Connections. We are all connected, connected to one other.

Once upon a time when I was very young (in the 1970's) I read a book called Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee and the story of Black Elk touched my heart so much that I read his book, Black Elk Speaks.   These books had a formative impact on me as my eyes were opened and my heart felt his pain.

As I was preparing to lead morning worship in the Piney Woods of central Louisiana, I walked out onto the Pavilion overlooking the lake nestled among the pine trees.  In an instant I was transported in my mind back to my childhood ... laying under the pine trees of Southern Arkansas, reading about Black Elk ... tears streaming down my face.

Native American religion is “a thing of the heart."  Prayers are said with the heart and are carried upon the wind ... thoughts for the heart, the soul and the mind ... Prayers that call upon us to remember who we are, where we come from and where we are going ... as we journey down the pathway of life.

It reminds me of what I have been taught about the Hebrew meaning of heart as the "center of one's being."  And what about that old saying, "Home is where the heart is." 

Connections.  We are all connected, connected to one other. 

It reminds me of the Ubuntu Theology of the great South African Episcopal Bishop, Desmond Tutu.  Ubuntu as I understand it, means … "I am what I am because of what we all are together."   Somewhere deep in my soul I know that if even one person in the world is suffering, I am suffering ... even if I don't know it. 

Connections.  We are all connected, connected to one other.  

It reminds me of the words of the great writer and follower of Christ, Paul who said in 1 Corinthians 12:12-13 … For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit … One Spirit


Connections.  We are all connected, connected to one other.

I invite you to open your heart and pray this prayer by Chief Seattle in the Native American tradition.  It is called the Prayer to the Four Directions ... adapted with inclusive language:

Great Spirit of Light, come to me out of the East with the power of the rising sun. Let there be light in my words, let there be light on my path that I walk. Let me remember always that you give the gift of a new day. And never let me be burdened with sorrow by not starting over again.

Great Spirit of Love, come to me with the power of the North. Make me courageous when the cold wind falls upon me. Give me strength and endurance for everything that is harsh, everything that hurts, everything that makes me squint. Let me move through life ready to take what comes from the north.

Great Life-Giving Spirit, I face the West, the direction of sundown. Let me remember everyday that the moment will come when my sun will go down. Never let me forget that I must fade into you. Give me a beautiful color, give me a great sky for setting, so that when it is my time to meet you, I can come with glory.

Great Spirit of Creation, send me the warm and soothing winds from the South. Comfort me and caress me when I am tired and cold. Unfold me like the gentle breezes that unfold the leaves on the trees. As you give to all the earth your warm, moving wind, give to me, so that I may grow close to you in warmth. Humanity did not create the web of life, each one but a strand in it. Whatever one does to the web, one does to the self.   Amen.

And Amen and Amen ...

Spider! Spider!

Spider! Spider!

Spinning your Web

Spinning Spinning

Intricate Patterns

Delicate Gossamer

Gilded Edges

Shining in the Evening Sky

A Sunset Backdrop

A Lonely Job

For a Solitary Spider

Longing for Others

To journey with

On the Sinister Pathway 

of those Silky Strands 

Spider! Spider!

Morning Glories and Mom

My Mom loved flowers ... when I was a little girl, I remember the myriad of Marigolds she planted.  I remember them because of their strong smell.  I didn't like to smell them but they were very hardy my Mom told me.  I did love to smell the ruby red roses that grew at the edge of the house and how they made the most beautiful bouquets.  I remember how we pinned them to our dresses, she and I, on Mother's Day.   

I remember the fascinating Four O' Clocks because they knew what time to open their delicate purple petals to the afternoon sun.  They were always on time!  I remember the beautiful blue Morning Glories climbing and winding up and up the trellis by the gently sloping porch at the side of our house on dead man's curve ... yes, they really did call it that although no one died while I lived there.  Those Morning Glories ... they were quite simply ... glorious!  As I walked among the flowers at the Inn Above Onion Creek ... this week on retreat ... suddenly I saw beautiful blue Morning Glories and I remembered Mom ... again.  She would have loved them!