The Lord is the shade at your right hand.
In the heavens, God has pitched a tent for the sun.
There’s been talk of potential life in outer space.
Life at the deepest levels of the sea.
But there’s another plane of life that seems the most mysterious, and that is the life-force in inner space, or the soul.
There’s a trend lately called “Hygge” which is the Danish notion of cozy conviviality. It’s a way of infusing life with comforts that make you feel at home wherever you are.
I’ve done that in the corner of my kitchen, putting a tiny lamp and candle onto a table so small, it’s not even big enough for a plate! I perch my coffee mug with its jaunty lid there, look out at the colorful flowers in the yard, and feel a sense of peace.
It made me wonder if there is such a thing as “Hygge for the Soul.”
Where do you feel most at home? Most yourself? For many of us, it involves looking at the beauty of nature in some way.
Of course, God created nature, not just as an adjunct to serve the needs of mankind – he also tends to nature as he takes care of us.
Pitching a tent for the sun has got to be like a production of Cirque du Soleil, on a universal scale!
Now, when he sculpted the sun, he made it capable of providing both wonderful warmth and searing sunburns.
When he crafted shade, he made it capable of providing relief from the heat and also clandestine cover for shady business.
The same one who created the gentle spring breeze also made hurricanes. It seems to me that in every powerful thing that can cause both life and destruction, God created a relief valve.
Just as there’s an eye in the middle of storms, it’s possible to find moments of repose, right where you are. It might be just a square foot of space in the corner of your kitchen, but now, it’s your own sacred sanctuary.
What do you practice?
Was there ever a time when “poet” was a legitimate job description? Maybe, centuries ago, you could get a gig as a court poet, or have a de Medici support you as a contribution to the arts. Sadly, today, the de Medicis among us have very little use for poetry. It is a gift, but not a commodity. And spiritual poetry, alas, with its propensity to probe and question, comfort yet cause unease, is relegated to the bottom of the artistic heap. This can disheartening, yet I can’t stop an intense desire to live within the world of words (however imperfectly I receive them) that God supplies so temptingly and freely.
I ask for tongues of fire:
Underneath there is heat,
to melt me to the bone.
If I could bury myself in poetry,
I might burn righteously,
pure as glass, pious as
a Lutheran steeple.
But poetry is no place to live,
even for church mice.
No one subsists on words,
even if they roll off the tongue
like buttered toffee.
I must be content
to live in the world of man.
Secretly, however, I burn.
A bit of colorful inspiration for the day. How are you going to live your faith?
Spread joy when others are sowing disharmony.