Lord, That I May See

There are two poems that I have read called Leisure, both of which were an inspiration for this blog and its title. Here is one of the poems by William Henry Davies. LEISURE What is this life, if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep and cows. No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night. No time to turn at Beauty's glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance. No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile that eyes began. A poor life this is if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.

There was a little girl at the park today . . . She pulled at my heart. Too plump, jagged teeth, pale, unhealthy skin, clumsy . . . She wore a lime green shirt that said " I'm on the Honor Roll in TALKING". That shirt bothered me. She did talk . In a highpitched squeal she jabbered, "Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby" at my little girl. Turtle, like the sunny child she is, laughed and smiled and crowed back for a while. But her attention was pulled in many directions in that sunshine-filled park -- so much to see and do! As Turtle turned away, the girl in the green shirt floated off. She came back from time to time, squealing "Baby" repeatedly and, at intervals, said "I think she wants to play with me" and "I can make any baby smile." And there was just something indefinably sad and pathetic in her high voice and pale chubby face. I couldn't put my finger on it. Children ran screaming through the park, chasing and laughing, absorbed ...

This, like the post below, was written in Assisi, 3 years ago. It makes me ache with wistfulness to read this now. Just to have lived in this joyful moment, replete with an unearthly peace, makes everything hard or sorrowful in my life worthwhile. __________________________ I praise you, O my Lord, for color and light, for smell and hearing, for peace and silence. I praise you for birdsong, for snails, for fresh white flowers, daffodils and blooming trees. I praise you for the green of the grass, the blue of the sky, the rose and sand of ancient stones and the blue-gray of soft mist. I praise you for incense, for gold and for the rhythm of soft prayers. I praise you for cool splashing water wet upon my lips and hand and for the musical voice of a little child. I praise you, Lord, for Assisi. Peace envelops the town. The aire breathes with a hush of holiness. Sun and misty rain glisten on roofs and cobblestones. Birdsong fills the air with sweet and joyous melody. the scent of grass and...

I wrote this 3 years ago when I was a college junior studying in Rome. In March, our whole class took a long weekend trip to Assisi where we were immediately plunged into the joyful, radiant silence of that little hillside town. A semi-silent retreat was given by a priest there and I spent 3 days during the retreat, walking and sitting and soaking up the wonder around me. The piece below is relatively unedited, the words are the ones that flowed up from my soul and onto the paper. To this day, I cannot imagine Heaven without thinking of Assisi. Here I felt that the essence of Jesus was Joy. ______________________________________________ "What kind of King is Jesus? What is His Kingdom like?" Here, in this place of peace and holiness, romance and simplicity, the image of a beautiful king comes easily to my mind. And I see a king whose coming was fortold of old. All the earth struggled in darkness and turmoil. The winters were long and cold, the flowers faded and the mount...

What always strikes me about Palm Sunday is the thought of how Jesus felt riding into Jerusalem, hailed, bowed down to, cheered on and honored as a king, as the King He is. When I think of Him, riding on that donkey, gazing at the crowd, the smiling cheering faces and knowing that they would turn ugly and cruel in so few days . . . How would that feel? Would you turn bitter? Would you look out at that crowd and feel your heart turn to stone, to hate the faces smiling at you for the evil they would call for so soon? The people were hypocrites -- shallow, ungrateful, mercurial . . . the typical "mob," so easily swayed. And yet . . . we are still that way toward Jesus. We say, "Oh Jesus, you are the King. I am sorry I offended you. I won't do it again! You are the one I love. You are the one I will follow." And Jesus, He listens and loves us, knowing the entire time that we will fall again, that we will call for His crucifixion tomorrow. But He loves us, embraces...