Daily Dose (June 4 – 7)
TUESDAY JUNE 4 —
This week, the gift of glimmers. These are moments in our day—yes, even a mundane day—when “suddenly an ordinary day, becomes holy ground.” (Stella Nesanovich)
As it was for me, noticing the clouds.
And was asked the question, “You write about clouds?”
“No,” I answered. “But about the music they make. That the day—the gift of life in this day—even in its unsettling, quixotic, sensory ordinariness, still has the power to unbelievably astonish us. And make us glad to be alive.”
I’ve long been a fan of Michael Leunig. Michael is an Australian cartoonist, writer, painter, philosopher and poet, and his cartoons speak straight to the heart.
This week, one called “My Devise.”
One fella is laying on the ground staring up at the sky. The other standing by, looking down with curiosity, and asking, “What are you doing?”
“I’m using my device,” the fella on the ground answers.
“What is your device?”
“My device is the sky,” and he points up.
“Does your device have many applications?” The man asks.
“Yes. It has sun, moon, clouds and birds.”
“And do you have to recharge your device very often?”
“I don’t ever have to recharge my device. It recharges me.”
And I say Amen. And I welcome the power in this paradigm shift. The permission to see this day with new eyes.
And for me, it has changed the questions I ask. No longer “What did you do (as in accomplish) today?”
Rather, “What were the moments today that brought you gladness, peace, and gratitude?”
“Where were your glimmers today?”
“Where did you savor the gift of wonder?”
So. This week, let us begin each day with Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s prayer. “Dear Lord, grant me the grace of wonder. Surprise me, amaze me, awe me in every crevice of your universe. Each day enrapture me with your marvelous things without number. I do not ask to see the reason for it all; I ask only to share the wonder of it all.”
WEDNESDAY JUNE 5 —
“Play is the work of childhood,” Jonathan Haidt writes in The Anxious Generation. And I say, Amen.
He goes on to say, “Experience, not information, is the key to emotional development.”
A good reminder about our week’s theme refrain, the gift of glimmers. And a reminder that glimmers were an integral part of our world as children. “Wow. Did you see that?”
So, yes. In our bones, we knew the moments in our day when “suddenly an ordinary day, becomes holy ground.” (Stella Nesanovich)
There’s a great story about a research project with children. The children were put into a room with new toys. The study was to determine which toys they enjoyed most. After twenty minutes or so, playing with all the new toys, the children spent the remainder of their time enthusiastically playing with… the boxes that the toys came in. It makes me giggle just thinking about it. And does my heart good.
Children are wired to be fully alive. To see.
Wired to derive joy from that which is simple.
Wired to catch glimmers.
Wired for experience, not just information.
It is a byproduct of engagement. There is no need for stuff to entertain, or occupy, or preoccupy, or distract. To put it another way, someone once said that miracles are simply being in the right place at the right time. And kids see miracles and take delight in simple boxes.
Somewhere along the way to adulthood, something gums up the system. And we miss seeing God incognito in the everyday stuff of life; savoring glimmers—little delights.
Let us honor the child within. And honor the power in being present. Here now. To see. I’m not in yesterday or tomorrow. (Jesus seemed to think it was a good thing—“like a child”—something about entering the Kingdom of Heaven and all that.)
My questions for us all…
“What were the moments today that brought you gladness, peace, and gratitude?”
“Where were your glimmers today?”
“Where did you savor the gift of wonder?”
“Dear Lord, grant me the grace of wonder. Surprise me, amaze me, awe me in every crevice of your universe. Each day enrapture me with your marvelous things without number. I do not ask to see the reason for it all; I ask only to share the wonder of it all.” Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel
THURSDAY JUNE 6 —
There is the story of the troubled and distressed congregation.
They sent for a famous Rabbi. They were certain the Rabbi would help them see the light. That he would provide wisdom, clarity and solutions to the problems that plagued them.
The Rabbi arrived. The people gathered. No seat was empty. They were eager to hear what the Rabbi had to say.
He stood, for some time, silent. And then. He began to dance. Slowly, deliberately… and sang and danced and danced. Soon members of the congregation joined him. And after some time, the entire congregation danced around the sanctuary. They danced for two hours.
The Rabbi asked them to sit. And said to them, “I hope I have furnished the answers to all the questions you were asking.”
And I say Amen. Which brings us back to our paradigm shift this week: the permission to see this day with new eyes. To embrace the sacrament of the blessed present.
Changing the questions I ask myself. No longer “What did I do (as in accomplish or resolve) today?”
Rather, “What were the moments today that brought me gladness, peace, and gratitude?”
“Where were my glimmers today?”
“Where did I savor the gift of wonder?”
If we are looking for perfection, or only looking for “answers” and require closure, we forfeit this moment—missing the glimmers and the wonder and the gladness and the peace.
And I think about all the ways I am not present. And I think about the resolutions I have made, in order to will myself to be present. Here we go again. As if this can be fixed, or contained. As if all I needed were the correct answers. These are the moments I know, without a doubt, I need to be back on the beach with my friends watching the clouds. Or, in the words of Jesus, “chill out, and consider the lilies of the field.”
Because whatever my life is about, it is not a race or a contest or a beauty pageant.
One Sunday after guest preaching, a woman said to me (after I had preached about this topic). “Thank you. I’ve been wanting to have a conversation with a family member for many years. But I’ve been waiting until I had the right words. I wanted it to be perfect. Now I’m going to talk with them. Your sermon gave me permission.”
Indeed. The sacrament of the blessed present. This present. This not-yet-perfect present. This not-yet-resolved present. This still-full-of-ambiguity-and-wondrous-possibility present. When “suddenly an ordinary day, becomes holy ground.” (Stella Nesanovich)
“Dear Lord, grant me the grace of wonder. Surprise me, amaze me, awe me in every crevice of your universe. Each day enrapture me with your marvelous things without number. I do not ask to see the reason for it all; I ask only to share the wonder of it all.” Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel
FRIDAY JUNE 7 —
Many years ago, I am sitting on the bench in front of Bob’s Bakery with my son Zach (Bob’s is Vashon Island’s Saturday morning gathering spot). We’re having Cinnamon Twists. They are decadently yummy, and make me forget my need to be useful. The bench is made from a trunk of an old downed tree, it’s seat now worn from years of time and use.
Zach and I watch the Vashon traffic—“traffic” in a poetic license sort of way—go by.
The breeze is gentle and the sun warm on our skin.
And Zach, his mouth full of half a Twist, says, “Dad, this is the life.”
Franciscan teacher John Duns Scotus (1266–1308) helps here. He tells us that God did not create genus and species. God only created “this-ness,” (in Latin haecceity). He said that until we can experience each thing in its specific “thisness,” we will not easily experience the joy and ubiquity of Divine Presence.
Thisness; to embrace (and be embraced by) the sacrament of the present moment, the here-and-now in all its ordinariness, and particularity. In other words, I can’t be present in general.
I’m invited to be present to this person, this conversation or event or conundrum. Right here, right now.
I’m invited to be present to glimmers, moments today that brought me gladness, peace, and gratitude.
I’m invited to embrace when “suddenly an ordinary day, becomes holy ground.” (Stella Nesanovich)
Or in the words of Mr. Rogers, “How many times have you noticed that it’s the little quiet moments in the midst of life that seem to give the rest extra-special meaning?”
And this I know: As long as success or meaning is measured by keeping score or arrival or control, we lose track of most everything that makes us human and therefore, glad to be alive.
I like Rev. Robin Ringland’s take…
“What is required to make a place holy?
The ordinary becoming extraordinary,
The common interrupted for a moment
that we wish would last forever,
God coming into our forest, decorating our trees,
Inviting us to remove our shoes.”
“Dear Lord, grant me the grace of wonder. Surprise me, amaze me, awe me in every crevice of your universe. Each day enrapture me with your marvelous things without number. I do not ask to see the reason for it all; I ask only to share the wonder of it all.” Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel
Prayer for our week…
I stood there taking in the sheen on the crow’s beaks,
the heaving of the horse,
the sire and fall of my father’s voice,
the breeze driving clouds and tousling my hair,
and the aroma of freshly turned soil as of something right our of the oven.
These sensations went deep into me,
along with the shapes and textures of skin, shell,
scales, feathers, leaves, bark and fur.
They were the first alphabet I learned, before letters of words.
I still don’t have words to say what attracted me to the life of woods and fields,
except to call it the holy shimmer at the heart of things.
Scott Russell Sanders
Photo… “Good morning Terry. As always, I started this morning with your devotion. You talked about the wonder of clouds. We’ve had unsettled weather here in Dallas also and last night we got a real treat. I learned these are called Mammatus clouds. My neighbors and I stood and watched in awe. Thanks for a beautiful start to my week.” Marge Austin… Thank you Marge… And I’m so grateful for your photos, please send them to [email protected]