Small Wonders Archives - Laurie Klein, Scribe

Transfer Station

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

Sonata in Stone

by Laurie Klein 23 Chiming In

Sonata in Stone, underfoot: behold a few visual echoes from nature, seemingly composed in the key of longing. These rhythmic patterns captured me, years ago, while walking California’s Jamala Beach.

They could be dancing musical staves—minus the clefs and rests and notes.

Moiré-like in pattern, they could be petrified silk.

Or stony scrolls for the heads of cellos.

Why a sonata in stone?

The word sonata (from Latin and Italian: sonare, “to sound”) denotes an instrumental composition comprising:

three or four movements
contrasting forms and keys
optional introduction and/or coda, or tailpiece

A sonata da chiesa (Italian: chiesa, “church”) was traditionally composed for worship settings. Music played for the glory of God. Without words.

In these troubled days so many conflicting words commandeer the air waves—despairing, mocking, promising, militant.

What about a time out? Let’s identify whimsy. Virtue. Everyday largesse.

I invite you to absorb the implied music in the photos below.

What do you perceive between the lines? How might God expand your perception? What prayer might you offer that we could pray alongside you?

I see the floating hems of an oil slick . . . May we cherish and guard our local bodies of water, Amen.

sonata in stone, the colors of oil slicks

I see organic brain scans for dementia . . . May grace companion our loved ones who suffer, Amen.

I see a Topo contour map . . . May we aid a loved one or stranger braving the ups and downs of this day, Amen.

Despite all that divides us, much remains that we can agree on.

Will you gift us with an observation and petition or blessing in the comments below?