Nothing much

And this is my prayer that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you determine what is best (Philippians 1:9-10a)

Nothing much happened this week. But here I am, my heart hungry for something to share, so I will share my nothing much. Perhaps it is like yours.

I saw sand hill cranes again this week. Like always, I heard their soprano trill before my eyes found them against a freezing blue sky, wondering why they had not flown south a month ago, wondering, too, how they know how to mill around until they form a huge wedge and make their way, wondering, too, where I would be in the wedge if I were a crane, not in front to be sure, but in the middle somewhere, happy just to be among friends, which I was … just watching them, grateful, too.

It was nothing much, but I gave thanks for the Maker of cranes who enchant me and gladden my heart.

Then, there was yesterday at Starbucks. A Middle Eastern boy, seven, I’d say, thick waves of jet-black hair covering his head. Holding the door for his parents to leave, I also stepped through the doorway to purchase my daily fortification. Turning back, I held out my hand in a ‘give-me-five’ fashion. His brown hand quickly slapped down on mine. ‘Thank you, young man,’ I said. He smiled and turned to his parents, and we went our ways, his mom and dad obviously and properly proud of their boy.

It wasn’t much. But standing in line to place my order, the image of his little hand smacking mine lingered, and I gave thanks, praying for that boy, hoping his parents make a few more like him. The world needs them.

Then, there are the words that pull at my heart each day when I read my Bible and pray whatever the words move in me. ‘The Lord will come to his temple,’ I read in Malachi, the prophet. At this, I see Jesus walking in the temple in Jerusalem, beckoning me to be with him. And hope fills me, for I know: He will come, just as he always comes to this heart of mine, assuring me that I belong to him and am not alone.

It's nothing much, just a moment of time, a moment of prayer no one else sees or hears, but for the time of this knowing I am changed into an image of the love I see and feel.

Or, I read ‘the word of God came to John in the wilderness,’ and immediately feel my tears, knowing that the One John promised has come … and will come … and is already here … in this strange and undeniable hope brimming within me, his Spirit breathing life and love into my morning soul.

It's not much, but I remember despairing days when I felt so little, if any of this, and I give thanks for the love of this Holy Mystery who comes to people like me in the wilderness of living … and always will … because for reasons beyond our ken … you and I, God says, are dear to me, precious in my sight.

So precious, St. Paul says, that Christ will complete the work he has begun in us … that our ‘love may overflow more and more.’ Reading this, I look across the living room where sits my beloved Dixie in the morning light in the chair where she always sits, and I get it.

This miracle of love transpires the same way it has for centuries: little by little, as the Great Love, who is more patient than time, works his magic … when it seems nothing much is happening.