Contemplations of a Mommy "Monk"

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“ My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken me? Far from my deliverance are the words of my groaning. O my God, I cry by day, but Thou dost not answer; and by night, but I have no rest. Yet Thou art holy, O Thou who art enthroned upon the praises of Israel.” (Psalm 22:1-2) There are days when it is difficult to breathe. The world is shrouded in suffocating darkness; the path to heaven is blockaded with boulders, overgrown thistles and howling wolves. Every breath is effort, every movement is painful, and every part of your being is parched. Nothing seems to satisfy and nothing comes easily. Are you in this desert, are you suffering from spiritual pneumonia? St. John of the Cross called this the dark night of the soul. God’s presence feels far away and the world seems empty of solace. During a dark night, the soul is stripped of all imaginary supports – even the experience of God’s presence. Somehow the wind is knocked out of you and your faith begins to crumble. Doubting cre...

It’s that time of the year again. No, I’m not talking about the glorious brilliant colors gracing the maples or the fresh red apples or even the Sunday afternoons spent cheering a favorite team. It is bow hunting season – the time of year my lifetime lover anticipates all year long. He goes out in the dead of winter to look for tracks and other sign of the big bucks in the woods. In summer he goes stir crazy because the ticks prohibit his exploration of his beloved woods. By the beginning of August he’s about ready to wear a hole through the contoured map of the area, but somehow he manages to wait those excruciatingly long days until the season opens in September. So now the anticipation is over and the journey has begun. He will spend his Saturday and Sunday evenings sitting in the tree stand searching for his prey. It brings him great pleasure and even though I don’t completely understand the allure of hunting, I don’t begrudge him this hobby. To make this journey a bit smo...

Psalm 19:1-2 NIV “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge.” Golden rays of joy dance with pink skirted ladies along a tangerine river. Suddenly an angel fire of crimson leaps into the scene as a lavender dress slips in to join the ball. They dance for the joy of Jesus, for the glory of God. Dancing partners shift and pause to watch the glorious becoming as each one in turn transforms from one hue to another. Darkness is stealing in but the dancers continue on. Slowly each one tiptoes off the stage and meanders home. After a short interlude new performers begin to tune up their instruments and prepare for the night-time display. The black curtain darkens the stage and one by one, splashes of shimmering light sing out a song of praise. The beacons dance into formation joining arms and singing softly of The Way. A silver crescent hangs in the center of the spark...

Lord of all the earth, Father to the redeemed, Savior of unlimited grace, Pour out your favor and loving-kindness upon my children. Bless them in all their endeavors this year. Be a strong shelter around each child – a champion to defend their cause. Protect them from scars – both physical and emotional. Guard their tender hearts from the cruelty of others. Be their shepherd – guiding them away from wrong choices, gently whispering in each ear when to turn to the left or the right. May each of my children (Darling, Missy and Little Man) live in the shadow of Your wings and never by disobedience leave Your protective hedges. Hem them in behind and before; hold them tight in Your embrace. Reveal Yourself again and again to each one. May they choose each day to follow You. May they be drawn by Your irresistible love. May they rely on You and put all of their trust in You. Shine brightly in their small souls – a light that cannot be extinguished by any power. Wednesday morning is ...

The air is as crisp as the juicy tart Macintosh I bite into as I meander down the dirt path. Overhead, the canopy explodes with vibrant shades of autumn – the foliage is on fire blazing a chorus of praise to the Creator of all. As a gentle breeze sings through the flames, crackling noises accompany the dancing hues of crimson and gold. A few sparks fly loose and tumble to the ground at my feet. I kick around the dying flames which have not turned to ashes, not yet at least. The crystal sky is set as a clear backdrop to the majesty of the Artist’s work and the scent of remembrance is in the air. In order to appreciate the artistry around me, I must look up; I look up through the flames to heaven and my vision is refocused on eternity. The earth, my home, has been on this path before – its cyclical elliptical path never changing year after year and it has returned to this spot so many miles from the sun once again. My pace slows as I recall the past times in this place on the pat...

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