poetry in the silence and stillness of winter

As I usually do each morning, and today is no exception, I sit down to my computer, recite my Lectio phrase to begin my practice of contemplation, “have in you the mind of Christ Jesus,” then wait. Whatever comes my way, I try to write it down for you. I don’t presume to speak for the Holy Spirit, for Jesus, or for God, but I do share what happens to me in my blog so that you might see my light shine and give glory to the Father for His kindness. Reflect on this passage in Matthew 5 for a few minutes as it applies to your day today.

The Similes of Salt and Light.*13i “You are the salt of the earth. But if salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned? It is no longer good for anything but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.*14You are the light of the world. A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden.j15Nor do they light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket; it is set on a lampstand, where it gives light to all in the house.k16Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father.l


My day begins with waiting for God. I am seated on a park bench in the dead of Winter, peering at the horizon, waiting for Christ to come to me.
I am tired, even though I just got up. The winter cold begins to seep through my heavy jacket. I am troubled by those around me telling me what to do in my eightieth year. Where is Christ? I think. I am here.
The weather dominates my thoughts. Why would Christ want to meet here, at this time, and in the dead of winter? Where is He? I am waiting and becoming a little (a lot) irritated and annoyed at being stood up.
I have been sitting here for nearly an hour. I will give Jesus five more minutes and then I will leave. I have important things to do, even if I am retired,
One last chance. I stand up, peering angrily at the bridge over which I thought Christ was coming to see me.
Wait! I sit down again and hear a sound. It sounds like the constant beating of a heart, just like my own. I sit there for five minutes just listening and it remains constant and not too loud nor so soft that I can’t hear it. I must strain to keep this sound focused in my mind.
It is a heart beat, I am sure of it. No one is seated next to me on the bench, yet this heart beat is so close that I can feel it. A voice whispers, Michael.
“Michael,” the voice whispers again, “don’t be afraid. I am here, sitting next to you.”
“Where have you been?” I say testily. “I have been here since the beginning of time,” says Christ, “waiting for you to show up with all your heart, your mind, and all your strength. Welcome, good and faithful servant.”
My Lord, and My God. Have mercy on me, a sinner.


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