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It rained all night last night and I slept a grateful nine hours, with only two brief moments of waking just to reposition myself in my bed. Having those two events to take forward, I feel some inner turning as well. Perhaps it’s because it happens to be Sunday, my traditional day of Sabbath rest, however that unfolds.

The gospel acclamation for this morning spoke the message to me first, saying: May the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ enlighten the eyes of our hearts, that we may know what is the hope that belongs to our call. Then a program from a long-ago event fluttered out from between two books on my side table offering me an enrichment of Paul’s words from the pen of Mary Oliver. In her inimitable style she gave me all these images to consider.

There are lots of words meaning thanks.
Some you can only whisper.
Others you can only sing.
The peewee whistles instead.
The snake turns in circles,
The beaver slaps his tail
on the surface of the pond.
The deer in the pinewoods stamps his hoof.
Goldfinches shine as they float through the air.
A person, sometimes, will hum a little Mahler.
Or put arms around old oak tree.
Or take out lovely pencil and notebook to find a few
touching, kissing words.

What more would I ask on this first day of the rest of my life?