The time to be slow

This is the time to be slow,
Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes.

Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.

If you remain generous,
Time will come good;
And you will find your feet
Again on fresh pastures of promise,
Where the air will be kind
And blushed with beginning.

John O’Donohue, Irish poet and philosopher

Let us be filled with wonder

“We want to be filled with wonder and with praise, as our Lady’s heart was filled with wonder and praise. In the cave at Bethlehem she was filled with wonder. And under the Cross she was filled with wonder. This is the invitation of Advent, that we should not misuse that sense of wonder that God has put into every human heart. Let us never be filled with dark wonder at the things that go wrong and the things that are wrong, but let us be filled with wonder that God can make all things right and that he will, if we allow him. Let us be filled with the greatest wonder that he chose to come in such guise that we could hold him to our hearts, that he became small enough for us to take into our arms. May we be filled with wonder at God’s love, at God’s forgiveness, at God’s unswerving hope in us. Let us never misuse wonder, this faculty that we shall take into eternity.” (Mother Mary Francis)

Now All Breathless

“We are a breathless people, dressed as a bride in frosted satin, waiting at the altar for the Groom who bleeds red to save us from our fate.”



Two days of an icy prairie fog
and every blade of grass, and twig,
and branch, and every stretch
of wire, barb, post and staple,
is a knot or a threat in a lace
of the purest white. To walk
is like finding your way through a wedding dress, the sky
inside it cold and satiny; 
no past, no future, just the now
all breathless. Then a red bird,
like a pinprick, changes everything.
~ Ted Kooser, “Hoarfrost” in Kindest Regards: New and Selected Poems 



When the landscape emerges in the morning light frost-bitten, all iced up and white-crisp, I yearn for color, any color, to reappear with the day’s thawing out. My breath hangs like a cloud in the dry air as I crunch my way to the barn, living proof that I breathe for another day even though too many others right now can not.


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