By means of things in the natural order, we can be trained to a perception of all spiritual truths.~ St. John Climacus ("of the ladder")
The gradual turning takes place, outdoors and inward. A spring of sadness, germinations and blossoms delayed by an icy winter. Yet they haven't been thwarted.
An early morning thought came: brokenness in relationships has many causes, one of which is having an agenda. Agendas look to me larger and ornerier than simple bright plans and dreams. Agendas smack of consuming passions that override caring concern and can lead to regretful actions.
I started thinking this in terms of other people. During prayers I had to turn the focus self-ward. Agendas? Me? Oh, yeah. Especially, particularly, that one. Hm. Yes. Years and years of that one.
Maybe agendas can only be recognized by their fruits. Young, eager dreams open petals to the April breeze. Hoping for pollination, they accept what comes without raging over what doesn't.
Too often I've sought to circumvent nature, building a system, my sure-fire agenda inside cement boxes, calling it real. Busy as it appears, such activity winds up empty.
The flowers instead offer themselves to follow the season's meandering trail. In joy they spend everything, not plotting exact parameters for success. Without looking efficient or trendy, they simply are who they are and become what they become.
May I truly observe and come to follow this, another offering by St. John of the Ladder, who in stillness opened like petals the efforts of his soul:
An early morning thought came: brokenness in relationships has many causes, one of which is having an agenda. Agendas look to me larger and ornerier than simple bright plans and dreams. Agendas smack of consuming passions that override caring concern and can lead to regretful actions.
I started thinking this in terms of other people. During prayers I had to turn the focus self-ward. Agendas? Me? Oh, yeah. Especially, particularly, that one. Hm. Yes. Years and years of that one.
Maybe agendas can only be recognized by their fruits. Young, eager dreams open petals to the April breeze. Hoping for pollination, they accept what comes without raging over what doesn't.
Too often I've sought to circumvent nature, building a system, my sure-fire agenda inside cement boxes, calling it real. Busy as it appears, such activity winds up empty.
The flowers instead offer themselves to follow the season's meandering trail. In joy they spend everything, not plotting exact parameters for success. Without looking efficient or trendy, they simply are who they are and become what they become.
May I truly observe and come to follow this, another offering by St. John of the Ladder, who in stillness opened like petals the efforts of his soul:
Let your prayer be completely simple. For both the publican and the prodigal son were reconciled to God by a single phrase.
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