The Ever Present Sun

Several days ago an acquaintance told me something awful that had happened to her. Her opening up to me about the event was a response to a question that I had innocently asked her. Never in a million years did I expect her to say what she said. My response to her statements was typical, even expected, and somewhat weak though not weakly felt on my part.

I tend to go over things in order to process them and to better understand my reactions. It has occurred to me that I missed an opportunity to be more understanding towards this person, and because of that, more fully present and human to myself. When someone tells you about a profound loss that they have suffered, you can feel completely inadequate to know how to respond: what to say, what to feel and what to do. It's the rare person I think who gets it all right the first time. And as I think about it I know that the terrible feelings I have reflect the fact that not only do I feel bad for this person (and my inability to express that) but I also know that I am not exempt from such an occurrence of tragedy myself. My time will come and then someone else will be standing with me, hearing me say something awful and that person may very well feel inadequate to help also. It's the human condition all the way round and when you come face to face with it, it is painful and somehow feels inevitable. 

As I said above, it takes me awhile to process things. The photo for this post was taken on my walk yesterday. It was wonderful to feel the sun on my face even in the midst of cloudy weather. Just to look up and know that the presence of light and warmth can be counted on even when the weather is cold. And this morning I made the connection with how it is that we comfort each other regardless of how "weak" our skills are in this department. It's the human condition, God's presence within us, that makes us want to say that not only are we sorry for someone else's loss but that we feel it keenly in every sense of the word; on every level even if we can't adequately express that. We are there and are present, just like the weak light and heat of the winter sun, regardless of how well we convey that presence.
Libby

In Praise of Visual Prayer

lake Hogan Water's Edge-Photo by Libby Fife

This week as I stood down at the water's edge at Lake Hogan, I thought about how incredible it was that I was standing there in the first place. The photo shows ground that is normally submerged under water. The drought has lowered Hogan significantly. It's going to take years of runoff and rainfall to replenish the reservoir. Just on a whim, I decided to walk all the way down the hillside to stand right next to the water, right where just a year ago I would not have been able to stand. Really incredible, at least from my point of view. 

I liken the whole experience to something that approaches religion, or religious feeling. Only, I don't really know how to describe this idea. But I know other people feel it. It's a sense of awe and wonder and the inability to put words to what you are feeling. You look around and can't believe what you are seeing: beauty, and history, and life and tons of things you can't possible understand but that you appreciate because of their very complexity and the fact that they are unknowable. You are simply grateful and overcome by the gifts around you.

This week I read an article by Omid Safi, a regular contributor to the online "magazine" On Being. (On Being is more than a collection of articles though-they have wonderful podcasts as well as incredibly sensitive writers and contributors. It worth a look.) Mr. Safi's article can be found at this link. He describes perfectly (and certainly much more elegantly) the feelings I am mentioning. It's prayer that you might find in a book only it's not the written word. It's the landscape, the images before you which are the prayer. At least that is how I took the meaning. And it helped to know that it's OK to maybe not be able to form the words right away. It's enough to look and be grateful.

Libby

In Praise of Visual Prayer

Lake Hogan-At The Water's Edge-photo by Libby Fife

This week as I stood down at the water's edge at Lake Hogan, I thought about how incredible it was that I was standing there in the first place. The photo shows ground that is normally submerged under water. The drought has lowered Hogan significantly. It's going to take years of runoff and rainfall to replenish the reservoir. Just on a whim, I decided to walk all the way down the hillside to stand right next to the water, right where just a year ago I would not have been able to stand. Really incredible, at least from my point of view. 

I liken the whole experience to something that approaches religion, or religious feeling. Only, I don't really know how to describe this idea. But I know other people feel it. It's a sense of awe and wonder and the inability to put words to what you are feeling. You look around and can't believe what you are seeing: beauty, and history, and life and tons of things you can't possible understand but that you appreciate because of their very complexity and the fact that they are unknowable. You are simply grateful and overcome by the gifts around you.

This week I read an article by Omid Safi, a regular contributor to the online "magazine" On Being. (On Being is more than a collection of articles though-they have wonderful podcasts as well as incredibly sensitive writers and contributors. It worth a look.) Mr. Safi's article can be found at this link. He describes perfectly (and certainly much more elegantly) the feelings I am mentioning. It's prayer that you might find in a book only it's not the written word. It's the landscape, the images before you which are the prayer. At least that is how I took the meaning. And it helped to know that it's OK to maybe not be able to form the words right away. It's enough to look and be grateful.

Libby