Nature

The Creative Spirit: Giving Notice

Steve · September 3, 2016 · 9 Comments

moth — To be alive on this fresh morning. SJG photo.

“It is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.”
– Mary Oliver

All too often, it seems, we take the world and our role in it all too casually. We wake with a yawn and stumble through our mornings, gulping coffee and rushing to work or elsewhere and paying little to no attention to what’s happening around us. But in fact, there is serious work afoot, always. And the world indeed is broken and in need of mending. There’s work for us to do and there’s a space in our very midst where God is already at work, if we will only sit still long enough to notice.

So I’m giving my notice today. [Read more…] about The Creative Spirit: Giving Notice

The Creative Spirit: An Open, Aware Heart

Steve · June 11, 2016 · 9 Comments

“Life is your art. An open, aware heart is your camera. A oneness with your world is your film.” – Ansel Adams

What the great nature photographer Ansel Adams knew and showed us in his haunting, elegant black and white photographs is that there is so much to be seen and experienced in the world if we only slow down and pay attention — not only to the image in front of us but to the light and shadows that surround, encompass and overlay what we see. Adams would hike miles, laden with his heavy equipment and supplies, to get to the perfect place at the perfect time of day. Then it became his job, to paraphrase the renowned words of the poet Mary Oliver, to “stand still and learn to be astonished.”

There’s lesson in that for us somewhere, surely.

Living Extraordinary Lives Begins with Gratitude

Steve · May 1, 2016 · 15 Comments

It’s an ordinary time on an ordinary day,
It’s the simple things we do that take our breath away.
And the more we pay attention to every day that fills our eyes
The more we live extraordinary lives.

– “Extraordinary Lives,” by Steve Givens and Phil Cooper

sunrise — Day's Beginning: Surprise me. SJG photo.

Gratitude, it seems to me, is the starting point for our lives of prayer, creativity and living well among others. But gratitude is easy to say and harder to live by because it’s hard work. Saying “thank you” to God and to others around us is the simplest thing to do and, yet, we so often forget to do it. Or don’t make time to do it. Or don’t make it a part of our daily experience.

Today I offer a short reflection, a brief, two-pronged approach to a life of gratitude, followed by a new song called “Extraordinary Lives,” composed with my friend and co-creator Phil Cooper. [The song will be on the forthcoming CD by the Mo Bottom Project, scheduled for release this summer. If you’d like to reserve a copy shoot me an email!]

Today’s Word: Here

Steve · March 6, 2016 · 7 Comments

merci — Merci, at Marianist Retreat Center. SJG photo.

Well, I haven’t posted one of these for a while…Don’t be shocked! I think it’s the warming spring weather…

Yesterday I took my first real walk of this early spring, a leisurely three-mile stroll around Mallard Lake at Creve Coeur Park near my house. I had my earbuds in, listening to Yo-Yo Ma’s recording of Dvorak’s Cello Concerto in B Minor (which quickened my pace right away with its triumphant beginning), but as I rounded the first corner of the loop nearing the footbridge, the music in my ears was overwhelmed by the music of thousands of frogs in a wetlands area. Let’s just say they were having a good time and were none too quiet about it. I stopped and considered how quickly life and its fecundity pick up when the weather starts to heat up. And I thought where I was standing. It was no place special with no particular beauty — just a bog of sorts — but certainly holy ground at that moment. Here.

[Read more…] about Today’s Word: Here

Standing at Edge of the World Singing

Steve · October 28, 2015 · 5 Comments

tree — Monochrome horizon, Lauderdale By the Sea. SJG photo.

I stand at the edge of the world
Sea and sand swirling ‘round my feet
Anchored by the weight of the pulling and swelling
Facing outward, toward a monochrome horizon
Ocean and sky barely distinguishable one from the other
A landscape that could have been sketched by a No. 2 pencil.

Hidden in plain view before the sand and the foam
I sing you a song only you can hear within the roar,
A song I’ve known from before I could even pronounce the words
Prayers from my Grandmother’s throat as she rocks me to sleep
A lullaby that lured me into a bigger life than I could possibly imagine.

And as I sing, blowing words into the wind that rush back into my mouth
The clouds shift ever so slightly, a last-ditch effort, it seems,
For a sunny day that has not been,
And I catch glimpses of something beyond
black, white, gray.

A gull’s beak, the color of a yield sign.
How had I missed that?
A soaring pelican with a hint of blue in its wing.
No, wait. Brown. Green.
There it is. Blue again.

Further out, white swimming buoys bob,
Nearly lost in the metallic except for the red icon of danger,
A warning not to be missed,
A signal that there is always something waiting, lurking
Something to be seen.

blob — Looking closely at new life. SJG photo.

For if we look
Give ourselves over to standing still,
Paying attention,
Rejoicing in the present, recalling the past, peering ahead.
We are sure to see in all three directions at once.

What have I done?
What am I doing?
What should I do?
For you, maker of monochrome skies that hide rainbows.
For you, creator of gull beaks and pelican wings.
For you, hidden but right before my eyes.

Then sings my soul:
How great thou art.
How great thou art.