Live one moment at a time and that moment for God. Don’t think of a holy life for that will overwhelm you by its immensity. Remember that a holy life is a series of holy moments. —Source Unknown
Grace and Peace to you.
Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and cry to her that she has served her term,
that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand
double for all her sins.
A voice cries out:
“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.”
The Word of God, a word of comfort,
comes to exiles far from home.
Through the impassable you are given a way
to a place of belonging.
Your passage to freedom has been prepared.
The Companion is ready now.
A tender hand reaches out to you
to accompany you on the way toward wholeness,
through the desert, the wild places.
Through strange and difficult places,
a wilderness way across borders, under fences.
The path of healing is also the path of pain.
The journey will be dangerous, on the run.
You will depend on strangers. Carry water.
Share mercy with the others on the secret road
through the desert. You will find sanctuary.
Sister, listen to the gentle Word: O comfort…
Take the hand, and begin.
So grateful for these promises on this pilgrimage any-which way the wind blows God is always faithful. So grateful for little white church buildings and God orchestrated connections!! xo
Wait, for now.
Distrust everything if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become interesting.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again;
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a little and listen:
music of hair,
music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.
“Wait” by Galway Kinnell