There are days when I walk on the beach and greet everyone I pass with a smile, a nod, and a brief “Hello!”, Other days, like today, I feel cocooned in my own thoughts, almost oblivious of others as they pass me. Like the sea itself, our energies and thoughts sometimes ebb and flow, focused inward or outward, depending on the day’s needs. I ask you, dear Father, to make both perspectives profitable. May I have quiet time when I can turn my thoughts inward to touch your face and feel close to the Christ who lives within me. But may I never lose balance—may I also remember to turn my energies outward, reaching for the Christ who resides in others. Help me, like the sea itself, to maintain a measured balance.
Dear Heavenly Father, last fall there was a relatively common occurrence on the island; something was left, forgotten on the stove, and a serious fire resulted. While no one was hurt, the house was virtually destroyed, all because a small pot was left unattended on the stove, its boiling contents, so small, able to destroy an entire house.
I think Lord, of the small boiling pots I leave unattended in my heart, pots that don’t contain soup or stew or yesterday’s left-overs, but simmering pots of anger. Not always large, these pots sit on my hearts stove, never cooling, always finding new sources of fuel to continue burning.
For instance, there are those things I do that make me angry, behavior I regret but don’t erase. So often I insist on the last word, how I hone my phrases like, “I told you that would happen!”, or “so there!” knowing they accomplish nothing, only turn up the heat a tiny bit. There is the burning pot of wanting more and more credit for all that I do, particularly from God. Sometimes I know I treat God like a third grade teacher who dispenses smiley faces for good deeds, and I insist on my share. Turn up the heat a bit more. My feelings get hurt, what my mother called, “Wearing my heart on my sleeve,” so that I see harm in the most innocent comment, and the heat goes up still more. I forget that it’s not all about me. Another untended pot is that I’m impatient; I can barely wait to let someone else complete a sentence, so I hurry and finish it for them. I hate when I do that; it makes me angry, but I haven’t yet found the way to stop doing it. I get angry and angrier.
Then there are things I don’t do that make me angry. When someone could use a kind note, a positive email, the delivery of food; I’m always the first to volunteer in my heart. In my heart, yes, but not necessarily in fact. I get angry at myself for not following through, but I haven’t mastered my failure. I’m angry that my daily prayers have grown stale and repetitive. I want them to reflect the true feelings in my heart, but I find myself instead mouthing words while I brush my teeth. A small pot of anger. And what makes me most angry is that I don’t listen to You, God. I spend my time as if You were my office assistant; I give you a to-do list, dates when I want them accomplished, and suggestions for how to do them. I know in my heart that You are God of the universe, and yet I treat You with such casual regard, failing to listen to You, failing to give ear to what You have to tell me about my life. I’m angry at myself, but I don’t change my behavior. The heat goes up another notch.
And finally, Dear God, I’m angry over things I can’t even control. I’m angry over this country—it’s division, its name-calling, its refusal to emphasize what Christ taught—to love, to forgive, to care for the needy and the aged. I dread the papers, I watch TV and I grow angry. I’m angry over climate change. I worry about the planet I’ll leave my granddaughter. Our son is a geologist; he can see the impact we’re having on this world You gave us, and our disregard both troubles and angers me. And finally, Dear Lord, I’m angry over ageing. I hate that my mind grows increasingly muddied, that what was once crystal clear is now confusing, that I can no longer think or speak as I once did. I see my body changing day by day, no longer responsive to my wishes, and it makes me angry. The world is changing so rapidly that I’m dazed; I feel left behind and frustrated. I feel angry.
Forgive me, please Lord, not to do those things I ought not. Let my anger be consumed by activity. Forgive my anger at my failure to do things I ought to do. Please give me the motivation, the encouragement, to do them so that I am no longer angry at myself. And Dear Father, help me to find ways to channel my anger over those things I can’t change. Help me to find small ways that I can be an agent of peace in this troubled world. Help me to find ways, perhaps small ways, that I can reduce climate change by my behavior, reducing my anger. And help me to find patience in the process of growing old. Patience with myself and my body’s changes. Instead of anger, help me to find wisdom in ageing, ways in which I can share my life’s lessons with others.
Dear Father, I know that my anger, reflected in these simmering pots, is dangerous and unproductive. If left unattended, even the smallest pot of anger can destroy the joy in my life, make me despondent and unhappy. Just as these unattended pans of soup or stew caused fires that destroyed houses, so too I can ruin my happiness by letting anger overcome my life. Help me to examine each of these small fires, and help me find ways to remove them from excessive heat by positive choices. Give me, I pray, a life lived so close to You that there is no room for anger or simmering resentment; may my life be filled only with the joy of Your presence and the love You give me to share with others.
Dear Heavenly Father, recently a dear friend gave me an icon, a primitive necklace from Taos that represents Archangel Raphael. According to the small note that accompanied the icon, “your negative thoughts have created your illness. You must change your thinking.” I know, Dear Lord, that many people believe this, that I caused my illness, that it’s my fault, and that I alone can cure myself.
I do not believe this. I didn’t cause my illness, my thoughts are not to blame, and it is not true that I alone can heal my illness. Where are you in this equation? What is your role as healer? And what of children in utero who are born with an injury or a condition—what of a young child who suffers from a fatal illness? Has that child already accumulated negative thoughts? What of years and years of medical history which each day comes to a clearer understanding of illness and its treatment. If I caused my condition because I don’t think ‘right’, and if I don’t get better, then I’m to be blamed for that as well, and so the guilt spirals and spirals.
No. Illness exists because we live in a fallen world, a broken world, a world in which wars and tornados and sudden death exist. I can acknowledge that there are things we may do which could contribute to illness—over-exposure to the sun or smoking, for instance. But even then, not all who seek sunshine to excess contract skin cancer and not all smokers fall prey to lung cancer. And there are those who do neither of those activities, but who succumb to cancer regardless.
I believe too we may inherit a propensity to a particular sickness—in our genetic make-up we may be more likely to develop high blood pressure or cancer, or heart problems.
However, in the deepest recesses of my heart I do NOT believe God uses sickness as punishment. God does not want us to suffer, to be in pain, to waste away. Alzheimer’s is as painful for Him to watch as it is for any family member. God is our Father—He is our family member as well, and He loves us more than we are capable of loving one another.
No, God doesn’t cause illness, but He does use illness for His purposes. Once the sickness is there, He works to bring good from the evil of illness. Always He gives us a choice of responses. We can, in the face of illness, get angry. If we choose to get angry with God, sadly we slam the door shut to any comfort or healing He could provide. If we get angry with our physicians, we waste energy that could be used to help us heal—the doctor will move on to other patients and our anger accomplishes nothing. We can get angry at ourselves, blame ourselves, silently shout at ourselves for deserving or not deserving God’s punishment. And as our energy is depleted, as an auto-immune disease is worsening, we contribute to the self-destruction that some illnesses are.
God gives us another choice. We can work with Him to benefit from the experience of illness. If we work closely with God, we can deepen our sense of dependency, use the illness to focus on God in our lives, on the role He plays in our thinking and feeling and action. We can use sickness to develop a closer relationship with ourselves, to explore and confront who and what we are. When I was 37 years old, I spent six months helpless in a body cast, totally rigid, unable to bend and confined to a hospital bed. During that period I had time when all I could do was burrow into myself, find the strengths God gave me, and identify too the weaknesses and temptations I succumbed to. I came to love myself as Jesus taught us we must—that until we love and respect ourselves, we can’t love our neighbor.
And finally, through illness God gives the gift of altering how we relate to others. Through my own sickness I came to understand that we are all ill—we all suffer in one way or another. Each of us is ill, whether that sickness is physical or spiritual or mental. Once I have learned to be gentle with my own sickness, how can I be unforgiving of all those I meet who also suffer from their own illnesses? I used to hear “there are no atheists in a fox hole”—well, I’ve discovered atheists are rare in an oncology office, or a cardiologist’s office, or in the waiting rooms of many specialists. Very often in such offices there is a gentleness of spirit, a breath of kindness and understanding less common in the world outside. It’s possible, through illness, to become compassionate, empathetic, to grow in a sense of shared spirit, of common pain. Each of us in the waiting room has a ‘story’, and in the telling of our own story we bond together, uniting as one.
No, the little note with the icon necklace is wrong. I didn’t cause my illness and I alone can’t cure it by changing my thinking, my negative thoughts. God does not give illness as punishment, but He does promise to use sickness for a greater good; He promises to bring good even from the evil of illness—if we let Him, if we make a choice to help Him and learn from the experience.
I profited from my illness; I am wiser, closer to God, and closer to the people around me—even those who are strangers. We have the choice of how to respond—to use our energy to benefit from what we go through, or to expend our energy wastefully, accomplishing nothing other than depleting ourselves. I pray, Dear Father, that You would help each of us to work with You, to choose to include You in benefitting from illness, to use our broken bodies in your service and in our deepening faith. Amen.
Today on my beach walk, I came across a feather. It lay in the sand, perfect in shape, a swift, arching curve. I picked it up, running my fingers over its simple complexity. I wonder if the owner knew of the feather’s loss, or if it simply fluttered down as the bird soared overhead in search of food. Perhaps it was scarcely acknowledged as it went missing. I turned around to see my footprints in the sand; I wonder now what I leave behind me, what traces do others come across. Is what I leave behind beautiful or sordid? I wonder, dear Father, if others can see you in my footprints. Do I leave behind a message of hope, of encouragement, of love? What words have my lips last spoken? Where did my feet last visit? What message did my hands last shape? Does my path seem strewn with careless and selfish refuse, with ugly words, with mean spirited thoughtlessness? O please help me, Heavenly Father, to walk in your path, to leave behind in my wake all that testifies I share my path with you.
The fog has lifted. At night I can see across to the mainland, where house lights, buoys, and headlights shine. It seems so busy and energized over there across the bay’s water, but there must be those who sit at home tonight alone, looking into the darkness. Inside their windows they may live in need—need of food and money, of self-worth, need of God’s presence. Perhaps they are hungry or abused; perhaps they look out of eyes that are tear-filled. It is too easy for me to look into windows as if they were mirrors, seeing only myself reflected back, seeing no one else. I pray for these people too, for all those who have no understanding of your love or your presence. Be with them, I pray, and grant them your peace. May I use the bounty you have given me for their good and your glory. Amen.
My windows are covered with salt spray, especially those that look on the ocean. When I peer out, what I see is clouded and spotted, distorted by the deposits made in each tiny drop. My life is sometimes like that. I am distracted by tiny ‘things’ that leave their mark on my vision, distorting and marring the view. Each drop is so minute, and yet the accumulated distortion affects all that I see. Pettiness and resentment encrust my perspective, making me cross and depressed. Seeds of selfishness cause small changes in my view until I see only what is blurred and misshapen. How can I see your world clearly through windows that distort my vision and its clarity? I pray, O God, help me wash my spirit and scour away these distorting deposits. May I look through eyes that are clear and loving; may I see others as you see them. Please help me see through eyes washed with your water of love and forgiveness; help me see only as you see.
When I drive over the bridge to the mainland, I am reminded that island life makes it easy to see ourselves as separate, remote from the “mainland of humanity”. Sometimes it’s tempting to make the bridge an ideological divide and not a way of joining land to land. Forgive me my arrogance in thinking I can leave the world’s problems behind me, that I can escape to an island. We are all connected, if not by bridges, then by shared needs and demands. You have insisted that we love one another, no matter how disconnected we may seem. Please, Lord, help me stay connected with others so that I am never disconnected from you. I pray that you direct me not to hide behind bridges, but to maintain and reinforce them with the girders of your love.
I began my walk this morning when a neighbor waved to me. She is going through a very difficult time; she confessed that her life seems without value and meaning. As we walked and talked, I could feel her despair and pain. It would be wonderful to think my words or my company “cured” her, but I know that’s not the case. The causes of her difficulties, the problems themselves, still exist. However, I do believe that God can use a simple, random meeting for His good. What may seem random can be purposeful, intentional in God’s plan. In an email later that afternoon, my friend talked about our shared time. She walked on feeling less alone, feeling she had shared pain but experienced a healing, feeling God’s touch upon her, even during a quiet walk. Each of us is on a walk, O Lord, a walk that sometimes is slowed by pain, by grief, by doubts. Help us find your chosen companions on these walks, and help us to be just such a companion to others.
An eastern wind blew against my face as I walked on the beach today. My glasses quickly covered with salt spray and I couldn’t see the markers that usually determine the length of my walk. I was cold and huddled inside my jacket, trying to draw breath against the wind. And all the time I knew when I turned around and retraced my steps, that same wind would propel me home. What was once an adversary would become my propeller, making the walk easier and swifter. Thank you, God, for showing me that even in adversity I can take comfort in your presence. On the other side of every painful event there is the joy of your presence. May the crises of my life give me an opportunity to grown in faith and spirit. May I pass through hard times and emerge more swift and refreshed in my walk with you. Amen.
During this afternoon’s beach walk, I noticed footprints that attempted to crush each intact shell in their path. Remnants of shattered shells lay in the pattern this person had left behind. I wondered by someone would knowingly crush the whole shells, but then realized sometimes I do the same thing. I see people’s success or happiness and try to undercut it in my jealousy, resenting their achievements over mine. Why should they succeed, I wonder, when I have failed? Help me, Heavenly Father, to remember through Christ we are all one body. The success of my brothers or sisters is my success too; their share in my joy is equal. May I walk with you, Lord, careful not to crush the achievements and the happiness of others. May I tread alertly and lovingly all my days. Amen.
There are days when I walk on the beach and greet everyone I pass with a smile, a nod, and a brief “Hello!”, Other days, like today, I feel cocooned in my own thoughts, almost oblivious of others as they pass me. Like the sea itself, our energies and thoughts sometimes ebb and flow, focused inward or outward, depending on the day’s needs. I ask you, dear Father, to make both perspectives profitable. May I have quiet time when I can turn my thoughts inward to touch your face and feel close to the Christ who lives within me. But may I never lose balance—may I also remember to turn my energies outward, reaching for the Christ who resides in others. Help me, like the sea itself, to maintain a measured balance.
Dear Heavenly Father, last fall there was a relatively common occurrence on the island; something was left, forgotten on the stove, and a serious fire resulted. While no one was hurt, the house was virtually destroyed, all because a small pot was left unattended on the stove, its boiling contents, so small, able to destroy an entire house.
Today on my beach walk, I came across a feather. It lay in the sand, perfect in shape, a swift, arching curve. I picked it up, running my fingers over its simple complexity. I wonder if the owner knew of the feather’s loss, or if it simply fluttered down as the bird soared overhead in search of food. Perhaps it was scarcely acknowledged as it went missing. I turned around to see my footprints in the sand; I wonder now what I leave behind me, what traces do others come across. Is what I leave behind beautiful or sordid? I wonder, dear Father, if others can see you in my footprints. Do I leave behind a message of hope, of encouragement, of love? What words have my lips last spoken? Where did my feet last visit? What message did my hands last shape? Does my path seem strewn with careless and selfish refuse, with ugly words, with mean spirited thoughtlessness? O please help me, Heavenly Father, to walk in your path, to leave behind in my wake all that testifies I share my path with you.
The fog has lifted. At night I can see across to the mainland, where house lights, buoys, and headlights shine. It seems so busy and energized over there across the bay’s water, but there must be those who sit at home tonight alone, looking into the darkness. Inside their windows they may live in need—need of food and money, of self-worth, need of God’s presence. Perhaps they are hungry or abused; perhaps they look out of eyes that are tear-filled. It is too easy for me to look into windows as if they were mirrors, seeing only myself reflected back, seeing no one else. I pray for these people too, for all those who have no understanding of your love or your presence. Be with them, I pray, and grant them your peace. May I use the bounty you have given me for their good and your glory. Amen.
My windows are covered with salt spray, especially those that look on the ocean. When I peer out, what I see is clouded and spotted, distorted by the deposits made in each tiny drop. My life is sometimes like that. I am distracted by tiny ‘things’ that leave their mark on my vision, distorting and marring the view. Each drop is so minute, and yet the accumulated distortion affects all that I see. Pettiness and resentment encrust my perspective, making me cross and depressed. Seeds of selfishness cause small changes in my view until I see only what is blurred and misshapen. How can I see your world clearly through windows that distort my vision and its clarity? I pray, O God, help me wash my spirit and scour away these distorting deposits. May I look through eyes that are clear and loving; may I see others as you see them. Please help me see through eyes washed with your water of love and forgiveness; help me see only as you see.
When I drive over the bridge to the mainland, I am reminded that island life makes it easy to see ourselves as separate, remote from the “mainland of humanity”. Sometimes it’s tempting to make the bridge an ideological divide and not a way of joining land to land. Forgive me my arrogance in thinking I can leave the world’s problems behind me, that I can escape to an island. We are all connected, if not by bridges, then by shared needs and demands. You have insisted that we love one another, no matter how disconnected we may seem. Please, Lord, help me stay connected with others so that I am never disconnected from you. I pray that you direct me not to hide behind bridges, but to maintain and reinforce them with the girders of your love.
I began my walk this morning when a neighbor waved to me. She is going through a very difficult time; she confessed that her life seems without value and meaning. As we walked and talked, I could feel her despair and pain. It would be wonderful to think my words or my company “cured” her, but I know that’s not the case. The causes of her difficulties, the problems themselves, still exist. However, I do believe that God can use a simple, random meeting for His good. What may seem random can be purposeful, intentional in God’s plan. In an email later that afternoon, my friend talked about our shared time. She walked on feeling less alone, feeling she had shared pain but experienced a healing, feeling God’s touch upon her, even during a quiet walk. Each of us is on a walk, O Lord, a walk that sometimes is slowed by pain, by grief, by doubts. Help us find your chosen companions on these walks, and help us to be just such a companion to others.
An eastern wind blew against my face as I walked on the beach today. My glasses quickly covered with salt spray and I couldn’t see the markers that usually determine the length of my walk. I was cold and huddled inside my jacket, trying to draw breath against the wind. And all the time I knew when I turned around and retraced my steps, that same wind would propel me home. What was once an adversary would become my propeller, making the walk easier and swifter. Thank you, God, for showing me that even in adversity I can take comfort in your presence. On the other side of every painful event there is the joy of your presence. May the crises of my life give me an opportunity to grown in faith and spirit. May I pass through hard times and emerge more swift and refreshed in my walk with you. Amen.
During this afternoon’s beach walk, I noticed footprints that attempted to crush each intact shell in their path. Remnants of shattered shells lay in the pattern this person had left behind. I wondered by someone would knowingly crush the whole shells, but then realized sometimes I do the same thing. I see people’s success or happiness and try to undercut it in my jealousy, resenting their achievements over mine. Why should they succeed, I wonder, when I have failed? Help me, Heavenly Father, to remember through Christ we are all one body. The success of my brothers or sisters is my success too; their share in my joy is equal. May I walk with you, Lord, careful not to crush the achievements and the happiness of others. May I tread alertly and lovingly all my days. Amen.