Magnificat

  Josiah holds his skinny teddy bear, named Toothpick, under his arm like a football. He sits in his high chair wearing his snoopy Christmas pajamas in July, eating a bowl of cheerios, scooping them out of his rubber bib with a spoon, while Vivaldi's Magnificat plays in the background, echoing around our nearly empty house as we prepare to move. I'm reminded of the grandeur of the passing moment, the profundity of the details of our lives, the sacredness of life, the gift of breath, the consequences of getting milk in Toothpick's furry ear.     It's been said that one secret of great art is the use of contrasts. It's been said that God the Creator is the ultimate artist. And Oh, how He uses contrasts!     I study the movement of our lives from state to state, from house to house. I study the movement of Josiah's spoon from bowl to mouth, from bib to bear. I study the tapestry and allow myself to be wrapped up in it, enwreathed by its mystery, resting in its music. I study the rhythm of Josiah's sleeping habits, the rhythm of my temper, the movement of the seasons' change, the ebullient flow of mood and thought. I expand with the swelling of the tempo of the Magnificat and hold tight to Antonio's passion, the passion of man, the passion of Mary.     I rise and I rest and I live on these words: My soul doth magnify the Lord.

What I Didn't Mean

i did not mean

to damage the good leaves

when i pinched off blossoms of yesterday

to tear un-gently at the life-source stems

to be cold-hearted, to be rushed and hurried

to hurt the plant i love, to jostle and shake 

the leaves still flavorful, still good. 

But rather meant to un-inhibit life growth

to make space and room for abundance

to be a good gardener, to be grateful 

to steward well, to do only the very most right thing.