“Wisdom is like the rain. Its source is limitless, but it comes down according to the season.” — Rumi
I’m writing to you in the midst of a little squall.
I listen to the somehow
rag-tag beat of the rain
against the metal
of the house
and the plants and the windows and the concrete.
All else is quiet as the children
and their own little storms
entered the world in their rubber shoes.
Is this Wisdom that arrives in this season
steady and scattered, coming to meet me?
My softened ear stretches, She teaches me the dance
before my limbs will live them.
-CM 2.7.20
With much to do and think on in the past days, the really wet weather has been an invitation to go within. I’ve been sitting with Henri Nouwen’s book, The Life of the Beloved in preparation for a study at the church.
As I put myself out there in the world, I keep steady on the point: we each are in the process of becoming what we already are–beloved. I can go on the corner believing in the unique beauty of each person, but I can only go wholeheartedly if I know, too, my own belovedness. I can go offering the simple act of waving, knowing that my belovedness meets yours.
“Our humanity comes to its fullest bloom in giving. We become beautiful people when we give whatever we can give: a smile, a handshake, a kiss, an embrace, a word of love, a present, a part of our life…all of our life.”
―
And so, I will offer my hand again when the inner and outer winds and rains have lessened. When we can make out each others faces again on the corner of our shared life together. This is the Wisdom that waves at me through the tapping rain.
Balloonpastor 