The full places collect waste and things that fall out of pockets. Or are thrown away by careless hands. The full places yearn to be empty places.
The Gospel sounds different here. The Gospel IS different here. Words have a new life and depth. A richness of scarcity. Simplicity.
There is a cedar tree in the far corner of the yard. I can look at it through the big window in the big room of the house. I went out for a closer look --and it is covered in tiny blue berries. Without thinking, I plicked a little bit off the end of a branch to show it to Joel and then realized what I had done --but, I think the tree was sleeping and didn't feel it. I will have to learn its name. I noticed that between the tree and the fence it was a very full place --stashes of empty crushed coke cans and torn plastic bags. I will clean it up before the tree awakes....
The guys who walk along the dirt road on the other side of the fence stop and sell their drugs and take a piss by the tree. Nobody has lived here in such a long time... they don't know I can see them. Perhaps I should put a little sign up:
The Creator can see you; so can I
No. The sign wouldn't last. And I don't think the guys would care. Their heads and hearts and souls are too full.... I should learn their names. too.
I must learn to be empty --to be emptied --to embrace emptiness --to choose words like an offering to God --to listen....
A child showed me her felt rendition of The Last Supper this morning. My heart leapt in joy while she told the story of the bread --and then I achingly wished for beautiful brown and black felt... because her little fingers pointed at the pink and blonde Jesus....
--made in God's image. And who can say God's name?
I have been too full.
I am so very grateful to be here.