First steps

Posted on May 17, 2014 by harasprice

My daughter asked me the other day to tell her about the story of her first steps. She was asking because she came across a little video montage her Dad had made of her toddling first steps across the red linoleum floor of our kitchen. We lived in a little arts and crafts bungalow house at the time. She was wearing a little flowered sundress, and the polished vintage floor made her look like a timeless traveller that could have been wobbling on her tiny feet across multiple decades. The video was set to Henry Mancini’s Baby Elephant Walk which she thought was cute, until she heard the name of the song, and then took some tween indulgent offense.

What she wanted to know was what she was walking toward, because in the video it’s clear that she is propelling herself forward to something she cannot wait to reach. She was quite disappointed to learn that her primary motivation was the green mesh wrap from a pear that had had come in a box of fresh fruit. “Seriously??” she protested, “a pear wrapper? You baited me to walk with a pear wrapper?!”

Her Dad and I acknowledged our pathetic, pragmatic parenting yet again. Then, we all were in an uproar of laughter as we watched the video again knowing the destination was driven by such a mundane yet obviously enticing inspiration. Yet, after that moment, the world was hers to explore on foot. Like many parents, we’ve been running to keep up ever since.

I was thinking of that story tonight, a night that marks literally and symbolically some new first steps on my own journey. I spent the weekend with some amazing and wonderful companions on my spiritual journey; they have agreed to help me focus on where my steps are leading and exploring what I am called to do next on this journey of life. I arrived early to our retreat site this morning to walk the labyrinth, which seemed like a very symbolic and meaningful way to begin. I set out with intention, placing one foot in front of the other. I lost myself in the cadence, moving forward with each step not toward a specific destination, but toward the openness of mystery and glimpses of truth.

I suspect that it wasn’t the pear wrapper that motivated our daughter’s first steps. I imagine instead that the wobbliness that gave way to confident forward motion lit up something in her that gave her a glimpse of a brave, new world she could chase after. I suspect what propels me forward isn’t a prescriptive and protective coating, either. Likewise, a glimpse of divine mystery that speaks to my soul also compels me to take the wobbly steps forward, in faith and community, that allow me to begin a new journey that will unfold step by step, year by year, small point of light after small point of light…

Posted in Spiritual journey, work and life | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Unexpected

Posted on May 12, 2014 by harasprice

My life seems to be filled with unexpected moments these days. Consequently, I have had trouble keeping up my usual writing pattern. I have beaten up on myself a couple times for sitting down to write late at night when I finally have time, then waking up realizing my iPad has become an unintended pillow. After a few days of this, I am finally coming to realize that this is what the unexpected does to us. It knocks us out of the predictable and comfortable and sends us a new message, one that sometimes take a while to sink in. It takes time to sink deeply into the unexpected and be open to the grace and growth it has to offer us. I am reminded of the words I sometimes pray from the New Zealand Prayer Book, “For those beloved of God are given gifts even while they sleep.”

In my waking contemplation and in my unconscious sleep, three things stood out for me amid my unexpected moments. I have to acknowledge, they weren’t necessarily the most exciting nor the things that my rational mind expected. My flat tire downtown didn’t feature prominently, nor did a perpetual string of workplace issues and dramas; those are just the daily ebb and flow within a fast-paced life. Instead, there were three distinct points of light that seem to offer me sustenance for the journey, something to take in deeply and nourish my soul. All three of these unexpected moments have a spiritual parallel which I will leave with you as well.

The first of these unexpected small points of light was at University graduation. Amid the pomp and circumstance, I was enjoying seeing the day through the eyes of my advisee, who had just completed our doctoral program. Our University changed its practice last year and began allowing doctoral graduates to be hooded at University graduation by their major advisor. So, robed in academic regalia for the second day in a row, my doctoral advisee and I made our way to the stage. Things were going as expected. Our names were announced; there was the ceremonial hooding; a photograph was taken; each shook hands with the Graduate School Dean and then the University president in recognition. It was an anticipated line of gracious formalities, and we walked it in form and smiling widely across the stage. It was a very good, ordinary yet extraordinary moment. When I reached the extended hand of our University President, though, something shifted. He paused as he grasped my hand to look me in the eyes…to recognize who I was, and to tell me how he was hearing about my work and appreciated all that I was doing for our University and community. Maybe he had that exchange with everyone, who knows. It wasn’t so important that he said it to ME. It was that he said something TO me. He met my eyes, he paused the formalities, and he seemed to know something specifically about me among the thousands who work for my big, urban academic employer. I wasn’t the graduate…I was there, showing up, being the mentor and advisor to my students that I am privileged and humbled to be. Why he stopped the line to have this brief exchange with me, I will probably never know. This exchange has made me ponder with gratitude: How much more frequent and meaningful are those moments where I am stopped in the midst of my ordinary, and reminded that I am seen and known and recognized by God for simply being who I was created to be.

Fast forward to unexpected moments of Sunday. We were having a surprise “thank you” reception for our outgoing interim rector between our two scheduled church services. This meant the whole thing had to be set up during the first service, so the parish hall was a hive of quiet, buzzing, secret activity. As I stood putting out napkins next to a pile of glass plates and food at one end of the table, I watched helplessly as the other end of this reception set up, two tables away, went crashing down with about 50 glass plates and two platters full of food resting on top of it. The noise suggested an atrocity and we thought the congregation would be streaming in to check on things…or worse yet, the guest of honor would descend. Instead, 50 plates flew off the table and slid across the floor, without breaking. The food flew up and back onto the tablecloth, other than a few pieces of random cut fruit that had to be tossed. Our cadre of workers stopped first in shock, then in laughter, then declared this a divine moment of unexpected grace. Only later did we make the parallel of how this seemingly mirrored our year of massive collapse that has also been so filled with grace. We are all intact, and we will be sure to brace the latches on the table more tightly going forward. But we also need to see the divine in the ordinary and say a prayer of gratitude for the dishes of our lives that may seem to be at dire risk of smashing, and yet show their resilience when a touch of Spirit is present to break their fall.

A final unexpected moment was during a visit from my half-sister. She lives in a different state, and we didn’t grow up together so we rarely see each other, and we have to wrestle with how to make a relationship with each other as grown-ups. There is more than I will choose to say on this blog about unexpectedness in this entire situation, but I hold those details of my family’s life as sacred and private space. The piece I do want to talk about, though, is the unexpectedness of how she chose to visit. She and the friend she was traveling with met me at my church on Mother’s Day Sunday (yes, just after the plate crashing). Part of this unexpectedness was timing, but I believe a bigger part was God. Church is both a long-standing part of me, and a new point of grace in my life. I grew up in a highly religious family, and church served as a structure and a constant within our daily lives. Church was where answers and structure were found. This meant that disorder and questions didn’t so much have a place there…and I found myself alone with those. Subsequently, most of my early adult life was spent outside the church, searching widely on the journey to deepen the questions and see the emergent grace amid the seeming disorder. Its in the past several years that I have re-entered church (this time, the Episcopal Church) as a place to embrace questions and be in the community of those who ponder and question and journey together. I so appreciate this unexpected gift, and the ways in which I have come to know divine presence within it. And, I appreciate that my sister has come to know me enough through talking and reading my blogs to want to know that part of me. The unexpected was being met in this particular space, at this juncture in our relationship of getting to know each other more deeply. I felt and experienced the gift of that time we were sharing.

And so, I sit tonight with all these gifts in my heart. There is still the requisite amount of chaos and disorder in my world; I am in the midst of a time of transformational growth, discernment, and transition. But these lessons shimmer on the path, asking me to be still and allow them to sink in deeply. And they are sinking in, both in my waking, and in my sleeping. Sometimes we glimpse God’s presence, but we need to be still in order to really, deeply know that divine Presence fully. I am grateful for those times this week, even when my iPad has been my pillow.

Posted in Spiritual journey, work and life | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Graduation Speech

Posted on May 9, 2014 by harasprice

It’s been a busy week leading up to graduation here at the University where I work. This year, I have served as an academic program director and as such, I was given five minutes at the microphone, as well as the opportunity to announce our graduates. Give me a podium and a microphone, and words will follow.

I thought, perhaps, I would post my graduation reflections here for public consumption as well…

Did you ever notice the rainbow parade of academic regalia worn by University faculty?? We have faculty members showcasing the blue with black chevrons from the University of Michigan and looking snazzy in scarlet from Arizona State. In case you didn’t notice, we have three of us…like a shamrock…sporting the emerald green of Washington University in St. Louis. The hues range from the powder blue robe of Columbia, to “Duke Blue” to the deep blue velvet that demarcates the PhD. Even those whose academic garb reflects the traditional black robe along with the deep blue velvet of the Doctor of Philosophy still have a unique identity. On closer inspection, each person’s academic regalia…those of us on this platform as well as those of you we are recognizing today…is accented by the color designating our profession along with the specific colors of our various schools. These identity labels may appear on the lining of a hood, or the stripes of a sleeve, or the markings on a tassel. Each scholar on this stage is unique, but we share commonalities, too.

In case you are wondering, we don’t have the opportunity to pick out this academic attire we wear as if we’re buying a new outfit or spiffing up for a big date. As many of you have discovered, our originality is often limited to our footwear, the infamous “shoes of graduation.”

The diversity of our academic wardrobe is defined largely by the degree program in which we studied, and the schools in which we were trained. So, what we wear reflects an aspect of who we are. Of course, these outward appearances don’t really reflect the wholeness of our personhood. Our outward diversity of pedigree is impacted by other kinds of diversity, too…perhaps where we lived or what we wanted to study, where others in our family had studied, who would give us a scholarship, or where we felt that we could be most successful. And, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that for every person here, there are many more potential scholars out there for whom the barriers imposed by individual lives, families or social systems have kept them from taking this step. In this past year as PhD Program Director, I have listened to those stories, too. Many times during my academic career, I’ve had to come face to face with poignant reminders of the grace, the privilege, the luck and the hard work that came together to allow me to be the one standing here, talking to you.

The PhD graduates I’m about to introduce to you are also unique individuals that span a diverse range of interests and experiences. But, collectively, we celebrate them today. Each one can probably also attest to the amazing amount of work, support, and serendipity that has brought them together in this place, on this day. Because they have been a part of our PhD Program, they also have a common story. Our collective story involves creating community, diversity of thought, and embracing intellectual curiosity along with cultural humility. Our collective story is created in our encounters inside and outside the classroom and in the ways in which we strive to create scholars who impact the real work of social work practice, policy, and education by connecting scholarship and community. My hope is that every time from here on out, when our graduates dress up in their academic regalia, they will also wear a reminder of how their individual journeys are also part of a collective journey here in the PhD Program at VCU. That’s how it is with diversity…it becomes the fabric of our common, human experience.

So, I now have the privilege to introduce you to the five newest Social Work PhD Scholars we welcome and celebrate today. These incredible human beings are unique and diverse in their contributions, even if they appear similar in their outer wardrobes. Just like the “shoes of graduation” where your personal style shine through, our PhD graduates build on their collective identity with the sparks of unique contribution that make each of them stand out. You all have learned…in every program here at VCU…to celebrate and embrace the unique differences from which we learn, grow, and gain new insight into our collective human experience. So, let me tell you a few individual stories of these five amazing scholars we celebrate today who are invested in creating meaningful change and embracing our diverse human experience. And collectively, they are changing the world through scholarship and research.

To each and every one of you: embrace diversity in all its forms. Celebrate the privilege of being exactly who you are, exactly where you are at this present moment. And know that wherever you travel and wherever your vocation leads you, there is always an opportunity to make a difference.

In honor of the VCU School of Social Work PhD Graduates of 2014

Posted in work and life | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Lilacs

Posted on May 3, 2014 by harasprice

My house is filled with the pungent spring scent of lilacs today.  This is the first year that the lilac shrub we planted when we first moved here has flourished. In fact, there were so many blooms this year that the branches bent low to the ground under the weight of the flowers.  So, after I finished my weekend chores around the house, my reward was to cut myself two large vases full of blooming branches.  Even the lilac limbs seemed to thank me for lightening their load, and now my house is reaping the benefit of their fragrance.

The first few years after we bought and planted the lilac in our garden, the tiny bush would put out one or two branches of sweet-smelling blooms.  My daughter was very young then and as much as she wanted to, there were never quite enough to warrant picking them.  Then, there were the years of the worm invasion, where the warm winters and early spring brought the inch-worms in droves just a week or two before the birds had migrated back.  Those worms ate every sprouting blossom on both the lilacs and the wisteria during those years, and it took several years for the plants to recover.

We intentionally planted both wisteria and lilac in our garden for reasons of family nostalgia.  The wisteria was my mother-in-law’s favorite flower, and the front door to her river-town house on the Mississippi had an arbor of wisteria that bloomed in exquisite clusters. In the most recent years before her passing, wisteria blooms were the pride of her springtime, and their emergence was one of the few times she would willingly leave the safety and comfort of her house.  

Likewise, lilacs are a hard-wired memory of growing up for me. My Gramma had several lilac bushes that grew wild and free near her farm house.  Her lilacs were a mix of colors…some white, some purple, some pink. I loved them all. I remember walking up the steps to her farmhouse and having the fragrance of lilac pungently cutting through the otherwise barn-scented air.  A few blooms were always cut and sent home with us, woody stems wrapped in wet paper towels and tinfoil. We also had a huge lilac bush at our own house “in town,” which grew tall just outside the dining room window.  Some years, it was prolific in blooms but in other years there was far more foliage than fragrance.  In upstate New York, lilacs were in bloom closer to June, and I fondly remember bouquets of lilacs gracing tables for high school graduation and family birthdays, including my own.

Now, it is early May in Virginia, and my lilacs fill my thoughts, and carry a lingering sense of nostalgia. I read Amy Lowell’s poem, Lilacs, earlier today and her own sense of nostalgia made me smile. Her imagery is as familiar to me as it was a century ago when she was living and writing:

Lilacs in dooryards
Holding quiet conversations with an early moon.

Sometimes, we think we are the first generation to have nostalgia, as if time itself began with our earliest memories. But, the lilacs have been scenting the springtime for generations of time, each beckoning an older wisdom than we ourselves can know. Maybe that is what draws us in, and beckons us to linger. A core of our humanness, stored in spirit or locked in genetic memory, that keeps us connected with time gone by.

Springtime may be filled with newness, but the longing sweetness in the scent of memory is still what beckons us.

These tiny, star-shaped flowers are small points of light reaching across generations and time.

Tonight, I am grateful for that perfume.

20140503-200037.jpg

Posted in quotations and reflections, work and life | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Night Prayer

Posted on May 1, 2014 by harasprice

Lord, it is night.

The night is for stillness. Let us be still in the presence of God.

It is night after a long day. What has been done has been done; what has not been done has not been done; let it be.

The night is dark. Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives rest in you.

The night is quiet. Let the quietness of your peace enfold us, all dear to us, and all who have no peace.

The night heralds the dawn. Let us look expectantly to a new day, new joys, new possibilities.

–closing of Night Prayer, from the New Zealand Prayer Book

20140411-205450.jpg

Posted in quotations and reflections | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

falling from the sky

Posted on April 28, 2014 by harasprice

Like many of us, there have been times in my life when I have looked up to the heavens, begging whatever divine force may be listening for a sign of what to do, or a portent of what is to come.  I have often imagined how marvelous it would be for some clear, unmistakable sign to come down from on high, something so obvious that it would be impossible for us to miss.  A neon sign, or perhaps even a “bat signal” would be nice.

Or maybe, a fish in the middle of a city garden.

Last year…May 14, 2013 according to my email…Tyler, who had been singing with me in my choir, sent me a picture of a fish laying in the middle of his city garden.  His wife had snapped a photo of this oddity, and they supposed it was a bird of prey that had inadvertently dropped its lunch somewhere between the James River and wherever its nesting grounds were.  Tyler sent this photo to two of us in the choir, and our two remaining clergy at that time which was shortly after our Rector had retired.  In his email, he wrote, “I am taking this as a sign that the transition at St. Thomas will turn out well.” 

At the time I simply thought: interesting.  I’m not sure that was where I would have gone if I found a fish in the midst of the yard in my urban dwelling.  But, looking at the email thread, I did reply back to him, “maybe we are being given fish to sustain us as we learn to cast our nets into the future and reap the rewards of boldly moving forward in faith.”  That may have been a bit of a stretch, but I’m a sucker for potential signs from above so I wanted to latch on to it, truly I did.  Since that time…and the subsequent transitioning to new positions of both of those remaining clergy on that particular email thread…I can truly say that I and many others have learned how to cast our nets.  We constantly take bold leaps of faith followed up by our dedicated intentions to keep our parish thriving even in the midst of unprecedented transition.  

Maybe that fish really was a sign.

These seemingly random events have been rolling through my mind all day.  As you may guess, there is another chapter to the story.  Yesterday, my choir friend Mary wandered into our robing room with Sunday’s paper in her hand and with a stunned look on her face.  She read Tyler’s obituary out loud to us, his sudden death having occurred just a few days earlier.  We were stunned.

Tyler had dropped into our singing group, seemingly from out of nowhere himself.  I don’t think anyone ever had a solid story of what brought him our way, and we simply enjoyed his voice and his company in our eclectic group of singers.  He would ride his bike from his home on one side of the city to our church on the other side, and he would come and go with a detached kindness although never saying very much about himself.  It was evident that he was deeply devoted to the city, to the natural environment, to his scouting troop.  He was a tall, solidly built person whom one wouldn’t normally assume was a cyclist.  But, his bike was his chosen mode of transport no matter what the weather and how dark the night.  After singing with us for several months, and just after he sent the aforementioned email, he abruptly sent us all a note to say he would be leaving the choir.  He didn’t give much of a reason.  He noted that he would likely stop in from time to time, and was grateful for the time he had sung with us.  He continued to stop in to church services periodically, always kind and quiet and solitary.  I never thought when I saw him a few weeks ago at one of those happen-stance passings of the peace that my next siting would be in the obituary column.

I’m fairly sure there is a bird, fish, and city garden metaphor in here somewhere.  Not to mention something about the sudden and jarring nature of loss and transition.

But, tonight, I’m inclined to find a small point of light in this story that isn’t quite so metaphorical.  I’m inclined, instead, to be pragmatic.  I am grateful this night for all the people, places, and things that seem to drop from the sky.  They do not need to be a “bat signal” nor a neon sign from God, but just the simple unknowingness of who and what will cross our paths on any given day.  I’m sure there are a thousand people who knew Tyler more and better than I.  But, I am grateful he showed up and sang with my choir, and that one day he thought to send me a picture of a fish on his brick walkway with a little phrase of optimistic encouragement.  A year later, in my current status of supporting my parish through transition, those words really do feel like a gift.  They were a message from the sky, simply appearing from nowhere, a message to remind us that we will be OK because we are a part of something larger and we are walking authentically through a path of understanding how that transition has changed us, and where it is leading us.  Things happen.  Fish fall.  People die.  But, we are connected much more deeply than that.  Even in our brief encounters, we can touch each other’s souls.  The ordinary is transformed to the extraordinary.

Our human lives are comprised of randomness as well as planning, and we are changed by those whose company we select and those who simply show up to cross our paths.

Tyler, thank you for my small point of light today.

In memory of Tyler Potterfield

Here is a picture of Tyler’s fish, as retrieved from my email archives today:

fish out of water

Posted in Spiritual journey, work and life | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Necessary Decisions

Posted on April 26, 2014 by harasprice

It’s been quite a week here in the paths I travel in my daily life. First of all, spring is in full bloom and I have probably breathed in a pound of pollen. My eyes and sinuses and lungs are saturated. While pollinated, I had several days where my schedule was triple booked and I was paralyzed by what to do first. I completely missed several appointments while attending to emergent situations, and my calendar became my worst enemy. A few times, I ignored my calendar and followed my heart; those moments gave me the most satisfaction. When I sat still, I would find my eyes moist with tears. I wished I could blame the pollen.

A Lenten season of cultivating sacred space, a Holy Week of journeying, and Easter filled with the hope of resurrection.

I kept thinking about that cadence this week, wondering how it all fit together for me. Why did this Easter week seem so unbearably intense? Why was I feeling so stuck when there are so many possibilities? I was puttering around in my yard, putting some little starter plants from their root-bound containers into larger spaces of growth and thinking about this. Thunder was rolling on the horizon, and my little transplants that had been uprooted were about to get a much needed drink in their new surroundings. As quickly as the spring rains came…watering the seedlings and washing the pollen from my walkway…my eyes were opened. The small point of light glimmered before me, right there in the metaphor I held in my hands.

I don’t live out loud on my blog when it comes to life decisions that will inevitably make themselves apparent over time. Those events are the resulting detail of a larger process. The underlying heart and soul of this whole week has been the small point of light at the center: the quiet, persistent and ever-present voice that beckons me to be exactly who I am, exactly where I am, spreading my roots in open soil so I can grow. I have realized time and time again while chronicling that journey here story by story: I have learned to trust the small points of light that lead me.

Change did find me this week, and I have chosen to leave my container to be planted in fertile, open ground. I am grateful for all the support I have had, and continue to have, in this process. These words from John O’Donohue have been my constant companions during this week of decision.

For The Time Of Necessary Decision

The mind of time is hard to read.
We can never predict what it will bring,
Nor even from all that is already gone
Can we say what form it finally takes;
For time gathers its moments secretly.
Often we only know it’s time to change
When a force has built inside the heart
That leaves us uneasy as we are.
Perhaps the work we do has lost its soul,
Or the love where we once belonged
Calls nothing alive in us anymore.
We drift through this gray, increasing nowhere
Until we stand before a threshold we know
We have to cross to come alive once more.
May we have the courage to take the step
Into the unknown that beckons us;
Trust that a richer life awaits us there,
That we will lose nothing
But what has already died;
Feel the deeper knowing in us sure
Of all that is about to be born beyond
The pale frames where we stayed confined,
Not realizing how such vacant endurance
Was bleaching our soul’s desire.
~ John O’Donohue

Posted in work and life | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Raccoon

Posted on April 23, 2014 by harasprice

Last night, I was sitting on one end of the living room sofa reading through a dissertation. My daughter was sitting on the other end, struggling through some math homework for which she lacked motivation. The hour was late and our eyes were heavy. I decided I would go to bed, but the younger night owl decided she would stroll in the backyard to get some fresh air in order to inspire her remaining long division.

I went upstairs, readied myself for bed, set my alarm and stretched out. I had just found a comfy spot when I saw my daughter’s shadow in the doorway.

“Mom” she whispered. “I think there’s a possum on the roof.”

As not thrilled as I was at the thought of a midnight opossum siting, I thought I should probably check this particular situation out.

“I see its big, furry tail hanging off the roof over the lattice with the jasmine” she scoped out as she led me out the back door. I was about to point out that the opossum was not known for its fluffy tail when she stopped in her tracks and motioned to me to freeze.

“Its a raccoon!” she whispered just as I was about to point that out to her myself.

The moonlight bandit slunk down onto the lattice and looked at us. I paused as I watched my tween and a raccoon stand almost eye to eye, just looking at each other. Both were mesmerized.

My daughter slowly leaned over to me, “I need to whisper something” she said.

The first thing that went through my mind as she pressed her face next to my ear was how sweet it was that my daughter wanted to share a secret with me. With all the emerging adolescent angst, Mom-Daughter secret sharing is a rare treat.

“I think its Grandma” she whispered “she didn’t know where my room was but she still found me.”

As if hearing, the raccoon scurried off onto the fence and disappeared.

I hugged her close. “I am glad she found you” I whispered back.

The spring breeze in the night air ran through our hair and across our skin. Her eyes were shining with recognition and she smiled. It was three years ago when her Grandma died, and she has avoided talking about her feelings. Just recently she started to talk about her memories and ask for pictures and stories. Now, in her own way, she had her own moments of much needed connection.

I have heard so many stories over the years about these moments of recognition. I have experienced my own, too. I am a scholar, a counselor, a writer who studies grief. I can discuss philosophy, theology, and psychosocial implications of loss. But last night, it was all there…palpable…in a ring-tailed raccoon that appeared from nowhere but communicated everything my daughter needed to feel. Recognition. Love. Connection.

Love was stronger than death, and it was right there with us.

Posted in work and life | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Reflections on Resurrection

Posted on April 20, 2014 by harasprice

Happy Easter!

For forty days, I have been hosting a Lenten series on Cultivating Sacred Space for my faith community, and simultaneously blogging here on my own personal blog on the same weekly themes.  On this most joyful day, I feel a rush of resurrection in my own spiritual life, a renewed appreciation of divine presence, and the gifts and untold blessings of community, serendipity, awareness, and present and persistent love of God.  This season I have truly been Cultivating Sacred Space, and for all the gifts I have received, beyond what I could have asked or imagined, I am deeply grateful.

One of the things I have appreciated the most during this season is how I have learned to more deeply experience and trust Divine Presence.  I have experienced a heightened sense of connection when I am curating digital media; stories and images seem to miraculously “find” me.   I have also found myself hitting “publish” as an act of prayer, and trusting that whatever words have been flowing through me will find a resting place exactly where they needed.  Being a “Servant of Spirit” in this way has truly been a gift to my journey.

I came home from Easter Vigil last night, and was moved to create one more interactive image for my faith and virtual community.  I am sharing it here, too, on this joyful Easter day, in the hopes that the reflections on resurrection that found me will also speak to some of you.

Click on the picture or link below to be redirected to the interactive image:

Reflections on Resurrection

image

Wishing each and every one a joyous and blessed Easter…

Alleluia!  Alleluia!  Alleluia!

Posted in Lent 2014, quotations and reflections | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Journeying 6: Holy Saturday (First Light)

Posted on April 19, 2014 by harasprice

Light cannot see inside things.

That is what the dark is for:

Minding the interior,

Nurturing the draw of growth

Through places where death

In its own way turns into life.

In the glare of neon times,

Let our eyes not be worn

By surfaces that shine

With hunger made attractive.

That our thoughts may be true light,

Finding their way into words

Which have the weight of shadow

To hold the layers of truth.

–from “For Light” by John O’Donohue, from To Bless the Space Between Us

 

Image

 

Posted in Lent 2014 | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment