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I worried a bit yesterday that the silence on our blog would be interpreted as indifference.  Indifference to gun violence.  Indifference to the killings.  Indifference to the mounting death toll.  I worried, but I couldn’t bring myself to craft a post.  After all, what could we say that hasn’t already been said?

Besides, so many people had so much to say.  Fewer guns!   2nd Amendment!  Limit guns! Protect yourselves!  Pass the background check bill!

My soul was simply too weary to wade into the blog-o-sphere and attempt to contribute.  I just didn’t have it in me.

Today, in spite of a watch that wasn’t working right and thus saw me running ten minutes late, I made it to yoga.  I rolled out my mat and breathed deeply.  Downward dog.  Child’s pose. Warrior 1.  Triangle.  Shavasana.

At the end of each class, our instructor reads a quote of some kind.  Some are meant to sooth.  Others to challenge.  Still others, simply give us something to ponder.  Today’s quote was this – we should not have to agree on anything at all to treat each other well.

As you stroll these electronic pathways, that’s what I would ask you to remember.  Agree or disagree, but please carry the light of God’s love into the world and treat each other well.


Emphatic disclaimer: This is NOT my poem. It was written by Grace Noll Crowell (1877-1969), and it is beautiful. So beautiful — and so essentially needed right now by so many people — that I had to share it. If you are tired (and I suspect many of us are, burdened by health problems, family troubles, lack of clarity in life, political frustration and despair over the violence that besets us), here is my attempt at comfort. Please know that you are never alone.

Dear heart, God does not say today, “Be strong!”
He knows your strength is spent,
He knows how long
The road has been, how weary you have grown;
For He walked the earthly roads alone,
Each bogging lowland and each long, steep hill,
Can understand, and so He says, “Be still
And know that I am God.”
The hour is late
And you must rest awhile, and you must wait
Until life’s empty reservoirs fill up
As slow rain fills an empty, upturned cup.
Hold up your cup, dear child, for God to fill.
He only asks today that you be still.

Have a Mary Little Christmas

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