Author: Sr. Dorcee, beloved

I am the one whom Jesus loves.

In the shadows and the corners

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

I’m reading Fr. Donald Haggerty’s Contemplative Provocations and I keep getting stuck at each paragraph, like this one:

The inclination to hiddenness is a quiet mark of holiness.  It corresponds to the secrecy of relations between a soul and God.  For it seems to be God’s consistent habit with souls to conceal himself even when they are close to him.  We can surmise that the saints came to know well this divine preference for concealment.  It added intensity to their seeking after God in his many disguises.  Rather than frustrating them, the divine hiding provoked them with intense longings.  And it aroused in them a desire for their own concealment, not from God, but from the eyes of others, so that they might remain among the unknown and the recognized.  If we want to find holiness, the first place to search is in the shadows and corners.

Then it may be

Sr. Dorcee, beloved2 Comments

“When people are making demands on you and you feel drained and empty; when you have to speak and you have not had the time you wanted to prepare; when God calls you to a task for which you know yourself inadequate; when you feel humiliated and foolish because some undertaking in which you did your honest best has turned out disastrously–then it may be, to your astonishment, someone will tell you that you helped most, did your most fruitful work.  When our ego is humbled and not obstructing, God’s creative Spirit can often have freer play.  Like the bare trees, it may be that we allow the glory to shine through at these times more purely than in our summer prosperity.”  (Maria Boulding)

2426481-winter-sun-set-through-trees

Taking in Your Loveliness

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A beautiful poem on beauty by one of our sisters, Sr. Stacy Whitfield:

                       Beauty

I love your wild extravagance,
mountain flower and autumn leaves
Endowed with lovely lavishness,
making much of what none sees.

Yet surely you would not adorn
with greater glory grassy hills
Than sons and daughters made for joy
and destined for more beauty still.

Oh give me hope to lift my soul
to beauties that yet lie unseen,
That wait beyond the shimm’ring veil,
awaiting Dawn’s eternity.

The wondrous views of heaven’s scope
from which earth’s grand reflection springs,
The beauty that is fairer still
than all your earthly artistry.

Oh give me faith and love to long
to see all beauty’s heavenly source,
From which all loveliness is flowing,
river-like upon its course.

The fullness of all beauty there
on which to gaze to soul’s delight,
A heart all pure, a form all fair,
the fountainhead of love, of light.

I shall abide in blissful rest,
loving Love and Beauty seeing,
Taking in your loveliness
with opened eyes, with transformed being.

                                          ©Sr. Stacy Whitfield (revised February 3, 1991)

Raging Sea

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Raging Sea

Michael W. Smith

Sometimes the journey makes you weary
Feels like a long and winding road
Sometimes this life can lose its meaning
But you might be surprised to find some hope
Maybe you’re wondering where love is
You may feel it’s far away from here
Maybe you’re wondering where I am
You might be surprised to find I’m near

Chorus:
And when your life is tossed and turning
And you’re on the raging sea
I’ll come and pull you from the water
Then you will know that you are free

So if you’re stumbling through the valley
Or if you’re tempted to give up the fight
Reach out your hand and I will lead you
I will be your strong arm in the night

Repeat chorus

Tip-toe Wings

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“Some things are better left undisturbed . . . “

barnstormingblog's avatarBarnstorming

sweeterpeasHere are sweet-peas, on tip-toe for a flight:
With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings.
~John Keats

I grew up watching sweet peas climb a trellis in our family garden. Their delicate tendrils did wrap clinging fingers around anything they could reach and grasp. The blossoms were too ephemeral to bring indoors for a vase on the table — the petals would droop and then drop within a day or so. They were meant to be appreciated right where they grew, so I would visit them regularly, breathe deeply with my nose in their midst to capture and keep their lovely scent with me as I went on about my day, leaving them waving their vines in my wake.

Some things are better left undisturbed, to flourish right where they have taken hold. In…

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