Wasteland Pictures

Not so long ago, I published a post entitled Wasteland. I thought it might be neat if you got to see what I saw, and so here are some pictures from the very wasteland I was writing about:

Some grapes growing next to a cable supporting an electrical line...

Some immature raspberries... Today I see that some of them are ripe and that they are plump and lovely BLACK raspberries, and that many have been eaten by the little critters who live here.

And a funny bug on milkweed blossoms:

May your day be equally full of beauty in unexpected places.


P.S. I have replaced the picture on this blog of 'St Kevin's Chapel' with a picture of a grasshopper, as perhaps more appropriate. The insect in question was only briefly held and released back where it was captured. No grasshoppers were eaten or harmed in any way in the production of this blog.

What Is A Miracle?

What is a miracle?
Does it have to be supernatural,
Or will 'unlikely' do?
Is whatever God does a miracle?

What about a rescue worker's efforts?
The emergancy room doctor?
The stranger who helps when you are lost?
Or the person who listens and helps when you are upset?

Perhaps miracles are like blessings, like sacraments - outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace;

And perhaps we walk in the midst of miracles of life, miracles of light, every day. Little ones and big ones.

Recently I was at a weekend celebration, and one of the guests of honor was worried that there would not be enough beer, although it seemed to me that few people there were beer drinkers. So a little beer was bought.

Over the course of the weekend, it seemed to me that whenever I looked, there was more beer, some varieties I didn't recognize.

...I sampled some, and it was good. We ended up bringing a healthy amount back from the weekend.

There was more than enough.

...Probably, probably people at the celebration bought and brought the overabundance. No supernatural power need be invoked. But the image of that beer stuck with me.

A silly miracle, I suppose.

But it occurs to me that it *was* a wedding celebration; 50 years of wedded bliss in this case.

And again, is it less of a miracle if it has a practical explanation?

Isn't the miracle the spiritual part of the event? The blessing of it happening, no matter if in Cana almost 2000 years ago, or last week?

God does get involved, I think, in the mundane things in our lives;

No, even more; God lives, I think, in the mundane, as well as the obviously transcendant.

Everything IS Illuminated.

Not Really A Spoiler

Harry Potter doesn't die
Instead he's merely killed

Hermionie will not marry him
Though Fleur does marry Bill

Dumbledore won't just stay dead
Snape and he are in cahoots

And Voldemort should have invested more
In wizard mourning suits

Remus gets an orphan,
And Albus goes to school

Mrs Weasley saves the day,
And Neville is no fool

And when the story's over
It starts over again

With the train to Hogwart's
And Potter's last girlfriend.

The Mosaic Lion

I dreampt that I was visiting a small town in Italy that was tucked in a niche in the base of a volcanic outcrop, sort of a cross between a dike and a volcanic neck. The outcrop formed a pinnacle in the center and two ridges of the same very dark brown rock swooped down to the plain from which the outcrop protruded at a wide angle, curving ever-so-slightly as if to contain something as they dissapeared beneath the yellow, dusty plain.

And there, between the arms of the outcrop, lay the plaza of the town. And it was not just any plaza, but a plaza made up of many colored bricks that made up a huge, rather realistic mosaic of a proud lion standing in left profile, tail twitched in front of its left haunch, head turned slightly towards the viewer.

The niche in the outcrop, and its little town faced the plaza, faced the lion that was turning to look at it.

And I sat at an outdoor table in that town with my true love, sampling tiny, bitter pickles that were the specialty of the town, as our waiter, who wore clothes with faint, small vertical bands of maroon and brown of varying width and a crumpled looking white apron, explained that eating a lot of these pickles would make us sick, and could be fatal. I told him not to worry, we would be careful, and I awoke.

Is the message of the dream temperance and moderation? Is it more about accepting your situation and nature? Is it about enjoying where you are? Is the lion a pagan symbol alone, or is it symbolic of the watchfulness of Christ, whom I associate with the lion? Why does the lion face the little town, and the pinnacle, and not the plain?

Perhaps this last question I can answer, in a practical way: the lion is posed for someone on the pinnacle, or in a building within its niche to view it.

Perhaps the lion is not concerned with those who might assault the town, but with the welfare of its residents.

Perhaps the theme of the dream is care: caring for yourself and others, being careful, and taking care to appreciate where you are, and who you are with.

Or maybe there is a message in the way the earth in the form of the outcrop, the lion; a symbol of faith, and the town all form an integrated whole, working together to form a place which people can call home.

Wednesdays

This post has been lightly edited since first posted

You might think that Monday starts the week
Or maybe Sunday.

You might think Friday ends the week, or maybe Sunday again.

But Wednesday is the middle.
Most certainly the middle,
The center of the week.

Thursday and Friday and Saturday and Sunday have particular liturgical connotations. Church Fathers, Christian theologians and mystics have suggested that Sunday and every day be a participation in the great Eighth Day, when Jesus rose; and that Saturdays remind us of Holy Saturday in holy week, and that Fridays all remind us of Good Friday, and that Thursdays remind us of Maundy (or perhaps Agape) Thursday. Each is rich in tradition.

But Wednesday is kind of like the end of 'ordinary time' - the last day before the mystery and passion is revealed.

Where does Wednesday sit liturgically?

And what devotions do you add to Wednesday?

Perhaps Wednesday should remind us of Ash Wednesday?

Should Wednesday be a solemn day of preparation?

Or is it the last regular day before you start thinking about the weekend?

Much as I like a good party, our current culture's celebration of 'hump day' seems wrong-headed.

Is what we are doing with our work-days, our weeks so very useless, unfulfilling, and without reward that we must celebrate when the week is half over?

It seems like a disgraceful way to view what we do with our lives, and not how we should value or spend our limited time here.

Instead, perhaps Wednesday, in the weekly cycle, is where we make our transition from living in the eighth day, to preparing to meditate on Christ's passion again.

A joyful but serious day, a day of preparation. A day to express love, to share, to care, to help, to do little things, a day to finish one thing and begin anew.

May God bless you in all your days.

Love,
locust-eater

"They'll Take Anyone"

Jesus stands at the door and knocks,
But not just at your door,
You'll find him knocking along every street
Mine, and theirs, and yours

This feast that we are called to
Is open to all who'll come;
And it's our job to welcome
Each and every one

We must mean it when we say that
Our sins belong to God;
Jesus himself has told us
We may find the guest list odd.

Forgiveness is for sinners,
For us sinners, every one;
And a mixed lot of repentant sinners,
Will make our feasting much more fun.

So may we be among the guilty;
Told: "You'll take anyone",
And be numbered with those oddball saints,
When at last our lives are done.

Peace,
LE

That's Nuttin!

A thousand folks came knocking
A thousand at the door
A thousand people searching
A thousand, and now more

A thousand hidden smiles
A thousand who came by
A thousand from all countries
A thousand who drew nigh

A thousand quiet moments
A thousand friends to tea
A thousand 'I understand's
A thousand friends for me

A thousand people questing
A thousand asking why
A thousand gleaming stars
A thousand in the sky

A thousand cups of coffee
A thousand bits of toast
A thousand hands held in comfort
A thousand times a host

A thousand questions answered
A thousand, more or less
A thousand joined in prayer
A thousand joined to bless

A thousand is so little
A thousand is so small
A thousand is not many
I have space for one and all

So come in off the doorstep
Come in, come through the door
Come into my guest room
There's room for many more

Thanks to each of you for coming
I'm sad when your visits end
And please do come back often
And please do bring a friend

I'll be waiting by the doorstep
I'll have the kettle on for tea
Come by whenever you want to
And spend more time with me

-LE

Wasteland

...
Railroads are by their nature surrounded by wasteland.

Their roadbeds are not usually considered pretty, their switching areas, rusting signals and overhead electric lines are eyesores, and the trains that travel them are loud, discoraging the close encroachment of the neat lawns and dwellings of residential suburbia.

And the odd angles that the rail-beds make with roads, property lines, and each other create wedges of land that are virtually impossible to put to any use, even if someone wanted to do so.

And so they are left fallow, ...and life finds them and springs up.

The odd-shaped wedge behind the train station where I wait in the morning teams with life and is laden with ripening wild fruit;

raspberries and blackberries and grapes and choke-cherries, rose-hips and milkweed, and wild herbs and seeds - eaten by silly baltimore orioles (singing 'oh-boyeee!') and robins and sparrows and mocking-birds and chipmunks. ...and these are likely just the bold ones, who dare show themselves while I am there.

The amount of life per square foot is amazing. And to create this beauty, we just had to give it space. We abandoned it. We ignored it. We left it alone.

This was a waste-land, useless.

Sometimes we feel that way about ourselves, about parts of our lives, about people and places. But perhaps they need just a little space, some light, and a bit of water. Just a wee opportunity for growth and creation; time and space for God to enter in, and fill the wasteland with life.

May God enter all the abandoned places in our lives, all our waste-lands, and make them bloom and be fruitful.

And may we be wise enough to allow space for life, to leave spaces for the wild magic of God to take place.

Love,
Locust Eater

Related:
Wasteland Pictures
Seeing Truth in the Wasteland
God’s Sheep are Confused

Today's Quest

...
Today I was questing,
For what I know not.
I traveled miles that few travel,
Through deserted glades and along abondoned rivers.

Few see fit to wander where I go, though many pass close by, without ever knowing what lies there.

Their litter finds it's way there, though: hubcaps, and tires, and mattresses and shoes.

Golf balls and dumpsters and laptops and bottles.

But beauty and innocence lies in these abandoned places. I know where the hart rests, and where the doe hides her newborn fawn.

I see where the orphaned duckling is cared for, and where the crayfish spawn.

I know the great feasts of the muskrats, and where their dining-hall lies.

I visit hunting grounds of Herons, and of dragonflies.

And I see the bowers of the Faries, far from man's sight.

I say I do not know what I seek on this quest, and that is both true and not, for my son shares my quest with me.

It is the serendipity of the quest I seek, the unknown, and to share it with one who will appreciate it in his own turn;

And someday seek with his progeny the secret bower of the hart, and the nest of the fawn, the magic of fairies, and the joy of the dawn.

God's blessings be evident to you and yours...

LE

Ch-ch-ch-changes...

Have a Happy and Safe 4th!


And... here I am with a few minutes and nothing urgent to do for once, so....

....It has been a while since I have poked at the blog to improve it, and so here are Today's:

Changes to this blog: (I may update this post later in the day if I get more things done.)

1) Refreshing of the links:

a. I have gone through links, and those which I don’t feel a huge attachment to, or which I look at less often, or which haven’t been updated in ever-so-long I have removed. I also looked at who was getting ‘outclicks’ and kept those who were getting those. On this list are:

i. TitusOneTen – Silly blog about Episcopal Church Life, but not updated since… May! Is it possible? Maybe it will come back to life in the fall, and I will re-add it.
ii. Richard Pettinger Photos – Beautiful pictures and interesting bits of faith, but I rarely look at it, and no one clicks there.
iii. Fresh Spam – Not updated since May. (UPDATE: A Reprieve - there has been an update - so I have re-added FS to the blogroll.)
iv. Releasing The Word: I never, ever go there, and no-one clicks on it. I probably should, but I don’t. Updated regularly too.

b. Links I probably should have deleted but didn’t:

i. TWIVNTY – The author promises to do SOMETHING with it soon, and it gets outclicks.
ii. Turns in the Road – nice site, nice pictures, but I don’t look at it much. It DOES get outclicks. The host needs to turn off the automatic music video that runs when you hit the site. Which video I loved the first 15 times I visited.

c. New Links – things that I found inspiring and interesting over the last several months:

i. Slyphnascency – Poetry, struggle and light from a ‘Pixie’. Oh, and she linked my site.
ii. What Not to Crochet – Updated a few times a month, will bend your mind with scary crocheted objects.
iii. Amazing Filtered Things – Amazing pictures.
iv. I have more to add here, some nifty stuff that is hiding from me, but I only get so many minutes with my own computer, and that time is up, I can tell by the way a small, impatient person is pacing behind me.
v. Muck-n-Mire - wonderful pictures of flowers and plants.
vi. SketchyBeast - interesting and odd drawings.

d. Rearranging Links – The links I visit most or get the most outclicks should be first, and I have tried to honor that.

2) Tracking my Visitors: I have been with Site Meter for ever-so-long, but they have changed a number of things which made me reconsider that, and now I am with StatCounter. We will see how StatCounter works out. Items leading to my decision were:

a. They supposedly started adding cookies from ‘Specific Click’ that get loaded on my visitor’s computers and track their activity beyond just my blog. (Spyware! Evil! Evil!)
b. They started requiring ‘cookies’ (little bits of data or code that get stored on your computer to store information about your visits).
c. Their stats stopped working at all on my laptop, and on my mobile device.
d. Often the counter wouldn’t load even on computers that were normally compatible – and I am pretty sure that those visits were not counted.
e. I am pretty sure that the stats counter slowed down the loading of my blog.

More as it happens!

LE

God in The Waiting Places

...

Why does the darlky-tanned hispanic man wait at the shelter of the rural spur line? The trains there are rare, yet I watch as he lets one go by. Is he the same man I glimpsed sleeping in the hot shelter a month ago? It makes no sense to sleep there, in sight of green, shady bowers.

If he has an appointment with someone, or something, why not come closer to the right time? Or perhaps his appointment is with something or someone more mercurial - and he cannot know when, or if it will arrive. Something mercurial, but still worth waiting for.

And who is the older woman in yellow waiting for? She stands in the shade of some green trees, on a sidewalk away from the commuter's shelter and the platform. A freight train rumbles through, I turn for a moment and she is gone. Did someone arrive and I missed seeing them? Did she give up? Is this just a happy pause on her morning walk... ...watching a train or two pass, or does she daydream that someone will arrive, someone she misses?

Who rides all the dozens of bikes that are chained up by the station? They are here when I arrive and there are less when I return, indicating an early schedule, but I never see their riders. Do they ride for pleasure, out of a sense of economy and environmentalism? Are these students off to school? I doubt it. I suspect they are fry-cooks and baker's assistants and day-laborers, and bicycles are what they can afford.

Some religeous pamphleteers arrive, young men in starched yellow shirts and striped ties, soft-covered black bibles and literature clutched in their right hands, bending gently in their grips. They make a vague attempt to reach the commuters at the station, but they are on the wrong side of the tracks, and a train arrives to foil their efforts, whooshing their prospective converts off in the direction of the big city, and leaving no one save me. They glance briefly at me, but the cost/benefit of saving my soul must not seem promising, and they climb back into their beat-up suburban, and motor off, its hole-y muffler resonating loudly.

I resolve to try to meet all these people in the future. This is a waiting place, it is true, and people don't think of their lives as happening here, in the waiting places, but they are wrong. God also waits for us at the way-points of our lives, and while we wait, our lives are going by, and God is showing us people and situations and wondering: "Who will go for us?" And "Whom shall we send?"

May we often meet and recognize God along the myriad paths of our lives, and moreover, enter into God's labors.

Peace,
LE

The Impossible Dream

Saw this the other day, and had to share it:





Some things speak to us inside. I think this little video does.

Peace,
LE