The other day I had one of those moments when the light falls on something and captures your attention so completely that for that moment you are transfixed, and time seems to stand still. I was actually working on the other side of the room, but something made me turn this way, and I saw the light.
It was light on this hydrangea blossom that I had put in a bowl and set on my prayer desk.
And then I saw the cross that the wood from the window made.
And then the cross on my candle holder, with its beautiful prayer:
O God of peace, who has taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved, in quietness and confidence shall be our strength: By the might of your Spirit lift us, we pray, to your presence, where we may be still and know that you are God.
And the gospel reading from the Sunday before Pentecost. The sermon that day was so good that I asked for a copy of it.
The ball of grapevine I bought after Mrs. White's death, to have a tangible reminder of the interconnectedness of our lives. Something I could pick up and touch when I needed to.
The crystal that a client once gave me as a token of appreciation. She grieved deeply at multiple losses during that time, and she felt she had become more solid through our work together, and that she reflected more light.
The pine cone from a beach in Fairhope, Alabama, a reminder of the importance of going deep. The tree from which it came was very, very tall. Quite a lot of the roots were exposed, because of the way the sea had eroded the sand. But others clearly went deep and kept it grounded and growing. I picked this up because I didn't want to forget that image for times when I feel like I'm being ripped up.
The stained glass window that I set inside my window. I found this in antique store in Collierville and wish so much that I knew where it came from. I'd like to think it was in a house out in the country somewhere in west Tennessee. I miss living in the country. It makes me think of a sunrise, even though it is blue instead of yellow. Or of a person raising both arms upward to greet the light.
A photo of a church window somewhere in west Tennessee, given to me by a friend who is quite good with a camera. She has suffered incredible wounds in her life, she struggles with the trauma symptoms. And she has such an eye for beauty, sometimes it seems incongruous. Other times it seems so natural, because beauty heals and gives hope.
This little pin with the "Love" stamp from the 80's, given to me by my friend Amy. We used to enjoy stamps together and sent many letters back and forth across the ocean. Her letters helped me live through the war in Croatia.
The Bible my dad gave me when I was six years old, the one I referred to in this post. This is its second binding, and I kind of think a third binding may be not too far away. Somehow this one has gotten pretty scratched up and really shows it, more than the first one did.
And the prayer beads from Deron in our Doctor of Minstry class, a section on spiritual disciplines. His wife and daughters made these for everyone in the class--so sweet! I did not grow up even knowing what prayer beads were, and they have not become a constant companion, but I think they are wonderful.
So, the light fell on all this for just a moment. And for that moment, which seemed like a very long time indeed, I took in all these wonderful objects and remembered the people, the places, the ideas, the love and sadness and joy and peace and tumult and just the life they connect me to. They lift me to that Presence where I can be still and know that He is God.
It was a blessed moment. A blessed moment that I wanted to remember. So I took these pictures, quickly and quietly, and then just sat for a while and wondered at how rich and full a life can be.
