Photo Essay — Page 8

Weekends Are for Quieting: “Teach Me Your Paths”

February 12, 2012 By Diana

“LORD, make me know your ways.

LORD, teach me your paths.

Make me walk in your truth, and teach me,

for you are God my savior.

In you I hope all the day long

because of your goodness, O LORD.

Remember your mercy, LORD,

and the love you have shown from of old.”

Psalm 25:4-7

The Grail Translation

(commissioned for liturgical use in the Benedictine tradition.)

Joining this weekend with three gatherings where quiet reflection is encouraged. Sandy King, “Still Saturday,” Deidra Riggs, “Sunday,” and Katie Lloyd, “Scripture & a Snapshot.”

Filed Under: biblical reflection, biblical studies, Photo Essay

Still Saturday/Sunday – “The Heavens Proclaim..”

February 5, 2012 By Diana

“The heavens proclaim the glory of God,

and the firmament shows forth the work

of God’s hands.

Day unto day takes up the story

and night unto night makes known the message.”

Psalm 19:2-3

The Grail Translation

Joining with Deidra at “JumpingTandem” and Sandy at “SandraHeskaKing” for their weekly invitation to quiet worship, Sandy at “Still Saturday,” and Deidra at, “Sunday.”
And re-joining with Katie at “KatieLloydPhotography” for her weekly “Scripture and a Snapshot:”

Filed Under: biblical reflection, Photo Essay

Sunset on the Bluffs

January 31, 2012 By Diana

Dick was in Chicago for board meetings on Friday.

Lilly came to play for a couple of hours in the morning,

and Eric picked her up about 11:00.

“Whatcha doing for dinner tonight, Mom?”

“Oh, nothing much. Got some leftover chili…”

“Have you taken your walk yet?”

“Nope.”

“Well, why don’t you meet us at the bluffs

in Carpinteria and take your walk

with us tonight.

Then we can go out to dinner.”

What a grand idea!

Nothing quite like an invitation from your children, right?

So I drove my way through the small neighborhood
which borders the oceanside path.

Their family of four had walked down from their home and were waiting when I drove up.

“Can you believe this view is right here, Mom?

We can walk here.

Isn’t that something?”

That’s something, all right.

I will admit to liking this view a lot, too.

Two girls in the fading light.

Especially the pink boots.

So we set off to the south.

Mama and Dada and Gracie and Lilly

and me.

We were heading to the seal rookery.

Yes, we have one of those nearby –

not those gigantic guys I wrote about here –

but your normal, everyday sea lions,

many of them heavy with pups.

To get there, we walked along the edge of the bluffs,

through the eucalyptus woods,

by the oil refinery, hidden just north of the train tracks.

The rookery is right on the beach next to the oil company pier.

Great care is taken to be sure this area is protected from undue noise or confusion, so that these mamas can rest, give birth and nurse their young.

The Chumash Indians who used to live in these parts
came to these headlands to build their canoes.

Why?

Because of the copious amounts of black pitch
available right on the beach –

oil –

that precious commodity of 21st century life,

that bane of environmentalism,

oil seeps right through the sand all along this shore.

The off-shore rigs have actually helped keep the beaches accessible, in an oddly ironic meet-up of modern technology and environmental science.

Within the next few weeks, all of these

sausage-like creatures will push out new pups,

and the place will be ringing with the noises

of new life.

Trying out a new camera as the sun sets into the sea.

Checking out the seals and the birds, too.

A greater egret and a brown pelican rest for a moment before heading to their roosts for the night.

The Surfliner heads east and then south to San Diego,

sending out its mournful, evocative cry all along the way.

Even the intrusion of spidery equipment looks

quieter and dreamier in the last of the sunlight.

And a telephoto close-up reveals the striped glory of sky

and sea as night approaches.

I have lived in Santa Barbara for 15 years.

I’ve been down to my local beach countless times.

I’ve traveled to other Santa Barbara beaches weekly.

But I’d never been to these bluffs in Carpinteria

until my son suggested I come and see.

I never stop learning from my kids –

and that’s exactly as it should be, I think.

It was a lovely walk.

And a great dinner, too.

“From all eternity, Lord, you are.
The waters have lifted up, O Lord,
the waters have lifted up their voice,
the waters have lifted up their thunder.
Greater than the roar of mighty waters,
more glorious than the surgings of the sea,
The LORD is glorious on high.
Truly your decrees are to be trusted.
Holiness is fitting to your house,
O LORD, until the end of time.”

Psalm 93:2c-5

Joining with L.L. and Laura for their weekly sign-up – as playdates go, this was a fave.

And as far as a sense of place? Oh yeah, this spot has it in spades.

Filed Under: Photo Essay, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

The Light of the Lord’s Face: Still Saturday & Sunday!

January 29, 2012 By Diana

“What can bring us happiness?” many say.

Lift up the light of your face upon us, O LORD.

You have put into my heart a greater joy

than they have from abundance of corn and new wine.

I will lie down in peace and sleep comes at once.

For you alone, LORD, make me dwell in safety.

Psalm 4:7-9, the Grail translation

Joining with Deidra at JumpingTandem and Sandy at SandraHeskaKing (widget promised soon!) for their new(ish) invitations to be still on the weekends.

What a lovely idea.

It’s orchid season here on the central coast and the warehouses are full to bustin’ with glorious color and shape.

Filed Under: Photo Essay, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

Looking Long at the Sea

January 27, 2012 By Diana

I paid attention when he spoke.
“Sit and look at the sea,” he said.
“Look a long time.
Look long enough to become
the sea looking back at you.
Then tell me what you see.
I think you’ll like it.”

So I went to the sea.
I sat in the sun,
high on a bluff.
And I looked long.
I looked wide.
I breathed slow,
and I moved slow,
and I was slow.

And here is what I saw.

Islands, off in the distance,
a low layer of fog
pushed up against them,
like the covers
in a bed just left.

Kelp beds, red and brown,
swaying with the tide,
housing life
deep down,
where I cannot see.
I know it’s there,
moving, feeding,
following the rhythm
of the water.

LIGHT,
sprinkled across
the surface of the sea,
light.
Dancing, winking,
blinking, blinding.
I see light.
And I am undone.

For just the briefest of moments,
enough for a breath or two,
I know the sea,
I am the sea,
And I see myself as lovely.

Loved.

See for yourself: (and listen, too.)

We’re experiencing a winter heat-wave here on the central coast. It was nearly 80 degrees today, and beautifully clear. Somehow, my parking spot was perfectly situated to see these cascades of moving light as I sat and contemplated the magnificence of the sea. I watched for a little over an hour. I was actually anxious about trying this. Generally, I have a book to read, a lunch to eat, a nap to take when I park at the beach. Trying to imagine sitting and looking for a long stretch was hard to do. The actual doing of it? Divinely wonderful, amazing, restful, moving, sacred. I’ve been told that this experience can be replicated by choosing any natural location that is beautiful to you – your own back yard might work just fine. The point is to sit in contemplation for a long stretch of time – 1 to 2 hours. Finding the time is probably the biggest challenge – but I am now hoping to do this regularly and will make the time somehow.

Filed Under: Photo Essay, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

Looking Long at the Sea

January 27, 2012 By Diana

So I went to the sea.
I sat in the sun,
high on a bluff.
And I looked long.
I looked wide.
I breathed slow,
and I moved slow,
and I was slow.

And here is what I saw.

Islands, off in the distance,
a low layer of fog
pushed up against them,
like the covers
in a bed just left.

Kelp beds, red and brown,
swaying with the tide,
housing life
deep down,
where I cannot see.
I know it’s there,
moving, feeding,
following the rhythm
of the water.

LIGHT,
sprinkled across
the surface of the sea,
light.
Dancing, winking,
blinking, blinding.
I see light.
And I am undone.

Mesmerized by the motion,
caught by the pattern.
One spot, shining bright.
Then two or three more,
then hundreds of them as
the wave reaches its zenith.
See that thread of molten silver
as the water breaks against
the sand!

For just the briefest of moments,
enough for a breath or two,
I know the sea,
I am the sea,
And I see myself as lovely.

Loved.

See for yourself: (and listen, too.)

Filed Under: Photo Essay, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

A Grandfather Pastor? I Think So.

January 26, 2012 By Diana

He walks quietly across the lawn,

laden with fallen palm fronds,

speaking softly to the small person who follows in his wake.

She is busy, looking at flowers,

discovering sour grass,

looking for birds.

They are content together,

the two of them drifting slowly towards the driveway.

She squints a little,

facing into the sunshine.

And then the smile breaks and I hear her laugh.

He has asked her a question –

who knows what it is.

And she laughs and says,

“I no know. I no know, Poppy. I NO KNOW.”

Ah, but I do.

I know that this man is a good man,

a faithful one,

and an earnest and committed follower of Jesus.

And he happens to be gifted with children.

He always has been,

especially small ones.

And anytime he’s with a toddler,

or a pre-schooler,

or even an elementary student,

he gives them undivided attention.

He delights in their presence,

their growing intelligence and understanding,

their open-heartedness.

And he lives the gospel when he’s with them.

As I have reflected on Sunday’s sermon,
I have thought a lot about this man.

This good man who happens to be my husband.

We’re in the midst of a series called,

“What Time Is It?”

And each week, the topic for the morning follows

that introductory phrase,

“It’s Time to…,”

finished this week by “…Repent and Go Fishin'”

We were in Mark 1 on Sunday,

that scene where Jesus sees some men fishing and

challenges them to come away

from their nets for a while.

He calls them to repent, to follow him,

and then…

to go fishing –

fishing for people,

not just sea creatures.

They’re in for an adventure, these fishermen,

an adventure that begins with who they are,

and where they are.

And Pastor Jon just nailed it.

There were several lovely points woven through his narrative, but this is the one that stuck with me the most,

the one I’ve been ruminating on as I watch my husband

in this second year of our shared retirement:

Not one of the people that Jesus called to follow him

was a religious ‘professional.’

Every one of them was called

in the context of what they were already doing.

And that’s where the adventure began.

Where it begins for each of us.

Nothing is secular,

everywhere has the potential to be sacred space.

We are all called,

every single one of us.

If we follow after the good news of Jesus,

we are called right where we are.

Every job is a mission field,

every person we meet is a gift of grace,

every word we offer has the potential

to be gospel good news for someone, somewhere.

Here is the takeaway quote for me this week:

“Jesus is not calling us to church work;

Jesus is calling us to follow him in our work,

whatever that may be.”

So, if you’re raising babies and toddlers,

and able to stay at home with them –

there is your good news platform.

If you’re in an office, behind a bank window,

standing in front of a classroom,

driving a cab, rising early to bake bread,

serving food in a restaurant,

or moving into the new rhythms of retirement –

wherever you are,

there is where you are called,

there is where YOU are a pastor.

So I watch my husband pastor our granddaughter,

as he has every one of our children and our grandchildren,

as well as many of the children in every church

we have ever attended.

And I thank God that he has heard the call of Jesus

so clearly;

that he has responded so obediently;

that he is living the good news…

right where he is.

How about you?

Joining with Michelle and with Emily and with Bonnie this Wednesday night:

Filed Under: family, Photo Essay, Sunday Reflections, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

A SLO Day: Spiritual Direction + A Tribute to Abbot David

January 25, 2012 By Diana

I am re-posting this one from last January,

in honor of Abbot David Geraerts,

my spiritual director and friend,

who died on Friday morning.

These are some words I wrote to some friends earlier today about my response to receiving this sad news:

My mentor died on Friday. He was 77 years old – only 10 years older than I am –

and he’d battled a number of ailments this past year. But still…I didn’t think he would DIE.

We all die.

I know this in my head.

I even know it in my heart,

as we’ve lost a lot of dear ones in the last 10 years.

Yet each time I get a phone call like the one I got on Friday afternoon, I am bereft. Like part of me has been sliced with a very sharp blade and all that pours out are tears.

I took my usual evening walk on Friday, walking circles around our large driveway parking area. I’ve been learning to pray while I walk this past year – many fewer words, lots more images. But what I found myself doing on Friday was simply saying the name of Jesus, over and over and over again.

And here is why: a friend had posted a very old video on YouTube. A video of the mentor I had just lost. This clip, filmed in 1986, was an interview with Abbot David (who, at that time, led a much larger community in New Mexico) by a nun named Mother Elizabeth. Now may I just add, with a repentant heart and spirit, that if I had seen this video when it was filmed 26 years, I would have either switched it off immediately, or watched it with a sort of gleeful feeling of superiority to those ‘weirdos’ in the habits and collars. I’m ashamed and embarrassed to admit that, but it’s the hard truth.

I watched all 30 minutes of that grainy old video, marveling at the sweetness in David’s face, the kindness of his words and the truth of his life. I met with him monthly for the last three years, receiving spiritual direction in the form of dream interpretation. He was an expert at that and also at encouragement and gentle prayer. In this video, he suggested praying the Jesus prayer (which has been a favorite prayer practice of mine for about ten years) or just simply saying the name of Jesus over and over for 20 or 30 minutes. I have discovered that following Abbot David’s advice is a very helpful thing. (I wrote a post about the benefits of one piece of that advice at the end of January.)

So on that first afternoon after this dear man’s death, that’s what I did when I walked. I cannot put into words how intensely moving it was for me, in these initial hours of grief, to just say the Name over and over and over again. And I wept my way through a 45 minute time of walking, praying, remembering, celebrating. I will never again feel the dear Abbot’s fingers make the sign of the cross on my bent forehead at the end of our hour together. I will not be blessed by his hand when I receive my certificate in spiritual direction next August. I will not engage with him in friendly, loving conversation.

And that is a huge, huge loss to me.

And to so many.

Thank you Abbot David Geraets for your loving commitment to Jesus, for your years of kindness, wisdom and gentle correction, for your heart as big as the sky above the ranch you and the brothers live(d) in out in the back country of San Luis Obispo.

I will be grateful for your presence in my life during these pivotal years in mine until the day I die.

And then I will hug you fiercely.

SLO stands for San Luis Obispo, a town 115 miles north of my home.

This was our late-lunch view today, as we traveled home again.

One day each month,

I take a road trip.

This particular road trip is not like

the other ones I take.

I’m not going to take care of my mother.

I’m not going to enjoy my children and my grandchildren.

I’m not going on vacation.

Strike that.

I am going on a vacation, of sorts.

I am vacating the usual rhythm of my days

to embrace a different one.

And I find that I am hungry for re-creation as I travel.

I am eager to be addressed as…

me.

Not as wife/mother/grandmother/daughter/

pastor/teacher/friend.

Just me.

Child of God.

Stumbling follower of Jesus.

Seeker after wisdom.

And this is where I go.

A strange looking monastery,

one that used to be the ‘dream house’

of a retired dentist,

but was bought by some monks

from New Mexico to be their community home.

The monastery is the long white,

red-tiled house to the left in this shot.

To the right of the drive, is the chapel & bookshop

with a couple of additional bedrooms.

To the left of the drive, below the monastery itself,

is the home of Connie, the oblate who lives on the premises

and assists the brothers.

There are only five or six of them now,

praying the hours,

assisting the people of a dozen parishes

with healing prayer, special masses and spiritual direction.

This is where I meet my spiritual director every month.

The sign says it all:

And this is the view from that house,

in the springtime,

when all the hills are green and the sky is blue.

And this is the man I meet with in that house:

Abbott David.

Spiritual Father to this small band,

and an acclaimed leader in the

charismatic renewal movement

of the Roman Catholic Church.

He is a remarkable man, gifted and humble.

Did I ever tell you how we met?

Now, that’s a great story.

“Once upon a time, there was a tired pastor,

full to overflowing with the needs of her congregation,

the struggles in her family.

She had tried direction a couple of times,

with mixed results.

“Not a good fit,” was the diagnosis,

whatever that means.

For her, it felt like failure.

And she is not a fan of failure.

So she began to pray about it,

to search for someone.

She even went online, used Google

and found a monastery website.

Not a fancy, bells-and-whistles kind of place,

that website.

And the monastery featured there was over 100 miles away.

But something caught her eye,

her spirit.

And email responses were invited.

So she sent off a note.

“Is there anyone there interested and available

to offer direction to a tired

female pastor,

one who needs listening ears,

wise words,

some guidance along the way?”

That was in July of 2007.

Nothing came back.

Sigh.

So, she got on with life,

a life that was feeling a bit overwhelming

about then.

And she forgot all about that note.

One early morning, in September of the following year,

FOURTEEN MONTHS

after her initial inquiry,

her cell phone rang.

Puzzled at the early hour, she picked it up.

“Abbott David here,” a strong, friendly voice declared.

“You wrote about spiritual direction?”

And she burst into laughter.

“Yes,” she said. “I did. Over a year ago!“

“Really?” came the response.

“Because I just received this yesterday.

Would you like to meet with me and see if this

might be what you’re looking for?”

They set a date for one week later,

she drove up the 101, took the country road out to

his place and sat,

absolutely fascinated and astounded as he told

her his story.

Raised on a farm in Wisconsin,

paid his way through college by playing

trumpet in a dance band,

became a priest,

sent by his order to

study in Rome,

multi-lingual,

specialist in Jungian psychology

and dream analysis.

“If you work with me, you’ll keep a dream journal.

And that’s what we’ll talk through each month.”

She was hooked – line, sinker, bobble, lure –

the whole kit and caboodle.

“Thank you, Jesus,” she cried to the heavens as she headed south again

at the end of the hour.

Before their next visit,

there was a tragic death in her immediate family.

And before the following visit,

there was a ferocious wildfire in her community,

stripping lifetime memories from many in her congregation.

Within the first year, she herself landed in the hospital, was forced to make a major shift in her own training

program to become a director herself,

and by the second year, she was enrolled in the Abbott’s school for spiritual direction certification.

Not sure that she lived happily ever after,

but deeper ever after? That would be a big ‘yes.'”

Now I would call that whole tale

a God-thing.

My friend Jennifer might call it “God-Bumps” or a “God-Incidence.”

All I can tell you is that my entire spiritual journey

took a decisive turn upward from the moment

I heard that voice on the phone:

“Abbot David here. You wrote….?”

Abbott David leading mass in the monastery chapel.

Today, I had only one dream for the month.

Of my own, that is.

I also shared a tricky one from someone I am directing.

Somehow, this kind, brilliant man

(who has been seriously ill this year)

wove those two together, asked me some penetrating

questions, and helped me think about myself

in some new ways.

“You’ve spent your whole life relying on your left brain, Diana, your intellect.

It’s time to learn to trust your gut, your intuition.

You need to spend long stretches of time just sitting and looking at the ocean.

Do that long enough so that eventually, you find yourself on the other side of the picture – you’ll be the ocean, looking back at you.

And take a look at what you see when that happens.

I think you’ll like what you find.

Be still long enough to let the beauty in,

to let God in,

to shift inside from reason to intuition.

Learn to trust that,

to know that God meets you there, too.

This is the gift of aging, Diana.

There is gift in all of life.”

I sure hope he’s right.

I’m counting on it.

Stopping at Costco on our way home this evening,

I looked up from loading the bags into the back of the car and saw this.

My gut said, “Grab that camera, even if it is the little one,

even if the picture won’t be sharp.”

So I did.

The gift of the present moment.

Right brain all the way.

Joining with Jennifer and her “God-Bumps” meme. And with Ann and Jen, too.

Filed Under: Photo Essay, Spiritual Direction, Sunday Reflections, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

God Has GOT to Have a Sense of Humor

January 20, 2012 By Diana

Remember that trip we took?

The one on the winding road? Highway One?

You remember. I’m sure you do –

the one with views like this one?

Sun on the water, rocks and sand and surf?

Well, take a closer look at those rocks.

Especially that big one right in the middle of this picture.

Hey, wait a second!

That ain’t no rock.

In fact, it’s a seal.

A very particular kind of seal,

that hauls out on a very particular beach

called Piedras Blancas.

And you can park-and-view near this very particular beach.

And let me tell you, if you’ve ever wondered if there is

weird wonderfulness in this world,

this is the viewpoint where every single suspicion is confirmed.

These are elephant seals.

The males can weigh up to 8,800 pounds

and live for 20 years.

Their name comes from that strangely-shaped proboscis –

and their immense size.

And they are amazing to watch.

They spend 80% of their time in the water, diving deeply, eating a whole lot.

They haul out to breed,

to birth,

to rest.

And we get to watch it all.

These mamas are very attentive – for about five months.

Then they waddle off to swim away and the pups are on their own. All of them that survive that first year find their back to their birthing beach again and again.