31 Mar

Flight to heaven

She died two years to the day after her husband. They spent their later years within earshot of the ocean, and called the beach their home.

After the funeral, again two years to the day after her husband, family likewise gathered within earshot of the ocean. I stepped out onto the deck on the brisk early spring afternoon, escaping the noise within. Looking toward the beach, a seagull flew overhead within arm’s reach. A second seagull quickly joined the first, lingered for a moment, and then the two set sail in the sky.

Side by side they flew, their wings carrying them along the coast and into the horizon.

Heaven called, and together they joined eternity.

15 Mar

Sunday morning

The boy sat there in his high-chair eating breakfast. Between spoonfuls of cereal, he looked up and declared:

“It sure is a good day for having a great day.”

I laughed at his words, but at the same time realized how simplistically profound they were. His sentiment unknowingly implies a choice we are all called to make each morning. The day greets us, and we have the opportunity to see it as a great one… or a not-so-great one.

In a little boy’s world, why would there be any choice but to have a great day? If only we all had the mind of a three-year-old.

He went back to his cereal, while I replayed his words in my head.

“It sure is a good day for having a great day.”

Sure is, son. Sure is.

08 Mar

Antiphon of the goose

Sister Moon and the stars shone above, while Brother Fire danced his playful dance below. I sat in the glow of both, their light warming both body and soul. Alone.

Time literally flew by while the world wobbled on its axis, Sister Earth spinning and circling Brother Sun. Wood burned, embers grew brighter, and the moon arced its way across the sky.

In the quiet of the crackling fire, a distant sound made its way across the dark sky. It was the sound of a solitary Canadian goose heading north on its return flight home. Its silhouette flew across the sky as its lonely honking echoed through the air. It was the sound of desperation, or so it seemed. A hapless bird, lost from its flock, flying through the night in a frantic attempt to reunite with its winged brethren.

“Honk-honk-honk-honk-honk,” it sang, the lonely dirge of one who has lost its way. In the somber song of evening prayer, the bird mourned.

Dirige, Domine, Deus meus, in conspectu tuo viam meam.

“Direct my way in your sight, O Lord my God.”

I joined the bird in prayer, hoping its antiphon would reunite it with its flock, calling it back home.

03 Mar

Sleeping moon

Looking skyward, the crescent moon stood out in the winter eve, its light reflecting off the snowy ground. Something seemed amiss, however. When one pictures the crescent moon, the image that inevitably comes to mind is a lunar sliver pointing left or right in the sky. Tonight, however, the moon was on its back, as if she had decided to call it quits and rest in the quiet darkness. Her arched back rested against the sky like an umbrella turned on its end. Each edge of the crescent pointed directly to the sky above it. Not east or west, nor north or south. But rather, up.

In the beauty of the winter night, the moon had gone to sleep, and in so doing, cast a shining example of divine perspective to the world. Yes, even the moon takes a moment to lie down before God and admire the heavens above.