Daily Dose (July 30 – Aug 2)

TUESDAY JULY 30 —

This week, we embrace the affirmation from Joe (as in, Joe versus the Volcano), “Only a few people are awake and they live in a state of constant total amazement.”
However, in our cultural fixation to find the remedies (or put life in a box), we miss… the small gifts of life, the serendipitous gifts of grace, the presence of the holy, and the gentle doses of the sacred reflected in our everyday, and extraordinarily ordinary world. Yes, the “diviner gifts”.

There is a consequence to be sure. Frances Mayes recognizes this, writing of her time in Tuscany in her book Bella Tuscan: “Gradually, I fall into time (there). At home in California, I operate against time. My agenda, stuffed with notes and business cards, is always with me, each day scribbled with appointments. Sometimes when I look at the week coming up, I know that I simply have to walk through it (tread water).”
And here’s the deal: As time goes on—the time we operate against—we will feel a reluctance to let enchantment happen. Something about holding back the cards that have been clutched so close to the chest, hedging our bets, not wanting all of our eggs in one basket, afraid to let go lest we be disappointed.
Passion. The very word puts some of us on edge.
Enchantment. Okay to describe a children’s movie. But considered optional and no longer vital for our adult psyche.

My teachers on this journey? Cedar Waxwings in my backyard. Writing this I have the memory of watching three through my study window. Waxwings are not uncommon, but this was a little late in the season for them. They are surreal in their elegance. They are a crested bird, greyish brown with a canary yellow belly. Zorro-like, they wear a black mask and chin. Each looks like a fine porcelain figurine, delicate and without blemish. While I watch, a nuthatch shuttles from feeder to tree trunk, one sunflower seed per trip, each time wedging the seed into a crevice of the bark where he would, from my way of seeing, stand upside down while pecking away at the shell.
Sometime during this pageant, it occurred to me that this is it. This, as in this elusive essence we call life. I tried to remember the Thoreau quote about going in the woods to drink from the very marrow of life, but I couldn’t quite come up with it and realized that it didn’t really matter anyway. I doubt that the cedar Waxwings would have been impressed.
If you are lucky, you grab hold of these moments when they come, for they are parcels of life undistilled. And you save the analysis for later on down the road.
You could, I suppose, stop and take a picture, maybe post it to Facebook, if you wanted to take the time to find your phone. Or chuckle at the need to confine the moment, push it aside and curl up on the couch to watch the birds, listen to their song, and feel the gooseflesh reminding you that your heart is still intact.

WEDNESDAY JULY 31 —

This week, we embrace the affirmation from Joe (as in, Joe versus the Volcano), “Only a few people are awake and they live in a state of constant total amazement.”
However, in our cultural fixation to find the remedies (or put life in a box), we miss… the small gifts of life, the serendipitous gifts of grace, the presence of the holy, and the gentle doses of the sacred reflected in our everyday, and extraordinarily ordinary world. Yes, the “diviner gifts”.

I love the story about Henry David Thoreau’s visit to New York City. (Yes, visit, as in singular.) He reported, “I visited New York City last Tuesday, and met no real or living person.”
(Okay, I have friends in New York City; so, blame Henry. Even so, his point is well taken. And truthfully, he could have said this in any neck of the woods.)
There’s a wonderful movie, Don Juan de Marco about a young man who believes he is Don Juan. Literally. A psychiatrist is given the job of curing him of his delusion, to bring him back to reality. But the psychiatrist is intrigued by the boy’s story and the boy’s infectious passion of life. The psychiatrist wonders about his own life, its obligations and a nagging sense of disenchantment. The boy senses this. One day he says to the doctor, “You need me for a transfusion. It is only in my world that you can breathe.”
Yes.  Sign me up for some of that.

There is no denying the fact that we live in a world where we don’t breathe all that well.  It is too easy to opt for, or be tempted by, distraction; to create a life filled (suffocated) with encumbrances and cares. And especially urgent meetings.  It is something about an inherent need to justify our time as well spent. Even if it involves our passion. As if our passions (and even our hobbies) must be justified to be valid. I picked up a book the other day with the title, “What you are really meant to do.” (I honestly couldn’t wait to find out.) A well-meaning title (because we all have a place where our passions do come to life), but it ends up creating an itch exacerbating some internal clock that tells us we find meaning only when or after we arrive at our dream job. There is something dispiriting about believing that now—this present moment—now, can only be an interim life where we tread water.
Today, on the lookout for small gifts of life and serendipitous gifts of grace.

THURSDAY AUGUST 1 —

We seem to have a cultural fixation to put life in a box, whether it is finding the precise remedies, or maybe, winning the race. When we do focus there, we miss… the small gifts of life, the presence of the holy, and the gentle doses of the sacred reflected in our everyday, and extraordinarily ordinary world. Yes, the “diviner gifts”. Yes, the we miss the serendipitous gifts of grace.

Mr. Rogers is one of my heroes. And I do believe that our world today would be better with Mr. Rogers in it. In one of his commencement addresses, he told those gathered, “Beside my chair in my office is a framed piece of calligraphy with a sentence from Saint Exupery’s book, The Little Prince (Le Petit Prince). It reads: “L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.” (“What is essential is invisible to the eye.”) I feel the closer we get to knowing and living the truth of that sentence, the closer we get to wisdom. What is essential about you that is invisible to the eye?”
Mr. Rogers continues, “You know, the Greek word for ‘thanks’ is eucharist. The way we say ‘thank you’ to God and to each other is the greatest imaginable form of appreciation. In fact, the reason we are created in God’s image—in God’s tzelem—is to be God’s representatives on this earth—to do here what God would do—to take care of the land and each other as God would take care of us.
You don’t ever have to do anything sensational in order to love or to be loved. The real drama of life (that which matters most) is rarely center stage or in the spotlight. In fact, it has nothing to do with IQs and honors and the fancy outsides of life. What really nourishes our souls is the knowing that we can be trusted, that we never have to fear the truth, that the foundation of our very being is good stuff.”

Okay, count me in. Because nourished we pause. And nourished we see, pay attention. It’s all about rewriting the codes. We’ve been wired this way for so long, it’s hard to stop.
The grounding that grace offers us, invites and allows us to say, “I’ve fallen in love with living,” without a grimace or need for further explanation (which takes fortitude and resolve usually not found in our species).
And gratefully, it allows us to say that “it is time to give the internal judges and scorekeepers a day off.”
The good news? All of this lives inside. Today. And can be born in the midst. Enabling us to be present, to be here now. And yes, to rise above, finding value and to taking heart.
I write this from home, back in Port Ludlow, WA, eager to work in the garden, and chat with the geese.

FRIDAY AUGUST 2 —

GK Chesterton tells the story of a teenage boy granted one wish by a genie. “Do you wish to be huge or tiny?”
We are all swayed by the appeal of being big, strong and powerful. So, the boy chose huge.
The outcome was predictable: in a few hours, the boy was bored. Because of his size, he walked around the world in only a few steps. Scaled the largest mountains. Like any child 30 minutes after the presents are opened, “Is that all there is?”
You see, Chesterton goes on to say, only “tiny people” can celebrate and enjoy life. Tiny people have nothing to prove, no score to settle, no one to impress. They approach each day, not from power, or the need to dominate or defeat, but from respect. Tiny people are fueled by gratitude and the freedom to receive grace and the freedom to let that grace spill.
Here’s the deal: “tiny people” see God incognito in the everyday stuff of life. They savor simple pleasures, the presence of the holy, and the gentle doses of the sacred reflected in our everyday, and extraordinarily ordinary, world.
And yes, they live in a world soaked in the serendipitous gifts of grace, even in a world where pain and hatred are real.
And as Chesterton goes on to say, only “tiny people” can celebrate and enjoy life.
Yes. Blessed are the meek…

Gladly, when I tally the catches of the heart (the tiny delights) this week, I realize that I can see my life through the eyes of the little boy (in the GK Chesterton story). Helpful when I answer the question: “So, how did I replenish my emotional and spiritual savings account this week?”
Meister Eckhart says that if you only learn one prayer in your whole life, learn this one: “Thank you.”
So. Thank you for the gift of tiny. It is a life-giving paradigm shift.
The invitation to pause. In order to see. To pay attention, to notice, to wonder, to take delight. It’s all about the gift of presence. In other words, to be here now.
Gratefully, with presence, we are no longer waiting for our real life to begin.

And yes, I am in awe watching bits and pieces of the Olympics, enjoying every bit of it. 

Prayer for our week…
Hineini (Hebrew — “Here I Am”)
On this day may I be present
to the Miracle of being alive.
May I reach out to those who are suffering
and may I use my voice as a force for good.
May I have the courage to do what is right, not what is easy.
May I have the strength to shine a light in the darkness.
May I not distance myself from myself.
Joanne Fink

Photo… “Terry, this is photo taken from our front deck near Angel Fire.” Ron Powell… Thank you Ron… And I’m so grateful for your photos, please send them to [email protected]