All Saints' Day 2023

The sunlight shone through the colorful leaves better than any stained-glass window, and the sound of the leaves crunching beneath my shoes made me walk as if processing down a Cathedral’s center aisle. Breathing deeply, I drank the air as if it was living water. It was one of those days, one of those moments, when believing in the “creator of heaven and earth” was easy.

I knew it was only a matter of time before the oranges, yellows, and reds above me would be blown from their perches and join the sacred dance to the ground like whirling dervishes. The trees would become bare, and leaves turn brown. To everything there is a season, I reminded myself, but part of me wished there was another way.

I pulled myself back from my head to my heart and looked around with renewed appreciation. No, these leaves would not last, but there would be others. The leaves above would soon become part of the soil below. That soil would feed the trees so that they could bring forth a new canopy of shade and color. In that way, the leaves of today are a part of tomorrow’s, which will be a part of those that come after them.

I cannot help but think back on the people I’ve known, the great cloud of witnesses through whom God’s light shone in unmistakable ways. Often, I stood and looked in awe and wished they would be with me forever, but I learned early that they, like the leaves above me, would be blown into the sacred dance and away from my sight. I miss their color. I miss their shade. But I trust they remain a part of this circle of life. Someway, somehow, they remain, for everything is connected, and everything belongs.

More than any day of the year, this is the day I cling to that truth and cherish that hope.

Flags Unfurled

All the town came out to see. After a year of fundraising and construction the new flagpole in the village square was ready. The mayor and other city officials were assembled, as well as the local boy scout troop to lead the pledge of allegiance and a high school senior to sing the national anthem. With a drumroll, the large flag was hoisted into place, but it was a still morning and the flag drooped like a sleeping child on his mother’s shoulder. Even the most patriotic longed for more.

“It needs wind,” a child whispered to her mother, and she was right. Flags need wind to come to life. Boats need their sails filled if they’re ever going to reach their destination.

If we are honest, we need wind too. We need the help of something, or someone, if we are to unfold and come to life. I’m thinking of a teacher I know who sat quietly each morning before the students arrived only to unfurl into one of the finest educators I’ve known. There was also the socially awkward painter who found her inspiration once the brush was in her hand. There was also the minister who climbed into the pulpit and delivered a sermon without notes that left us all mesmerized. In each case, something other than their own innate talent, their own determination, blew through them.  

Each day we are hoisted into our various roles. Whether we head downstairs to make breakfast for our children, grab our coffee for our commute, or head to the studio, we have a choice: we can go through our days as if it all depends on us, or we can open ourselves to God’s “wind” or spirit and allow it to blow through us. Such wind will cause us to wave and twist in random ways. We may even snap and pop from time to time. But such is the way of a spirit-filled, or animated, life . . . one filled with air, an inspiration to all looking on.

Flipping the Hourglass

Something someone said made me think of the large hourglass side-table in my parents’ living room. I remember picking it up, flipping it over, then sitting and watching the grains of sand slip down from one chamber to the other. Like my view of life at the time, it seemed endless. Now, as I think back on the grains of sand, I recall the countless moments of my life that have come and gone, and I wonder if it is possible to flip the hourglass over?

I don’t mean, is it possible to turn back time? I gave up that fantasy long ago. Instead, can the experiences we’ve had – the people we have known, the successes and failures we’ve had, and the places we’ve gone and things we’ve seen – be used in the time we have left? Can we take all that has happened and all we’ve experienced and flip the hourglass so those grains of sand shape the time we have left?

I remember a scene from a favorite movie when a character goes through a dramatic moment. It came out of nowhere, and suddenly what was awful turned out to bring about a radical change in the character. As those looking on applauded, the teacher leaned in and whispered, “Don’t you forget this.” Like flipping the hourglass, the character was taught to use what happened in his past to feed and shape his future.

Flipping over the hourglass changes the way I see my past. It encourages me to use my past to transform my future.