Meditation in the silent witness of our roots

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Roots grown cruciform in the old churchyard,
stretching across hallowed ground
to generations resting there.
Families, family –
Susie, Granddaddy, Mama, Daddy, Frank.
Priest, teachers, friends –
Steve and Frances, Miss Rebecca, Teddy,
beloved of God,
in the silent witness of our roots. Continue reading

The Holy City: A meditation

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I woke at 5:30 a.m. on June 17 the way I always do, stretching, savoring the morning smells of chicory in the coffee, and trying to squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep.

I failed. The cats were begging for food—the new puppy insistent for attention. The vision of everything I needed to accomplish in the garden before the heat entered its punishing phase started scrolling against the blank screen of my eyelids, and I couldn’t make it stop. I reached toward the nightstand, barely cracking my eyelids, intending to check the time and temperature on my iPad. But the first words I saw on the screen were the morning headlines from CNN… and they did not make sense. Continue reading