A Word for 2015



Some who love birds are called birders,
so are ones who love words known as worders?

(Just wondering--b)

I'm happy to be a member of a small covenant group.  We've each decided to choose a special word of her own to carry throughout 2015, and to share it with the rest of us.  

I've been brain-storming, stacking words up in my journal. They each present me with meaning and challenges, but I'm looking for one that resonates deeply with my life right now.  And that's rather hard to pinpoint--I ought to know it when I hear it, right?

It needs to maintain its relevance all year, and also be a word that draws me forward, because I definitely plan to progress on my spiritual journey.
 

Yahweh, please guide me through life and, when I pause in dark places, remind me that your will is not done in a state of stagnation nor of fear.

Lately I've heard and read on blogs about others who use this focus-word practice, and prefer it over making resolutions.  One of my sisters, doing this for the first time, has chosen "mindful." A friend's daughter chose "dare."  I love hearing the words, why they've been selected, and how they'll be used during the year. 

Anyway, I may have found my word now.  I've studied it awhile through a "prism" of sorts, allowing the facets of prayer and contemplation to reveal its many colors. It seems to be a good word for me, but  rather than share it now, I think I'll hold it, wear it, and live it a day or two. Then I'll let you know.
 

The Little Haiku that Couldn't...and then Could

 

On a totally different note about words, I don't think it's a rare thing for people to  occasionally awaken with prophetic or poetic words firmly planted in their minds, words begging to be part of something.  One morning last week, the phrase "warm shoulders of earth" was in my head when I woke up. It seem like great bones for the beginning of a haiku, so I grabbed a scrap of paper off my bedside table, and scribbled and tweaked syllables till it was done. I thought it was pretty, but a bit too vague (as in "what's she talking about?).  

As I carried my little scrap from upstairs bedroom to downstairs office, I stopped along the way to make coffee, find something to munch on, and attend to various other distractions.  Yes, I lost my haiku. I never saw it again, and suspect that I accidentally tucked it into the pile of newspapers headed to the recycle bins down the street. My temporary frustration over this small loss was pretty silly, considering the mediocrity of the poem. I only needed to sit down and write a better haiku!

Still inspired by the words I woke with, here's the better haiku along with a photo of our backyard river.

 

 

river never sleeps

within earth's warm embrace

her soft breath rises

B

p.s. I just realized there is a moral for me in this story.  No, it's nothing to do with senior moments, or disorganization, or even about poetry. The moral for me is that when God sends inspiration through dreams, words, nature, and people of all sorts--it's not always the sight, literal word, or person that is his message. Many times it's just the invisible inspiration itself, to be breathed in and then used to his glory in some way.