This morning I received a prayer from a friend who invites folks to take and re-mix what he has to offer into something new. Maybe Kyle believes there is nothing new under the sun. Or maybe that everything and everyone is being invited to be made new. Here is a bit of Kyle Oliver from Creative Common Prayer and where it  took me.

“In praise of the grace that makes all things new,
we offer ourselves to your shaping
once again:
to be muddied and befuddled and delighted and beloved.

In the name of your Beloved, who is With Us. Amen.”

Muddied and befuddled and delighted and beloved

Blessed and broken

Given and delivered to breathe on our own

We arrive wide-eyed

At what and who is standing

In front of, around us, in between us too

Inviting us to become someone new. Amen

pexels-photo potter at wheel



O Christmas tree

Yesterday we undressed the tree, dragged it out to the porch, and boxed the strings of light back to the attic. tree on the porch

It is time. New Year’s Day is passed and the Magi are fast approaching Bethlehem. The song of the angels and the hungry birds are changing as the seconds of light increase every day. And that big hungry moon? Surely a sign. As Howard Thurman so eloquently said, the work of Christmas has now begun – starting for me with putting the stuff away and letting the tree have a few days out in the cold to get a better look at the neighborhood before the tree gets hauled off to the dump. We can’t bear taking the lights out of the windows so in the dark of night they act like flashlights for the tree who it seems to me is eager to see who is walking by on their snowy way. Are you hungry or cold? Are you lonely or frightened? Are you walking around in some kind of personal prison? Or are you one of the lucky ones with somewhere lovely to go to and something sweet on your mind as you pick your way carefully along the frozen sidewalk? The tree, sprung from a few weeks housebound captivity, knows what to ask the daytime and the night walkers. If only you would walk up the steps and sit a while. What conversations you would have – my tree and thee.

#AdventWord #Child

Sitting in the church

On this cold and windy morning

When the building is empty

But for me and the little child Jesus

Who is bundled up in a blanket

Waiting to be brought out to the stable

On Christmas Eve  sleeping christ child

The heat is crackling in the pipes

The clock is ticking second by second

The wind is rattling the doors

My ears are ringing

Alone in the building I fear

Not that someone will bust through the door

But that no one will

And all the fuss that we make

Over this morn to come

Will be forgotten some day

Maybe not this year

But another or another

As the sounds of Santa

And Walmart

Wipe out the pregnant silence

And I hear

Do not be afraid

We are not going away

Not the manger or the children or the light

So bright it turns the world upside down

Whether the world is ready or not

what she did not say

Turns out my she bear did not tell the whole story. Maybe because she was more private than I imagined or because she thought that her imaginations were more fantastical or that I would never believe the truth – which the scientists say is… that the she bear mates up with a few he bears in the spring and they part ways and then with fertilized eggs inside her sweet body’s “bear house” she retreats in the early winter and dens up alone as the little ones grow and fnally she births those little blind bear cubbies and they tumble out in the late winter to see what is waiting for them! Thanks to my own sweetie for shedding more light on bears in the winter. More to stoke the winter musings!den

Bearing it all.

I was challenged to think about an animal in the winter and to imagine that the animal has come to share its imaginations with me. As my mind is so taken during this Advent time of waiting that is going to end soon in the impossible yet possible bearing of a child in the cold world…in came the bear.  This is what I heard about

Bearing it all

When the black bear       den

The she and the he bear

Dig their way into winter

Their hot and heavy breath

Slows down and their thick and gleaming coats

Mingle together into one mess of fur.

I imagine their dreams co-mingling

About the little replicas that they will dare to bear

In the hidden dens of happiness.

Their dreams turn to snow melting and smells

Beckoning them to slough

Off the winter and track down every bird feeder

That we have so foolishly filled to the tip-top

Thinking that surely the bears are sleeping.


Among us

The monks hold the monastery

As a place where all are welcome to come

In peace even when sometimes violence stands waiting

I have heard that some monks hunger

To be the watch-monk waiting to hear the knock

So they can open it

And be the first to greet the Lord in whatever form s/he comes inkids at open door

On that amazing day

They also believe

At least this is what I have heard

That the one who is coming

Is already among us

So why huddle at the door

Why not greet the day

And the light within

As though

The one

Is you

Or you

Or you

Keep your door unlocked

At all times


God among us

Is already inside