Grace

Grace is a sail on the shimmering lake after a hard winter. Grace is tall yellow tulips. Grace is moving out of the neighborhood before the tornado hit and split the green towering trees. To be at the right place at the right time even if you don’t know it. Grace is the power to stand in my own boots, to own red shoes, to dance while the bones heal, the music in my blood. To change, to move, to do it differently, to claim my own. To share, to do it together. The power of the storm to destroy, the power of the love to rebuild. That we have so much and do not even know it. That we lament what we do not have and even then we have the luxury of lament. The power of words to awaken. Flowers and trees are awakening, the ones not damaged by the storm. So am I. The parts of me not damaged by the storm are awakening and throwing off the comforter of despair and stepping into sandals. Thirsty for sun, awakening to the sense of how much I hold back, how powerful I could be if I allowed myself to accept my gift of rising. I awaken with the sun at 5 am and think I don’t have to get up yet with gratitude. Fall back into dreams or just listen to the silence. Now if only I could silence the chatter in my head, the monkey mind, the back talk. The silence in old adobe home is thick and dense. The silence of a forest is filled with movements of life, bird songs and insects rustling, squirrels and chipmunks and rabbits scampering, leaves blown by a breeze. The healing balm of both kinds of silence. It always amazes me when my entire congregation goes into mediation. A room full of people sitting together in silence. It is powerful, a form of benediction, Grace incarnate. As we open ourselves to receive the Presence of the Divine, the holy silence at the heart of creation.