I can't get enough beauty.
Yesterday, wife Penny, daughter Clare, and graddaughters June Elizabeth and Christa Marie and I spent a few joyful hours at the Close Memorial Gardens at Nathanael Greene Park here in Springfield. I've written glowlingly about the gardens before. And here I am doing it again.
Visit and be sure to take in the new Butterfly Garden. And of course the English Garden is always a delight.
June Elizabeth and her mama had fun feeding Sun Chips to the ducks. June Elizabeth added to her vocabulary: Quack and Duck are among her newest words, along with No and Bye, Bye. See-ya. She's nearly two, I should tell you.
Take time for beauty. Today.
P.S.
The Friends of the Gardens has a blog of its own, which I commend to you. In fact, here's a post sent to me by the chair of the FOG board.
Rev Chumbley:
Peter Longley shared this with me today.
I just read your descriptive blog posting A Beauty Break. Your writing is a special presentation about a local garden paradise structured by man, using Gods creations and directed by Gods hand.
I am George Deatz, President of Friends of the Garden, the suport group developing the gardens at Close Memorial Gardens & Park. After reading your posting, I would very much like to post your posting to our blog http://friendsofthegarden.org/pblog/index.php
Thank you for your consideration.
Best regards,
George Deatz
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Seeking stillness
Many times, I'm rushing and don't even know it. But my shoulder and neck muscles do. They register the pace of my life. My muscles are in knots because I'm too busy. In too much of a mad rush.
But there's hope for me--and for you, if your days are crowded and frantic.
Yesterday in our early morning Pilates class, our instructor Colleen wore a shirt with a labyrinth imprinted on the back. A labyrinth is patterned on a medieval design from Chartres Cathederal in France. It's a kind of maze that one follows to the center.
In following the labyrinth, be it the kind printed on paper that one traces with one's finger, or a labyrinth made of stones that one walks, one is drawn into a deep state of concentration, and one begins to center, ultimately in the presence and stillness of Christ.
When I walked a labyrinth for the first time, this was my experience. (If you want to walk a labyrinth, you can do so, I'm told, at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Roman Catholic Church here in Springfield.)
At the center of the labyrinth on Colleen's shirt were the words, "Seek Stillness."
Busyness always finds us, or we find it and surrender to it, for fear of what we might discover about our lives if we slowed down long enough to pay attention.
In contrast to busyness, stillness won't just happen. It won't suddenly find us. We have to seek it if we are to find it. What did Jesus say in the gospels? Seek and you shall find.
How can we seek stillness and find stillness in Christ? We can walk or trace with our fingers the path of a labyrinth.
Or an even simpler way is one described by a friend the other day. In the midst of his busyness as an investment officer, he occasionally stops working and closes his eyes.
As he breathes in, he prays, "God," and as he breathes out, he prays, "Thank you."
"I'm at peace," he says.
He's found stillness in Christ. May you also find it and Christ this day.
But there's hope for me--and for you, if your days are crowded and frantic.
Yesterday in our early morning Pilates class, our instructor Colleen wore a shirt with a labyrinth imprinted on the back. A labyrinth is patterned on a medieval design from Chartres Cathederal in France. It's a kind of maze that one follows to the center.
In following the labyrinth, be it the kind printed on paper that one traces with one's finger, or a labyrinth made of stones that one walks, one is drawn into a deep state of concentration, and one begins to center, ultimately in the presence and stillness of Christ.
When I walked a labyrinth for the first time, this was my experience. (If you want to walk a labyrinth, you can do so, I'm told, at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Roman Catholic Church here in Springfield.)
At the center of the labyrinth on Colleen's shirt were the words, "Seek Stillness."
Busyness always finds us, or we find it and surrender to it, for fear of what we might discover about our lives if we slowed down long enough to pay attention.
In contrast to busyness, stillness won't just happen. It won't suddenly find us. We have to seek it if we are to find it. What did Jesus say in the gospels? Seek and you shall find.
How can we seek stillness and find stillness in Christ? We can walk or trace with our fingers the path of a labyrinth.
Or an even simpler way is one described by a friend the other day. In the midst of his busyness as an investment officer, he occasionally stops working and closes his eyes.
As he breathes in, he prays, "God," and as he breathes out, he prays, "Thank you."
"I'm at peace," he says.
He's found stillness in Christ. May you also find it and Christ this day.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Ants
We're fighting swarms of ants at home. They've invaded the bathrooms, the kitchen, just about everywhere. The problem is so bad that I feel as if ants are crawling on my legs and feet, even when they aren't.
Yes, I know it sounds creepy, perhaps even a little paranoid.
I've called the exterminator to come and treat our rooms a second time. He told me today that our infestation is so severe that he might have to treat our house several times, at no extra charge.
The first time the exterminator visited, he put out little dollops of clear jell, which apparently tastes sweet to our particular ant invaders. They must be able to smell it.
The ants race out from the walls and floorboards and scoop up the food, like hungry diners at an all-you-can-eat buffet. They then transport the food--this is carry-out--to their colonies, where they share it; eventually, they all die.
(I'm sorry I'm not more ant-friendly, but see how you like it when they crawl out of the bristles of your tooth brush in the morning.)
As I watched the ants feasting one day on the poison, I thought about how some people are like ants. They taste the sweetness of a new theological concept or insight or learn about the discovery of another lost gospel from the early church and swallow it down.
But rather than being the food of truth, that concept, insight, or discovery is the poison of falsehood.
Historically, the church has been concerned about discerning the truth, preferring that which comports with the revelation of God to Israel and fully in Jesus and in His church to that which does not, that which is false.
In the early church of the first five centuries, for instance, Christians fought, sometimes literally, about the nature of Jesus being fully God and fully human; and eventually, the church at the Council of Nicea formulated the Nicene Creed, which articulates the biblical truth about God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
I've learned to be careful about what I'm eating, especially if it happens to be sweet. And I've learned to be especially careful about what I'm taking in as truth.
Some authority or expert might say, "This is the truth," but I, a believing skeptic at heart, will test that truth claim against the classic Anglican measure of Holy Scripture, Reason, and Tradition (which includes the Apostles and Nicene Creeds).
If a particular truth claim passes the test, then I'll take a big bite of it, confident that it will give me life in Christ, not diminish or take away my life in Him.
And I'll keep trying to get rid of the ants in my house.
Yes, I know it sounds creepy, perhaps even a little paranoid.
I've called the exterminator to come and treat our rooms a second time. He told me today that our infestation is so severe that he might have to treat our house several times, at no extra charge.
The first time the exterminator visited, he put out little dollops of clear jell, which apparently tastes sweet to our particular ant invaders. They must be able to smell it.
The ants race out from the walls and floorboards and scoop up the food, like hungry diners at an all-you-can-eat buffet. They then transport the food--this is carry-out--to their colonies, where they share it; eventually, they all die.
(I'm sorry I'm not more ant-friendly, but see how you like it when they crawl out of the bristles of your tooth brush in the morning.)
As I watched the ants feasting one day on the poison, I thought about how some people are like ants. They taste the sweetness of a new theological concept or insight or learn about the discovery of another lost gospel from the early church and swallow it down.
But rather than being the food of truth, that concept, insight, or discovery is the poison of falsehood.
Historically, the church has been concerned about discerning the truth, preferring that which comports with the revelation of God to Israel and fully in Jesus and in His church to that which does not, that which is false.
In the early church of the first five centuries, for instance, Christians fought, sometimes literally, about the nature of Jesus being fully God and fully human; and eventually, the church at the Council of Nicea formulated the Nicene Creed, which articulates the biblical truth about God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
I've learned to be careful about what I'm eating, especially if it happens to be sweet. And I've learned to be especially careful about what I'm taking in as truth.
Some authority or expert might say, "This is the truth," but I, a believing skeptic at heart, will test that truth claim against the classic Anglican measure of Holy Scripture, Reason, and Tradition (which includes the Apostles and Nicene Creeds).
If a particular truth claim passes the test, then I'll take a big bite of it, confident that it will give me life in Christ, not diminish or take away my life in Him.
And I'll keep trying to get rid of the ants in my house.
Friday, June 5, 2009
A beauty break
Today, I cycled the South Creek Trail here in Springfield. It was a perfect day: bright sunshine, a few puffs of cloud in the blue sky, a cool breeze. There were moments of joy; I was living in the present: smelling the honeysuckle, listening to the trilling of the meadowlarks in the thistle along the creek bank, feeling good about riding.
The world looked equisitely beautiful to me, at least this little slice of it. And it looked even more beautiful when I stopped at Nathaniel Greene Park and walked my bike along the gravel footpaths of Close Memorial Park, taking in the sights of the English Garden, the work of a garden designer transplanted from England named Peter Longley, the Asiatic Garden, the new Butterfly Garden, which is enclosed in a screened quonset-shaped hut, and which features hundreds, perhaps thousands, of butterflies, settling on flowers for a time, then lifting off, and cork-screwing upwards in the breeze.
Ah, bliss.
God reveals Himself in many ways, including in the natural world. I see Him in the beauty of parks, streams, mountains, gardens--the canvass upon which God, the artist, paints his picture of Himself before presenting it to us to enjoy, as I did today at the park. I see the flowers of Peter's English Garden and in them, the face of God. I hear the songs of the meadowlarks and hear the voice of the Creator.
In the beauty of creation, God is showing Himself to me. Today, the gardens are my burning bush. Remember how God reveals Himself to Moses in the burning bush?
As I stop today and take in the beauty, I am taking in God, in a kind of sacrament. And His Real Presence is food for my soul. God is renewing me through sights, sounds, and smells. I feel alive, as I do when I take in the bread and wine, the consecrated Body and Blood of Jesus in the Holy Communion. Fully alive in Christ's Presence.
Every day, I want to take a break for beauty, this particular way in which my Loving Creator is communicating Himself to me. In doing so, I realize that I, too, am part of God's creation and am beautiful. The Psalmist says, we are beautifully made. You are beautifully made. Rejoice. Make time for beauty. In doing so, you'll make time for God Himself.
The world looked equisitely beautiful to me, at least this little slice of it. And it looked even more beautiful when I stopped at Nathaniel Greene Park and walked my bike along the gravel footpaths of Close Memorial Park, taking in the sights of the English Garden, the work of a garden designer transplanted from England named Peter Longley, the Asiatic Garden, the new Butterfly Garden, which is enclosed in a screened quonset-shaped hut, and which features hundreds, perhaps thousands, of butterflies, settling on flowers for a time, then lifting off, and cork-screwing upwards in the breeze.
Ah, bliss.
God reveals Himself in many ways, including in the natural world. I see Him in the beauty of parks, streams, mountains, gardens--the canvass upon which God, the artist, paints his picture of Himself before presenting it to us to enjoy, as I did today at the park. I see the flowers of Peter's English Garden and in them, the face of God. I hear the songs of the meadowlarks and hear the voice of the Creator.
In the beauty of creation, God is showing Himself to me. Today, the gardens are my burning bush. Remember how God reveals Himself to Moses in the burning bush?
As I stop today and take in the beauty, I am taking in God, in a kind of sacrament. And His Real Presence is food for my soul. God is renewing me through sights, sounds, and smells. I feel alive, as I do when I take in the bread and wine, the consecrated Body and Blood of Jesus in the Holy Communion. Fully alive in Christ's Presence.
Every day, I want to take a break for beauty, this particular way in which my Loving Creator is communicating Himself to me. In doing so, I realize that I, too, am part of God's creation and am beautiful. The Psalmist says, we are beautifully made. You are beautifully made. Rejoice. Make time for beauty. In doing so, you'll make time for God Himself.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Exciting things are happening
I once made my living as a writer for the University of Louisville Health Sciences Center. I loved my job, because every day, I learned about a world that was new to me, that of science; I have an undergraduate degree in history, not biology or chemistry or physics. And I loved my job because I had to write clearly, engagingly, and quickly about difficult subject matter.
This Tuesday, I felt as if I were back at my old job.
I sat in on a press conference at the Jordan Valley Innovation Center in downtown Springfield, taking notes the whole time. I heard the center's director, along with President Michael Nietzel of Missouri State University, a major partner in the center, describe Jordan Valley's highly technical, sophisticated, and even secretive work.
After a luncheon, I, together with others toured the $20-plus-million facility, which is financed by public and private money.
We looked in on a defense contractor's lab and saw technicians in space-like suits, working in clean rooms, making....well, that was super secret. But whatever it was, it involved thin silicon chips about the size of one of those old 45 rpm records.
A Christian with a pacific inclination, I am uneasy about the military research being done at the center, but if it protects people and saves lives, especially civilian lives, ultimately, then I think it's a good thing, or at least not so bad a thing.
In contrast, I am utterly enthusiastic about Jordan Valley's other work. For instance, a hospital lab at the center has developed a special operating room table attachment upon which a child or infant can be positioned, supine, for cranial surgery.
This attachment is the invention of a local surgeon who was tired of improvising with pillows and sheets and decided to create just what he needed, with the help of the lab technicians. And now the attachment is being produced, marketed, and used in operating rooms.
Another physician developed a special contact lens that will make it possible for patients to see and, at the same time, receive medication administered through the lens itself.
As I toured the Jordan Valley Innovtion Center, I felt increasingly excited, for the center demonstrates what human beings can do when we think creatively and act collaboratively. We can do the impossible, or at least the improbable, when we put our intelligence, creativity, ingenuity, and will to it.
According to the speakers at the press conference, this center will position Springfield to become a major research hub in Missouri and in the midwest, spurring innovation and product development, manufacturing and marketing, and creativty in arts and design, which is also a component of the center.
And Jordan Valley will be a powerful stimulus to the growth of downtown as a center for highly educated, well-paid people to work, live, shop, relax and recreate, and, yes, worship God.
Those engineers and technicians at the center are not only physical beings, but also spiritual beings who hunger for God, who need to worship Him and who want to find their meaning and purpose in Him, although some of them may not yet realize that they are seeking God.
There are churches downtown, including my own Christ Episcopal Church, that understand that science and religion are partners in promoting the flourishing of the human family and that will eagerly welcome the people of Jordan Valley Innovation Center.
This Tuesday, I felt as if I were back at my old job.
I sat in on a press conference at the Jordan Valley Innovation Center in downtown Springfield, taking notes the whole time. I heard the center's director, along with President Michael Nietzel of Missouri State University, a major partner in the center, describe Jordan Valley's highly technical, sophisticated, and even secretive work.
After a luncheon, I, together with others toured the $20-plus-million facility, which is financed by public and private money.
We looked in on a defense contractor's lab and saw technicians in space-like suits, working in clean rooms, making....well, that was super secret. But whatever it was, it involved thin silicon chips about the size of one of those old 45 rpm records.
A Christian with a pacific inclination, I am uneasy about the military research being done at the center, but if it protects people and saves lives, especially civilian lives, ultimately, then I think it's a good thing, or at least not so bad a thing.
In contrast, I am utterly enthusiastic about Jordan Valley's other work. For instance, a hospital lab at the center has developed a special operating room table attachment upon which a child or infant can be positioned, supine, for cranial surgery.
This attachment is the invention of a local surgeon who was tired of improvising with pillows and sheets and decided to create just what he needed, with the help of the lab technicians. And now the attachment is being produced, marketed, and used in operating rooms.
Another physician developed a special contact lens that will make it possible for patients to see and, at the same time, receive medication administered through the lens itself.
As I toured the Jordan Valley Innovtion Center, I felt increasingly excited, for the center demonstrates what human beings can do when we think creatively and act collaboratively. We can do the impossible, or at least the improbable, when we put our intelligence, creativity, ingenuity, and will to it.
According to the speakers at the press conference, this center will position Springfield to become a major research hub in Missouri and in the midwest, spurring innovation and product development, manufacturing and marketing, and creativty in arts and design, which is also a component of the center.
And Jordan Valley will be a powerful stimulus to the growth of downtown as a center for highly educated, well-paid people to work, live, shop, relax and recreate, and, yes, worship God.
Those engineers and technicians at the center are not only physical beings, but also spiritual beings who hunger for God, who need to worship Him and who want to find their meaning and purpose in Him, although some of them may not yet realize that they are seeking God.
There are churches downtown, including my own Christ Episcopal Church, that understand that science and religion are partners in promoting the flourishing of the human family and that will eagerly welcome the people of Jordan Valley Innovation Center.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Opossums
Heretofore, the only opossums I had ever seen were on highways or roads. Flat and still. But this one was moving. I was amazed.
Yesterday afternoon, I'd just visited a church member in the nursing home and was sitting in my car, ready to drive on to the hospitals for visits when I spotted an opossum exploring the vegetation: sniffing, scratching, searching.
Alive, opossums are fascinating to watch.
One of the lessons I'm learning as I study and write fiction is to pay attention and to take in as much as I can, and I'm discovering an amazing amount of richness in my life and in God's creation.
I'm like my 19-month-old granddaughter June Elizabeth for whom everything is endlessly fascinating. Nothing escapes her attention, especially an open drawer or cabinet I forgot to close.
Are you taking in everything in your life like a toddler? Are you listening to what people say to you, how they say it, the feelings behind their words? Do you smell the honeysuckle while you're on a walk? Do you notice the roses in your garden? (Do you have a garden?)
Are you living now, not yesterday or tomorrow? If you're not, you're missing life. I've missed too much life for lots of reasons, but no more.
Frederick Buechner, a novelist and Christian theologian, writes in his autobiographical work, The Sacred Story: "listen to your life...."
I want to listen to my life, yes, but also to watch my life and what's happening every second, for this is the only life I'll ever have in this world. I want to make it count. It's a gift from God to be enjoyed, celebrated.
I want to see that next opossum wandering through the grass.
Yesterday afternoon, I'd just visited a church member in the nursing home and was sitting in my car, ready to drive on to the hospitals for visits when I spotted an opossum exploring the vegetation: sniffing, scratching, searching.
Alive, opossums are fascinating to watch.
One of the lessons I'm learning as I study and write fiction is to pay attention and to take in as much as I can, and I'm discovering an amazing amount of richness in my life and in God's creation.
I'm like my 19-month-old granddaughter June Elizabeth for whom everything is endlessly fascinating. Nothing escapes her attention, especially an open drawer or cabinet I forgot to close.
Are you taking in everything in your life like a toddler? Are you listening to what people say to you, how they say it, the feelings behind their words? Do you smell the honeysuckle while you're on a walk? Do you notice the roses in your garden? (Do you have a garden?)
Are you living now, not yesterday or tomorrow? If you're not, you're missing life. I've missed too much life for lots of reasons, but no more.
Frederick Buechner, a novelist and Christian theologian, writes in his autobiographical work, The Sacred Story: "listen to your life...."
I want to listen to my life, yes, but also to watch my life and what's happening every second, for this is the only life I'll ever have in this world. I want to make it count. It's a gift from God to be enjoyed, celebrated.
I want to see that next opossum wandering through the grass.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Hold onto hope
A word caught my attention yesterday, Pentecost Sunday, in the reading from Romans.
St. Paul writes to the Christians in Rome: "For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience (Romans 8. 24,25)."
In Dante's medieval work, The Inferno, the words, "Abandon all hope you who enter here," are posted above the entrance to Hell. Without hope, to be sure, we're plunged into Hell.
But hope enables us to carry on despite the odds, the evidence, the grim realities and forecasts of even grimer things to come--be it the economy, our health and well-being or that of our family members, the future of our country and the world.
To hopelessness, God says hope. (God also says, you don't know enough to despair. )
Hope that God is in charge, even when it looks as if chaos is. Hope that God provides, even when you're down to your last $10 in the bank. Hope that a light will be left on in the darkness of this world. Hope that the grave is not the end, but only the beginning of new life.
I'm hanging onto hope and onto God and by my hope in God, the Source of all hope, God's hanging onto me.
St. Paul writes to the Christians in Rome: "For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience (Romans 8. 24,25)."
In Dante's medieval work, The Inferno, the words, "Abandon all hope you who enter here," are posted above the entrance to Hell. Without hope, to be sure, we're plunged into Hell.
But hope enables us to carry on despite the odds, the evidence, the grim realities and forecasts of even grimer things to come--be it the economy, our health and well-being or that of our family members, the future of our country and the world.
To hopelessness, God says hope. (God also says, you don't know enough to despair. )
Hope that God is in charge, even when it looks as if chaos is. Hope that God provides, even when you're down to your last $10 in the bank. Hope that a light will be left on in the darkness of this world. Hope that the grave is not the end, but only the beginning of new life.
I'm hanging onto hope and onto God and by my hope in God, the Source of all hope, God's hanging onto me.
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