One morning at my desk, as the sun peeked over the hills to the right of my window, the hymn, “This My Father’s World” was playing in my head. I hummed its line, “God speaks to me everywhere” more than a few times.

After lighting a candle and praying for a moment, I read a bit in Ephesians. Paul was very excited to tell the Gentiles they were in God’s circle. He talked about it being made known to him by revelation. He said he hoped they too were enabled to perceive the broadness of God’s love, and how God delights in variety. I found it noteworthy that he must have forgotten that one is supposed to throw in a couple strong Bible verses when one starts including people formally excluded.

I then read some Mary Oliver. She broke my heart. Said she did it on purpose, hoping it would never close again to the rest of the world.

Then it was time to sit and ponder. To help me slow down I chose some meditative music called “Tibetan Sunrise.”

According to the rules, my eyes were supposed to be closed, but I opened them just in time to see Brother Sun put a new filter over his lantern. The color of things got a bit richer. Orange? Yellow? Red? You know how the sun is when he’s close to the horizon, can’t make up his mind what he wants to wear.

Things slowed down indeed. I saw my candle burning, and the binoculars I keep on the window sill in case I want to zoom in on a squirrel or a crow. Outside I noticed light on the right side of my tree, shadow on the left. The rhododendron leaves, the fresh lilies, and the poplar limbs still winter bare, were being gently stroked by the wind. I thought about unseen grubs, under the large stones on the hill keeping house. For some reason, I thought about how someone seeing all this from a different point would have a different view.

God speaking to me everywhere indeed. Heart open to the rest of the world: rocks, wind, trees, Gentiles, grubs, Christ. Like the disciples on the Mount of Transfiguration, I wanted to linger.

One morning at my desk.

Toward the end of the first chapter of John, there is a scene on the banks of the Jordan River that my imagination easily enters. Come with me.

John the Baptist and two of his followers are looking over the crowd when Jesus walks by. John points to Jesus, and says words along the lines of, “That’s the one,” and without so much as a goodbye, they leave John to follow Jesus.

When Jesus notices the newbies he asks, “What are you looking for?”

Apparently they take that to mean more than a casual, “Can I help you?” because their answer was not only them inviting themselves to dinner, it’s letting him know they have just enrolled in the University of Jesus, “Teacher, where are you staying?”

I find it easy to picture Jesus looking into their faces, smiling and saying, “Come and see.”

What are you looking for?
Where are you staying?
Come and see.
Three phrases worthy of ponder.

What are you looking for? Christ asked them long ago, asks us today, perhaps in this moment.
I want to have a good answer. It deserves to come from my heart, to be true, to be my best answer.

I think I’ll go with the other two guys. Lord, I want to be where you are. Can I join the team? Where do you stay? Where can I find you when I need you? Teach me.

Here’s where I kind of envy the folks in the Gospels. They went to the house where Jesus was staying. They sat at the table with him. They took long walks with him. They saw his physical body, heard his voice, smelled his robe, and felt his embrace.

Our “where are you staying?” gets the same answer, “Come and see,” but it’s different.

Maybe the answer is actually, “Pay attention, and you will see.”

Pay attention to teachers, like John, who point to Christ and not themselves. Pay attention the heavens that declare God’s glory. Pay attention to creation that groans for a converted world. Pay attention to the cries of the needy. Pay attention to the deep and true desires of your heart. Pay attention to the movement of the Spirit in sacred words. Pay attention to the miracles all around. Pay attention and ponder the vast universe. Pay attention and see the wonder in the tiniest cell.

Sounds like a lot, but we don’t do it all at once. We just do it in only place and time we can do it, the here and now.

Come and see.

During the first week of every month I spend some time reading over the previous month’s journal entries.

Here are some thoughts from February that jumped out at me.

– Funny how the phrase, “All things pass” sometimes makes my heart heavy, and sometimes gives it hope.

– Lord, I believe that it is a good thing to have a designated prayer time. I look forward to reading, asking, pondering, and sitting quietly with the Spirit almost every morning.

It would be good to walk a little closer to you throughout the day as well.

– “We do one thing or another; we stay the same, or we change.

Congratulations, if

you’ve changed.” (Mary Oliver)

– I often wonder what I am supposed to do in all this turmoil. Perhaps for now, I am simply called to be converted, and to live a life that reflects that.

– Read Genesis this month. Seems obvious that scripture is way more mirror than crystal ball.

– I actually, honestly, truly, from deep in my soul, with all my senses, had a wonderful conversation with a waterfall yesterday.

– “When you are lost, stay where you are and I will find you.” (Holy Spirit)

– It is my intention to embrace diversity, for the human race is oh, so diverse.

I will walk in a spirit of equality, for I am not better than anyone, and everyone is worthy of my respect.

I will lean into inclusion, for the Spirit calls me to welcome and include.

– During quiet time this morning, I believe I drifted as far as I ever have in unrelated thoughts. When I came to myself, Spirit laughed and said, “Now, where were we?”