Moving into Lent...Thoughts on Fasting

Shared from a Roman Catholic friend, something to think about:

-- attributed to Pope Francis

Poetry in Ordinary Time: Naomi Shihab Nye

Walking toward Lent...during days of turmoil, uncertainty, unrest...and through them, instances of uncommon solidarity, compassion and humanity...this from Naomi Shihab Nye, with thanks once more to Parker J. Palmer for pointing me toward it...

Photo courtesy of
Reflections of Grace

 Shoulders

A man crosses the street in rain,
stepping gently, looking two times north and south,
because his son is asleep on his shoulder.

No car must splash him.
No car drive too near to his shadow.

This man carries the world's most sensitive cargo
but he's not marked.
Nowhere does his jacket say FRAGILE,
HANDLE WITH CARE.

His ear fills up with breathing.
He hears the hum of a boy's dream
deep inside him.

We're not going to be able
to live in this world
if we're not willing to do what he's doing
with one another.

The road will only be wide.
The rain will never stop falling. 

-- Naomi Shihab Nye

Save the Date!

So you can celebrate the Baptism of Miss Isla Elizabeth Douglass...

Sunday, February 19, 2017

(Please. LORD, let the weather be good!)

10:00 a.m.

Isn't She Lovely?

More Poetry in Ordinary Time

Wintering Aspen - Mirror, Alberta

Another week brings more wisdom from Parker Palmer, who shared poetic beauty from Mary Oliver...especially for those followers of this blog who may have missed the original post on Facebook.  (Note: it's been 'shared' to the St. Cyprian's FB page.)

The Poet Dreams of the Mountain

Sometimes I grow weary of the days with all their fits and starts.

I want to climb some old grey mountain, slowly, taking

the rest of my life to do it, resting often, sleeping

under the pines or, above them, on the unclothed rocks.

I want to see how many stars are still in the sky

that we have smothered for years now, forgiving it all,

and peaceful, knowing the last thing there is to know.

All that urgency!  Not what the earth is about!

How silent the trees, their poetry being of themselves only.

I want to take slow steps, and think appropriate thoughts.

In ten thousand years, maybe, a piece of the mountain will fall.

-- Mary Oliver