe Nature is God. I am certain that I cannot distinguish the two. There are times when that wonder takes my breath away. This evening is one of those times: I have felt like I was worshipping at the altar of the park behind my home.
Just as I was coming out of the Metro this evening, the first flakes of what was predicted to be a light snow were beginning to fall. By the time I made dinner and had eaten it, the park behind my apartment had been transformed into a winter wonderland. I stepped out on my balcony to get a better look, and millions of unique flakes had woven lacy doilies on all of the trees. I could hear the rushing of the creek below and leaned out to feel the light cool splashes as flakes hit my hand and face.
I am not much of a photographer, but I grabbed my iPhone to attempt a picture. Instead of capturing the beauty of the snow-covered trees, the camera captured the falling snow, making streaks like shooting stars.
I've looked out several times since my first breath-taking view. Each time the wonder engenders a sense of humility in me. Whether God is Nature or God created Nature seems moot to me. That millions and millions of snowflakes could each have been created uniquely and woven together in such a perfect tapestry leaves me wondering what God has in mind for me.
I have heard a myth, which I believe to be from the Jewish tradition, that for every single blade of grass, there are 1,000 angels, encouraging the grass to "Grow! Grow!" That at times I either can't hear, won't hear, or just plain forget to listen seems small of me. If God who could send such support to a blade of grass and create such a beautiful landscape in what felt like a blink of the eye, I can only ask, what is God trying to do for me, and why do I resist?
Spiritual surrender is what I like to think of as getting my ego out of the way and letting God be God. Spiritual surrender is not giving up. Surrounded by the wonder of Nature this evening, I feel personally invited to let God be God--to allow God to do for me what is done for blades of grass, lilies of the field, and trees in the snow.
Lean-in was voted best new word for 2013. It implies that when there is resistance to push through it. I resist spiritual surrender, and I believe that it is now time to lean-in to my resistance, allowing God to grace me as part of Nature's creation.
Just as I was coming out of the Metro this evening, the first flakes of what was predicted to be a light snow were beginning to fall. By the time I made dinner and had eaten it, the park behind my apartment had been transformed into a winter wonderland. I stepped out on my balcony to get a better look, and millions of unique flakes had woven lacy doilies on all of the trees. I could hear the rushing of the creek below and leaned out to feel the light cool splashes as flakes hit my hand and face.
I am not much of a photographer, but I grabbed my iPhone to attempt a picture. Instead of capturing the beauty of the snow-covered trees, the camera captured the falling snow, making streaks like shooting stars.
I've looked out several times since my first breath-taking view. Each time the wonder engenders a sense of humility in me. Whether God is Nature or God created Nature seems moot to me. That millions and millions of snowflakes could each have been created uniquely and woven together in such a perfect tapestry leaves me wondering what God has in mind for me.
I have heard a myth, which I believe to be from the Jewish tradition, that for every single blade of grass, there are 1,000 angels, encouraging the grass to "Grow! Grow!" That at times I either can't hear, won't hear, or just plain forget to listen seems small of me. If God who could send such support to a blade of grass and create such a beautiful landscape in what felt like a blink of the eye, I can only ask, what is God trying to do for me, and why do I resist?
Spiritual surrender is what I like to think of as getting my ego out of the way and letting God be God. Spiritual surrender is not giving up. Surrounded by the wonder of Nature this evening, I feel personally invited to let God be God--to allow God to do for me what is done for blades of grass, lilies of the field, and trees in the snow.
Lean-in was voted best new word for 2013. It implies that when there is resistance to push through it. I resist spiritual surrender, and I believe that it is now time to lean-in to my resistance, allowing God to grace me as part of Nature's creation.
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