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Write a Bad Poem

Write a bad poem. Just open up the computer and say the first thing that comes to mind. Use…

February 10, 2017
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Elephant shuffle

I am not doing this perfectly, you know. Not planning out my day, and having goals, or times set…

October 20, 2016

Ordinary Holy is a place for stories. My stories. Yours, too. Our stories remind us that God is here in this world that is beautiful, and broken, and blessed. They help us remember that God is present in all our lives, in every beautiful, broken, and blessed moment.

Centering Prayer has been an integral part of my story these past years. The sections of this blog- Power, Security and Esteem- are where I share how I am becoming more aware of my desire for these in my life. My goal? To walk through my days without a thought for power, security, or esteem. To be content with God’s love and presence alone. Honestly, this is a long road. I confess that I am quite a fan of safety, and being liked, and being in control.

And the Presence section? That’s where God breaks through, in spite of myself. It’s where I get glimpses of God, right here in my ordinary moments. I often don’t see very well, though. That’s one of the reasons for writing here: to help me remember. My prayer is that through these stories, you will see God in your broken, beautiful life, too.

I just want to be safe. I want my family safe, and my friends, and my pets. Also, the trees around me. Could they stay clear of the ravages of the bark beetle? And the native plants. Invasive plant clearing party, anyone?

Additionally, I would like all public servants to be safe. The highway workers. Our firefighters. Police. Anyone driving on the highways. Anyone breathing on the planet today. How's that for a list?

Sometimes, it seems like the only way to get through my days is to pretend that we are safe. Also, a strong, delusional part of me thinks that if I work hard enough, I can make it so. If I just stay alert. Anticipate potential disasters. Have enough insurance.

Except, it's not true. We are not safe. None of us. It hurts me to write that. It makes it hard to breathe. But that's the truth. We are not safe, as much as I like to think we are. This page is full of stories about my struggle with security. Lack of. And of trying to get to a place where that is OK.

Sometimes, I trip over the holy.

It's not the kind of thing you can plan. It just is there, when I least expect it, when I most need it.

These entries are little altars to holy moments, altars built in my mind, because building them where they actually happened would be awkward. I would have altars at the dinner table, on the drive to school, on walks with the dog, at track meets and concerts, at work and driving home. They would be everywhere. This is just a small beginning. It's something that will help me see.

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Write a Bad Poem

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