Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving brings all sorts of memories in its wake. 

All those meals with beloveds – no matter what. 

Always the turkey (except the one year when we were vegan and decided on Tofurky – but that’s another topic). 

Always Uncle B‘s pumpkin pie, and

Grandma Elaine’s special potatoes.

Always the ‘too much’ of it all and yet,

also the precarious pleasure of that fullness. 

That reliable togetherness where we remember

what it means to be human.  To belong. 

Even when the toddlers throw the food,

and the dog snatches a bite and even when

there are empty chairs, even when

it takes all day to prepare and is eaten in a half hour. 

It is all held in the frame of family. 

And it always ends, as it should,

with that same last sweet bite of pie.

Reminding us that we have come once again to this table

with our imperfect selves ---

yet there is a larger perfection that holds us here together.

            Thanksgiving 2025.

Belief

I recently read a wonderful article by the Irish poet and theologian, Padraig O’Tuama where he talked about belief and how he says he lives in the “room next door” to God.  This got me thinking about my own answer to the question. “Do you believe in God?” 

This is always a tricky question to answer – for any of us.  What does the word “believe” mean?   What does the word “God” mean?  Like O’Tuama, I sort of like living next door to the question.  I want to check in now and then, to remain friendly, yet I don’t place myself easily in the column of “believers”.  I have come to calling myself a non-theist… which sort of conveniently skips around the question.  I once wrote a paper entitled “Circling Around the Dream of a God”.

The fact is that there are many questions that I spend more time pondering than the question of my belief in a God.  How do I live close to the highest vision of my life?  What sustains me when I am experiencing difficulty?  Whose hands are God’s hands?  How can I open my heart more readily?  What matters?  How can I put my feather weight on the scale of justice?  etc.etc.

I have written a couple of poems about this which I offer you.  Would like to hear your comments about where the word God lands in your life.

There are many of us

who live next door

to holiness.  Perhaps

it is more common

than you’d expect.

Rain falls.

The sun comes out.

Disaster befalls.

Cures happen.

Because we live

in this miraculous

natural world

which I do

believe in.

~Penny Hackett-Evans

THE GOD TOO VAST

The God too vast

to be captured

in the cage of a word

interests me.

The God living

beneath words.

Living in the cave

of my own heart

simultaneously

in vastness

beyond knowing.

Silent holiness evident

everywhere

yet impossible to grasp.

To that God

it’s hard to pray.

I need to hold

a smooth stone

a feather, a shell,

or feel my own heartbeat

as a doorway

to that God.

So intimate,

 vast,

silent,

so hard to pin down.

~Penny Hackett-Evans

TOUCH

Take a moment to just breathe.  Gently close your eyes, breathe easy and notice how your breath interacts with your body.  Pay attention to its coming and going without forcing it to be any certain way.  Just notice how it IS.  Notice that you have a body.  After settling into your breath for a few minutes, slowly place one hand on any part of your body that seems to want to be touched – perhaps there is a small ache or dull pain or itch or roughness.  Do this before reading on! 

When we touch our body, we are giving it a message that we hear what it is trying to tell us.  Our brains certainly give us a lot of information and we are used to listening to what we THINK.  But our bodies have a different sort of wisdom… a wisdom that is a bit more subtle than the stories our brains tell us.  Can you explore a bit about what kind of wisdom your body has to share with you when you slow down and pay attention to it right now. 

If there is a place in your body that is stressed or tired or achy or painful, place your hand there.  Breathe softly and just notice what you notice.  Now imagine that you are comforting a child who has a fear or an ache of some sort.  What might you do with your hand for that child?  Maybe you gently pat the place that hurts.  Maybe you softly rub it.  Maybe you rock just a bit.  Maybe you soothe it by humming to it softly.

Just experiment with this idea of asking your body for its wisdom and then listening to what it is telling you.  Place a hand there, soothe yourself.  Tune into the messages that our bodies are sending us all the time. 

HOW IT IS NOW

~Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

In every moment, doors appear—

not literal, of course, with knobs and locks,

but metaphoric, yes, with thresholds and casings

and simple invitations I feel

in my body, an architecture of possibility.

I didn’t used to notice them.

Was it because they weren’t there,

or because I simply had not yet learned

to see them? Now I marvel

at how omnipresent they are,

and all they ask of me is that I choose

to step through them or not

.I recognize them more in my body

than with my mind. As if the body

has spent decades learning, 

oh, this is whatit feels like when a door appears.

As if the mind is at last learning to say

yes, body, I believe you. Now I trust

that I can change everything with

just one step across that invisible

threshold. Or not. Now I know

once I take that step, I can’t return

to the place I had been.

And there will always be

another door.

Another door.

Another door.