What do you see?
What do you feel about what you see?
How will your day be different because of this photograph?

Sometimes our spiritual lives are like
prickly cactus, sometimes like
graceful swaying palms,
too rarely like hot-air balloons.
Where and how are you today in 
your spiritual journey?  
Riding the colorful breeze of the Spirit?
Take a moment to listen to your heart.
Believe it or not, the world wouldn't be
the same without you.
Be at peace.

Isn’t this a, ah………boring picture? Can you find the one that is different? I can’t either. They seem to be satisfied with their sameness, though. Try spending some time with this photo and let you mind absorb an idea, an insight, a moment of awareness that comes to you. Maybe you’ll hear something about life or faith or about yourself. Maybe it will be the message of the Spirit. Don’t hurry. It will be time well spent.

Haystack Rock near Canon Beach, Oregon. Spend some time today listening to what it has to say.

Perhaps this is a doorway to deep reflection?

Each morning I step on the bathroom scales
and the shock of it all never fails
to send me into the day with despair.
How can truth be so cruel and life so unfair?
Why should one pastry cause such a change?
Send me reeling into the obese range?
My bathroom scales lie with such ease;
it has no desire to encourage or please.
After watching the numbers go flying by,
once I’ve recovered from my morning cry,
I yell at my wife and threaten the cat,
cinch up the trousers over all the fat
and run to flag down a yellow cab,
all the while thinking of that little dab
of marmalade on my third piece of toast.
How I long for the day when I can happily boast
of successfully shedding forty pounds,
which means I can then drive straight across town
to my favorite donut-bagel shop
where I will resist the urge to stop
at two bagels, a scone and a chocolate shake.
O, what a difference a few pounds will make.
Til then I will step on those bathroom scales
with hopes that I have not left a visible trail
of Tootsie Roll wrappers in the upstairs hall.
I blame the pandemic for my rapid downfall,
and maybe a donut or two.

The lion sniffs the air at midnight,
nostrils draw in the sweet smells of savagery.
No rush. Let the enticement come slowly on the
conspirator wind. The deer and her fawn
are unaware of the golden eyes squinting into
the darkness, oblivious to the majestic one’s
soft breathing now turning into shallow, sinister
sounds, little puffs that move the red-matted
short hair along the elegant jawline.

With fluid ease, he rises muscle by muscle,
limb by limb, onto padded paws that conceal
razors sharpened by bone and sinew.
Death is not a game with the lion. It is
surgical precision, with the first cut made
when the anesthesia of fear has done its
work and a merciful numbness filters
through muscle and mind. The prey is
poised in a stupor of surrender.

Now comes the first light of the last day
for two graceful deer who walk casually toward
the sweet grass, plump and moist, near the
stream of revealing, unaware that the reflection
in the mirrored water will be the giant mane,
loosed in the breeze, and sudden darkness.

It’s not what I am, but who that counts.
Very soon my “What” will disappear;
titles and badges, name on the door,
those things won’t matter much anymore.
Pastor, counselor, mentor, friend,
confidant, preacher, they come to an end
at the bold stroke of midnight, October 22
and there’s not a thing that I can do,
even if I wanted to,
to change the process that signals an end
to the “Whats” in my life, even as I begin
to think more about the “Who” I will be
and the Where and the Why and the How I will see
the future unfold, in spite of me.

I’ve said goodbye to my colleagues and friends,
packed 52 boxes that I will send
to storage while Sue and I set our sights
on yet undiscovered adventures that might
redefine the “Who” and the “Where” we will be,
and maybe the “How,” in time we will see
just what this life has in store for me.
In the meantime, which isn’t much time at all,
I’ll move more boxes down the hall,
load up the Honda for the 25th run;
anyone who thinks that moving is fun
has exhausted their touch with reality
because at this moment, I clearly see
a new day dawning that will turn out to be
a shift from the usual “What” of me
to the “Who” and the “Why.” What will be will be.
Will you pass me the tape for box 53?

It’s not what I am, but who that counts.
As soon as I know, I will gladly announce
the future that will very soon knock on my door.
Til then, a hand, please with box 54.

Step lightly.
Footsteps of greatness
go before you.
Follow, if you dare. Place
your foot gently into the
impressions of integrity,
the steps of Saints.
Do not waver
when the inherent wonder
flows through your body.
Never take the next step
for granted.
You are treading where
few people have gone.
Leave them as you
found them.
When you come to the end
of the visible footprint way,
make more by your
life, your honor,
your integrity,
your heart.
Step lightly.
You are on
Sacred Ground.
Press on!

This beautiful creature doesn’t understand it. He just does it. By instinct, he knows that flying doesn’t happen unless he extends his wings and welcomes the wind. Wings and wind, a formula for discovering wonder. Perhaps you will find a moment today when you sense an invitation to extend your wings and feel the Spirit Wind. It will come. Expect it.