SOME DAYS ARE STORMY (IN VERSE)

Verse #1 for Today

What do you need? God asked.

To be understood, valued and loved.

Yes, God said, anything else?

Not just by You (a plea).

That too, God replied.

But how? she wondered.

Trust yourself?

Trust your intuitions?

Protect yourself?

"Yes those, but more:  Keep Me beside you."

Verse #2 for Today

If there is a time for everything 

Then there is a time for letting go.

Thoughts into memories, memories into thoughts.

Some are treasures that turn the tide

Rushing to cut off my heart, my breath. 

Things I let go return to have their say, 

And deep without warning I need to write.

Not all, just this, these words.

Verse #3 for Today

She never needed perfect,

She only needed love. 

Verse #4 for Today

Immutable is the Word

Knowing what I cannot know.

Acting when I cannot act.

Giving when I cannot give.

 
 

SOME DAYS ARE BETTER (IN VERSE)

 

Verse #5 for Today

Thank you, God, for this small day.

For our bodies wrapped as the daystar rose.

For the whistling train as one we slept.

For the blessings that you wrestle

From time now past,

From the mystery of the history of what could not last.

For the folds of safety, balm of breath,

But mostly thank you, God, for this:

For bravery when life shattered.

Nothing else mattered. 

Verse #6 for Today

We all know something and I know this: 

You can heal without forgetting.

You can heal though memories track you down like prey. 

You heal because God is Love. 

Let no one tell you else. 

EACH DAY IS FILLED WITH THINGS THAT HAVE NEVER BEEN BEFORE

 

Each day is filled with things that have never been.  It doesn't matter if every week you wash the same clothes or dishes or bathrooms as you did last week.  You are new, the world is new, our heart is different, our thoughts are evolving, the shadows are elongating, the moon is shining and none of it has ever happened before.  Look at the calendar.  Tomorrow has never existed before.  My candle is burning and tomorrow it will be different than it is today.  My little dog will be a day older and so will I.    

Tomorrow in my yard what are buds today will bloom.  Or what is in bloom will wither.  Or a freeze will come.  The little pain in my back that I woke with today will be gone (or it will be worse).  My fears will not have come to fore.  They almost never do.  I might in the night lose sleep because life is short.  I might today, which is Ash Wednesday and I sit here typing with ashes on my forehead commemorating that we are dust and to dust we do return, enjoy the leisure of a long uninterrupted day. 

It is wonderful that each day is filled with things that have never been before.  It is glorious that we change our minds, grow our faith, jettison old ideas, welcome new thoughts and people.  In our yard change is constant.  Branches fall from the trees, squirrels ravage my pot plants, weeds emerge and moss spreads.  Whole towering loblollies lose their tops in a storm.  New growth never ceases.  Cedars reseed like rabbits (of which we have few due to the vigilant hawks).  

All of these things are good.  We may be worried or mourning or fighting pain, but much goes on.  We learn to live with our worries.  We learn to be that person with great grief.  We even learn to shrink from pain and yet not shrink from life.  If we have faith, that guides us, lifts us.  We become no heavier than a feather to our God.  

Something good will happen tomorrow.  We know not today what it will be.  But we can wait with assurance that something, something good will happen.  It may not (will not) be a charmed reprieve, but each day is filled with things that have never been and that we can welcome.  Help us to see, Lord.  AMEN  

                                                           Nina Naomi

WE ARE NOT EMPTY, WE ARE BRIMMING

Have you noticed how full life is?  Not full in a bad sense, not busy-full, weary-full.  But full as in our heart, memory and history are like a comforting duvet slowly settling around us.  We are not empty, we are brimming.  At my age, and many who are younger than me the same, I know about love, loss, death, marriage, birth, success, failure, triumph, misery, awe, empathy.  I can't think of an emotion that hasn't sat with me, wanted or not.  With fewer years ahead than behind--which happens sooner than we expect--my life seems whole.  If you feel this too, you know how miraculous it is to be complete.  Not finished, I don't mean that.  Moving forward but moving as one complete.  No hollowness only depth. 

So often time is the villain of our days.  But not when our past, present and future circle us in an unending loop of being who we are.  Then it can be our friend.  Let's never quarrel with our days.  Each day we are alive, even those we would do over if we could, the losses and griefs that build us, that remind us of our nature, even those, why quarrel with them?  Even the nights we wake in the dark with rampant fears, even those.  We don't want to be some shallow person to whom nothing happens.  If we lose someone, it means that we had someone.  If we feel pain, it is because we felt love or goodness or health.  No one has those good things every moment until death, not even those who die young.  

So, what am I saying?  I am saying that today may feel like Spring to you; it does here in the North Carolina foothills, with snow crocus, daffodils and forsythia in early bloom.  Or it may still be winter with barely buds, the last frosts and warming fires at night.  Or, God forbid, you may be recovering from earthquake or other natural disaster or live in Ukraine with your back against the wall, or be living with the fears and trials that come to each of us.  

But if you have faith, your God is with you.  Your life is full and not in a negative way.  Your heart has found love, your spirit is strong, you are human.  You may be undergoing something that no one deserves.  Or you may have survived something undeserved and have made yourself anew.  Your God may be your base as my God is mine, so that we can touch base as a child touches their mother then runs back to the playground to face their world. 

Let us find comfort in our full lives, in our lives that hold no empty places but over-brim like a pitcher of anointing oil.  Let us accept all that befalls, knowing we can do naught else.  Let us love hard and long and give of ourselves as one who holds nothing back. 

In peace let us so pray.  Nina Naomi 

IT'S NEVER TOO LATE

 

IT''S NEVER TOO LATE TO . . . 

M AKE AMENDS

START A NEW HOBBY

MEET YOUR NEIGHBOR

WRITE YOUR HEART

EAT HEALTHY

LET GO OF A GRUDGE

HELP YOUR FAITH GROW

LISTEN TO MUSIC

STUDY SOMETHING THAT INTRIGUES YOU

FIND PLEASURE IN BEING ALONE

ENJOY THE MOMENT

SAY THAT YOU'RE SORRY

SHOW LOVE

CHANGE PERSPECTIVE

IMPROVE YOUR SELF-ESTEEM

MAKE A NEW FRIEND

DO THE RIGHT THING

MAKE A DIFFERENCE

LET GO OF SOMETHING IN YOUR PAST

CHANGE YOUR ATTITUDE

CHALLENGE YOURSELF

ENJOY NATURE

TRY MEDITATION

LOOK INTO MINDFULNESS

SIMPLIFY YOUR LIFE

LOVE YOURSELF 

.  .  . 

FEELING CONTENT

We are at the beach this weekend.  Maybe you live on or near the water.  I don't.  I must travel, but only 3 1/2 hours.  Not much at all, especially if I knit or doze as my husband drives.  North Carolina is ocean to the east and mountains to the west and lovely rolling Piedmont with lakes and rivers in between, where our family lives.  I've been feeling content all weekend.  It's been rainy, deserted and cold.  The doves sit in pairs on the power line not bothered by the weather.  Yesterday sun for no more than 30 minutes.  But then right at sunset, out it shone, bright and round and gone in minutes.  The waves have been high with spray making it feel like rain even when there's a lull.  Mr. Wiggles is not enjoying his walks.

Now today the sun is out, warming the air but still leaving a chill.  This afternoon the pelicans are skimming the water and the shore birds gather.  In February the sun still drops into the ocean and tonight should be a red sunset.  We can all discover the patterns of light and dark in our own backyards. We know where to look for shadows and where the mushrooms sprout.  I'm expecting a starry night.  

I came across a quote that resonates:  "I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness:  a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea.  Nothing else."  The quote is by Nikos Kazantzakis (1883-1957), nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature nine different times.  Many of us know his Last Temptation of Christ or Zorba the Greek.  

Don't you love the truth of his statement, that happiness is simple and frugal?  That's how it is in my life.  It doesn't take much.  I can be happy with a grilled pimento cheese sandwich or a plate of crispy Brussel sprouts.  An ocean view is a bonus.  A day in the woods, rejuvenating.  At home, geese flying noisily overhead are an everyday treat.  Here at the beach the patterns of pelicans enchant.  When in New York City, we too eat roast chestnuts, from street vendors.  We were in Greece long ago and I can picture the meats roasting on a brazier.  Not much different from the nights we decide to grill.  I can picture the village where Kazantzakis must have sat with his wine watching the sea and talking with friends.  And aren't we the same, happy with a simple meal with friends or family?  

There is never a day beyond redemption.  Some days we can change our circumstances, some we cannot.  Then we redeem the day with simple pleasures, sparing and economical.  Not that long ago, I had a day that needed redeeming, so I went to our Farmer's Market.  Rows of colorful produce and homegrown flowers can lift anyone's mood.  People at a Farmer's Market are happy--it's noticeable.  I had my Journal with me and sat next in our downtown library to write out my early morning's grievances. That helped.  Then I sought out an art co-op to admire the work of artists in their studios.  

Once home from the beach, I want to keep this mood.  After all, our homes themselves are hobbies, offering simple pleasures like doing repairs, weeding the garden, rearranging a picture or two, adding a warm throw for comfort and style, polishing this or that.

I read that simplicity and abundance are soulmates.  I bet Mr. Kazantzakis would agree.  If you pray, a prayer might be:  Dear God, help us love the simple pleasures you so freely give.                        

                                                      Wishing you a lovely day, Nina Naomi

                                         

WHERE WE FIND HOPE

 

All Hallows by the Tower, London

What gives you hope?  It's when I'm in church that I feel the most hopeful. Hope is the opposite of existential dread.  Hope is the opposite of fear.  When we are hopeful, we do not fear that life has no meaning or purpose.  Christian hope promises nothing more nor less than resurrection and life to those who must exist in the shadow of death.  Where each of us lives.

We think of the thousands of bodies in the rubble of Ankara, Turkey or the thousands of lives lost in Ukraine, young Russian recruits as well as Ukrainian families.  The list of losses is always too long.  

Ash Wednesday is upon us, when Christians wear ashes on their foreheads as a sign of repentance. "Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return."  God tells us this in Genesis 3:19.  

The sacramental symbolism of ashes touches us on a fundamental level, the level where our inner fragility and poverty lies.  The smudged cruciform reminds us of the resurrection as well.  From ashes on a Wednesday through lilies on a Sunday six weeks later. The answer to anyone's foolish question, "Do you know who I am?" is the simple comeuppance: "You are but dust."   

The words human and humility come from the Latin word humus which means earth.  One who is humble is "down to earth."  We are earthen vessels into which God has breathed life.  When the breath goes, the dust remains.  

So where then is the hope?  

Theologian Jurgen Moltmann says that there is a reason the inscription above the entrance to Dante's Hell says "Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here."  Hopelessness is Hell.  It is why our grief for the suicidal is so strong.  How can they not know there is hope?  

In church we hear the words, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life."  Because people I love have died before me, I want to believe in eternal life.  It's a promise I want to hold close and do. But the resurrection of Christ is not a consoling opium, Moltmann says, soothing us with only the gift of life in the hereafter.  It is the energy for the rebirth of this life.  Hope in Christ doesn't just point to another world.  It is focused on the redemption of this one. It is not a consolation for suffering so much as a contradiction of suffering.  It is something you and I know so well:  the andness of life.  

So those sifting through tons of debris keep looking.  They find people alive.  They find bodies to return to families for burial.  The Ukrainians do not lose hope.  They seek and receive help from countries who value them and their democracy.  We did not lose hope in the face of Covid. The mother of Tyre Nichols, fatally beaten by the five Memphis cops (lest we forget) seeks meaning for her son's death; she does not give up.  This happens over and over.  The children of Parkland, Florida became activists after their school shooting. We seek hope, we find hope, we are given hope. For Christians and non-Christians as well, through the Spirit's efforts we bring newness and life to our world.

The future remains open, our futures.  Let the hope we have been given make us brave, like so many others, to embrace it.  

                                                          Nina Naomi

"ALL SHALL BE WELL, AND ALL SHALL BE WELL AND ALL MANNER OF THINGS SHALL BE WELL"

 "All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well."  

 Julian's Church, Norwich         

Julian of Norwich wrote this from her anchoress' cell in Norwich, England during the Middle Ages.  I think of it now because all things are not well.  They never are. The earthquakes in Turkey and Syria, the war against the Ukrainians, domestic terrorism in the United States and all variety of personal trials from disease to heartbreak. With more to come. As I list these, I guess I'm wondering why Dame Julian's quote would occur to me at all.  It could legitimately be the last thing brought to mind.  

But like many, I love the quotation:  "All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well."  I love it because of its poetic rhythm, no small thing, and because I hope it is true.  Not in the future, but right now, today.  I want to trust this mystic.  

Born in 1342, Mother Julian chose the solitary life of an anchoress, in a small cell attached to a church in Norwich, England.  Like other men and women seeking this life, she obtained permission from the Bishop.  But her life was not only contemplation.  From a window in her cell, she dispensed prayers and wisdom to those who sought her out.  She was a spiritual authority and counselor.  Her abode still stands, and we visited it one fall.  She lived to about age 74.  

Julian's book The Revelations of Divine Love was written in Middle English and published in 1395.  It is a book of Christian mystical devotions. We can, if we wish, still rely upon it for understanding God. 

Julian's assurance seems different to me than a popular saying, "Not to spoil the ending, but everything is going to be OK."  Some things never "get well" in common parlance.  When a parent loses a child or a young child a parent, when addiction or mental illness steals someone's personality (or life), when a spouse dies, all is not well. If we had to say all was well in our lives today, could we say it?  Sometimes we are touched by something that can't be reversed, as the past cannot be.  Not as far into the future as the heart can see. So where is the comfort?  

I think the words of Julian of Norwich provide some.  First, we can imagine that travail in the Middle Ages must have been greater than today.  Men and women pilgrimaged to Julian's window daily to tell their woes and seek her advice.  And she told them: 

If there is anywhere on earth a lover of God who is always kept safe,

I know nothing of it, for it was not shown to me. 

. . .

 But this was shown: that in falling and rising again 

we are always kept in that same precious love.

If this is true, we can be comforted.  

Again, 

  He said not,  

 'Thou shalt not be tempested, 

thou shalt not be travailed,

 thou shalt not be diseased'; 

but he said, 'Thou shalt not be overcome.'" 

If this applies to us, we also can be comforted. 

This declaration that “all manner of things shall be well” does not eliminate misfortune, sickness or death. I believe it is pointing to God's gift that we each have experienced in our way: the ability to find peace, and even joy, in the eye of the storm — to come to trust that there is something that transcends chaos and impermanence.  And to know that that something is God. 

"Here Dwelt Mother Julian
Anchoress of Norwich"