Small Wonders Archives - Laurie Klein, Scribe

Dear Ones, a Gift for You

Dear readers, for seven years you have greatly encouraged and inspired me — as well as one another. I want to thank you with a gift.

This past year God has gently redeemed my insomnia. Over time, a series of linked reveries emerged. My genius friend, Sally Mowbray, graphics designer extraordinaire, has beautifully formatted the words with vibrant images captured by Unsplash photographers.

My cherished Writer’s Group urged me to make a recording. To that end, Dreamer and I have worked separately as well as together in his studio, interspersing words with music, most of it composed by my beloved, aka Bill Klein, some of it arranged by our brilliant friend, Chris Lobdell.

Today, with great joy, we’re releasing “Reveries: Matins — a soundscape for respite.”

With three clicks you can download the text with visuals as well as listen to the narrated version with original music —either separately, or simultaneously. (If you choose to experience both at one time, you’ll notice the song “Calvary” replaces the “Trinity-wick Breath Prayer” in the audio version.)

An introductory letter (text version only) suggests several ways you might use the material, if so in-kleined (couldn’t resist).

To view and/or listen, please scroll to the menu bar above and click on “Reveries.” From there you can choose your experience via “Soundcloud” (red arrow) and “view text and photo here” (download PDF).

Dear ones, and you truly are, we hope you enjoy them!

I’m also grateful to have a new poem about insomnia and prayer appear today on a website created by my stellar editor, D. S. Martin. You can read it here.

Photo of gift in pink paper by Ekaterina Shevchenko on Unsplash

Gate photo, Laurie Klein (Filoli, Woodside, CA)

From the archives: You might also enjoy Soul Mimosa — Photos & Music or perhaps this post featuring haikus and photos, Hai*Pho — No, it’s not a new entree . . .

Transfer Station

by Laurie Klein 20 Chiming In

The transfer station awaits.

Wall-to-wall, in her silver Toyota, ten-gallon buckets brim with trash: batteries and light bulbs, paper and plastic, cardboard, newsprint, cans and glass, everything duly sorted. Time for another recycle run.

A whiff from a milk jug sours the air. She collapses against the driver’s seat, powers down all the windows, then buckles up. Reaching for the key, her door still ajar, she overhears a jarring thought: This is my life.

She swivels to view the refuse of rural existence.

This?

Oh, of course: Be Here Now, etc. etc.

And yet she feels . . . singled out. Clued in. Redirected. As if the boss is calling her into his office, offering her a promotion. Moving forward involves a transfer complete with perks and a moving allowance.

Now she feels unnerved, yet energized, almost weightless, and this cracks open her longings. There’s an inner fizz somewhere near her heart, akin to an electrical charge.

“This is my LIFE!“

A bubble of laughter surprises her. Here she is, still mobile, still independent, a woman empowered by grace to make choices.

She closes the car door. Adios, drudgery. So long, resignation. Away with all she no longer needs! Upending the actual buckets will be cathartic.

She engages the engine, grinning, a little sheepish because she finally gets it.

Each task done in a day can dovetail with God’s will — in itself, a destination. She gets to ride shotgun.

Realigning her will, that’s the real work. Why has navigating this pivot taken her so many years? The idea’s not new, but today it feels like a revelation.

Every task undertaken with God — most likely unnoticed by others — counts. Just as much as writing the next blog post or poem.

En route to offload the used, she feels repurposed. Recharged.

“It is ingrained in us that we have to do exceptional things for God — but we do not,” Oswald Chambers wrote. “We have to be exceptional in the ordinary things of life, and holy on the ordinary streets, among ordinary people . . . ”

Turns out, this IS the life: Savoring the mundane, we encounter the holy.

Photo by John Cameron on Unsplash

You might also enjoy this, from the archives: A Rut Worth a Second Look

*Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, entry 10/22

“What Child Is This?” (Soundings, 3rd Impression)

by Laurie Klein 31 Chiming In

In 1865, William Chatterton Dix,
manager at a Glasgow insurance company,
fell desperately ill: depression,
raging infection, isolation—
this man, dedicated to insuring
the lives and livelihoods of others,
languished, near death.

Then, Dix rallied, experiencing
vibrant spiritual renewal, and
from his suffering he bequeathed us
words for one our cherished carols:
“What Child Is This?”

This Christmas, amid global depression,
raging illness, and isolation,
let’s remind one another
that Emmanuel, God with us,
has come … and will return.

“How beautiful on the mountains
are the feet of those who bring good news,
who proclaim peace,
who bring good tidings …
who say ‘Your God reigns!’

“Watchmen lift up their voices;
together they shout for joy …
for the Lord has comforted his people …
and all the ends of the earth
will see the salvation of our God.

“Jesus himself said, ‘I was born for this:
to tell people about the truth.
That is why I came into the world.’

“How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news!”

Isaiah 52: 7-10

Have any good news to share? We’d love to hear it and rejoice with you . . .

Alternatively, this is a season of “mean estate” for millions. We’d be equally honored to pray alongside you . . .

“What Child Is This,” traditional English folk song, lyrics by William Chatterton Dix, 1865. Public domain.
Reading: Laurie Klein
Music arranged and performed by Bill Klein

Giving Thanks (Soundings, 2nd Impression)

by Laurie Klein 14 Chiming In

Giving Thanks:

Ah, dear-to-me friends,
despite multiple, escalating
crises—worldwide—
I still believe
ever-present mercy
invites us to give thanks.

So, Dreamer and I created another recording, hoping that it will hearten you as it has us.

In this week traditionally given over to giving thanks here in America, here’s a reading and song, from our house to yours. Happy Thanksgiving—whatever forms your celebrations take this year.

Psalm 136: 1, 3-9, 26

You might also enjoy these posts from the archives on giving thanks:

Gratitude: Break free, generate life

Time to Talk Turkey

Photo by Red Zeppelin on Unsplash

The Wall (Soundings: 1st impression)

by Laurie Klein 24 Chiming In

The Wall. This year, as the holidays approach, we may find ourselves on a collision course with the seemingly insurmountable.

Rather than writing a post, here is a small heartfelt anodyne — from our house to yours — the first of several Soundings I’ll send you over the holiday months. Dreamer and I hope you’ll share these with those you know who might enjoy them. In a time of walls, relational disconnects, and lockdown, hope, too, may prove contagious.

Today you’ll hear “God of the Living,” a powerful blessing written by artist/writer/speaker Jan Richardson, followed by a song Dreamer wrote—both pieces gratefully voiced by yours truly.

GOD OF THE LIVING

When the wall
between the worlds
is too firm,
too close.

When it seems
all solidity
and sharp edges.

When every morning
you wake as if
flattened against it,
its forbidding presence
fairly pressing the breath
from you
all over again.

Then may you be given
a glimpse
of how weak the wall
and how strong what stirs
on the other side,

breathing with you
and blessing you
still,
forever bound to you
but freeing you
into this living,
into this world
so much wider
than you ever knew.

THE EYES OF ALL (based on Ps. 145:15-16, 18-19)

The eyes of all wait upon you and the reason—
oh, my Lord, you give them their meat in due season.
You open your hand, and every man is made full.

The Lord is near to all who call upon him.
He will fulfill the desire of those who fear him.
He hears their cry and he draws nigh to save.

“God of the Living” by Jan Richardson, from Sparrow: A Book of Life and Death and Life, Wanton Gospeller Press, 2020. Used by permission.

“The Eyes of All” by Bill Klein, Sounding Chord, House of Mercy Music, 1984. Used by permission.

“Stay Safe” photo by Feranmi Ogundeko on Unsplash

Brick wall photo by Shashank Hudkar on Unsplash