Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O Lord of hosts, my Monarch, my God. Psalm 84: 3
The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax-collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” Luke 18: 11-12
I’m trying to plan next week’s sermon
but my mother fills my mind.
Today she would have turned
if she had not died
eight years ago, last Friday.
She was definitely more sparrow
She loved Brother Lawrence
who experienced God’s presence
She didn’t like dishes that much,
but neither did he
and that was always the point.
She could be found walking
under any weather’s sky,
or reading a book.
Child and adult
she knew a lot about suffering.
Somehow in her many moves
she always found the twigs of love
and strings of laughter,
whatever she needed for a nest.