An Orange

In my day job as an editor, and certainly in my job as a human being, I find I do a lot of navel gazing (like a blog is a form of contemplation). But sometimes when I look up and see the world, there isn’t any hidden meaning--an orange is just an orange, not a sound or a smell or a memory, not the face of my third-grade teacher at Spring Street School, hiding pungent sections of the citrus in her middle drawer, always popping wedges into her mouth when she thought we weren’t looking.

This morning, when I went to church, all I was seeing was oranges.

I was so sleepy, I took the “kneel” option every time, all but laying my head in my prayer book. Julia, our sweet substitute priest, made note of the fact that the reading today featured a vengeful God and “thanked” Patricia for leaving her with a subject that took some doing to get her head around. By the end of her sermon: she explained it. Leaving us with the main point that nevermind the Gospel reading, though God may “step back” from time to time, God’s true nature is peace and love. We are God’s hands and feet. It is through our eyes that God’s compassion exits. The condensed version.

So I really don’t have anything to tell you about what I learned or saw or intuited about the nature of God, I’m mostly just writing out of habit. Well, maybe some days God doesn’t let you think your way to Her. Maybe all you should or can be are Her hands and feet.

Sweep the dust, look for a matching pair, shoo the dogs out of the kitchen. Fold, put away. Breathe. Stoop, pull and lift. Breathe. And before you know it, you may find yourself in the moment.