I planted a flat of pansies today, eager for spring’s splash of color in my heard. The island consists entirely of sand and oyster shells, so maintaining soil is difficult. I try to add topsoil, but it filters through the sand and vanishes. I must work at growing flowers on the island, digging, replenishing, fertilizing and watering.
My religious life is like that too. I can’t take for granted that an occasional watering or spading or fertilizing will suffice; I need to work at my faith, keeping it weeded and tended. Too often I assume the seeds of faith planted as a child should be enough to last me all my life, but that’s not good enough. Please forgive me, Father, when I neglect my garden of faith; help me to be a more faithful, diligent, and joyful gardener.
Last night I could hear the surf through my open bedroom window. All night it crashed against the shore, advancing and receding. The more quietly I lay, the louder it became, until it seemed to fill the room with its thunder. How lovely to lie in the darkness and hear the ocean’s voice just outside my window! I was reminded that even in the darkness your voice can be heard when I lie silent. I thank you, Lord, for all the forms and shapes Your voice takes, for the laughter of gulls, for the harsh croak of a heron, for the soughing branches of pine trees, for the roar of ocean waves. May I never grow impatient with these voices or dismiss their message; you created this world and still speak to us through it. I thank you, God, for your voices that reach out to me—even in the darkness. Amen.
I planted a flat of pansies today, eager for spring’s splash of color in my heard. The island consists entirely of sand and oyster shells, so maintaining soil is difficult. I try to add topsoil, but it filters through the sand and vanishes. I must work at growing flowers on the island, digging, replenishing, fertilizing and watering.
Last night I could hear the surf through my open bedroom window. All night it crashed against the shore, advancing and receding. The more quietly I lay, the louder it became, until it seemed to fill the room with its thunder. How lovely to lie in the darkness and hear the ocean’s voice just outside my window! I was reminded that even in the darkness your voice can be heard when I lie silent. I thank you, Lord, for all the forms and shapes Your voice takes, for the laughter of gulls, for the harsh croak of a heron, for the soughing branches of pine trees, for the roar of ocean waves. May I never grow impatient with these voices or dismiss their message; you created this world and still speak to us through it. I thank you, God, for your voices that reach out to me—even in the darkness. Amen.