Winter Solstice

"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day" (Ralph Waldo Emerson).

"There comes a moment when attention must be paid.... A time to embrace mystery as my native land. And silence as my native tongue" (John Kirvan)


Every day is a new life. If that be true, then every night is a new death. Is not sleep an act of faith? If it God in whom we trust to carry us through each day, then how much more is it not God who keeps us in his love, keeps us safe, keeps us breathing, all through the night?

"I will both lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O Lord, make me lie down in safety" (Psalm 4:8).

And even if the breathing stops, we know that God will carry us through the night. And this is not a morbid reflection. Jesus said, the one who wants to save his life will lose it, the one who loses her life for me will save it. Joy comes in the morning.

So if every night be a type of death and every morning a resurrection, then tonight -- the Winter Solstice -- the longest night -- is a night when it is even more appropriate to pray the prayers of Compline or "The Great Silence" as Macrina Wiederkehr describes it in Seven Sacred Pauses.

Here are some prayers from that book:

Protect us, Lord, as we stay awake; watch over us as we sleep,
that awake, we may keep watch with Christ,
and asleep, rest in his peace.

(The Liturgy of the Hours)

O Most High, when I am afraid, I put my trust in you.

(Psalm 56)

Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee,
all through the night.
Guardian angels Love will send thee,
all through the night.
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
hill and dale in slumber sleeping,
I, my constant vigil keeping,
all through the night.

While the moon, her watch is keeping,
all through the night.
While the weary world is sleeping,
all through the night.
O'er thy spirit gently stealing,
visions of delight revealing,
Breathes a pure and holy feeling,
all through the night.

(Traditional Welsh)

And to close, one of my own favorites, which we often sing to the same Welsh tune as "All through the night." In Welsh, AR HYD Y NOS.

Go, my children, with my blessing, never alone.
Waking, sleeping, I am with you, you are my own.
In my love's baptismal river,
I have made you mine forever.
Go, my children, with my blessing, you are my own.

(Jaroslav J. Vajda)

January 2010 Reading List

For quite a while I've been thinking it's time to return to visit some old friends. I've always been a list-maker, sometimes starting a new year with a list of 100 or more books I hope to read, figuring, "...well even if I just read half...." But the list sometimes gets lost and good intentions turn into feelings of "I should have..." and that's not healthy or productive or God's intention for me at all. So this year... maybe one month at a time. Ha. Anyway, beginning around December 27, I plan on enjoying the company and wisdom and humor of...

Seven Saints (all women) and One Sardonic Sedaris

Flannery O'Connor. A Good Man is Hard to Find and other stories
Annie Dillard. Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters
Anne Lamott. Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son’s First Year
Kathleen Norris. A Cloister Walk
Mary Oliver. Why I Wake Early: New Poems
Naomi Shihab Nye. 19 Varieties of Gazelle
Alice Walker. Her Blue Body Everything We Know: Earthling Poems: 1965-1990 Complete
David Sedaris. Me Talk Pretty One Day

A Prayer for Chili & Cornbread

At our snow-day, Advent dinner table, after the first nibble of the cornbread muffins, and after the first complaint about them, Luke prayed, "God is great, God is good, and we thank him for our food. Amen." To which Dad added, "For the chili and for the cornbread. Amen." To which Elyse added, "Even if the muffins aren't as good as the last time. Amen."

Comfort Food for a Snow Day

I am always looking for a good excuse, especially in the fall and winter, to make a really good soup. And, yes, I know, perhaps the phrase "looking for a good excuse" is a commentary on my often-too-full, often-too-fast pace of living. But snow days -- the blizzard warning for our area runs through midnight tomorrow night -- have a way of slowing us down. And I needed it.

Elyse and I made this soup together this afternoon using a recipe from Twelve Months of Monastery Soups.

Potato and Cheese Soup

Ingredients
3 tablespoons butter
2 leeks, thinly sliced
4 large potatoes, peeled and diced
5 cups water
2 cups milk
1/2 cup Cheddar cheese, grated
salt and white pepper to taste
paprika

Melt the butter in a soup pot. Add the sliced leeks and saute them for about 2 minutes on low heat. Add the diced potatoes and continue sauteing for another minute while stirring continually.

Add the water and cook over moderate heat, covered, for 30 minutes, or until the vegetables are soft.

Add the milk, cheese, salt, pepper, and paprika, and bring the soup to a boil. Turn off the heat and let the soup stand, covered, for 10 minutes. Serve hot.

Serves 4-6.

I couldn't find leeks before the blizzard so we substituted minced garlic and a whole white onion, chopped but not finely chopped. We used skim milk but I think 2% or whole milk would be better. Or, one cup skim and a one cup Half & Half. For the cheese I used Vermont Sharp White Cheddar. Really good!

The monks never make their soups too thick or rich. This is a pleasant mix of potato and cheese. You can actually taste the potato, not just the cheese or cream. Follow the recipe, and don't overcook.

Joy in simplicity. Just another lesson we can learn from the monks.

Celtic Advent

Celtic Advent, a full 40 days of prayerful preparation for Christmas, began yesterday (Nov 16). So, from this point on, I promise to bite my lip and stop complaining about all the early Christmas advertising. And just pray, "Come, thou long-expected Jesus, born to set thy people free; from our fears and sins release us, let us find our rest in thee. Israel's Strength and Consolation, Hope of all the earth thou art; dear Desire of every nation, Joy of every longing heart" (Charles Wesley).

It Would Be Easier to Pray...

It Would Be Easier to Pray if I Were Clear

O Eternal One, it would be easier to pray
if I were clear
and of a single mind and a pure heart;
if I could be done hiding from myself
and from you, even in my prayers.

But, I am who I am,
mixture of motives and excuses,
blur of memories,
quiver of hopes,
knot of fear,
tangle of confusion,
and restless with love; for love.

I wander somewhere between
gratitude and grievance,
wonder and routine,
high resolve and undone dreams,
generous impulses and unpaid bills.

Come, find me, Lord.
Be with me exactly as I am.
Help me find me, Lord.
Help me accept what I am,
so I can begin to be yours.
Make of me something small enough to snuggle,
young enough to question,
simple enough to giggle,
old enough to forget,
foolish enough to act for peace;
skeptical enough to doubt
the sufficiency of anything but you,
and attentive enough to listen
as you call me out of the tomb of my timidity
into the chancy glory of my possibilities
and the power of your presence.

Ted Loder
Guerrillas of Grace: Prayers for the Battle

One of the most honest prayers I've ever read. I could say that prayer (which I did not write) and it would still be more honest about me than most of the prayer I have written. Does that make any sense at all?

Obviously, Ted Loder wasn't thinking of me when he wrote that prayer. It seems that one has a much better chance of "connecting with others" when one's words are more honest, more specific, more concrete. One might think relating to everyone requires generalities, but that's not the case at all. Generalities end up connecting with no one. On the other hand, specific, concrete words -- even when they don't "exactly" fit one's own situation -- seem to make a connection with almost everyone. That's the beauty of Ted Loder's prayer.

Peace Love & Coffee... Randy

Sharing a Gift

This is a poem by John O’Donohue which was read at a remembrance service this week at Dartmouth for patients in Palliative Care. This poem was shared with me yesterday by Dr. Cory Ingram, M.D., who was present during Carolyn's time in Hospice Care at ISJ-Mankato. Cory is a graduate of Central College, Carolyn's alma mater in her hometown of Pella, Iowa. Cory is on a one year Palliative Care Fellowship at Dartmouth under the tutelage of Ira Byock, M.D., the author of Dying Well: Peace and Possibilities at the End of Life and The Four Things That Matter Most.

Beloved ones,
Though we need to weep your loss,
You dwell in that safe place in our hearts
where no storm or night or pain can reach you.

Your love was like the dawn
brightening over our lives,
awakening beneath the dark
a further adventure of color.

The sound of your voice
found for us
a new music
that brightened everything.

Whatever you enfolded in your gaze
quickened in the joy of its being;
you placed smiles like flowers
on the altar of the heart.
Your mind always sparkled
with wonder at things.

Though your days here were brief,
your spirit was alive, awake, complete.

We look toward each other no longer
from the old distance of our names;
Now you dwell inside the rhythm of breath,
as close to us as we are to ourselves.

Though we cannot see you with outward eyes,
we know our soul’s gaze is upon your face,
smiling back at us from within everything
to which we bring our best refinement.

Let us not look for you only in memory,
where we would grow lonely without you.
You would want us to find you in presence,
beside us when beauty brightens,
when kindness glows
and music echoes eternal tones.

When orchids brighten the earth,
darkest winter has turned to spring.
May this dark grief flower with hope
in every heart that loves you.

May you continue to inspire us:
to enter each day with a generous heart.
To serve the call of courage and love
until we see your beautiful face again
in that land where there is no more separation,
where all tears will be wiped form our mind,
and where we will never lose you again.

John O’Donohue
To Bless the Space Between Us (pp. 170-1)