September Twenty-Twenty-Five

 

a few reflections I put together after one of our family hikes earlier this month:  

A Morning Blessing 

Today is new, O God.
Sometimes life flashes before me, and I wake to the gift that this day is.
I realize—I get to be here.
I get to be in the chores, in the errands,
in the ordinary unfolding of hours.

And I notice—
the colors, the air,
the sheer grace of being alive.
“This is the day that the Lord has made.”
If You made this day,
if you intended me to wake up into it,
then there is purpose already here.

Thank You for the gift of this new day—
for bringing me safely through the night,
for bringing us safely to this moment.
Help me not take this day,
these people,
this life for granted.

“Oh, Earth, you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you.
Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it—every, every minute?”
Teach me to realize it, Lord.
Even for a breath. Even for just a second.

I’ve got choices ahead of me:
to worry, to fear, to hesitate, to regret.
But there is also this other way—
to rejoice, to trust,
to believe that love is holding my hand.

So I lift my eyes and settle my soul.
This day is yours.
And so am I.
And the only faithful response to such a gift
is gratitude spilling over.

Below are some collages from an extraordinary experience this past week of getting to hike parts of the Camino de Santiago with my parents and with Anna along with a reflection I wrote from the time there. 

Buen Camino!
Along the way—
we were just a few among many,
walking a path
marked with yellow arrows
by those who’ve gone before us,
  

Walking alongside those I love,
simply being—
not rushing, not proving,
just being surrounded by beauty 
and being with one another-
the art of “with-ing.”
That—was the gift.

Pilgrims and strangers
 sharing stories of connection—
and the ache of disconnection.
because we all—
we all contain multitudes.[1]

Reminiscing on the past,
dreaming toward the future,
but also—
learning to accept what is and
to be here—
now
rubbing the sponge of gratitude
over every last thing.[2]
  

For life—
life is but a day at most.[3]
And we—
we get to be here, 
and we are here for it.
Buen Camino. 

[1] Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”
[2] Ross Gay, “Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude”
[3] Robert Burns, “Written in Friars' Carse Hermitage”