Tag: Inspiration in nature

The Truth of Nature

“That particular moment will never come again.” –Claude Monet

When I attended the wonderful exhibition of Monet paintings at the Denver Art Museum (fall 2019), I enjoyed viewing up close the originals of many of Monet’s famous paintings. He is known, in part, for painting the same scene in different light, different seasons, and from different angles. You may recall his many colorful and dreamy paintings of his water lily pond or of the haystack series (a few of which are pictured above).

“Above all I wanted to be truthful and exact,” wrote Claude Monet in 1880. “For me a landscape hardly exists at all as a landscape, because its appearance is constantly changing… You have to know how to seize just the right moment in a landscape instantaneously, because that particular moment will never come again, and you’re always wondering if the impression you got was truthful.”

Monet’s observation and intuition describes, in a way, how I feel about the seasons of life and nature. I want to live each day being present to and attentive to the subtle changes of light and shadow, color and shape. I want to let them speak to me, let God speak to me through the truth of the moment, always also watching expectantly for the possibilities of the next moment.

I feel this way about writing a poem as well. The desire to be accurate to the feelings and truth of a moment, to seize and distill it in just the right “colors” and interplay of words to give an impression that expresses truth of “that particular moment” that will never come again in the very same light but which speaks of both the imminent and the transcendent.

One year I made a practice of taking a photo of my pollinator-friendly xeriscape garden, from the same angle every month of the year, to document how it changed, and how differently it presented itself and spoke to me. Some plants come up earlier, some later. Some flowers bloom only in spring; others begin flowering in mid summer. Different species of birds visit the feeders and water bowl in different seasons. The colors of the birds’ plumage changes from duller in the winter to vivid in the spring. Light plays differently on tree leaves and pine boughs as it shines direct and bright from above or paints a golden glow from lower in the sky. One season or time of day does not tell the whole truth of the garden. Just as one visit in one setting doesn’t tell you all about a person or a group of people.

God will speak to us in all seasons and show us different perspectives about the situations, events, and people around us. Take time to consider whether (as Monet said) “the impression you got was truthful.”

I had Monet’s words and my own experiences and observations in mind when I wrote this poem:

NATURE DOESN’T LIE

Nature’s truth presents in facets, angles of

perspective,

changing light,

filtering seasons.

Observe in stages or you won’t know its truth.

You cannot know with

one passing click or

fleeting look.

It doesn’t show you its whole self all at once, so

be still,

listen,

feel.

Recognition, Respect, Revealing come in

mutuality….

Knowing

happens there.

Be present to a flower, tree, or pond, and

gradually it will

be present to you

in truth.

~Catherine Lawton

(poem excerpted from the book, Glimpsing Glory: Poems of Living & Dying, Praying & Playing, Belonging & Longing)

Photos/Art: Wikipedia/public domain

Rocks Crying Out?

Some of my polished rocks

When I was a young child growing up in small towns, my preacher dad would take breaks from ministry pressures by going fishing. My sister and I happily followed him down trout streams as he sought the perfect fishing hole. We jumped from boulder to boulder or waded in the clear, cold water and delighted in discovering colorful, shiny rocks on the creek bottom. I saved some pretty pebbles and was disappointed when they dried and lost their shine. But a few came home in my pocket, nevertheless.

Now, my children and grandchildren know I’m likely to pick up rocks anywhere I go. I examine special ones that catch my eye as I dig in the garden, walk in the neighborhood, hike in the mountains, and comb the beaches. I’m likely to have rocks in my pockets as well as a few rocks in the car, interesting rocks lining shelves and filling jars and boxes here and there in my home.

Microphotograph of design in a rock

A few years ago, my son gave me a rock tumbler for Christmas. Then I felt more like a collector, amateur though I am. When my first batch of stones came out of the tumbling process smooth, glowing, and glassy—much like the creek-bottom pebbles of my childhood—I was hooked on collecting, learning about, creating with, even “meditating” on rocks.

A few favorites

I have learned more about rocks in the process, and my children and grandchildren admire the polished rocks with me. Sometimes we look for pictures in their designs. I’ve even made a few Christmas gifts with polished stones.

My favorite stones to polish are beach agates and jasper.

Here is my husband searching for semi-precious stones on Agate Beach at Patrick’s Point State Park in Northern California.

As I have said elsewhere, looking for agates on the beach is what it’s like for me, as a poet, to be present to the thoughts, emotions, winds, and waves of gritty life to dig into my heart in the moment and find metaphors that seem to reveal themselves to me: reflecting light, shaped by experiences and observations, by forces of the environment, by the workings of Love

Rocks appeal to us for many reasons:

  • The joy of discovering treasures.
  • Rocks tell a story, often an ancient story, about where they have come from and where we have come from and where we are headed. And we sing, “On Christ, the solid rock I stand.” Rocks preserve, encapsulate, and speak of history (for instance, fossilized rocks, moss agates, picture rocks, volcanic rocks, and precious gems).
  • Rocks feel solid and permanent, when so much in life and in the world is fleeting and fragile. One of the prayers attributed to St. Patrick begins, “I arise today through the strength of heaven; light of the sun, splendor of fire, speed of lightning, swiftness of the wind, depth of the sea, stability of the earth, firmness of the rock….” Similarly, the prophet Isaiah exclaimed, “He will be the stability of your times” (Is. 33:6).
  • Rocks remind us of things hidden. We try to clear our vegetable garden of rocks, but every spring we find more rocks that have worked their way up from the deeps. Small rocks seem to appear out of nowhere; but they remind me that rock makes up much of our earth’s outer layers, and rocks have a constant cycle of breaking down and being re-formed.
  • Rocks can speak to us. Even as a child, the famed Jesuit geologist and mystic theologian, Teilhard de Chardin delighted in the hardness and stability of translucent and glittering stones. He later wrote and taught how to see God everywhere, to “see him in all that is most hidden, most solid, and most ultimate in the world” (from Teilhard’s The Divine Milieu). When religious leaders opposed the people praising Jesus, he told them, “I tell you … if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out” (Luke 19:40).
  • Stones are sometimes symbols of difficulties and trials. We might say, “I’ve been traveling a rocky road lately.” But rocks can remind us that while constant change is a given in nature and in our lives, God who is everywhere, including in the cycles and changes of seasons, is also unchanging in essence. God’s love will always endure and keep rising and getting our attention and sending us reminders. Though God’s loving reminders may sometimes feel like obstacles when we want an easy path … If we give heed, the very rocks in our path will speak and have the potential to help form us. Beautiful rocks and fine gemstones were formed by extreme pressures over long periods of time. These gems uniquely encapsulate the effects of pressures and changes in the formation of our earth home. Examine the depth and design of many stones and you’ll see exemplified the beauty and creativity of God.

Heart-shaped rocks, almost like valentines from nature or from God

So, take a walk and look for Beauty in beautiful rocks, Stability in solid, hard rocks, Creativity in interesting rocks, maybe even listen to—and consider—what the rocks might be saying as they “cry out.”

On hopeful paths of prayer and poetry,

~Catherine Lawton


This post (slightly revised) was first published for “Collect Rocks Day” 9-16-23 at Godspace HERE.

The Animals In Our Lives

Who doesn’t love animals and animal stories!

Photos of furry creatures and social-media videos of cute animal antics … books and movies of animal adventures … these are popular because they evoke feelings of wonder, memories of beloved pets, joy and excitement of wildlife sightings, or sensory experiences of a trip to the farm. Here is what I believe about our relationship to animals:

• Animals are our fellow creatures, loved by the Creator.
• Animals can provide companionship, inspiration, and comfort.
• Animals can teach us about the Creator and how to relate to God.
• Animals provide metaphors of our lives that help us understand ourselves.
• Animals (especially those in the wild) represent elements of Mystery.

God cares for his earthly creatures. He created them, blessed them, called them “good.” He saved the animals from the Flood and then made a covenant with “every living creature.” Many Scriptures display God’s care for animals. Old Testament laws protected animals. Jesus’ parables affirmed and spotlighted them.

In God’s Creatures: A Biblical View of Animals, Susan Bulanda asks: “Is it possible that God has put the desire to care for all animals in the hearts of many people … God’s love for his creation showing through humans?” Later, she adds: “Could there be subtle lessons of love God gives us through our pets?”

I think you will recognize these reciprocal lessons of love—some subtle and some not so subtle—in the stories, poems, anecdotes, and reflections included in this volume.

Sometimes animals are mirrors for us to see ourselves more clearly. I have found my dog to be a barometer of my emotions. His responses tell me when I am getting anxious or when my words sound too harsh; he responds much differently when my tone of voice is sweet and cheerful. It makes me feel bad to see him put his ears back and watch me with a worried expression. It makes me feel good to see him wag his tail and smile at me.

Animals, both wild and domestic, also help us by calling forth our sense of awe. As Thomas Berry has said, we need all of creation, including the animals “to evoke a world of mystery, to evoke the sacred.”

I continually wonder at the wilds of nature that can thrive alongside, often in spite of and struggling to adjust in the midst of, the civilized, tamed, domestic world. When a bird comes close and sings, when a deer steps out of the forest; these surprise sightings thrill. Finding myself sharing space with a wild creature, aware of each other, watching each other even for a moment, is a reminder of not only how different we are, but of what we have in common. Both the animal kind and my kind have breath. We communicate with body language and voice. We walk, run, choose mates, nurture families, search for food, seek shelter. And when we share moments of awareness and attention, the resulting experiential knowledge surely changes or affects us both in some way (hopefully not making us more fearful of each other), perhaps increasing our appreciation of our common creation.

We also share our lives with pets and, sometimes, farm animals. Our human friends learn to accept our animals as “part of the deal.” In a deeper application, the slogan often seen on kitchen towels or plaques, “Love me, love my dog” could, I think, be re-phrased “Love God, love God’s creatures.” Theologians have said as much, and more.

  • Celtic saint Columbanus exhorted, “Understand, if you want to know the Creator, created things.”
  • Orthodox scholar Maximus the Confessor taught the idea that creation (as well as Scripture) is God’s book. “God is ‘encoded’ for us in everything he has made. We are surrounded on every side by his ‘letters,’ his ‘analogies’ in creatures….” Our part is to care for, as well as give attention and respect to, the creatures, and even to praise God on their behalf.
  • Protestant evangelical theologian (and bird watcher) John Stott wrote, “God has given to human beings a midway position between himself and the animals. … In consequence, we combine the dependence on God that is common to all his creatures with a responsible dominion over the [animals] that is unique.”
  • Catholic writer Charles Camosy adds, “Nearly all theologians now agree that the biblical dominion God has given human beings over creation is not a license to use and dominate, but rather a command to be caretakers and stewards.”

I am thankful for all the dogs, cats, fish, chickens, ducks, birds, as well as the rabbits, squirrels, and deer that have been part of my life at different stages. I have cared for them, learned from them, and shared life with them. Many times when I or my family were facing challenging times, our hearts and spirits were lightened because the animals were there.

God, of course, is always there, everywhere, ever present to us; but God, who is spirit, does not have a corporeal body with skin, hands, and feet. Animals (as well as people) help God help us feel our loving, relational God’s presence.

With all this in mind, I enjoyed compiling, editing (and writing a number of) these often-funny, sometimes sad, and always awe-inspiring experiences with animals. I hope our readers enjoy these stories, too. You may find yourself laughing, crying, and appreciating more than ever God’s creatures, the animals in our lives.

On hopeful paths of prayer and poetry,

~Catherine Lawton

 

 


This post first published Jul 29, 2021. It was extracted from the Introduction to the book, The Animals In Our Lives: Stories of Companionship and Awe.The book contains delightful accounts of people with their dogs, cats, sheep, horses, backyard birds, woodland deer, and many other creatures. Our animals—pets, farm animals, and wildlife—inspire our awe, entertain us, help us, teach us, play with us, mourn with us, even work with us. Any animal lover will enjoy this very readable book.

Image credit: © Can Stock Photo / Gajus

 

The Important Sound of Silence

I took this photo of a viewpoint sign in Rocky Mountain National Park.

I have visited the park during all seasons. In spring and summer the melodies of birds, squirrels, chipmunks rise and fall on the air. In late summer and early fall, elk calls bugle through the park. Then, on many winter days a soft, white layer of snow breathlessly quiets the scene. Would you think of this “utter, complete silence” as a sound, as Andre Kostelantez did—even “one of the greatest sounds of them all”?!

This brings questions to my mind:

  • Where/how do we find silence?
  • Why is silence important/needed?
  • What can we learn in silence?
  • Do we tend to avoid—maybe even fear—silence?

My curiosity piqued, I looked up Andre Kostelantez and learned that he was a Jewish/Russian immigrant to America who became one of the most successful conductors and arrangers of music in history. Among many accomplishments, he conducted the New York Philharmonic Orchestra.

I personally knew an orchestra musician who spoke of silence as if it were a sound. She was my daughter’s violin teacher. She drilled into my daughter the concept that a “rest” in the music was an “important nothing.”

Music rests, seasons of silence, “important nothings”; these provide natural, satisfying rhythms to music and to our lives. This is a principle that God seems to have woven into creation. As physical, emotional, and spiritual beings, we need times of silence that can become “the greatest sound of all” to us.

 Nancy Swihart has learned to embrace this life-enhancing principle. In her memoir, On Kitten Creek, she describes the times of silence on Kitten Creek farm that have become to her, as Kostelantez expressed it, one of the greatest sounds of them all:

“On prayer walks I do most of the listening,” writes Nancy. “Up here in this sky-drenched pasture a comforting solitude is one of the greatest gifts the farm has provided—placing my body, soul, and spirit into the presence of God without distraction.”

Nancy has learned to seek and relish these important-nothing rest times that give meaning and lilt to the music of her life.

Have you found ways to incorporate regular seasons of silence into the flow of your days?

On hopeful paths of prayer and poetry,

~Catherine Lawton


This post was first published in 2018.

As the Trees their Glory Hurl

Leafy Lament

I’m raking leaves and raking leaves,
scrape, scrape, scraping leaves;
reds and oranges, greens and yellows,
all the crispy, crunchy fellows
in soft piles under the big
Mulberry trees.

Leaves are falling all around me,
on my head, before, behind me,
making mockery of my raking,
all my nice green lawn o’ertaking.

It’s a leafy, leafy world
as the trees their glory hurl.
Oh, I need a vacuum sweeper
or a giant tree-leaf eater.

–Catherine Lawton

This poem was written a number of years ago before our neighborhood had leaf blowers. Extracted here from the book, Remembering Softly: A Life In Poems. This post was first published five years ago. I thought we could all use a little humor again.

Photo © Can Stock Photo, BackyardProduct

 

Be(e) Doing Good

As my husband and I make our backyard garden a hospitable place for creatures, pollinators, and people … I watch the bees on flowers (like in these photos I took). The bees inspire me by the goodness of their work: They seem to remind the plants to produce, and the blooms and blossoms respond by flourishing. Honeybees pollinate and gather nectar within about a two-mile radius, reminding me of the interconnectedness of nature and of us all. They risk the journey of flying out to forage, then back to the hive laden with pollen and nectar, despite the perils of nature’s predators and humans’ poisons. Thus they store up honey that will feed the hive in winter as well as the people who respectfully extract and enjoy the delicious, surplus honey.

IMG 6154

As I watched a “bee doing good” this week, I was reminded to “be doing good” myself.* And this poem came to me:

Be(e) Doing Good

As you buzz about (many things)

    are you singing, bringing out

    the fruitfulness of life?

As you wing from place to place

    do you cherish each colorful face

    in the garden of life?

As you pollinate far and wide

    are you ever calling forth

    the Creativity of Life?

As you gladly sip secreted nectar

    will you with honey feed

    both the world and the hive?

Catherine Lawton


*”Jesus … went about doing good.” (Acts 10:38)

This post was first published at GodSpace

 

Walking Together On The Way

Hiking the Camino de Santiago

GUEST POST by Judith Galblum Pex

Having just returned from two weeks on the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain, I’ve concluded that multiple-day walking is one of my most satisfying activities. The Camino is a 750 kilometer ancient pilgrim’s route currently hiked by about 350,000 people a year from all over the world.

I love the simplicity and freedom of life on the trail—getting up early in the morning and walking from point A to point B without all the distractions or to-do lists of everyday life. Being out in nature the whole day relaxes, focuses, and calms me. Though I haven’t done it as much as I might like, I believe that all these trails are designed to traverse through natural settings; both the Camino and the Israel Trail, which I hiked seventeen years ago, certainly cross stunning landscapes.

A highlight of the Camino was the people we met. Simply by deciding to walk the Camino, we entered into a special group of people who, for a period of time, all had the same goal. We developed an instant camaraderie and even a surprising intimacy with some. We belonged to the same band or company, an innate need for every human being. (And this happens to be the title of my soon-to-be-released novel: To Belong.)

On the Camino, we found ourselves walking alongside folks, sitting together for drinks or meals, and meeting in the evening at the hostels. Not all, but certainly many of the “pilgrims,” as the hikers on the Camino are called, are there to find answers to big questions or solutions to life’s problems. As we hiked along with our backpacks, we could easily share how Jesus came into our lives, lifted our burdens, and gave us purpose.

Camino means “way” in Spanish, and for me, a walk like this is a metaphor for traveling through life, each of us on our own path. Jesus said, “I am the way,” (John 14:6). As we trek, we develop rhythms and instinctively look for the smoothest and flattest paths—though climbing mountains gives us a better perspective on the entire landscape, what lies ahead and from where we’ve come.

If you don’t carefully follow the trail symbols, you can easily go astray. At one point, we found ourselves traipsing through a wheat field with no markers to be seen; but after we found our way back, we realized we gained something in our unexpected detour. Life is also like this. Having a good guide, a book or an app, was super important on the Camino in the same way that I need the Bible to direct my life. Whom we walk with is important on the trail. Good, compatible companionship makes all the difference; I’m thankful every day that John and I are good hiking and life partners to each other.

There’s obviously a reason that the Bible often uses the words “walk” and “way” and their synonyms, especially in Proverbs, a book of wisdom literature. “I have taught you in the way of wisdom; I have led you in right paths. When you walk, your steps will not be hindered, and when you run, you will not stumble” (Prov. 3:11,12). In Ephesians 5:8, Paul the apostle writes, “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light.”

~Judy Pex, May 31, 2022


Photo credit: Judith Galblum Pex

 

 

The Long Cold Stare of January

JANUARY

A captive to granite gray stare,

I shiver and hunker there.

Clouds shudder also and

shake loose frozen crystals

flashing slivered light.

Now silver gleam the gazing eyes.

I rise unblinking, captivated.

As I awoke from sleep one morning, these words came distinctly to my mind: The long, cold stare of January.

I don’t know where those words came from. But they came clear and definite and stayed with me. I wrote that phrase in my journal, thought about it a while, looked outside at the wintry landscape, then composed the (above) poem.

I live in northern Colorado. January is our coldest month. And it is a long month, 31 days. The cold, short days and long nights can make one feel captive. It is a season when people, those who can afford it, like to travel to places like Mexico, Florida, or Spain. Other people may dream of warm beaches during January. But the weather often keeps us indoors and isolated. One can feel captive.

One can also feel captive in an uncomfortable way when people stare at them. Cold stares are especially disconcerting.

Feeling trapped, fearful, impatient with your situation can make your outlook seem hard and gray. But, truly, there is beauty in every season. Opening our hearts to “see” that beauty can turn those cold, gray eyes to a silver gaze.

Contemplatives speak of the “gaze” of the face of Christ that holds, sees deeply, and can draw out the inner radiance of one’s true self.

Recently I was reading a story that described the “silver” eyes of some Scottish Highland folk. I had never heard eye color described as silver before. Polished silver is not necessarily a cold-looking metal. A warmth seems to gleam from deep inside.

Hidden in every hard place is hope. If we look for it with eyes to see, it will eventually gleam forth; and then, rather than be captives we may become captivated by the presence of love and even joy.

~Catherine Lawton


Photo by Kacper Szczechla on Unsplash

This post was first published at Godspacelight 1/18/22, here slightly edited.

Bobo, Ouyang, and Susan: Experiencing Community

Beauty, comfort, and caring community can come to us in surprising ways.

Ouyang is a Chinese friend of our author Susan Elaine Jenkins. They became acquainted while she lived and taught school in China for many years. Ouyang appears in Susan’s memoir SCANDALON: Running From Shame and Finding God’s Scandalous Love. If you read Scandalon, then you know how Ouyang helped Susan adjust to life in China and how Susan helped Ouyang better understand Christianity. Their conversations shared in the book are deep and moving and show God’s hand at work across cultures.

So I was delighted when Susan and Ouyang contributed a story, “Bobo the Hedgehog,” to our most-recent release, The Animals In Our Lives: Stories of Companionship and Awe.

“Bobo the Hedgehog” relates a moving childhood experience of Ouyang during the dreary days of the Communist Revolution in China—a period of time with very little beauty, comfort, or caring community. Seemingly by accident Ouyang found all those things—beauty, comfort, and caring community—when he happened upon a rare thing, a rose garden, one of the few gardens sanctioned by the government. And inside that “secret,” gated garden was a kind old gardener who befriended Ouyang. When the old man found a hedgehog by the river, he kept it hidden and let it be Ouyang’s “pet” for a while until the risk became too great and the hedgehog was released back into the wild. But the comfort and joy a pet hedgehog brought to the boy never left him and became a part of who he is today.

The kind gardener (however clandestinely) sharing the creature with him, at a time when families were not allowed to own pets, a terrible time when starving people were eating whatever animals, including pets, they could find … is the type of experience that can give needed hope to a child in a bleak environment.

Ouyang’s childhood memory, written for him by Susan, provides a rare glimpse into what life was like in those difficult times. It also gives a glimpse into the life and character of the boy who became the man, Ouyang.

Soon after The Animals In Our Lives was published, Ouyang found this little hedgehog (pictured above with him) on a river bank. Happy, formative, hope-giving memories again flooded back to his heart and mind.

Ouyang’s story of “Bobo the Hedgehog” is one of many included in The Animals In Our Lives, that demonstrate how animals of all kinds can give us companionship, the experience of awe, and a sense of God’s presence.

 

 

Living Creation

Stepping into the garden

We plant gardens, come what may.

In my Garden

Every morning we look out the window of our home office and see our vegetable/flower garden, and on most days we see the Rocky Mountains rising in a solid, constant backdrop to the view.

Last fall the mountains were hidden by wildfire smoke that settled over our Northern Colorado area (and much of the western states, too). We were reminded that, though nature is given to bless us and for us to steward, we cannot control it.

We’re thankful for those who manage well the wild forests, rivers, and grasslands. And here at our home place we continue to care for the piece of earth entrusted to us, and we seek to persevere with the hope and patience we learn from Creator God who brings sunshine and harvest, cycles of seasons and rains, maintains the stars in their places, and every spring calls forth new life out of burns, decay and dormancy.

Life will winlove will win … as we commune with, cooperate with, work with our living, loving God who is actively creating and re-creating.

This is a theme I feel called to share through writing and publishing, featuring …