Lord, teach me. . . .

Nature always wears the colors of the Spirit. –Ralph Waldo Emerson What a windy week it has been! The towering blue spruce outside my window has been shaking its branches like a saucy flamenco dancer. Huge turkey buzzards and hawks catch the updraft, float lazily on the breeze and making me think, If I’ve got it all wrong and there is another go-round in life . . . I’d like to come back as a bird! Children cling to their grownup’s hand, afraid a sudden gust might knock them right off their feet! It’s springtime in Ohio. A trip to the lakeshore reveals crashing waves, bobbing whitecaps, galloping horses along the horizon—but very few sailors brave enough to take on the wind. Even the colorful kites have been reeled in and tucked away. No thing, large or small, remains untouched by the wind. Jesus reminded Nicodemus: It is the same with God’s Spirit (John 3:8). Like the wind, the Holy Spirit is unpredictable; everything (and everyone) it touches is moved, or changed,

Speak softly, but carry a big can of paint. –Banksy It’s everywhere. Sometimes it’s really beautiful. But I seldom look at graffiti and see God—until recently. As often as I can, I take the Shoreway when I come to Church in the Circle. I love driving along the lakeshore, seeing kites dipping and soaring over Edgewater Park, catching glimpses of sailboats bobbing peacefully—or fighting the winds and waves. Such a lovely setting, much nicer than fighting traffic. Several weeks ago, as I passed Edgewater and banked around the curves towards downtown, I saw it, an unremarkable bit of graffiti sprayed on a bridge support. I am thankful for you ! I smiled to myself, my heart strangely warmed. The next time we drove that way, I made sure my husband saw it, too, this sweet, anonymous message of love to the world. Nice! But the next time, I looked for “my” message and was disappointed to see that the city had been hard at work, painting over curse words, gang symbo

I’m a terrible singer. I feel lucky to play baseball. You can’t be gifted at everything. –Alex Rodriguez I always enjoyed Christmas as a child (and as a parent and grandmother, too)! There they were, those beautifully wrapped packages under the tree, just waiting to be opened, to reveal whatever might be hiding inside, carefully chosen just for me , by someone who really loves me. Most of the time, I really felt the love. The giver seemed to have peered into my heart and given me its deepest desire. But other times, I could hardly believe my young eyes. Seriously? Underwear—for Christmas ?!? (And I just opened it . . . in public. What were they thinking?) Even if it was a gift I needed , it certainly wasn’t one I wanted . Could I please just get what she got? Please??? It can be kind of like that in our spiritual lives, as well. God has created us each in God’s own image, given us gifts and talents to use for God’s purposes and glory. Some receive the gift of deep

Jesus, we want to meet on this thy holy day!  We worship at your feet—on this thy holy day!  –Elizabeth Parson Remember as a child going off to summer camp or church camp, and singing songs around a campfire? As the fire crackled and popped, sending sparks shooting high into the dark night sky, remember lifting your voice? Maybe even adding a little personal harmony? One on the favorite campfire and Sunday school songs was Kumbaya . Oh, I know—I could feel you roll your eyes. A simple, plaintive song that, over time, has gotten a bad rap. But seriously. Think about the words we sing in English: Come by here, my Lord. Someone’s crying, Lord. Someone’s singing, someone’s shouting! Someone’s dying. Oh, Lord—come by here. Isn’t this the simple cry of our hungry hearts? In good times, we thank God and celebrate God’s presence in our lives. In darker times, when God seems to have done a disappearing act, we cry out in desperation: someone’s crying, Lord—it’s me ! I