A crayfish walked me back from the mailbox this morning. A woodchuck comes out from under the deck to chomp on roses, as I snack on pretzels lathered in peanut butter. Chipmunks cavort over the stone wall. These were things I noticed. How much more goes unobserved? If only a big voice would come out of the sky yelling, “Attention!” Then maybe I would become aware. Or maybe I just need to think less of myself to notice everything that is not me.

Pay attention today.

As I sat here looking out the window at the night sky, just still light enough to see cloud formations, I noticed a giant footprint in the sky, but before I could type this sentence, it disappeared. What if I hadn’t looked out at that precise moment?  I would have missed an opportunity to smile at creation—actually in union with creation, because everything in the universe is interrelated.

I had so many opportunities today to smile with creation. As I got into the car this morning I saw five deer running through the meadow. Going out the driveway, I was stopped by three huge wild turkeys. A half mile down the road strutted eight “teenage” wild turkeys, perhaps of the same fowl family. Then I saw what I thought were flares. Instead they were ordinary road signs on which the red sun was beaming.  Awareness of the present moment opens up delight.

Annie, a friend of mine, was singing with some teenagers.  A man questioned why a gray-haired lady would be part of the group and asked her age.  Hearing she was 65, he said, “She has a voice and heart every bit as young as the teens with her.”  Another time Annie was in the choir loft, invisible to the assembly.  Someone said, “That has to be the voice of an angel. There’s no one up there.” Annie is the cantor for funerals, and her voice surrounds the grieving with peace.  Annie’s voice is an instrument in the Lord’s hands.

Today how will you use your voice? Let God sing in your heart. Let God be your song.  And let the world hear through your lips how good God is.

One day during the Sign of Peace at Mass a little girl shook the hands of persons nearby while saying “Peace of Pizza! Peace of Pizza!”  Besides being cute, the words can be interpreted as a blessing. May you experience the Eucharist that you will soon eat as your spiritual nourishment. May you have daily bread, all that you need today for health and happiness. May you have some fun and camaraderie stemming from the joy springing from deep peace.

Share a “peace of pizza” today!

Pope Francis stamped the trip to Brazil with his signature seal—the world’s pastor. Today’s newspaper described Benedict as the world’s theologian, John Paul II as the world’s philosopher, and Pope Francis as the world’s pastor. Saint Francis de Sales, I believe, claimed that we can catch more souls with a spoonful of honey than a barrel of vinegar. In a similar vein, reaching out with a soft touch may draw many to the Church. There’s a time and a place for every style of leadership and relationship. God has given the Church the right style in Pope Francis. Now is the time for all of us Catholics to extend the soft touch of Jesus and his Vicar Pope Francis.

How will you extend a soft touch today?

“The rains are over and gone … glad songs are heard!”  This little line from the Scripture has danced through my consciousness today as we enjoyed sunshine, puffy clouds, and cool air for the first time in awhile.  Amidst our prayer on the Resurrection stories in our retreat, I heard God’s invitation to consider not only the Word in Jesus Christ, but God’s first Word to us:  Creation.  So much beauty here.  It’s not hard to notice.  And there is always the deeper invitation to heightened awareness:  to really see as if seeing for the first time, to tune up one’s hearing, to smell the sweet smell of newly mown grass and clover, to feel the warmth of the sun and savor the breeze on a non-humid day, and to taste with delight the delicious food being cooked up for us by two of our Sister Culinary Queens.  A day of living with enlivened senses.  I feel invited to bring this awareness into the days that will all too soon follow the retreat.

If the weather forecast holds for our corner of God’s country, tomorrow should be an equally lovely day.  How will you plan to see … hear … smell … touch … taste the Created Beauty that surrounds you?

This morning was filled with a steady, persistent rain that kept us confined to the inside of the retreat house.  I sought out a room with no a/c, opened the windows, and just listened.  Amidst the pitter patter of the rainfall, other sounds came through clearly:  birdsong!  I’m not blessed with the gift or the knowledge to identify birds by the sounds they emit.  Perhaps that “lack” came in handy on this quiet retreat morning.  I just listened.  “Consider the lilies of the field … they neither spin nor toil.”  Consider the birds of the air … the tweets in the trees … the beauty amidst a dark, dreary, rainy Monday morning.  I just listened.  As a child, I lived in a family that raised birds on our two-acre homestead:  Canada geese, mallards, wood ducks, snow geese, Australian ring-necked doves, bantam chickens whose chicks hatched in the palms of our hands, peacocks, the pet parakeet that got loose and met a sad end — you name it, we had it, the rarer the better.  Imagine such a menagerie on two acres in the city in today’s world!  I enjoyed all our birds but never really cherished the songs they uttered.  Since my journey through cancer, birdsong has become important to me.  The beauty of such free praise of God reminds me of new life.  Today my senses are sharpened to the songs

Bosque de Apache NWR, NM

of birds and insects.  It’s like listening to God’s orchestra.  On this retreat day I give thanks for the birds of the air, most especially for their songs which delight my ears and my heart.  Tomorrow morning take time to just listen.  Let the birds bless you with their song!

Each Sister of Notre Dame has the opportunity to make a week’s retreat on an annual basis.  These days become a wonderful time to rekindle the flame of our love for God and to allow God to delight in us.  This evening before retreat began I took my camera and went for a walk at Lial.  As I sat on the ground at the edge of the lake, camera poised and ready for “something” to “happen”, this Scripture came to my mind: “Consider the lilies of the field, they neither toil nor spin….”  No lilies before my eyes, but rather the graceful dancing of dozens of dragonflies.  “Consider the dragonflies on the pond, they neither toil nor spin….”  Yet our good and provident God takes care — of the lilies … the dragonflies … the clover in the grass … the sun shining on the water.  Retreat is kind of like that too:  our good God delights in providing for all our needs and blessing us in abundance as we ask for the graces we most want and need.  Most folks don’t have the luxury of a week set apart for prayer and solitude; some people choose to make St. Ignatius’ Spiritual Exercises throughout the year rather than in the thirty day fashion, truly making “a retreat in daily life” across many months.  Today we might be invited to slow down a bit to find God in our daily life … in the lilies and dragonflies and clover and sunshine.  Today we might be invited to ask for a special grace.  Our good and provident God will surprise us with an abundance we can’t even begin to imagine.  

As I was walking along the sand dune trail in Oak Openings, I noticed the great variety of foot prints in the sand.  I walked more slowly to consciously look at my own tennis shoe prints. I reflected on the footprint that I was leaving on earth. How was my carbon footprint trampling the face of Mother Earth? How have I left footprints across people’s hearts? In all the schools where I have taught and in all the churches where I have prepared liturgies or played organ, what still remains for good or ill? There’s a song that claims “I may never pass this way again.”  But my footprints remain.

I got up, unlocked LialRenewal Center, prayed Morning Prayer and meditation, helped prepare three meals for 27 retreatants, prepared liturgies for St. Richard Church, played a card game with the sisters with whom I live after praying Evening Prayer with them, phoned and wrote e-mails, and went to bed.

Although the particulars change, this sounds like everyone else’s day. Work, play, pray, rest. Rather prosaic, I’d say, until I remember that God has been with me through it all in what Elizabeth Johnson calls “unspeakable nearness.” God’s energy flowed through me as I sat at the computer. The beauty of creation smacked me in the face when I brushed entrances free of webs. The relatedness between the living God and me took form when I peeled the carrots. O most holy and prosaic life!