Saturday, March 29, 2014

unexpectation

My friend Jenny was critiquing a project recently and said, "This has a lot of power because it's unexpected." Wait, what? I'm baffled to admit that in all my years in advertising, while I may have at times backed into creating the unexpected, I've never consciously made a point to do so. I wonder if that's because I attached a negative connotation to the word unexpected. Linking it solely to bills and news and scary things happening out of the blue. When, in reality, the unexpected most often shows up in a wonderful way for me. Probably for you, too. Like turning a corner and seeing a favorite masterpiece chalk-drawn on the street. I'm going to start mentally cataloguing unexpected delight and be more intentional about purveying it. Expect an update soon.

Sunday, March 9, 2014

look and see

Wearing God glasses is what my adorable minister friend Ann calls viewing life from a faith perspective. Richard Rohr talks about visio divina, or sacred seeing, and encourages cultivating this ancient practice by gazing deeply at a work of art and letting feelings, memories and thoughts bubble up. Then responding, reflecting, resting in God. Looking versus seeing. Makes all the difference in the world.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

a listening Lent

For the third year in a row, Arkon and I have created a Lenten Companion for Christ Episcopal Church. It's a downloadable devotional booklet with an entry for each of the 40 days leading up to Easter. Every page features a quote or scripture passage along with a little prompt for additional contemplation. As she always graciously does, the Rev. Marty Hedgpeth wrote a beautiful prayer for the last page. Listening can be a sacred act. That's what I learned from compiling the content. It made me want to become a holy listener, someone who hears beyond words and sounds, deep into the heart of things.

Saturday, March 1, 2014

questions & quince

Quite suddenly, quince. Beautiful salmon-y pink blossoms bursting out all over the neighborhood that say, "You wouldn't believe what's been going on here in these miraculous branches while you've been grousing over the frigid weather, the icy windshield, the drab days." Every year I tell myself that I'm going to do winter better, but I really just soldier through, dreaming of spring. Maybe winter is supposed to be like that. A season to wait, wonder, be quiet, think, go dormant in kind of a way. Then experience what the quince does - a bursting back to life. Seasons are such great teachers.  
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