I will mention them now,
I will not mention them again.

It is not lack of love
nor lack of sorrow.
But the iron thing they carried, I will not carry.

I give them—one, two, three, four—the kiss of courtesy,
  Of sweet thanks,
of anger, of good luck in the deep earth.
May they sleep well. May they soften.

But I will not give them the kiss of complicity.
I will not give them the responsibility for my life.
 
Stanza 6 from The Leaf and the Cloud, by Mary Oliver

You may be familiar with the verse in the fourth chapter of Philippians that says, "Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things."

We read that verse together as a congregation on Sunday. Betsy Ivy, our current intern, preached an excellent sermon, even bringing in that passage as a perfect seque to a final point. But what stood out for me was something that she didn't mention. To think about what is true is harder than one might assume.

For instance, every morning I drink my first cup of coffee because I believe that life is hard and I love the taste of hot coffee with cream. I follow the first cup with a second and a partial third, because I believe that life is hard and I need a strong beverage to return to consciousness after a night of sleep.

This morning I noticed how much energy the coffee gave me and how that energy made me want to do something, so I ate a mid-morning snack (just like I usually do) and moved through the morning hours a little too fast. By noon, I was exhausted from the morning buzz.

I wonder if the mantra that I have taken "life is hard" is all that helpful for me. Life can be hard. But life is so much more than difficult and trying -- and that is the truth. Tomorrow morning, I am going to experiment. What could my morning be like if I drink less coffee? Might I notice some of the softer aspects of my life? I wonder if I might be able to savor them a little longer and let the lighter, brighter things I notice mean more. I have changed my eating habits this past year and so I know that I can mess with my coffee routine. I am guessing that I will need to make some long-term changes before I stop feeling that life is fundamentally hard.

Are you aware of mantras by which you live that could be challenged and perhaps dismantled? What are the unspoken codes by which you live?

I was reminded of the Big Picture this morning. In church we read from Isaiah 25, "O Lord, you are my God; I will exult you, I will praise your name; for you have done wonderful things, plans formed of old, faithful and sure." The author then informs the reader of his vision where strong people will glorify the Lord God, all peoples will enjoy a feast of rich foods and well-aged wines. The shroud of death will be swallowed up, our tears wiped away, and our disgrace removed. "And it will be said on that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that we might save us. This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation."

I find this vision echoed in the book of Revelation and probably many, many places in between these two sections of scripture if I would give it more thought.

I find it helpful to remember that I am but one small member of this very large group of people God is in the process of saving. I have to wait, just as everyone has to wait, for the denoument of God's plan formed of old, faithful and sure. For me, waiting at times feels like being in a trap, at other times like a gift. What is waiting like for you?

Below you will see some rock at Barker Dam in Joshua Tree National Park that makes me think of waiting. Whatever has happened to that rock over the centuries mostly goes unnoticed. Yet, people make a great effort to share in its beauty that is forever changing.

What image comes to your mind when you ponder your experiences of waiting?