a prophetic voice-

Alive... the air around me alive with      the sounds of birds and      the rustling of leaves in the breeze and      the far-away whooshing of a passing jet and      the lack of human voices. I sit in the enlivened silence letting the sun's rays feed      my grateful skin enjoying the soothing gentleness      of the occasional breath of breeziness while my left shoulder is massaged by      a tender caress from the voices of      a pair of mourning doves. A different kind of Sabbath a different type of prayer and praise      from a heart overflowing with      gratitude for life                         and light                    for sound                         and silence                    for simply being.                               Thanks be to God.                               This is Holy Ground.

I spent Thursday with my sister and brother-in-law at the medical center where she is being treated for the return of her cancer. As usual, I had pad and pen with me; as usual, the images which surrounded me found their way into words. Sitting in the waiting room at the gynecological oncology center, surrounded by women in various stages of cancer treatment, I feel like a voyeur, healthy woman that I am. In the corner sits an Asian woman- Japanese, perhaps- whose head is covered by a yellow scarf to conceal her baldness, a result of her chemotherapy. At the other end of the room, her equally-bald "sister" celebrates her hairlessness with a bright turquoise knitted cap, while the woman to her left is wearing a tasteful blond wig, only made  obvious by her total lack of eyebrows. On my far left, two women are engaged in loud, animated conversation, perhaps to conceal the nervousness of the one waiting to be called into the infusion room? And nearby, still an

  Lost...lost in the incredible complexity     of life's endless maze     of life's whirling, swirling dream. Rooted- yet often up-rooted,     my in-most depths laid bare     for all to see... when I would rather hide away                               disappear into the thicket's camouflage                               blend into the waiting, breathing world,                               just one among the many hurting souls. But no-     I wear my heart upon my sleeve               my wounds upon my brow               my eyes dimmed with tears               my body bent though still unbroken     I struggle to make sense                                 of what seems senseless                    to find answers to questions                                 both unexplainable and mysterious                    to find joy even in the midst                                 of the inevitable heartache                                

For my sister, Kathy... In those young days, those long-ago, long-since-past days, the gap of years loomed large, a nearly-nine-year chasm we could barely leap across and separating us in ways both ordinary and mysterious. And now we are no longer young. In your still-youthful face I see reflections of both Mom and Dad, as I do in mine, though the features have taken on a different mien, configured in a different shape on each of us. The intervening years have brought the sharing of those darker gifts we would gladly have eschewed-      the heart-rending, life-twisting loss of first-born sons...      the body's cruel betrayal as cancer's icy touch seared its way,           unseen and, at first, unfelt... But in the shining gifts of sister-love, of Christmases shared and long conversations on the phone, of laughter in the midst of pain, of chemo cuts, of precious time to simply be together, the difference of years has faded into nothingness, and we are

I have often wondered how anyone could think that creation was a one-time activity...that the creative Creator God brought it to a halt on the sixth day, according to the Genesis stories in the Hebrew bible. I find that amazingly incongruous, since I see the evidence of the on-going activity of creation around me all the time. This rose to the surface again and again for me a week ago, as- in the space of eight days- I saw five films, visited three art museums, saw the amazing "Van Gogh Alive" at Discovery Place in Charlotte, and was enraptured by the Appalachian musical, "Brother Wolf" at the Hanesbrand Theater in Winston-Salem. No, I feel compelled to inform you, this was not a usual week for me, but my dear friend, Mae, was visiting from Florida and when she comes, I try my best to fill our time- between conversations and meals- with activities we both enjoy...activities which are celebrations of the creative energy which abounds in this area and

open wide... Wide open the windows of my house are           W     I     D     E        O     P     E     N to allow the late-spring wind to sweep through dislodging hidden spider webs and dust balls lurking in corners      and under beds billowing white curtains      like the sails of a ship bound      for place mysterious & strange everything feeling fresh & clean...      fully renewed...           fully alive Wide open my arms and heart are         W     I     D     E       O     P     E     N to allow the winds of the Spirit to sweep through dislodging old hidden agendas and musty ideas lurking in the corners      of my mind hope billowing       like the sails of a ship drawing me       to ideas both mysterious & strange everything inside feeling fresh & clean...      fully renewed.....           fully, FULLY alive!