from this sacred space

There's a Hebrew word, makom, and it means sacred space; I'm attempting to live from there, from that sacred space of divinity that feeds the soul, and speaks to the heart, mine and yours - to live as if the universe has been declared to me. Lofty I know, and so other than, it almost seems like an improbable endeavor. But, I assure you friends, it is not. I listen for it all the time, and it happens. Everywhere and anywhere all at once.

From this sacred space I can recognize simple words like, "thank you," as golden nuggets worth treasuring for longer than the time it took to say it. And when I take walks at the dock by my house, I can recognize the sound of the water licking the shoreline as the sound of creation singing its story. And I can recognize the whisper of my Jesus when all I did was look up.

Yes, I looked up. And there. There flew three beautiful wild geese over-head.

Long-necked, and heading headlong to some place mother earth was calling them to. Watching, I whispered back a prayer in my heart, "Let me be as the wild geese, free, going wherever they've been called." And then, this poem was echoed to me, brought to the forefront of my mind:

You do not have to be good

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting

You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers,

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

wild geese | mary oliver

Gush. It was as if the wind beneath these birds in flight had drawn a breath from me and made me swoon, only to bring me to these beautiful beautiful words! This world lends itself to our imaginations. Let us create new worlds! Let us see this life as the wild geese see their's, in full view, where heaven's abundance and the earth's wealth meet and is close at our own hands. Let us find our place in the family of things as we let ourselves actually do what is turning and tossing in our hearts to do, understanding fully that despite what will come, we will always be at our apotheosis, at the height of things. Let it be so. And when it does, may it breathe a hallelujah.

A friend, at your typical soup and bread shop, in the middle of some conversation on God knows what, the words, "Forgetfulness is good. If we didn't forget, everything would be overwhelming." He said it quick, and so very nonchalant, as if he himself didn't understand the weightiness to his words, but I took this in.

While I can find myself thankful after having spent an hour revisiting memories, enjoying the beauty and sentiments of a moment's glory, there comes a lapse in time where whatever healing may have come from reminiscing, it turns on itself, and I become wounded.

And so, these days, instead of recollecting, I am practicing forgetfulness, letting what's past live only as pillars that shout, "Then, it was good! And now, now you are better! And after this? The 'more' you didn't know of!" And its been good, easy and easier all the time.

Eyes Wide Open

I love driving before the sun comes, when the sky shows lovely pinks and purples behind silhouettes of barren trees, and the morning fog is only beginning to lift, letting the sky hang just above my head. Heaven never seemed so close...

As of late, I've been feeling as if eternity is closing in on me, while expanding too inside, encircling without, and enlargening within.

Through the lulls I am graced with these seconds that feel like a little bit of heaven right before me, hedging me in, on every side, this eternity, and infiniteness coming to beckon me away from the meaningless of meaningless, a brush against my face from the hand of my Creator. The seconds of my day may go on fleeting, sure, but I'm increasingly more aware that these short moments have been purposed since forever, and on. He has set eternity in the hearts of men, says Ecclesiastes. And I've been leaning into these moments. These gifts. Looking and seeing.

These seconds look like this:

One morning, as I made my way to work, I pulled into a parking space, paused, and sat in my car for 30 seconds more than intended to, just because. And then, my eyes beheld a small, but bright, deep red against the blunt colors of winter. It was a winter cardinal fluttering about in the smallest wedge found between the bushes. Right in front of me. Only for my eyes to enjoy. Only for me. Time stood still in that moment.

Another second looked like:

End of the day. Around the bend of the sidewalk, I am walking a little one to his bus after school, and then: a squeeze of his hand into mine. Do you know what that did to me? It was like gripping the hem of Jesus's cloak-- a gesture of healing for me, as if something so kind slipped into my heart and spoke words so divine, so personal... words so good I must keep to myself, to preserve their sacredness.

And so, I am looking.

On a similar note, it's the first full week of December-- December, the last month of the year, the culmination of things past. And then, it is also Advent. A time of looking to the coming Christ, both in remembrance of, and also in the present longing that is before us, oh the coming King, I am looking for You, with eyes wide open, I am looking.

To everything there is a season,

a time for every purpose under heaven....

What profit has the worker from that in which he labors? I have seen the God-given task with which the sons of men are to be occupied. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity in their hearts, except that no once can fathom the work that God does from beginning to end. | Ecclesiastes 3:1,9-11