-Ansel Adams

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ten years today,
heaven’s heart crashed down.
ten years to today,
their hearts still know.

before 10 years,
i did not see.
a dim reflection today
of hope learning.

i’m humbled.
i’m shook.
thank God?
you see me.

love.

love is a many splendored thing | love lift us up where we belong | all you need is love | in the name of love, want more in the name of love | some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs | and I will always love you   (thanks Moulin Rouge for the help).

Oh what we’ve done with love -  making it oh-what-a-feeling  – an experience  – a silly love song.

I have readily admitted on this here blog, that I fall in love all the time – I fall in love with books, with characters, with songs, with movies, with tv shows, with places, with things and with people.   Falling in love isn’t hard.

Staying in love … that’s the challenge.    When the connection fades, when the rush lessens, when the new-ness becomes steady, that’s when love becomes a choice.

That old letter I read this morning spoke of not only loving much but loving well.  Loving appropriately, sincerely and intelligently – not just sentimental gush.  I am can be ridiculously sentimental as demonstrated by the boxes in the closet of the spare room.

I love much, no doubt there

But I want to love well.

And not just that which I have fallen in love with but that which is unattractive and challenging.

Some people have had a knee-jerk-reaction when I mull that ultimately love is a choice.  They counter with yet another silly love song: sometimes love just ain’t enough.   Sure to love well could be to walk away despite the brokenness that ensues but mostly I think it’s a crutch.  Just like we are afraid in the west of arranged marriages, we are afraid of love being a choice – afraid of missing the chemistry, the magic and ironically, the freedom to choose the love we want.

We’re a mess.  We push against our deepest desires and we choose the easy way out.   On many days, we let fear win.

Even still, I’m positive I will continue to fall in love on a daily basis.
I’m also positive I will continue to love much – it seems to be written into my DNA.
But I will push on to choose to stay in love.
I will push on to love well despite how messy it is.
I will let crazy-love win and release me from what I so deeply fear.

Nothing is more practical than
finding God, than
falling in Love
in a quite absolute, final way.
What you are in love with,
what seizes your imagination, will affect everything.
It will decide
what will get you out of bed in the morning,
what you do with your evenings,
how you spend your weekends,
what you read, whom you know,
what breaks your heart,
and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.
Fall in Love, stay in love,
and it will decide everything.

Attributed to Fr. Pedro Arrupe, SJ (1907–1991), from Finding God in All Things: A Marquette Prayer Book © 2009 Marquette University Press.

How did I not know that Tolkien said this?

It’s on my favorite t-shirt.

It’s pink and has my “pilgrim” shoes (i.e. sandals) on it.

It seems even more “pilgrim-e” and profound now that those words have context and an author (and a pretty creative and cool one at that).

Not all who wander are lost.   Wandering but not lost.   I like it.

I like it more knowing the author.

That happens a lot though in my life at least:

a piece of pottery means more when I know the potter that threw it, chiseled it, fired it and glazed it.

a painting means more when I know who held the brush and stroked the colors.

a song means more when I know the poet and story behind the music.

and words means more when I know the heart and pen that composed them.

all that being said reminds me that

the sunset, the stars and my dear four-legged friend lying beside me mean more, when I know their author and creator.

Thankful for wandering.

Thankful for not being lost.

Thankful for knowing where I am.

Thankful for the GPS that recalculates my path when I miss the turn.

Thankful for the mapmaker.

Had lunch with a new friend today who also wears pilgrim shoes.

He happens to also be one of the singer/songwriter types.

Like most of us wandering souls, he’s trying to find home.

Here’s one of his offerings for the journey.

Amen.

With 1398 miles of I-40 between Flagstaff and the Ryman, I wasn’t making the show.   But I did stop and think: what great musical piece de resistance  am I missing?

I love my music.

And I looove my live music.

It’s fair to say that in certain seasons of my life, the title, groupie would not be far fetched.

But tonight in Baderville, Arizona, this concert can’t be beat.

The sun setting behind the peaks is by far the most brilliant LED screen I’ve seen.

The lightening in the distance playing harmony in the monsoon opus, is the best light show ever.

The swing of the hammock chair beats the jump or the jig, regardless of how close Bono might be.

This covered porch, what a view! box seats extraordinaire.

Yesterday the sound of the wind shaking the trees and the grasshoppers’ snapping their click, was amplification on par with any stadium.

And the sweet moans of a one year old falling to sleep? Who can write better lyrics than that.

As my friend texted when I told him where I was: now that’s the best concert ever!

On the shuttle from Phoenix to Flag – I couldn’t see enough of the cactus – the cartoon-like-ones that leave you wondering if the road runner would appear on the scene at any moment.   I imagine my posture was a little like my four legged friend when he’s on the trail of chipmunks and squirrels.   In the van, I kept turning and twisting around to look out this window and then that one and back again to this one.   My eyes couldn’t take it all in.   Oh the sheer excitement of wanting to miss not one of those armed catcus.

As we drove through city, I noticed the palm trees…   my first time I saw a live palm tree was on par with seeing the cactus.   For me, it’s a marked moment to see things that have been held captive on the screen, grounded in real life.

I actually thought to myself: palm trees and cactus in the same place – I’m in heaven.

I’m in heaven: I’ve had that thought several times over the last four months when I stand back and look at my life — it’s the “pinch me I think I’m dreaming” sort of thought.   Followed shortly by the subtle fear that I’ll wake up very soon and heaven will be gone.   Because heaven is a place we go when we die, right?  Because good things don’t last here on earth, right?

I suppose I could choose to believe that still.   I suppose many still do.

But I choose to believe that heaven can be found here on earth – heaven is growing here on earth.   the kingdom of heaven begins within me – begins here in the wonder of monsoons, cactus and palm trees; in the peace of peaks, wild flowers, decks and swings;  in the love of friends so close to be family and family so close to be friends; in the joy of first birthdays and fresh, clear air; and in the faith of new calls, new jobs and new sights.

I choose to be part of the ushering forth of a new heavens and a new earth – all things new, beginning with me.   I want to be part of making more heaven on earth, of shrinking the great divide, and of offering hope amidst debt, joblessness, confusion, destruction and heartache.

Honestly, I think I fear acknowledging heaven on earth because to do so would mean I have something to lose.  In doing so, I  acknowledge my desire for goodness, for beauty, for things to work out – I acknowledge my own scars as well as the need for something more.   And all this is to be vulnerable.  And to be vulnerable is to be hurt.

So I choose to not be afraid.  I choose to live in the uncertainty of sorrow mixed with joy; and of hurt mixed with love. I chose to live in heaven on earth because one day I will wake up from this dream and know that all is well, all is new and I am in heaven.