May was named for the Roman goddess of fertility. If you don’t believe me check out the source of all dubious truth: wikipedia. For the past few months I’ve been longing for something life giving. I’ve been weary of my job, my thoughts, my fears. My passions have been so tepid and my loves so half-hearted. I’ve been weary of me.
Yesterday, May 1, I began an hour of prayer. One hour. Every day of May. I’m going to intentionally sit still and listen. And I’ll try to convey impressions that may be helpful or good for others who are weary of themselves as well.
Tuesday I felt a call to just be open. That was it. Be open. Accept what is without judgment or foreclosure. I spent the day repeating that phrase, be open. This is what I saw:
- a neighbor pushing her infant’s stroller stopping frequently to tell the baby about the trees, the flowers, the birds. As if the kid cared.
- a little Asian kid walking to school with his dad. The boy – no taller than his father thigh – was leaning as hard as he could against his dad’s legs. Trying to knock him down.
- two streetwise guys outside the coffee shop. One complaining bitterly saying,”Every morning from 7-10, I be at that this corner. This is why I put my schedule up on the internet! So’s people know.”
Love. Fervor. Pride. Ambition.
Day one was good.