Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Friday, October 14, 2011


There are faces all around me Lord
They come before me
As I wander around the beauty of your creation
And spend time with your children
House by house
Kitchen by kitchen

Young faces, firm and flushed with health
Old faces, tired and lined
Other faces
Angry or sad
Hopeless and empty

These faces Lord haunt me
They cry out

One face cries for help,
As cancer eats at the body below it

Another face cries for peace
And as story of anxiety and concern spills forth
A story shared over coffee and cookies

A face cries for forgiveness,
As it spills forth anguish
About children who are struggling

I collect those hurts and wounds
I cannot help it
They are given to me as a gift
And I am asked to carry that hurt in my heart

And at times I am weighed down by the load
Slowly pressed down by the precious burdens
With which I have been gifted.

Help me to remember lord
That those hurts are not mine to keep
or solve
Only mine to carry gently
And place in your healing hands

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