Seeing a Bird's Nest

While taking my morning walk, I saw a bird’s nest in a small tree. Enough of the leaves had fallen to reveal a small nest tucked in the very center of the branches. It had been the home of a small bird. It had been a temporary home in which to raise young. It was well built and intact, but it was abandoned. Its purpose fulfilled.

When I was young, there was the question that friends liked to ask. If you could be an animal, what would you be? My answer, “ A bird.” Birds were free. Birds could soar and see from high places. That answer hasn’t changed. I notice and admire birds.

I envy the bird that built that nest. That bird invested time and work to construct that dwelling. But the bird was able to leave that place. It was not attached to what it had done. It could leave it after the nest’s purpose was completed. It was free.

That is what I desire: freedom. To let go of those temporal things. To leave behind what has served its purpose but is no longer necessary. To release the time and work investments and fly into other areas that now call me.

I saw a nest today, and that nest spoke to me of freedom.


Day thirty of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing My Nephew

I saw my nephew today. He is three years old almost four. I haven’t seen him in over a year, so he is quite grown compared to the last time that I saw him. I am amazed at the changes that have taken place. He tells stories now and sings. He is observant. He dresses himself. His hair is darker. His face is narrower. And his curiosity is lively. He is changed from toddler to boy. I like the boy he is becoming, and I enjoyed seeing him in all his little boy glory.

His presence gave me pause to reflect on what God might see in me. Over the years, I have changed—been transformed. I would like to imagine that God likes the woman I am becoming. That God enjoys seeing me in all my feminine glory. That God overlooks my imperfections and is amazed. That is what I would like to imagine of God. And so, that is what I do and believe it to be true.


Day twenty-nine of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing the Man with the Harmonica

My daughter and I were shopping in Walmart when we heard someone playing a harmonica. We turned and saw an old man pushing a walker with one hand and playing the harmonica with the other. We looked at each other, giggled, and continued shopping. Later, we arrived at the checkout, and again we saw the same man playing the same harmonica. I mentioned this to my daughter, and the cashier overheard me. According to her, this old guy does this frequently throughout the week. He comes into Walmart and scuffles behind his walker while playing his harmonica. Delightful.

To hear her description of his habits filled me with happiness. It was the kind of happiness that wonders at the heart of a person who does a thing for the sheer fun of doing it and because it spreads cheerfulness to others. I was glad for that man. I was glad that he was unafraid to be a wandering music maker in the midst of strangers. I was glad that he wasn’t at home wasting away in loneliness. I was glad that he was sharing his love of the harmonica and of people.

I’ll be looking and listening for him on my next visit. I hope I see him because I intend to thank him for making me glad.

Day twenty-eight of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing Boulders Twice

Yesterday and today, I have noticed two boulders in the same landscaped yard. One is partially hidden by bushes, but the other is out in the open. It is mossy and bold and indented somewhat. This dent resembles a seat. As I have passed by these two days, I have been struck by how solid a seat it would make. How strong. There would be no wobbly legs or unstable seats and backs. No scooting or sliding. It would be immoveable.

I thought about David’s description of God as a rock. I don’t imagine that David meant river rocks. I’m thinking he meant boulder and bigger. I could sit with a God who is bold and solid and stable. A God who offers an immoveable place to sit. That kind of strength feels safe and powerful. Yes, I am thinking that my God is God of the boulders.

Days twenty-six and twenty-seven of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing a Mattress

As I was sitting at my dining room table, I glanced out the window and saw a young man walking on the sidewalk in front of our house. He was carrying a twin-sized mattress over his head. Curious.

This has me thinking about carrying things. Unusual things. And where those things are carried. As a spiritual director, I sometimes ask my directees to become aware of their bodies as they converse around certain subjects. Often directees notice tightness or achiness or twinges or pains in particular areas or parts of their bodies. This is where they are carrying that subject. Curious.

Our bodies are not disconnected from our mental and emotional states. Instead, the entirety of who we are is carried around, and we have to carry it somewhere. Our bodies hold what we carry. If we pay attention, we can discover those weighted places and intentionally redistribute the weight or discard it completely if necessary.

I imagine that the man with the mattress had a destination and would be relieved of his cargo. I cannot imagine that he would haul that mattress indefinitely. And yet for some of us, this is what we do. We carry our load indefinitely. What toll does this take on those places that hold the weight?

Day twenty-five of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing the Audiologist

In my left ear, I have otosclerosis. So today, I saw the audiologist to decide upon a hearing aid. We discussed what I hoped a hearing aid would do for me, the different kinds of aids available, and their respective advantages or disadvantages. I even get to choose the color of my aid. I thought that there would be one choice of hearing aids and that would be it. I wasn’t expecting to have a choice in color, too. Anyway, I’ll have my new colorful hearing aid on December 15th.

Hearing loss is a bit of a nuisance. Sometimes, I have to ask some people to repeat themselves. Other times, I have to fill in the unheard words with what I think I heard. Not always a good thing. The thing about not hearing what someone says is that I have no understanding or comprehension either. I cannot respond properly when I don’t hear properly. Jesus knew this.

Many of Jesus words have to do with hearing. He says that some people have ears, but they don’t hear. He is talking about spiritual ears. And certainly, if inner ears are not hearing properly, inner responses will be improper. There will be no spiritual understanding or comprehension. I wonder how a person could apply for a spiritual hearing aid. What would that look like?

I imagine the first step would be to recognize that one has spiritual hearing loss, and the second step would be to see the Great Audiologist. In my imagination, the Great Audiologist would have the perfect spiritual hearing aid.

Day twenty-four of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing Grape Juice

Yesterday, I juiced grapes. There is not much to doing it. Cut the clusters. My husband did that. Rinse the clusters. Put them in the top section of the juicer. Pour water into the lower section of the juicer. Stack the sections. Turn on the heat. Wait. Eventually, grape perfume scents the house, and purple juice accumulates in the middle section of the juicer and overflows into the rubber spout. Then, I fill quart-sized canning jars, place the seals and rings, and let them cool. Seeing the deep purple juice standing on the counter is satisfying.

I thought about Jesus when I saw the juice. First, I thought about making wine. I don’t know much about making wine, but it seems complex and intensive. It requires more gadgetry, timing, and precision. I wondered, “How did they make wine in Jesus’s day?” Did they add sugar? And then, there is that business at the wedding. Water into wine? How did Jesus do that? Why did he need water? Apparently, he converted that water into some pretty good stuff. And why wouldn’t he? Maker of the universe making a bit of wine—it would be good. What else?

Second, I thought about the Eucharist, the blood, Communion. Jesus took juice from grapes and likened it to his blood. Drink it to remember. Remember what? The crucifixion? Sure. But what else? That he made wine at a wedding and that it was good? Sure. And all the other stories? Sure.

All of these stories tell about a God who does and makes things “good.” What is done is done well. I can make a simple form of juice and it is satisfactory. But I have a God who takes water and changes it into outstanding wine. So with my warm grape juice in hand . . . a toast . . . to the Maker-of-Grape-Juice.

Day twenty-three of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing the Movies

I enjoy watching movies. But I like a movie that lingers, that gives me pause to reflect. Some movies do this more than others. Some movies that I have seen leave no impression, and I don’t even remember watching them. Other movies beg me to watch them more than once. This usually happens because the movie is strange or surprising. Sometimes characters are what capture my attention. Their disturbing or unusual behaviors ask me to peer into the nature of humankind. Sometime themes challenge my way of thinking or being. And sometimes the tenor of the film resonates with my deepest desires.

I like to think of this as movie meditation. When I reflect on characters or themes or moods, I have to ask myself some tough questions. What was it about that character that disturbed me? What in me is like that character? What is it about the theme that draws me in? Why do I agree or disagree with the outcome of the film? How does the mood affect my emotions? And why? A good movie presents these and other questions to me.

In essence, movie meditating reveals what I value. Right about now, I am thinking that a quality journal would be a worthwhile investment for some movie meditating because this line of questioning leads to asking other questions. How is this movie an invitation from God for some self-discovery? Where is the invitation for transformation in my life? What does God want me to know about myself through the characters, the theme, the mood?

And then, of course, there are those movies that seem to be just for fun, . . . but . . . then again . . . I think there is a line of questioning that goes with them too.


Day twenty-two of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing the Willamette River

As I passed by the Willamette River this morning, I noticed its still darkness. It reminded me of the watery images that have appeared in my dreamscapes. But there is a difference between the two.

My watery dreams include water in a variety of places—puddles lying in roads, lakes waiting at the bottom of rocky cliffs, rivers flowing through meadows or over boulders, springs spreading over mountain paths, and oceans reaching for the shore. Only a few of these watery dreams have appeared dark, still, and deep. These are the ones that have frightened me. My fear seems to be rooted in the thought that these waters are not easily traversed. And in my dreams they are not traversable, at least not as I find myself in the dream. Something must change and that is what scares me.

But today, the Willamette had such a stillness that it appeared to be solid and able to be crossed on foot. I wondered about that. Jesus walked on water. How did he do that? Did he see the water as solid? A thing easily traversed?

How much wading, splashing, and paddling is required for the necessary changes to take place? How much dunking until I am transformed completely? How many baptisms until the water is solid enough for me to walk upon? And how solid must it be?

I don’t know. What I do know is that the power of those dark, deep waters of my dream life will now have a different meaning. They just might be God’s polite invitation to a walk on the water.


Day twenty-one of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing Prayer

How does one see prayer? Not sure. I hear prayer. Experience prayer. But somehow today, I saw prayer. How? I can’t say . . . an inner seeing . . . an insight. Recently, I have been reflecting on prayer, and more specifically, my own prayers. And these reflections have stirred restlessness. I have been lazy, disinterested, and unconcerned with how I pray. I have gotten sluggish and comfortable. I see how I am with prayer, and I don’t like how it looks.

Yet, I find that I am not sure how to approach this. Prayer has become difficult. By this I mean that the more that I want to pray, the less I seem to know how to do it. I have heard others repeat hundreds of prayers, and they all seem to sound the same. Overused phrases. Obsolete vocabulary. Redundant requests. These prayers sound like God only hears a certain kind of language.

Then there are prayers that tell God pretty much what is expected. Do this, please. Help this, please. Make this happen, if you please. I need this, if you please. But where else would we plead for these things?

Then there are thankful prayers that express gratitude for giving this or doing that or helping with this. I can’t say that I have ever heard a thankful expression for high blood pressure or a flat tire or high taxes or . . . How would gratitude be expressed for those things?

I don’t know. I suppose each of us would have to find our own thankful reasons.

Anyway, I am not writing this to dismiss the way people pray. I am questioning my own practice. I am not content with the usual, the expected, the just-say-the-words types of prayer. Seems to me that these place God in an awkward position. Lately, my thoughts reflect around the idea of God as a partner.

How do I pray to a partner? To the One Who Is With Me? Do I make requests of my partner but not involve myself? Do I thank my partner for the good but not the bad? Do I talk but not listen? How do I pray to a partner who is way bigger than I am but has become human-sized?

Ah . . . seeing prayer.

Day twenty of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing the Pumpkin Field

Hundreds of pumpkins lying in field rows is quite a sight. I wondered why they were still there. Why had they not been collected and sent somewhere to be made into pies or some other pumpkiny thing? Then I remembered that all winter squashes are cold hardy. But I did wonder how long they would last lying on the soggy ground and would they last through a frost. Just how hardy are those pumpkins?

This led me to thoughts about my own hardiness. How much lying in a cold field can I endure? How much exposure to winter rain and mud can I take? Honestly, not much. I prefer dry and warm. But for a pumpkin, dry and warm means a shriveled fruit.

Lately, I find that my spiritual state feels dry, barren, empty, but warm. If I linger too long in this state, will I shrivel? Do I need a bit of cold to keep me fresh and invigorated? Admittedly, I have been in spiritually muddy places, and they are messy. Not at all pleasant. But my being in those sloppy places revealed the degree of my hardiness.

But being too long in one place is dangerous. If I lie too long in the damp cold, I will rot and disintegrate. I need a bit of dry warmth to keep me firm and viable. But too long in the dryness will eventually suck the moisture from me.

Here is where I need a mover—one who knows when it is time to pluck me from the field and place me in a new location. Thankfully, the Spirit is that mover, and I sense the movement in my own inner restlessness. That restlessness disturbs the comfort that would have me rot in the cold or shrivel in the warmth. Then I am gathered into a new spiritual location where my fruitfulness will be nourishing for myself and others.

So when will those pumpkins be plucked from the field? Apparently, it will be when the one who plucks decides that the time is right for gathering pumpkins and making pumpkin pies.

Day nineteen of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing the Oak

There are certain trees that grab my attention. One such tree is a solitary oak that stands along a path that I like to walk along in the morning. The branches are bare now, so the framework of the tree is exposed and visible. The oak reaches upward about 45 feet. The branches spread outward nearly the same distance as it is tall. It is an imposing image on the landscape. Inviting, not threatening.

Something about the bare structure of the oak invites me. It is beautiful in its nakedness. As it stands open to all who pass, it is solid. It knows itself and is not ashamed. This is how I want to be. I want to know myself and be “okay” with what I know. Sometimes I can say this to myself, other times I forget. When I forget, the noisy voices in my head want to convince me that what I know about myself is not “okay,” that I “ought” to be this or “should” be that. Then I want to hide and protect, cover up.

But that is not how I want to live my life, always covered up and hidden. Like the oak, there is a season for that, but there is a season of uncovering and of seeing what my underneath looks like. And upon looking, I want to be “okay” with what I see because I know that God is “okay” with it. That is what will make me strong and solid, an imposing spiritual image on the landscape of life—one that is inviting, but not threatening.

Day eighteen of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing Dew on the Grass

Today the grass glittered in the morning sunlight. Hypnotic. The tiny blades of green faces seemed to be smiling as they reflected the sunshine. If it hadn’t been wet and cold, I would’ve liked to sit in it and brush my hands over it. I would’ve liked for my face to sparkle like those green faces.

A smiling face is what I want. A face that sparkles. A face that reflects an inner light. I want the dew to rise from the inside and disperse light outwardly. I know that this happens for me occasionally because I can feel it. But how do I maintain that kind of outward sparkle? Obviously, my inside must be watered and moist.

Lately, I have been dry and barren. This theme has appeared in my dreams, so what is showing on my face these days. Is it drawn? Is it cracked? Another theme has also appeared in my dreams—a watery one. Does this mean that there is a bit of an oasis in the desert? Could the dew still rise despite the dryness? Could my face sparkle in the dry heat?

What is my face reflecting as I walk through this barren land?

Day seventeen of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing Wind

I know that I don’t really see wind. Rather, I see the effects of wind. And we have been having quite a bit of it recently. It bends trees, tosses leaves, throws trash, grabs hats, pulls hair, and pushes on vehicles, windows, and people. I know it is present because of what I see, hear, and feel.

Metaphorically, the Spirit is like wind. The Spirit moves unseen, but the effects are noticeable if I am looking. I’ve not been looking much recently. This bothers me. Obviously, I won’t see anything if I am not paying attention. I want to notice, to see, to be aware of spiritual movement; but I’ve gotten stuck in old habits that detract from awareness.

Certainly, I realize that sometimes the wind is still, but I don’t think that is what is going on right now. It feels like my sensitivity to the wind has diminished. That is what bothers me. Decreased sensitivity is not good when spiritual winds are blowing. I might miss their direction or overlook what is wafting my way. It is time for me to turn my face into the wind, see what is being tossed about, hear what is being rattled, and feel what is being touched.

Day sixteen of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Art: Wind in the Trees at Roe Valley by Julius Guzy.

Seeing What Was

Today I attended what will have been my last board meeting for a Portland-based association. I have served five consecutive terms for a total of ten years on this board. When I was first elected to office, I was totally involved. I gave presentations, sold materials at the book table, served at the cookies and coffee table, participated in field trips, and worked other projects. I did these things full-heartedly for about eight years, but for the last two, my focus has been elsewhere.

As I reflect back on my involvement with this board, gratitude comes to mind. I am grateful for the respect that the members have shown to one another even when disagreements arose. I am grateful that members were heard, that members were recognized for their good work and supported in their efforts. I am grateful for the humor, the wit, and the easy-going nature of the group. I am grateful for their professionalism and for their desire to learn from one another. It saddens me to retire from my position because I have benefitted so much from my association with them. But my life’s journey has taken another route.

So in my farewell, I see what was valuable, worthy, and beneficial to me. I am a better person for having been a member of this board. I thank my God for this gift of being in the presence of dedicated people who take seriously their efforts to honor their Creator.

Day fifteen in the Thirty Days of Seeing

Image is the symbol of gratitude.

Seeing Geese

This time of year, I see geese nearly every day. This morning was no different. I heard them before I saw them. I turned toward their calls and saw over a thousand geese making their southwesterly journey. Their V-formations were constantly shifting and rearranging, yet maintaining orderliness. They covered the sky. Some were low enough for me to see the whites of their underbellies. I paused in my walking to watch them. They were to my right, to my left, before me, behind me, and directly overhead. They flew fast and soon they were but dark specks against the clouds in the south.

Something about the geese causes a longing to well up within me. It feels like homesickness, like a desire to return to something that was lost or to regain what is gone. I am not sure why geese stir this in me, but I like to think it has to do with wanting that spiritual home, desiring that place of rest and peace, longing for the kingdom of God.

Those formations of flying geese remind me that my time here is temporary, that there is another place, a deeper reality, a spiritual home. That home is my place of origin, the place where I belong. A permanent home in the Shalom of God. This is the gift that seeing geese gave to me today.

Day fourteen of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing the Moon

The moon fascinates me. And for some reason, the moon appears to be feminine. She draws me. This morning blue-gray clouds surrounded and moved over her. Her bright face would change from hidden to revealed. When the moon was hidden, she was completely obscured. When she was revealed, she was clear and obvious. When I gaze at the moon, all else seems to fade and lose its power. Instead, moon power exerts herself. It is the power of quiet movement and of circular presence.

Admiring the moon is my own confession of admiration for her Maker. There is something in the moon that reflects the divine feminine. It reaches into my soul and connects me to that feminine divinity. That reflective something tells me that as a woman, I, too, reflect the divine feminine. That my femininity is valued by the Maker of the Moon. That I reflect the Maker’s image from the feminine source.

Sometimes, I think that the moon was created just for me, but I don’t mind sharing.

Day thirteen of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing the Hospital

I had three appointments in the hospital today. I arrived at 9:30am and left about 2pm. So I had plenty of time to observe, chat, and listen. I saw men and women in wheelchairs, people getting flu vaccinations, folks in waiting rooms, doctors in blue uniforms, servers in the canteen, clerks in the gift shop, baristas making lattes, and a host of individuals either limping, coughing, sneezing, shuffling papers, pushing carts, or doing something that was sickly or taking care of the sickly. It was a community—a hospital community, a community designed for the purpose of healing frail and ailing bodies.

This caused me to think about this broken world. I live in a world where people suffer. People are sick. People are fragile. No one escapes the inevitable illnesses that plague humankind. We have earaches and sore throats, coughs and sneezes, broken bones, loss of hearing and eyesight, diabetes, heart failure, and cancer. As a result, we have places of healing. These places are metaphors for a larger reality—a spiritual reality.

I am a spiritually broken person. No matter how much I want to be whole, perfect, complete, it comes back to brokenness of soul. Like Paul of the New Testament, I find that my ideas of becoming like Christ are thwarted by inner urges that undermine my good intentions. I want to do right, but I end up behaving in ways less than desirable. I sabotage myself. I need a place of spiritual healing and a healer.

The place of healing is an inner sanctuary. It is that place where the Divine One lives in me. That One is the Healer. I have within a sacred healing space where my soul is transformed by the One Who Knows How to Heal. But like those in the hospital, I must go to that place and submit myself to the healing process. And like any physical healing, there is a crisis point, a pain threshold that must be visited in the process. I must be willing to suffer through the sickness and do what is necessary for my soul to be well. I have to take what the Healer prescribes no matter how bad it might it taste in my spiritual mouth.

And so I do it for my own soul care.

Day twelve of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing Down Syndrome

For years, I have helped with our church’s Harvest Festival. This year a woman with Down syndrome came to the festival. She was thirty-one years old, but she looked like a child. She was dressed as a witch. She came to my booth, the beanbag toss. Carefully, she aimed and threw the bags. She was focused and intent upon getting one through a decorated hole in the backboard. She missed most of them, but when one of the bags soared through a hole, she clapped her hands, jumped up and down, and grinned widely. She was a woman with the spirit of a child.

I thought about the words of Jesus, “Unless you become like one of these children, you cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.” What does it mean to become like a child? Does it mean to squeal with excitement? To clap and jump? To grin widely?

Somehow, entering the kingdom as a child speaks of enjoyment in the moment, presence in the moment, full participation in the moment. I want to be a woman with the spirit of a child. I want to participate in the kingdom as it is in the moment. As it is that place of shalom. A place of welcoming, of hospitality, of peace, of presence. I want to be a child in that kingdom.

Day eleven of the Thirty Days of Seeing

Seeing the Art Department

Today I took my younger daughter to George Fox University for a campus tour. She wanted to see the art department. I had never been in that area of the school until today. Intriguing. We looked in the photographer’s dark room, the design room, the drawing room, the pottery room, the kiln room, the glass fusing room, the mixed media room, and the galleries. These were rooms designed for creativity.

I wanted to wear a painting jacket, sit at an easel, grab a brush, and spread vibrant colors on a canvas. All of what I saw reminds me that we are made in the image of a magnificent Creator. One who engages with the creative spirit of humankind. This is the God that I worship, one who partners with me in the creative work that satisfies my spirit and fills me with contentment. This is a good God.


Day ten of the Thirty Days of Seeing