Through Stained Glass: Happy New Year!

Friends, Happy New Year! Or, as they say in the homeland, 'haud Hogmanay.' This is the Scottish way of celebrating the end of the old year. 

 We went through a lot this last year. Some bad. Some good. And a lot of in-between. 

We gave up a lot while embracing new ways of being in ministry together. 

Some of us are looking forward to the clock striking 12:00 am, while others know the grief, sadness, and hurts from this last year will still be there. 

Some of us are optimistic about 2021, and others are skeptical. 

Some of us have resolutions for this next season in life, while others resolve not to resolute...or are still working on some from last year. 

Some of us...

You get the picture. 

Wherever you fall on the spectrum of feelings for 2021, know that you aren't alone. If you are celebrating, I join you in your elations! If you are grieving, I sit with you in your lamentations. If you are tired, unable to feel either happy or sad, I'm with you. 

I guess what I'm attempting to say is what I've been saying all year--we are all experiencing this differently. And however you are feeling right now, it is okay! What matters is that you are honest with yourself and that you remain gentle attending to your spirit. Remember--you are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses who prays for you always. 

As I prepare to cross the threshold of this year to the next, I'm mindful of this poem by Rilke:

And now we welcome the New Year. Full of things that have never been.

Looking back, I'm proud of us. We have adapted to the many changes in our lives. Some were smooth, and others, well, they were definitely learning experiences. If I have learned one thing about us this last year, we are a resilient people. Our resiliency, of course, comes from our deep faith in God and in each other. I gleaned a deeper insight into the Ubuntu philosophy, which is, "I am, because you are!" It has been a joy and a privilege to watch you all rally around each other and live into the call to be Christ's body to one another. As we've said from the beginning, the church has never been closed! We've been sent out to care for each other.

Finally, friends, I'm hopeful. Most of 2020 had us reading from the Hebrew Bible--specifically the stories in Genesis and Exodus. Reading and studying these chapters with you during this pandemic has deepened my faith. As God promised to be with Abraham, as God covenanted with the Hebrew people in the exodus, and as Christ promised the disciples never to leave them--so the Triune God makes those promises with us. We are traveling this wilderness season together--and with God. It is by God's mercy and love we have made it to this point, and it'll be God's mercy and love that will take us to the promised land. 

To you, church, I say Happy New Year! To you, beloved saints of the Living God, I say thank you. To you, fellow ministers of the Gospel, I say God loves you, this church loves you, and this pastor loves you deeply! 

Below are photos I've gathered from many of you as we prepare for the Incarnation. I say prepare because we are still preparing--making way for Love to dwell in our midst. I encourage you to remain watchful, keep praying, continue to check in on one another, and as one of you have told me from the onset of this pandemic--keep the faith. Together, with God's help, we will see the Glory of God in the year to come. 

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 22--Peace

• “Peace begins with a smile.” —Mother Teresa

Peace

Despite being in a pandemic, Advent has been busy. 

One of the pandemic gifts is the realization of how many meetings can actually be covered over email. Not everything coming out of this pandemic is terrible. 

Still, my study is in a state of disarray as I prepare for this coming week. Books on the floor, drafts on the desk, and clergy stoles draping over chairs--chaos is the best way to describe the spaces I occupy right now.

Despite the chaos, I wouldn't have it any other way. We are making our way towards the Incarnation--the event in history when the Love that hovered over the waters of creation takes on flesh and dwells in our midst. In Christ, we not only see peace, but we know peace. The Incarnation brings to reality, once more, that peace is ours if we want it. 

When life gets chaotic, I need peace. Usually, this involves turning off the phone and putting on a record to get lost in the soulful sound of Mahalia Jackson or the blues of Townes Van Zandt. Music is where I turn during the dark days of December. 

Except for today. 

Today I went outside, and with the dogs, we walked in the woods. The ground was soft, the setting sun was comforting, and the dogs' saunter was enthralling. Though the park isn't wild, it is outdoors. It has its own uncontrollable way of being. It is creation. It is life. 

I find peace watching nature be itself. The way the bramble weaves itself together to provide cover for critters. The pine trees stretching tall draped in the green gown of hope. When they are given some slack on their leash, the dogs sniff, roll, and romp in the glory of the prairie.

Wendell Berry was on to something when he wrote this poem, Peace of Wild Things.

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world and am free.

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 20 & 21-Anoint Conceive

 

Only my books anoint me,
and a few friends,
those who reach into my veins. - Anne Sexton

Anoint

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is of the woman anointing Jesus's feet with costly perfume. It is unexpected. It is controversial. It is vulnerable. It is intimate. It is a moment that is made beautiful by two human beings giving their presence to each other. 

I know that isn't the text for today. But it is the story that comes to mind when I saw the word 'anoint.' 

Part of the reason why I love the story of the woman anointing Jesus's feet is that it is about surrender. At that moment, she gives of herself and her gift entirely to Jesus, who in turn gives of himself entirely to her anointing. Imagine if we all lived from that place with the gift of our lives? Not stopping to consider all the ways that something could go wrong or what others might think of us if we risk being vulnerable. 

People will, too, just like the disciples did in that story. You know what, the money from that perfume probably could have fed a lot of hungry people. And there might have been enough left over to add a plaque to a window at the local synagogue in honor of some saint long gone. At that moment, though, that's not what was needed. What was needed was the communion between two people. In their connection, the heavens opened up, and the Divine's heart was exposed in the relationship between the woman and Jesus. 

Anytime we give ourselves completely in service to others, heaven opens up, and the love of the Divine pours out upon us. It is also when what we can't conceive with our logic emerges in our presence. We know that which is beyond our language and understanding. 

Conceive

Mary will conceive a child. This child will grow to bear witness to the liberating love of the God of his people. He does this by being nothing other than who God created him to be. He lives into his humanity by a pathway of descent. Jesus will empty himself out for the sake of the poor, the downtrodden, the least of these, and especially the little ones. Jesus will stand and see these people's hopelessness and act--he will do more than provide charity. He will struggle for their freedom, and it will cost him his life. In dying, we walk into a living--an abundance of God's love right now. 

For the last 48 hours, I have been writing. At the current moment, I've written close to 5000 words over those couple of days. My mind is pretty spent. My fingers are stiff. And my hands ache. The work, though, is satisfying. I write to process what I'm learning. I'm learning because I never want to fall for the trap that I know everything. The moment I'm comfortable is the moment my attention turns away from God and towards my ego. Suddenly my concerns become about how much I could get for my gift rather than enjoying it. 

Want to hear something...silly? One of you gifted me with a delicious fruit basket. In this basket is my favorite fruit--a pear. That's not the silly part. This is: 

I began my writing by eating a pear. As I ate, the juices ran down my fingers and onto the back of my hand. Some even dripped onto the desk. I was annoyed. Until I went to the sink to wash my hands. As the water ran over them [y'all know where this is going, don't you?] I remembered my baptism, and while looking in the mirror, I gave thanks. The dam holding back the content I wanted to put on the page broke, and for two hours straight, I wrote. 

When I returned to my writing later that day, I finished my pear. Again, the juices ran down my fingers, onto the back of my hand, and then the desk. This time I didn't immediately wash my hands. Instead, I sat with the pear core and my sticky hands, gazing at my writing. It became a sacred moment, an unexpected moment, and one I couldn't intentionally conceive on my own even if I wanted to. The goodness of the pear dripping onto my work opened my eyes to the gift before me--my work...my life. 

A daunting task became a holy work. I wasn't simply doing homework, but I was writing my story. I stumbled upon an opening of heaven right there at my writing desk. Were my words divinely inspired? Not at all. But I was fully present to the call God has placed on my life. 

The woman anointing Jesus was a moment that further enfleshed the reign of God. It was costly. It was vulnerable. It was risky. It was intimate. It was all she had at that moment. It was everything Jesus had at that moment, too. The fragrance of love filled the room. The people were changed--the woman, Jesus, and me. 

In these long nights, be like this woman. Give your gift to Christ, and don't worry about what others think. Allow the good gifts in your life to anoint you and conceive in you the Incarnation. We are the messengers of Christ's love. We are the authors of God's story. 

Anoint.

Conceive.

Give. 

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 19–House

Nature is a haunted house—but Art—is a house that tries to be haunted. ~Emily Dickinson

House

This is my study at my house. That is Tecumseh in his usual spot whenever I spend a substantial amount of time in this room. Of which I’ll be doing tonight, tomorrow, and through the weekend, as I finish my final paper for the fall semester. 

Since my attention is already focusing on writing about James Cone, I share with you one of my favorite poems, The House of Belonging by David Whyte.

May the darkness bring with it a peace to your house tonight. May the morning light flood your house with joy. 

“The House of Belonging”

Written by David Whyte

I awoke
 this morning
 in the gold light
 turning this way
 and that

thinking for
 a moment
 it was one
 day
 like any other.

But
 the veil had gone
 from my
 darkened heart
 and
 I thought

it must have been the quiet
 candlelight
 that filled my room,

it must have been
 the first
 easy rhythm
 with which I breathed
 myself to sleep,

it must have been
 the prayer I said
 speaking to the otherness
 of the night.

And
 I thought
 this is the good day
 you could
 meet your love,

this is the gray day
 someone close
 to you could die.

This is the day
 you realize
 how easily the thread
 is broken
 between this world
 and the next

and I found myself
 sitting up
 in the quiet pathway
 of light,

the tawny
 close grained cedar
 burning round
 me like fire
 and all the angels of this housely
 heaven ascending
 through the first
 roof of light
 the sun has made.

This is the bright home
 in which I live,
 this is where
 I ask
 my friends
 to come,
 this is where I want
 to love all the things
 it has taken me so long
 to learn to love.

This is the temple
 of my adult aloneness
 and I belong
 to that aloneness
 as I belong to my life.

There is no house
 like the house of belonging.

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 17-Fulfill

“Occasionally in life there are those moments of unutterable fulfillment which cannot be completely explained by those symbols called words. Their meanings can only be articulated by the inaudible language of the heart.” Martin Luther King Jr

Fulfill

The conversation went something like this…

“The word for today is fulfil.”

           “Fulfil?”

“Yea. I’m curious what you did with it.”

 “Ugh. I didn’t really do much with it. I don’t like it.”

A belly laugh and then, “This is going to be good. Why not?”

“It is too…oh I don’t know…focused on an end product. You know, like it is fixated on results.”

“Yea, no. I get that. It's like an Amazon order. ‘Your package has been delivered. Your order has been fulfilled. The transaction is complete.”

“Yes! Exactly. We spend so much time seeing that we fulfill the requirements, expectations rather, of this or that, we don’t stop to consider if what we are doing is actually fulfilling our true selves?”

“Right. We worry so much about the end result that we miss the journey. We want instant gratification. We want results now. We do what we do because it is a means to an end.”

           “But doesn’t the process fulfill you?”

Silence.

Dang. The power of a well-placed question. Now, that's fulfilling.

My artist friends and art therapist colleagues always remind me of this fact—it’s about the process, what we learn along the way as we journey toward our destination—toward the completed work of art.

I worry so much about the final product of whatever I’m working on—a sermon, a poem, a project—that I often miss the Spirit beckoning me towards the creative mystery. Sometimes fulfillment doesn’t happen by following the rules but by following the heart.

The temptation is to fulfill the expectations of others and not the hopes of our own hearts. When we begin to live outside of ourselves—or to satisfy the demands of others—we separate ourselves from our true selves. Which is who God created us to be—our original name.

When we live from our original name—the Christ within—we fulfill God’s salvific plan for our lives. Which actually isn’t an end—but a beginning to a waltz that involves creation, our neighbors, and, you guessed it, you!

“But doesn’t the process fulfill you?”

This post may not fulfill your expectation for the word. And that is okay. See what is happening? We each encounter these words differently. The end result isn’t necessarily what I’m interested in. I’m more curious about how you got there!

That’s what fulfills me!

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 16--Withstand

 

Withstand

Decency and tolerance, to be of any value, must be capable of withstanding the severest strain.
~Mahatma Gandhi

           The days are short. The nights are long. The weight of 2020 carries on. Who we are today isn’t who we were at the start of the year. Or yesterday, for that matter. Each month since March has presented extraordinary challenges, unparalleled conditions, and contentious circumstances. 2020 has been is challenging.

           We are weeks away from 2021. Many are placing a lot of expectations for the coming year. Instead of dreaming about dancing sugarplums as we head to bed, the fears of reality manifesting as anxiety slither through our heads. If we can make it through the holidays, then the growing light of the New Year will guide us the rest of the way. Still, what awaits us will take time to arrive.

           The journey continues. And it will well into the coming year. How will we continue to withstand this wilderness adventure? My solutions are simple. We will continue traveling with each other. When it becomes too much, we will stand next to each other until it passes. We will withstand the negativity from the naysayers by sharing our creativity's joy—an act of resistance by a caring community.

           We will withstand the frightening fears of a few by baking cookies of glad tidings.

           We will withstand the debilitating doubts of a few by crafting cards proclaiming peace.

           We will withstand the distorted deceits of a few by enjoying what we have right now.

Community.

Solidarity.

Joy.

           We will withstand what is because we know what will be. The joy we have even in these unprecedented days gives birth to hope—and hope is the courage to change what is to what can be.

           The days are short. The nights are long. The captivity of this season’s heaviness will soon give way to freedom as the angel’s announcement of Christ’s nativity.

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 12--Watch

Stay with me; remain here with me; watch and pray, watch and pray.

Watch

Today I went for a run.

Today’s run was challenging. The purpose was to get me running at my race pace. On a scale of 1-5—with one being a walk and five being a grizzly bear is chasing you type of sprint—today’s run was for 25 minutes at 3.5 to 3.75. It was quicker than the warm-up and cool-down pace but not as fast as an interval sprint. It felt good running today.

Of course, it helps when the temperature is 50 degrees, the skies are full of fluffy clouds against a blue sky, and the sun is shining bright. It was a beautiful day to run.

After a fall running on Lincoln's dangerous streets, I do most of my mid-week running at Kickapoo Park. The blacktop is smooth, and I get to take in nature as I run. I can also focus on my posture instead of watching for things to trip over. When I'm not worrying about tripping over uneven pavement or rolling an ankle on the cobblestone streets, I can find the flow, albeit a slow one, and running becomes enjoyable tolerable. 

One of the lessons I've learned in 2020 is the importance of good posture when running. Having good posture, a strong torso, and a head looking forward not only keeps me upright, but it also may increase lung capacity. Watching where I run with my eyes fixed on the finish line improves my body’s stamina—as well as my mental endurance. "Keep your eyes on the finish line" is another way of saying, "Yo, bro, don't get distracted!" Doing so may jeopardize my run--not to mention how it may lead to an injury.

When I don’t have to watch for holes, I can focus more on relaxing my body, maintaining a comfortable pace, and efficient breathing.

To help me stay focus, I have a ‘coach’ when I run. Every so often, ‘Coach Katie’ will interrupt my music and ask, “Where are your eyes?” Or she’ll ask, “Are your shoulders hunching up towards your ears?” She asks as a way to remind inexperienced runners like me that running doesn’t only involve my legs—but my entire body. Proper running posture helps prevent suffering an injury. 

So, friends, how is your Advent watching going? Do you need to push reset to center yourself? Are you letting the season's busyness or the pessimism from the floating heads from the news channel you watch get in the way of recognizing the hope and peace the darkness has to offer? 

If so, that’s okay. Don’t give up. Take time to examine what you need to tweak to help you be more attentive to the good news making its way to you today.

Remember, Advent is a season. It's more of a marathon than a sprint. Watch out for those distractions that get in the way of the grand unveiling unfolding before you.

Watch.

Pray.

The future is now.

If you need some help resetting your Advent posture, may this Taize chant guide you back to an expectant watchfulness.

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 11–Chosen

“They are the chosen ones who have surrendered...
Once they were particles of light
Now they are the radiant sun!” Rumi

Chosen.

We could not have chosen a better day for a photo shoot.

And that’s what this post is—a couple pictures chosen from quite a few with the hope of bringing a smile to your face. 

Tomorrow will be nice, too. Take time to sit in the sun, breathe in the warm air, and be at peace in the midst of a beautiful day. 

And remember, whatever you’re worried about or whatever burden you’re carrying or whatever thought is getting in the way of your joy—set it down. Christ comes not to condemn, but to give us life. Receive it.

The chosen path of Christ—one of service and love—means that our lives are open to transformation. In my experience, to recognize this work of the Divine, I need to pause, choosing to listen and discern what the Spirit is revealing to me. The Spirit helps me notice what the world needs from me. 

Friend, the Holy One has already chosen you. Nothing you can do will ever change the Divine’s love for you. 

Nothing. 

Dwell in that good news. Rest in the Divine’s delight for you. And then, be like Tecumseh and sit in the sun wearing your favorite holiday sweater. 

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 9--Light

 

 “The way to right wrongs is to turn the light of truth upon them.”
Ida B. Wells

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 8-Faith

 

“Believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith
that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel
as far as you wish without having to step outside it.” Rainer Maria Rilke

Faith.

It has always been a part of my story.

In my study at church, beneath my degrees and next to a picture of Dorothy Day, hangs my baptismal certificate. 

Stuck in one of the corners is a picture that sums up my faith:

My grandpa Quine holding me as an infant on the day of my baptism. Standing to his left is my dad and to my granpda’s right, the pastor who baptized me. 

What sticks out the most to me about this photo?

The smile on my grandpa. It’s a big smile. Ear to ear. I’m sure at close look we could see every tooth in his mouth. 

He is holding me, smiling. 

When I think of the Divine and my faith—our faith—I imagine it similar to what is happening in this photo.

I don’t remember that moment. And yet, I remember it. I feel it. I see it. 

My faith isn’t my own. It is of those who have gone before me. 

Like my grandfather. 

Who taught me about faith. Not so much with his words. But with the way he loved those in his life. But not only in the way he loved us—but in the way he knew, deep in his bones—in his smile—that he—that I—that we—are a part of something much bigger than him—me—us.

And that much bigger is this dance called life with the partner leading the way—the Divine.

Today’s picture ins’t of that picture. Instead, it is of how I’m feeling. 

Tired. Spent. Needing to be plugged in.

Today’s photo came at the end of a conversation with a dear friend who has become family—someone who knows what my grandpa knew. Someone, like many of you, who fills me up and restores my faith in what we do—being the church.

Church is a noun. It deserves a captial ‘c.’ 

But it is a verb—it is a way of being, a way of living, a ministry after all.

If we aren’t looking for ways to alleviate the pain, the burdens, and the suffering of others—then we aren’t doing it right. 

Tonight, my faith—which isn’t on empty but is in need of witness—has been restored. 

The smile of my grandfather—the laughter of a friend sibling—replinished my faith. Our brief talk reminded me that God’s song for us is a love song—just look to Isaiah. It is a song of resurrection.

It is a song so sweet that it will make even the grinchiest of Grinches smile. 

Some days faith-ing is easy. A lot of days its difficult. Thanks be to God that we don’t have to faith it alone. We have the Divine—we have each other. 

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 7--Cleanse

“Without confession, there is no cleansing.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita

Cleansing.

I love this time of year.

Not only because of the daily possibility of snow but because of morning frost.

It is like a blanket that the night gifts us. According to the Weather Guys, “Frost on objects is just water vapor in the air that has deposited itself as ice onto a surface. Frost forms on objects close to the ground, such as blades of grass.”

Water vapor.

Water.

Out of the water of creation came life.

Out of the flood of the earth [re: the Noah story] comes new life.

Out of the parting of the Red Sea comes liberation--life.

The water of these events, and even our own baptism, saturate us in God’s goodness. Prophets of Israel, amidst the failure of their own generation to honor God’s covenant, called for justice to roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream (Amos 5:24). They envisioned a fresh expression of God’s grace and of creation’s goodness — a new covenant accompanied by the sprinkling of cleansing water. In his ministry, Jesus offered the gift of living water.

The frost reminds me of a cleansing. Each day is a new day to join in the Creator in seeing that “justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

In the Isaiah text, we hear once more of the Holy One’s desire for restoration. A cleansing of sorts…

But it comes only after lamentation and confession, a recognition of how the people put their self-sufficiency before their covenant with the Holy One. Something went wrong in the City, and the people must rid themselves of the practices and policies that lead to their demise. Still, the text speaks of the Divine, who takes seriously how the people put their greatness ahead of God's and remembers the promise to restore.

Here’s the thing, friends. We will mess up. We will choose selfishness over selflessness often. Still, the Holy One offers us peace—but only if we admit our role [explicitly, implicitly] in the breakdown of community.

The frost reminds me of a chance to begin again. To cleanse myself of any prejudices or biases that prevent me from seeing the Risen Christ in all those I meet. 

Each morning we wake up to Grace and Mercy and the invitation to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with the Divine.

A reminder of our baptism, a chance to give thanks, and one more opportunity to join in on the inevitable movement of the Divine—Liberation.

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 5--Repent

“Sin” primarily describes a state of living outside of union, when the part poses as the Whole."
Richard Rohr

 The photo above has nothing to do with the word for today.

Literally, there is no association of hibiscus with the word repent.

I’m not sure if there is any metaphor we could dig up to make the connection of repentance and a hibiscus.

Repent is a big word despite its average stature. To talk about repenting, one must address sin.

Sin. The ways we separate ourselves from the Creator, creation, and ourselves. Sin is weighty despite its trifling physique. [Yikes, that is bad.]

To repent means to turn away from whatever is separating from Love and return to Love.

Love = The Divine

Inside each and every one of us is the original blessing—the original affirmation of our goodness. Over time we lose sight of the Divine’s original ‘yes’ to us because of our egos. Generically speaking, the egos we create are our false selves. The false self is who we want to be based on who we think we should be according to those around us. The false self is often that part of us that tells us we are autonomous—we exist on our own efforts and need no help from anyone.

Or the Divine.

To recap so far.

Repent means to change one’s mind or, as Richard Rohr says, “to go beyond one's mind.” [my mind is blown after that statement]

Sin means to separate ourselves from the Creator, the creation, and the Christ within. It is the idea that we can exist on our own beyond the Divine and neighbors, all by ourselves—the false self—autonomy.

It’s getting deep—like the pot holding the hibiscus. But hold on.

The story of salvation goes something like this:

The Holy One creates.

We fall for sin’s trap—that we can do better than the Divine in organizing [politics] of our lives.

The Holy One sees us, hears us, and liberates us. 

Isaiah’s text is harsh. It is poetry at its finest. Long story short—chapter 2 is the prophet inviting The House of Jacob to repent.

What is their sin?

They forgot who and whose they were—children of the Living God.

Old Testament theologian breaks it down this way:

a. the land is full of silver and gold—they started to serve mammon

b. the land is full of weapons—they wanted to be like all the other nations trusting in military power to save them

c. the land is full of idols—projections of self-achievement, self-security, and self-congratulations

Why does this matter? To put it bluntly—they no longer were depending on God.

The prophet then is inviting them to turn from this desire for autonomy and self-sufficiency and return to the way of God.

There is a cliché that goes something like “pride before the fall.” It’s cliché because it is true. The House of Jacob forgot who they were and whose they were. In their pursuit of autonomy, they separated themselves not only from God but from the very people they are to care for the most—the poor, the oppressed, the widows, and the stranger.

For me, the false self tells me I must keep doing. That I have to be all the things to all the people. If I’m not doing something, then I’m doing nothing. And doing nothing is not acceptable because I could probably be doing something even if it isn’t anything. That’s the thing with the false self—it knows it is nothing. Hence, it convinces you to do something even if it isn’t actually anything. The more it does achieves and experiences, the more real it becomes. Eventually, I define myself by how busy I am.

The question I ask myself is—where is God in all this doing?

And that’s why I took the picture today.

Because on the second trip out the door [the first one I forgot my coffee and car keys], I noticed the flower doing what flowers do—being a flower. It wasn’t trying to be anything else. It was turning its little head towards the sun breaking through the curtains, and smiling.

I literally walked by the flower and then turned around to take the photo.

Did you catch that piece?

I turned around—I returned to a resting state of being—even if it were but for a moment. I was present to what was happening--and what was happening was I AM. The separation between me and the presence of What Is Happening was gone. I was present to The Present--a part of the Whole and no longer apart from It.

I came back returned to this picture often today. As I rushed from one thing to the next. Reminding myself that my worth isn’t based on how many words I write, how many emails I send, or how many phone calls I don’t make.

Instead—I am God’s beloved child.

I am because God is—and that is all that I will ever be.

Which is enough for me.