Prayer Prompt

The Touch of God

The man whispered, "God, speak to me."
And a meadowlark sang.
But, the man did not hear.

So the man yelled "God, speak to me!"
And, the thunder rolled across the sky.
But the man did not listen.

The man looked around and said, "God let me see you."
And a star shined brightly.
But the man did not notice.

And, the man shouted, "God show me a miracle!"
And, a life was born.
But, the man did not know.

So, the man cried out in despair, "Touch me God, and Let me know you are here!"
Whereupon, God reached down and touched the man.
But, the man brushed the butterfly away and walked on.

Don't miss out on a blessing because it isn't packaged the way that you expect.

from Christopher Ian Chenoweth's
Daily Inspiration, 4/25/2009

Easter Morning Grace

This Easter morning woke up slowly, a series of grays and passing showers.

Slowly, too, I went out to run before the sun came up, somewhere behind the clouds. I saw no one. I passed no one. I barely heard slight traffic sounds on the nearby highway.

Until I turned the corner on Callas Verde. The most beautiful guitar music floated through the morning. I  saw a young man seated on the very edge of a folding chair, between the cars in his open garage.

Intently his heart and hands created sounds that held me in place.  He strummed and riffed, and my breath matched his rhythm. He reached a break and lifted his eyes.

"Good morning. That's beautiful. Mind if I stand here and listen to more?"

"Please do. I'm just playing 'til the boy is up."

What better words for Easter Sunday. Amazing grace.

Love and blessings,

...and in with the New

Ellen Fannin, Director of Special Activities (and just about everything else!) at Unity Church of the Hills, read us her recipe for a Happy New Year at yesterday's service.

I do not have the restraint to wait until this last day of 2008 to share it with you.

Earlier this month, as I was planning for a holiday meal and I came across a recipe that I would like to share with you. It is a “Recipe for a Happy New Year.”

1. Take twelve fine, full-grown months.
2. See that these are thoroughly free from old memories of bitterness, rancor and hate.
3. Cleanse them completely from every clinging spite.
4. Pick off all specks of pettiness and littleness.
5. In short, see that these months are freed from all the past—have them as fresh and clean as when they first came from the great storehouse of Time.
6. Cut these months into thirty or thirty-one equal parts.
7. Do not attempt to make up the whole batch at one time (so many persons spoil the entire lot this way), but prepare one day at a time.
8. Into each day put equal parts of faith, patience, courage, work (some people omit this ingredient and so spoil the flavor of the rest), hope, fidelity, liberality, kindness, rest (leaving this out is like leaving the oil out of the salad dressing— don’t do it), prayer, meditation, and one well-selected resolution.
9. Put in about one teaspoonful of good spirits, a dash of fun, a pinch of folly, a sprinkling of play, and a heaping cupful of good humor.
10. Cover this with God's love and enjoy it to its fullest.

Anushruti RK

I cannot imagine a more delicious way to prepare and serve up 2009.

Happy New Year!

Prayer Prompt 12

As 2008 winds down, my mind hops and skips over the many joys of the year. And my mind stumbles over some of the not-so-great moments of 2008.

As 2009 approaches, I breathe deeply the anticipation of all the grace, peace, and prosperity in the year to come. And I occasionally catch my breath because fear of the unknown is a natural (human) reaction.

So...here's my application of the continuous reminder that fear is just the absence of love.

I am safe with you, God.
Help me constantly light the darkness
of fears I feel with love I know.

I look forward to 2009. I hope you will, too.

Love and blessings,

Running w/ God

Saturday's run was a beauty, filled with grace.

No thanks to the gray, cold, wet weather.

At the start, I ran beneath this tree...

and reached up to brush the leaves with my hand.

One let go of its limb and stayed in my hand. I looked at it and never considered discarding it.

For the next 35 minutes the leaf ran with me. Smaller than my thumb, it cradled faithfully between my left thumb and forefinger.

Every so often I would look at it. I felt the whole world's beauty in its simplicity: tender veins, gentle yellow, slender stem, intricate edges.

After 10 minutes I sensed clearly God's presence in the leaf. And all around me. And in me. And powering every stride. And brushing me with the fine, cold mist. And sweetening each breath I took.

I was running with God. God was running with me.

Lesson from Mr. Friendly

On Saturday morning's run I passed Mr. Friendly (my made-up name for the dog whose yard I run past often).

Mr. Friendly was across the yard, digging with moderate passion beside one of the chain link fence posts. Didn't seem to be an escape maneuver, rather a way to pass the time. I think Mr. Friendly carries his freedom with him.

Mr. Friendly heard the scrape of my shoe on the road gravel. He lifted his head from his digging and stared at me, with that same moderate passion.

Mr. Friendly glanced at the not-so-deep hole then back in my direction. He was obviously trying to decide: dig or bark, bark or dig.

I could almost see the "I'm supposed to bark at strangers" conditioning ticker-tape across his mind. With a jolt and a jump he sprinted across the yard, barking full force.

I didn't slow my pace. As he got to the fence along the road, I said, "Good morning, Mr. Friendly." Mr. Friendly tilted his head as if "Say wha-?" Then he seemed to shrug his shoulders with a "What's the diff?"

He loped back to the hole beside the post without a backward glance. He resumed digging.

I ran on and thought how much I identified with Mr. Friendly. Torn between doing what I want to do (dig a hole) even if it has no good reason and doing what I feel I should do (bark) because it's part of who I am.

I remembered how late in my life the decision to do what I feel I should do began to override doing what I wanted to do. That's the presence of grace.

I looked back at Mr. Friendly. He was digging again. Digging happier, with more passion. I'm sure he was feeling good that he'd given up the dig time to throw me a bark.