State of Grace

I haven't been out to my blog site since practically the day I created it.  Something prompted me this morning to come out and visit.  It was probably guilt.  Whatever the reason, I was absolutely astounded to see what was waiting for me.

There are NINE of you waiting for me to start writing again.  Nine beautiful souls.  How lucky am I?

I started praying again this morning.  I've been on a sabatical from having a prayer life for oh...at least six or seven years.  Okay, the occasional "Get me the heck out of here!" or the more frequent "Screw You!" have been heard under my breath on more than one occasion.  But to actually sit and ponder, ask, and listen to something Bigger Than Me....well, it's been a long time and my practice is like my Spanish or French - definitely rusty.  I'm Tin Man waiting for Dorothy. 

I could give thanks for the blue of the sky and the squirrel I saw running on the neighbor's roof top.  Squirrels make me giggle inside, even if they are nothing but rats in fur coats.  I was, as always, especially thankful for the trees that create a haven around our deck.  But beyond those few things, I just didn't have words.

Until a new phrase came bubbling up from somewhere I don't remember too well and filled my mind and heart with desire. 

Lead me into a state of grace.

I do not know what this means or what this looks like.  It certainly feels differently than "Oh, I'd like a new car, a new job, and can you please remove the 50 extra pounds I'm carrying without me having to make any changes?"  This prayer, this mystery, this hope feels full of promise. The same sense of rootedness fills me that I experience while standing on a tree stump looking out over waving fields of wheat with a hot mug of tea warming my hands and listening to the birds sing their morning song.

Lead me into a state of grace.  And grant me peace.

For now, that's the view from the lane.

The View from My Backyard

Cannizaro Park was my backyard from 1997 through 2001.  There was one tree in particular for which I had particularly fond feelings.  Fond is actually an understatement.  I loved, adored, and practically worshipped this tree.  It was a towering pine tree that I felt was my guardian.  I sat in my bedroom, in a cozy orange chair, sipping pots and pots of tea (because that's what you do in England) and loved my tree.  I know it sounds a wee bit daft, but my tree made me feel as if I were connected to the times of England past.  Camelot and Avalon in my very backyard.  It probably had something to do with the misty mornings.  Or the faeries.

I learned to listen to trees.  They are wise beyond measure.  I hear the whisper of the Divine in the wind blowing through trees.  I admire their steadfast nature.  Neither entirely fixed nor entirely mutable.  They go with the flow.  Other than the willow tree, you don't hear much weeping coming from trees when the seasons ask them to change.  Instead, they bring out their finery and blow our minds with the majestic color parade of late autumn - umber, gold, fiery red, and burnt sienna (my least favorite color from Crayola's Box of 64).  Talk about leaving them wanting more.

And that's what this picture does to my heart.  Opens me up and leaves me wanting more of what my backyard felt like way back around the turn of the century.  That's my hope for this blog...that it will create a space for flexibility, flow, and finery.  With an occasional weep because that's life, too.

For now, that's the view from the lane.