Poetry

Today’s Word: Creative

Steve · October 13, 2013 · 2 Comments

jenny — My daughter, Jenny, creating some music with friends Phil Cooper, left, and Gerry Kasper. SJG photo.

When we create art — at whatever level of expertise and of whatever kind — we reflect the work of the Creator, the One who put that creative spark in our gut. I have friends who create music, paintings, photography, quilts, poetry, plays, novels and many other types of work that would just remain ideas if not for the effort and commitment they put into their art and the inspiration that comes from somewhere deep within them. For the creative arts may be “inspired,” but if the idea never comes to life and no one experiences it, then what good is it? It’s like walking through an art museum or gallery and thinking, “I could have done that!” Well maybe so, but you didn’t. Someone else had the idea and took the leap.

love — "All You Need is Love," acrylic and paper on canvas by Steve Givens.

The creative arts, at least for many of us who profess a Creator God, are acts of faith. When we dare to create, when we “step out the boat,” we move from safety and comfort into an area of uncertainty, for when we begin to create we don’t always know where we are going to end up. The poem begins with a single word or line. The song with a note. The painting with a sketch or with putting brush to canvas. So it’s easy enough to talk ourselves out of creating because we think we’re not talented or creative enough. But our call as artists and people of faith is not to artistic perfection but to genuine and authentic response to the call. We are called to find some glimmer of truth and beauty in the world around us — to capture the movement and color of God — and respond, to reflect that back to those around us. Not everyone finds God in the same way. As artists and creative people, our vocation is to gently lead those who view or read or hear our art to look a little closer at the world around them and see for themselves that something beautiful, loving and eternal is waiting their notice.

Ask yourself in silence: What could I create today? How can I turn a creative gesture into both prayer for myself and a guidepost to God for others?

Today’s Word: Peace

Steve · September 20, 2013 · 1 Comment

Such an overused, overworked word is peace. Whether between nations, between individuals or within us, peace does not come easy, quickly or simply. Peace, William Butler Yeats wrote in his poem, The Lake Isle of Innisfree, “comes dropping slow, dropping from the veils of morning to where the cricket sings.” The peace of mind, soul and heart that we seek within ourselves takes its time and comes, not upon demand like so much else in our lives, but when we slowly and deliberately open ourselves to its possibility as a gift. It is a treasured commodity, a gift of highest worth, and so we must seek and work for peace. We must apply ourselves to peace. We must leave ourselves open and wait for peace.

Peace, like God, is ours for the taking, for the acceptance, for the willingness on our part to seek it out and find it. For most of us, that means seeking time in silence, whether in the quiet of a small room or chapel or in the hush of nature. Yeats sought this peace on his beloved Irish island, where he knew it would be quiet enough to “hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore…in the heart’s deep core.” We need to get away, to hear the water lapping, to listen to the quiet voice that whispers in our heart’s deep core. For we cannot be fully ourselves, cannot be fully aware of all that is present in our lives, without this peace that comes by abandoning ourselves to the silence of prayer and time alone with God.

Ask yourself in silence: When and where will I make time today to listen to my heart’s deep core?

Today’s Word: Astonished

Steve · September 3, 2013 · 4 Comments

sunset2 — Sunset lesson on Captiva. SJG photo (As always, click on photo for a larger view...)

A few nights ago, watching the sunset on Captiva Island in southwest Florida, I witnessed a young mother teaching her son a most important lesson. As the sun was near setting, she drew the three- or four-year-old close and helped him be still long enough to see what was going on. While he is too young to understand that the sun is not actually sinking into the ocean, the beauty and awe of the moment was not lost on him. The lesson was not in vain because he couldn’t understand the science. He stood perfectly still next to her and didn’t move until the sun was gone. Her effort was worthwhile and may be remembered for many years to come. If nothing else, this young man may grow up to remember that his mother loved sunsets and first showed them to him.

But more importantly, he may grow up to be a man who knows that it’s important and okay to slow down, to stand still and to watch the sun slide into the ocean. It’s appropriate to gasp in exhileration when the world explodes in beauty before you. It’s right and just to fall on your knees and acknowledge that the Creator of everything likes to show off a little every night and paint the sky for our enjoyment. He may grow to be a man who was taught by his mother to look outside himself to find the real meaning in life. He may learn to see God in the beauty of a Florida sunset.

May we all remember what it’s like to be amazed by something we don’t fully understand. May we all pray the words of the New England poet Mary Oliver:

Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.

Ask yourself in silence: When was I last astonished?

Today’s Word: Grandeur

Steve · August 28, 2013 · 7 Comments

Sue and I arrived in Fort Myers Beach in southwest Florida this evening for a week away celebrating our 33rd anniversary. We spent our honeymoon just a few hours north of here in 1980 and have been back to the area many times over the years. Our plane was a little late landing, and by the time we rented the car and drove to the beach, the sun was about to set. We rushed into the lobby of the small hotel on Estero Blvd., checked in, and — before we even went to our room — ran to the beach.

We turned the corner at the edge of the building and this is the sunset we encountered, the sky aflame with yellows, reds, oranges, and spotted with dark, ominous clouds. The world can take your breath away at times, as God knows well. So he keeps surprising us, even though we’ve perhaps sat and witnessed hundreds or thousands of sunrises and sunsets in our lives. When you think about it, there’s no reason for all this beauty, really, other than to amaze us, to make us a little weak in the knees and a little more aware of God’s grandeur and majesty. My mind went immediately to Gerard Manley Hopkins’ great poem:

Like shining from shook foil. Ft. Myers Beach, 2013. SJG photo

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed.

And later in the poem…

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs –
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Ask yourself in silence: When was the last time I was made weak in the knees by God’s grandeur?

* * *

I wrote about this same poem a few years back. I was first introduced to it back in college and it comes to mind whenever I find myself face to face with a sunset…

Today’s Word: Solitude

Steve · August 19, 2013 · 4 Comments

View of the river from Vision of Peace Hermitages. SJG photo.

“In the morning, long before dawn, he got up and left the house, and went off to a lonely place and prayed there.” Mark 1:35

As I mentioned late last week, this past weekend I spent at a wonderful, quiet and secluded place just south of St. Louis in Pevely, Missouri, on grounds that overlook the Mississippi River. Called the “Vision of Peace Hermitages,” the six pristine acres and nine small dwellings provide a simple oasis from the world for anyone looking to get away and be alone with God. We all need that time once in a while to unplug (physically and metaphorically) and recharge our spiritual batteries. I came back refreshed and quieted and filled with a peace and contentment that I know comes from God alone. Just before I left on Sunday morning, I wrote in my journal:

In this solitude, this holy quiet
I hear your word in the wind blowing through the trees
In the caw caw caw of the crows (always three times, it seemed)
In the tap tap of a distant woodpecker
In the slap of water on rock at the bottom of the hill.

Morning on the river. SJG photo

You speak in my ear
As if standing beside me
As if lingering in my shadow
As if I mattered somehow to you
And I hear words you likely speak to me
All day, everyday
But I cannot hear over the drone of me
Over the busy-ness and the scuttling of hurrying feet.

But here I slow down.
I become quiet.
I listen.
I remind myself
To pray more than “do.”
To reach out more than hold back.
To listen more than speak.

Turn to me.
Say that again.
I am ready to hear.

Ask yourself in silence: Do I value solitude? Can I tell the difference between loneliness and solitude? Can I easily and peacefully be alone, knowing that I’m not alone at all?