The Large, the Little, and All

The Large, the Little, and All

You have given me the large, the little, and all.

My body with curves and quirks and breath to fill it,
and a mind, a heart, and the complement of senses;
the plot and the characters of my life,
the turns of the journey that leads me free
and leads me always, and always home-
Home to generous and forgiving you, home to loving you,
home in the open heart, come to me,
eternal you.

You, in whose image I
am created to bear your syllables breathed,
your radiant Word spoken and made known
so that your glory might take on bone and blood
at the beginning and in your son and at my own birth.
Seen best directly, straight on and exposed,
no shade of fear, no cloak of doubt…
Oh how it shines where your love is home!

Your son died for me- you suffered to give me all.
A love that rises, love that seeks and stays, and says Always
and says Everywhere and Nothing can separate you from me, ever.
The complete love that says Do this and Remember me,
follow, serve, be broken open, welcome, accept,
lay down your life, take up your cross…
Your verse of life, your full humanity, your body given
that I might be freed by Love.

Grace upon grace, your love fills my life!
I am not worthy—but I am grateful.
When I wander, you remain.
When I avoid, you challenge.
When I need, you give.

In the large, the little and all,
it is enough that you love me.

c. MperiodPress

Further Thoughts on Poverty

...poverty is being in a place where you know dispair or misery is just on the other side of a very thin line and you are doing everything possible to not cross over. To be there with others is living this vow in fullness to me.

To stand alongside and help someone look for the face of God ; and to stand with God and be that face, that attitude, that act of love.

It occurs to me that I might just have learned something new about what it means to be transparent. To put myself on that thin line...

To put myself on that thin line...

The line is where Jesus walks. Being the face, revealing the face, opening eyes to see and ears to hear and hearts to recognize...

Poverty

Poverty
(With thanks to GM Hopkins for his line for Christ plays in 10,000 places)

Let me live openly,
simply, as you
who play in ten thousand places.

Let me live loosely
in all but relationship to you,
the fire that beckons and gathers and warms-

and dies and rises in glory and is discovered
in wonder and by the calling of our names.
You send us to tell the others...

Help me live where you play and weep and walk
and learn to move unbound, unrestricted,
as one enfolded in the whole cloth of love.

Face to the sun, ear to the story,
heart to the new day, hands to the task
of helping spin hope from the unraveled threads

of what is scuffed along, too much to be borne alone.

c.MperiodPress

Best Adventures

"The best adventure of all--living openly and allowing life to touch the heart."

This past weekend was full of these best-adventures. One began with the simple need to leave the house for a bit, to get fresh air, stretch the legs, go on an amble amidst a greater reality. I went with one of the other Probanists who was looking for chemical-free cream. In our walk along the Tiber we were beset with "carcajadas" (loud guffaws/silliness/laughter--SUCH a great word) as well as the quiet rumination and wandering conversation that is allowed when two people are at ease and trust one another.

That feeling is a precious one and I have been gifted with two friendships like this in the months I have been here. Who knew it would be that way? I am filled with such a depth of gratitude.

We continued along the river until the bridge that would take us to the Plaza Argentina. Across the river, in between checking pharmacies, we stopped at a pen/paper store and somehow began a conversation on the history of colors while looking at the rainbow of sheets they had stacked on the walls. In hearing Spanish being spoken, a woman in the next aisle said, "Oh! It is SO nice to hear people speaking Spanish!" She came over and engaged in conversation. Turns out, she is an engineer from Venezuela who has lived in Rome for 16 years.

In a short time, we got the brief version of her last twenty years or so and also shared with her who we were and why we were in Rome. She was so kind, so open and interested...and helpful and generous as well! When we told her about the cream and the need to find blank cds, she set out on the walk with us. She showed us the Jewish quarter of the City, pointed out stores we should visit for different things we needed, told us about her family, and dropped us off at an herbalists' shop. But, the shop was temporarily closed. So, she invited us to join her for a classic Italian sandwich at a shop just around the block while we waited for the clerk to return.

The deli specializes in "paninos"--especially those filled with mortadella. I admit to having previously snubbed the thought of mortadella...think really huge bologna made from pork, small chunks of pork fat, pistachios, and various spices. Note the use of the word Previously... this sandwich was amazing. Foccacia bread split open, paper thin mortadella stacked inside, wrapped in a brown paper wrapper and handed to you to take outside and eat on the go. The line was out the door, the shop was insanely small and jammed full of people calling out "Largo!" "Piccolo!", indicating sizes with handspans, and a clerk who could make change, toss change, and keep order with an ease I have not often witnessed.

The sandwich practically melted in my hand...so tender, so delicious, so...of the moment. Walking the streets of Rome with a friend, accompanied by an incredibly kind woman we did not know an hour ago, speaking Spanish, eating a mortadella sandwich wrapped in crispy brown paper, and wiping crumbs onto the cobblestones for the birds to find.

This followed by a slow walk home, God-filled conversation, more laughter, watching the river...

And then another walk in the evening, this time with a group of people... to look for the Mariachi Mass that never was. Turns out the information we had was wrong about the day. Some opted to stay in the same place and wait through the Rosary until Mass began. The two of us who had been together earlier opted to walk back toward home and find another Mass instead. Those who stayed ended up in the midst of a Latin Rite Rosary and Mass. We, however, ended up in a simple, though lovely, church, with a cantor who had an incredibly lovely voice--so rich and round. We followed this with a walk in the Trastevere and pizza while sitting outside.

Then, a fabulous movie in the community room with others who were knitting, braiding hair, and simply being with one another.

Indeed..."allowing life to touch the heart..."

Chastity

Chastity

I am a woman of bone and blood,
of air and ink and fire and clay.

A woman created, and meant to create...
meant to touch and feel and breathe,
meant to love and shape and hope
burning embers into light.

This, while letting go myself-
allowing the One and the Many
to reach in and stir
my own deep heart flame.

This, while letting go enough, loosening until
it no longer matters or is possible to know
spark from fire from sunrise
and whether the glow is inside or out.

c. MperiodPress

Obedience

Obedience

You have had my yes
for years--
and I have had yours
since the sun, the seashells, and the storms at sea.

But now, ah...you and I
are more than yes.
As time moves with, within, and around,
this yes of ours takes on wings, takes on colors I never imagined,
challenges that strengthen and soften me,
glory that stills me, stirs me, extends and opens me.

It becomes a murmur of love that we share.
Love that frees me and compells me
to choose you again and yet again...
that I might respond as I wish to respond...
openly, knowingly,
even a little mysteriously...

as the bush in the desert responded to flame.

c. MperiodPress

A Vow

A Vow

To desire

to stand before you and bow before you
and be within you
and feel you within me
and see you, reveal you,
know you, and touch you
in the others I meet along the way…

To do so with my life,
with any ache or wonder I know
of heart or mind,
that comes from the glimpses of you
I sense in the eyes and wounds,
in the humming joy and confusions
of the earth that roots me and the love that moves me

is yes and yes and yes
the vow I make to witness
to your glory, your mystery,
ever alive and always becoming.

c. MperiodPress