On a sunny,
summer Sunday,
I throw on
my cleanest finery,
which, as it
turns out,
doesn’t have
much to say for itself.
It’s fine,
though, I’m still up for listening,
headed to one
of my safe places,
the most
spiritual of spaces,
seeking some
joyful calm,
a message of
balm,
leaving
struggle at the door,
feeling
peace, and what’s more,
finding a
non-anxious presence
in an anxious
world,
hearing that
still, small voice,
its beauty
unfurled.
It’s Sunday
at Seaside,
where love
and good and light,
are real in
our life,
just as real
as toil and strife,
where “effortless
effort”
is written
in invisible ink
on our nonexistent
name tags.
There’s
music and prayer and meditation,
a break from
the madness, a soulful vacation.
I have no
name for the effect,
but I do
know what to expect.
Others will
speak, I will listen,
and an
unseen current
will course
through me,
and I will
see
that change
is challenging
but hope is
tangible,
and grace is
possible.
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