It is unlikely that I will be blogging a lot in the next few months. Befriend me on Facebook with an explanatory message and I might accept, if you seem trustworthy.

Have a happy 2009.

God came home!

this picture made me cry when I read the caption

http://www.flickr.com/photos/boaz/209952737/

this is a reminder that one of the Church Fathers was from North Africa (St. Augustine)

http://www.flickr.com/photos/boaz/1300921312/in/set-423401/

I don't want to forget

Character is more attractive than personality.

the old order of things will pass away!

The Lord is present within you. Your heart: the Holy of Holies.
Bow down and worship the King.

Angus, this picture is for you in the trenches. Whether or not this becomes reality, its truth as an imagined future is the present promise of love for time untimed. Time is knotted silk, or a prayer bracelet that you run your fingers along. This is a reminder to hope without rigid expectation, but that makes it no less relevant. Be still and know that the Lord is good. The still waters under our feet: you and me and all of our children will race like crazy sailboats on the foam.

When Sunday comes a train of feet will follow yours and mine with quarrels over order and song. The road will be crusted with icy snow - a narrow road. When we turn our heads back we will see the village streets twirling and curling around, down to the foot of the mountain. Up, our heads turned up, we will see the white church, where the farmers and lost poets and spectacled theologians and introspective artists lean over the pews. Grandmother might cough during the sermon and I might clench my teeth in irritation but the Spirit will chastise my heart - the stereotypes will make us giggle as we flip through our Russian manuscripts, the ones we bought because the letters were pretty. We will be exposed in our pride and the people will teach us to turn, turn, turn again. Around our necks we'll wrap the scarves the grocer sold us for a few dollars - the handmade ones that nobody else has in the world. The wind will burnish our cheeks, but strong shoulders can carry small people and my arms will work hard to multiply in the dark like an octopus woman. To keep them all under our care. To let their knuckles stay smooth and uncut, to nourish their limbs and sinewy hearts. To help them turn into tall hunters and graced gatherers and imaginative weavers.

When we are old we will be content and wait for the Lord, but we will also close the shutters against the storm. When you put on your black boots and pick up your gun I will not cry but I will pray for your soul, even if there are only wolves on the other side of the door.