Father-Mother, Make Me Wise


The 400-year-old Angel Oak in Angel Oak Park, on Johns Island, South Carolina, one of the largest oak trees on the planet —thevintagenews.com

A Prayer for the Tenth Day of Lent

. . . the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be entreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy. —James 3:17

Father-Mother, make me wise as with the wisdom
of an oak tree, which knows from an acorn when
and how to grow, to bud, to send forth fruit, to
rest. Untaught, it soaks its food out of the earth,
absorbs the minerals it needs, no more, and
senses where the spring originates. It shoots out
sturdy roots and capillaries thence and rises from
the ground in measured increments according to
the season. Sap dispenses nourishment to every
inch of bark and foliage; all is necessary, nothing
wasted. Yet, though economical, its yield is lush. It
thrives! The wind blows through its million leaves
whose shimmering is like applause after a fine
production at the opera. And why not? Just in
the course of living, it gives generously beauty,
shade, and oxygen. Does it know, do you
suppose, how dear it is? They say that trees speak
to each other. Oh, that we could know its
language. Just imagine all the wisdom it

Father-Mother, I could do much worse than to be
sturdy, economical, and generous as is the oak.
May I so grow, and thrive, and bless. Amen.


…and then forget to breathe


God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. —Reinhold Niebuhr

The young sink easily from head to heart like birds through low clouds, wings spread in an ecstasy of power, flipping, fluttering the tips instinctively — now dipping with the currents — now resting on prevailing winds. But they forget to think, they disengage the brain, lost in sensation, craving more of it. For all their wishing to, they were not born to soar as eagles do—not
yet, but someday, as a gift of grace, perhaps.

Solitary hawks surveilling circle low but hunt this field in vain and so with great and mighty clapping of their wings they race like arrows on the upward arc and pierce the misty layers of the sky; but even they don’t dare enrage the gods by flying where the air is thin, the ether delicate, where all their strength and skill and their sly wit are impotent.

Not yet wise, the young enlist intelligence, depend on it, and then forget to breathe. The mind is only half a navigator. Intuition is the needed complement, or else the course is set without respect to joy. The head considers well the destination; it’s the heart that loves the voyage, praising Heaven for the ocean and the


Annagrammatica card sale

Practical Spirituality, Spiritual Practicality

Sister Alma Rose: Saving Her Pennies for Paradise

Source of All, sharpen our senses, that we might see your love in all Creation
and hear your heartbeat in the high places. Amen

Sister Alma Rose seldom recommends other blogs—she is far too enamored of her own—but she thinks y’all will be well rewarded if y’all keep abreast of the postings on Being in This World: A Notion from Rohit Sharma. The author offers great wisdom, practical spirituality, spiritual practicality… with admirable brevity, whereas Sister Alma Rose will go on and on….

Being in This World is associated with a group of online communicators whose modest goal is to raise the consciousness of the entire world. Whose consciousness couldn’t use a leg up now and then? Y’all’s? Certainly not Sister Alma Rose’s, who ranks her consciousness (on a scale of 10) at 8, or 2, depending on the day, the weather, and the availability of Mr. Truman LaFollette’s incomparable lemonade.

If Sister Alma Rose is not mistaken, Rohit Sharma lives in Shimla, which is just down the road, Sister Alma Rose is convinced, from Paradise. (Sister Alma Rose is saving her pennies for a pilgrimage there.) Perhaps Rohit’s wisdom derives in part from the altitude; he, like the Ancients, lives near to the heavens, and the Ancients can hear God’s heartbeat.


Photo: Shimla Railway Station, Manmeet Sharma
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