Monday, March 5, 2012

Genesis 41: 46-57; Psalm 56

I started out prepping for this meditation the way I've done many times before: read the readings, wait to hear something pop out at me, ponder it, write.  In the past this has been a very smooth process (yes, Rich, that's why I keep signing up to write again and again).  This time it wasn't easy at all.

As I read the readings for 3/5, I was immediately struck by the phrase in Psalm 56 "O Most High, when I am afraid, I put my trust in you…"  Then I read Genesis and heard the familiar story about Joseph and how his visions had helped the Pharaoh and Egyptians prepare for the famine, reading the last line "…because the famine became severe throughout the world".  The themes of fear, faith and trust echoed in my head.

I tried looking at this juxtaposition from every possible angle.  I looked at how fear and faith cannot coexist, and was left staring at the question, "How do we choose faith?"  Then I was further caught up in the mire when I tried to figure out how we might trust when so much of our worldly existence leaves us prey to fear…and when the chasm between fear and faith might sometimes feel too wide to leap across…and so on.  I spent days sitting with the laptop, waiting for inspiration, coming up short.  I got so frustrated at one point, realizing the days are ticking away and fearing I'd miss the boat completely, that I considered bailing before it got too late.

Then something wonderful happened.

I decided to get out and walk my dogs this morning (2/29) for the first time in a while.  As I stepped out the door, I was greeted by beautiful falling snow, and the only sound I heard was the joyful songs of the birds who've returned after winter.  It was a golden moment.  I was immediately reminded of God's presence, the presence I know and trust and where I place my faith, and for that moment I felt no fear.  I continued on my walk and realized what a gift it gives me, to disconnect from all things electronic, to get a break from the engaging ever-presence of my delightful 7 year old, to leave behind the dishes in the sink and the chores of the morning which beckon me…I let my mind be clear, and my eyes and ears and heart completely open.

It's kind of hard not to kick myself for not including such a revitalizing ritual into my daily life.  But then again, we are in the midst of Lent, the time where we live in the wilderness, and without such a frustrating, difficult time we can't see the lessons life has to teach.  This morning, I'm reminded of the universality of human-ness, flaws and all, while being acutely aware of the sweet small moments we encounter inviting us closer to the arms of God, which are as natural as snow and as predictable as birds returning after winter.

(Lori Churchill)