It’s not Leap Year
So today is the last day
Of February.

Three months in a row
Of winter
Of cold
Even in Texas.

This last day of February
I give thanks
For the river that thaws
The heart that beats
The breath that knows.

The night is shorter
Day is longer
I wonder at spring
Lying just beyond
My sight.

May we bless this winter
And look to this spring
To apparent Grace
To fleeting Light
To fragile and tender Wholeness.

There comes a time
When we know inside
That the wheel of life has turned
And the seasons have carried us, perhaps gently, perhaps roughly,
To this new moment.

This is the time
To take off our shoes
Even in snow and ice,
To stand on the earth
On holy ground.

Darkness can seduce us.
We wish to stay under the covers, to stay asleep,
To refuse to answer the knock on the door of our soul.
It is so completely understandable.
Turning away from the cold, maybe harsh, dawn.

Yet light is waiting.
And time flows on like a glacier.
We long for rest but know that spring is already on the way.
The present moment is all that can hold us.
It always asks our consent.

With awe and hope and always love,
May we open our eyes to the light that shines.
May we allow ourselves to know this moment just as it is.
We are enveloped in grace.
May our hearts say Yes.

Wishing you light and peace and love this night and, always, grace. The grace that surrounds us and that lives within us…apparent grace.

My birthday was earlier this month. It was lovely, with friends and family around me. And not one, but two birthday cakes. In the wake of another birthday, I am slowly and surely coming to acknowledge the earth-shaking importance of two practices: rest and play.

Of course, I have always known that sleep was important (even though regretfully in all too short supply). And much of the joy I have known has come from occasions related to leisure…from vacations and holidays and concerts and other special events that lit up my life.

But now I am coming to see and know that not all rest is sleep. Sometimes rest is hanging out on the couch, with a book or a magazine or a movie or the dog or maybe just hanging out doing nothing at all. Rest can be walking around the neighborhood or even the mall, just looking around. Rest is time that calls for nothing except breathing.

Not all play is recreational sport or holiday party. Sometimes play is taking pictures with my phone…of the ground or a fence or a leaf. Sometimes play is writing a poem or singing along or even watching TV. Play can be almost anything that isn’t work, and even work can be play if chosen freely.

Rest and play are often dismissed in our adult lives. Once upon a time, they were required activities. I am finding that I miss them now.

Last month I was on retreat, on the Hudson River about an hour north of Manhattan. The autumn leaves were beautiful. It was Fall there, with an upper case “F.” The retreat was led by Jennifer Louden and Marianne Elliott and Tracey Clark. There were invitations to writing, to photography, to yoga, to dancing, to silence and breathing. Resting and playing. New friends. And in the spaces between all these invitations, between rest and play, between such beauty in each leaf…grace abounded. Peace and mercy and compassion and grace. The whispers of God.

Very soon Advent will begin and the holiday season will arrive. Next week is Thanksgiving in the United States. Harvest time. A time to consider rest and play, to notice and reflect grace all around us.

May we know this apparent grace in the moments of today, and all the moments of our lives.

When I was in college, “adds and drops” day came a few weeks after each semester started. I sometimes would sign up for a fuller class load in the beginning so that I could have the option of “dropping” the class I liked least. It was always kind of exciting to consider the choice and experience the joy of new empty space in my schedule. Of course I couldn’t drop just any course, as some were required. But the universe seemed much more fluid then and I remember deciding that I would drop a required course, try it again in a later semester, and perhaps add an elective that someone said was fun or exciting (and then scramble to catch up). I loved the sense of flexibility and choice. There were always new favorite faculty and even new favorite trees to sit under. Once “adds and drops” passed, I would settle into the semester and into the season, autumn or winter.

This season of summer passing into fall always reminds me of these college days. I have a yearning to once again consider what I could drop and what I might add…at work, at home, in my learning and creating, and in my soul. The challenge is that these days there is more than a fifteen credit hours schedule to arrange. The actual challenge is that life feels like a river flowing over me and lately, sometimes like white water rapids. So who could add or drop anything intentionally? Much of the time I find myself trying to just breathe, stay in the raft, and not swallow too much water.

And yet. I saw a full rainbow on my commute home yesterday. I have been surprised in the past few weeks with amazing invitations that stopped me in my tracks. I have tiptoed up to witness heartbreaking sadness in this world that we love. So, I remember once again that in each moment I can choose to attend to the invitations that arrive, to the sadness that falls like twilight, to the joy that waits behind each “yes.” I can be present to the Grace that is all around us…and take the time to find a new favorite tree to sit under, in a park or in my heart.

May we experience again the fluidity of choice and of delighting in the world around us and may we offer a simple “yes” to the Grace that holds us all.