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Ephemeral Noun: Something that lasts for a very short time. Something ephemeral. Specifically, a plant that grows, flowers, and dies in a few days. Psalm 103:15-17 As for mortals, their days are like grass; they flourish like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more. But the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting. April Ephemerals My eyes scan the dead brown forest floor, searching for early emerging ephemerals, joyous sentinals of spring. Something about these fleeting flowers calls me back each year to witness their being. I recite their names like a seasonal litany or an annual reunion with old friends: Hepatica Cut-Leaved Toothwort Dutchman's Breeches Trout Lily Bloodroot Virginia Waterleaf Blue Cohosh Rue Anemone Spring Beauty Trillium Thanks be to God! Yes, I see you, and I see myself. Our lives, too, are short. You show us how to live with abandon and to to let our beauty shine, trusting the Eternal One, Beginning and Ending, to provide purpose and grounding, whatever the length of our days. - Wendy Janzen
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I am a girl made of stars. Of water cycled through creeks and rivers, great lakes, snow, and mud. Of air exchanged with maples and spruce, crocuses and goldenrod. Of soil molecules, microbles, bacteria and trillions of cells; a community. Of sun light and wind, energizing and animating my every move and thought. Companion of family and friends, clouds, cats, crows, and cedars. Receiving and giving renewing and aging. Who are you? - Wendy Janzen Oh! What wonder
that I should be graced to witness a small flock of singing starlings suddenly fall silent, and as if one body lift from the branches. A singularity floating, swooping, soaring to music I cannot hear, but see. An orchestra with wings. A drab grey canvas brought to life with poetic movement. A performance of the ages, with an accidental audience of one star-struck human awed by the glory of it all. Bless you, Starlings, for the exquisite wonder and delight you bring to the world. Bless you for honouring your calling and praising with your bodies. Bless you for showing us the beauty of community and being part of something bigger than ourselves. - Wendy Janzen Look: See how
the morning sun touches this one patch of leaves, just so. Light, bringing colour, illuminating space, drawing my attention to this moment. Now it's shifted, diffused, sun climbs higher, slipping behind clouds. Had I missed this moment, would anything have changed? So many similar fleeting moments, like the squirrel dancing in the supple branches atop a willow or the bumblebee buzzing by on her way to breakfast. This morning, I pay attention, notice the light, the life, the intersection of the universe and my existence here in this moment, in this ordinary place. I find myself in sacred space, and am changed. - Wendy Janzen -Have you ever heard
the evening song of a hermit thrush drifting across a still lake? Their whimsical trills weave and bounce through the treetops and reverberate joy for living this moment. I imagine God must have been so delighted when She heard it the first time that She closed her eyes and whispered: so good! - Wendy Janzen Sometimes, I feel like the sky,
open, light, and vast. At times, I am clear; I see the big picture and hold things lightly. At times, all seems clouded, heavy to the point of bursting and I shed tears that fall to the earth. Sometimes, God feels like the sky, open, light, and vast. At times, beautiful, inviting, approachable like a sunset. At times, thundering, and I watch from a safe distance. All encompassing, close and far, breathing life, connecting everything.  A haiku written for Good Friday
O Forsaken One, You know the depths of sorrow. We sit with you now. I see Good Friday pain, death, and sorrow mirrored everywhere... I saw this stump on a walk this week and the image caught me with its starkness. What have you seen that feels forsaken? Christ, the Incarnate One, is here in the world with us, in places of pain and woundedness. The invitation today is to witness it and sit with it. Look up
Look around Take out your earbuds Put away your phone. Let the ordinary Beauty of this moment You are in Bring you pause. This is holy ground The Divine shimmering Below the surface Waiting to be seen. - Wendy Janzen Today I was stopped in my tracks by the sweet earthy smell of rotting leaves. Heaven on earth! A tree's offering to the soil. This scent tells the curious truth: death can be achingly, exquisitely, lovely. Death is not a final ending, it is a transformation, a continuum, an outpouring of love. - Wendy Janzen  Thoughts for heading into municipal elections.
How do we measure progress? We’ve gone off track, lost our way following stats for economic growth, quarterly profits, housing starts, and GDP. Why not measure a city’s success through counting how many species of insects we have, how many people are not hungry, how many different birds children can name, how many stars can be seen at night, how many green spaces there are, how easy public transit is to access, and how healthy the waterways are… Let’s exchange our lawn mowers for native plant gardens. Dim our insecurity lights. Talk to our neigbours. Park our cars. Be happy with enough, and no more. Draw the circle wide. Care for the least. Measure compassion, not consumption. - Wendy Janzen |
AuthorReflections, poetry, prayers, photos, and resources written by Wendy Janzen unless otherwise noted. Archives
September 2024
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