Category: Love, Mercy, Grace, and Forgiveness

Some Days, We Nap Together (What Tragedy Demands of Us)

Some days, after working in my office all morning and eating a quick lunch at my desk, my body grows heavy and slow and my thoughts turn to molasses.  With just an hour left before the first child arrives back home, before I leave to work an evening shift at the library, I close my laptop, grab my phone and head for my office door.  My dog, Coco, half-sleeping in her corner chair, lifts her head, then jumps down and follows me outside across the blacktop soaked with sunlight, up the back steps, and into the big house.
Inside, I pause while we each get a drink of water – her at her metal bowl and me at the vintage water fountain near our kitchen door.  Then, I grab a blanket or beach towel – whichever is warm enough and near at hand – and head into the winter room where the wood stove sits heavy in the corner, squat and round, a cast iron Buddha.  Coco follows at my heels and watches patiently as I hunt one room, then another, in search of our sole throw pillow.
Pillow in hand, I lay down in the same position, always.  Pressing the pillow into one end of our old, leather love seat, I lay down on my right side, curling my long legs to fit on the too-short sofa.  Coco watches with patience and focus as I spread the blanket or towel over myself, then stick my legs out straight off of the couch, offering a pathway to the pocket of empty space at the far end.
I pat the leather with my hand, twice.  Coco pauses, very still, and looks me in the eye, double-checking her permission.  “Come on, Coco,” I say and up she jumps, then turns and settles in the corner.  I bend my legs again and tuck in around her, careful to keep from bumping her muzzle with my feet.  The warmth of her soft, sweet body adds to my own and we sleep, tucked together, her head resting on my ankles.
Her presence, as I rest, is pure gift.  The gift of quiet, undemanding companionship; the gift of with-ness that cannot be measured save for the way it softens and steadies the human heart.
She wakes, when I wake and shift.  Or, sometimes, too warm and close for comfort, she hops down before the nap gets under way.  Some days, if I'm lucky, our handsome black cat notices our napping nest and jumps down from his solitary leather chair and comes purring along into my arms.  On those days, the cat settles opposite the dog, in the space in front of my chest.  Together, we form a sort of yin-yang arrangement of fur and flesh, the cat in front of me, the dog behind.
//
I experience a profound goodness during these naps, which may seem a small thing amidst all the world’s evils and sorrows, not to mention my own small entanglements.  But I am wondering whether tragedy really demands the trivializing of such moments of beauty, wonder, and grace – moments when the human soul stretches and softens, relaxed and at ease?
Perhaps tragedy and sorrow, worry and fear, require instead, that we linger and luxuriate in these moments.  Maybe Love itself invites us to spread them out wide for the world to see or to tuck them in somewhere safe, like a golden leaf in fall noticed, gathered, and pressed between the pages of a book where it can be rediscovered time and again in the long winter months ahead.
I love these moments with the dog, the cat; they are precious to me and I cannot pass them off as something less than mercy and grace.  Evil is never defeat by casting what is precious aside.  Evil is defeated when we gently welcome, gather and share what is good and holy and true.  In this way light and life and love are born and borne and multiplied in our midst.
The world is a heavy and troubled place.  It is also riddled through with mercy, grace and love.  In these days of naming darkness, let us remember also to gather and spread the Light we're given, casting it high and wide, like a million stars lighting up the night.
 Coco and I sharing a little pre-nap love.
Where are you finding Mercy, Grace and Love these days??

Can You Love the Enemy Who is Trying to Kill You?

In the wake of Charlottesville, the Internet can be divided into two (three) people: the people crying that we should all “love our enemy;” the people shouting “They are literally trying to kill me;” (and the neo-Nazi defenders, who promote killing the aforementioned people; don’t even go down that rabbit hole). […] Continue reading Can You Love the Enemy Who is Trying to Kill You?

You Are Beloved of God: Yet Again

I have used the phrase “you are beloved of God” many times in my writings. (See blog post June 29, 2013). I have also used it frequently in spirituality retreats and classes. Henri Nouwen, one of the most widely read authors on spirituality in our time, is the one who introduced me to this simple, yet profound phrase. He has a series of eight videoson the subject that are well worth watching.
In spite of how much I have used this phrase, and how much it has meant to others, I need to be reminded of this time and time again. There are many voices within me that want to distract me from this truth; voices from the past that tell me that I am not worthy of God’s love for this or that reason. Voices that tell me that I am what I do, that I am what others say about me, that I am what I possess or that I am a composite of all the experiences I’ve had. Indeed, all of these distractions form a part of whom I am, but the core truth that “I am beloved of God” needs to be foremost. 
Invariably, when I teach this phrase to others, they change the phrase to “you are beloved byGod” when repeating it. But there is a clear distinction between the two prepositions. Being loved by God is a good phrase to repeat. However, when we say, “you are beloved of God,” the phrase becomes much more intimate. “Of” shows possession, and means that we are in a much more intimate relationship with God. God “owns” us, if you please. Being loved “by” God is more general while being loved “of” God is more personal. 
If I encounter a person who is feeling low, I tell them that, “you are beloved of God.” You can literally see their eyes shine when they hear this phrase. Then I ask them to look at themselves in the mirror and state out loud, “You are beloved of God!” For some reason, it is extremely difficult for most people to do the mirror exercise. We are so used to seeing our ego and our outward appearance when we look in the mirror, that we forget that we also have a soul that needs to be groomed. It’s a great exercise, even if we are not feeling low. 
Not only is it difficult for most of us to believe that we are beloved of God, but it is often more difficult to understand that others are beloved of God as well. That is especially true for those who are different from us. Can we think of the person who offends us politically or theologically as being beloved of God? How would such an exercise change our view of the person? With all the vitriol being spewed these days on all sides of any given issue, this simple exercise could help us remember that we are all created in God’s image and likeness. 
I often stroll through the streets of the cities I visit, whether at home or abroad, and look at strangers in the eye while smiling and say to them silently, “You are beloved of God.” In the vast majority of these moments I am rewarded with a larger than normal return smile. We are all in need of the reminder that we are beloved of God. 
   
Soli Dei gloria 

As Much As There Is

He catapults out of bed in the middle of the night and I hear his bare feet slapping against the hallway’s wooden floor as he hustles through the darkness.  All of this comes to me as sleep’s heavy shadow gives way to a dim and growing awareness.  Then, he stands beside the bed. 
“Daddy,” he says. 
“What?” my husband mumbles. 
“I love you as much as there is,” he says. 
“Ok, Levi,” my husband replies, his voice clearer now, rising to meet his son’s offer of love.  “I love you too.” 
“Ok, good night.  I’ll see you in the morning,” Levi adds. 
“Good night, see you in the morning,” my husband answers, completing the call and response. 
Levi runs back down the hallway and sleep descends again upon our house. 
// 
“I love you as much as there is” is the latest attempt in five-year-old Levi’s ongoing effort to verbalize the depths of his love for us which, apparently, is particularly intense around two or three in the morning.  He’s fascinated by math and, for a while, tried using the biggest numbers he could think of to express the magnitude of his love.  “I love you 100 times 100,” he would say. 
But it wasn’t enough. 
He knows there are bigger numbers and he doesn’t want to undersize his love.  So, for now, he’s sticking to the enigmatic phrase, “as much as there is.” 
Last night, before I fell back to sleep, I saw for a moment the simple humility of that phrase – a child’s willingness to believe in and try to convey that which is beyond words. 
// 
Real love is like that.  God’s love is like that, so real and yet so big it’s hard to explain. 
The apostle Paul, struggling to convey God’s love to the church at Ephesus, put it this way, 
“I pray that you might have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge (Ephesians 3:18-19).” 
Paul tries to sketch out the dimensions of what he realizes is beyond description, he prays for the Ephesians to somehow receive the ability to comprehend the incomprehensible.  In so doing, he invites them – invites us all – to enter into the depths of God’s love which is both measurable (because it exists) and beyond measure (because of the limits of human comprehension and communication). 
Paul’s prayer comes to us like a voice in the night, the words of someone struggling to communicate what he clearly knows is beyond communication: God loves you as much as there is. 
 

A Journey Through Love and Loss to Healing and Hope

A number of years ago, I read Sharon Butala‘s best-selling account of her life on a cattle ranch in southwest Saskatchewan. She was in her mid-thirties when she married her second husband, and made the move from her urban setting to his more isolated one, from an academic environment to country living. As she explored her new life and landscape, she discovered a new connection with the natural world and reflected deeply on rural life, belonging, and home. [...] Read More ›
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