Uber to the rescue!

On our first full day (Tuesday Week 1), we may as well have been Uber drivers! Maco and I ran a group of 6 people to the bus station at 5:40 in the morning, sending half the group off in an Uber and having the privilege to accompany a young mom and her four month old boy in our car (There was an extra cat seat available, phew!! Although the boy was wrapped in so many layers of fleece and blankets, he would have been cushioned during any sort of accident!)

We walked into the bus station with the travelers and made sure they understood why they had an accordian full of tickets for their multiple-day journeys to Baltimore, Chicago, and Florida. Each received a bag of food with enough sandwiches for 2 days, and some drinks, snacks, and fruit (Cathy's domain and organizational haven). We parted with warm hugs from the boys and their dads, and a brave smile from the girl.

Arriving back at hotel headquarters, still not yet 7am, we turned around and headed to the airport. Maco went through security with the mom and beaming four-year-old girl, who was handy a fancy airline wings pin at check-in. We were surprised and saddened my the amount of extra security and attention the woman was put through, including a pat down and complete unpacking and repacking of her small backpack, while Maco and the other passengers walked right through. 

Our local CND (Congregation of Notre- Dame) community (Maco Cathy and I) shared a fancy breakfast together before going separate ways for the day. Cathy prepared the food packs,unloaded the many supplies we brought from generous donations, and organized the supplies room. Maco spent the rest of the day in cars with Uber drivers and travellers going to the bus station and airport, because I had the car and a special group of travellers. 

A mom wasn't feeling well, an underscored description to save you from hearing about the details of weeks of dehydration, malnourishment, and extreme temperatures experienced during her travels. We are told from the refugees that the detention facility is kept at freezing temperatures, air conditioned to be colder than outside. They are given aluminum blankets, sleep on the floor and were recently given access to ice-cold showers, if they want to clean up. A hard hello to the USA. It's no wonder this woman was weak. 

A guide to the airport (found at a different)

This mama, her two sons (15 and 13 years old), and I went to a different Annunciation center annex to see a nurse, who advised us to go to ER. I got to see how another center operates and while some things are the same, such as the kind of food that goes into the bags, the policies and amenities are completely different. This center had toys (we don't), but only one big room for sleeping (instead of hotel rooms), and a smaller number of guests, at most 50 compared to our bus loads of over 100 people. 

I had my first moment of shock at this center, too. I asked if we had time to go back to our hotel before the ER to get her papers, as their passports, birth certificates and really all forms of identification are confiscated at the border and they are given a 5-page document in English with their picture and told this is their only identification. We would of course need this at the hospital. 

That's not what shocked me. The nurse agreed we needed the papers also asked if they had their chargers. I was surprised that she would be so involved with their phones, but then the mama lifted her jeans to reveal a tracking device bolted to her ankle. It seems Maco learned this same harsh reality when one of the teenage boys asked if they had to tell security about their device. Fighting back tears, she nodded her "yes". These ankle bracelets need the battery changed/charged every 3 hours, effectively anchoring the people to a wall plug until they go to court. How they handle the 2-day greyhound trip, I can only wonder. 

So by noon, mama, sons, the chargers, papers, bag lunches, and I headed to the ER, where we were attended to immediately and couldn't have met nicer staff. Everyone I've encountered in El Paso so far has been over the top kind to the people we are with, even though they see many through their day, each requiring extra time and attention. 

We were at ER for at least 5 hours, given great care, and for the last hour when the mama was finally able to smile and interact, we shared broken sentences and learned a bit about each other, smiling that we were the same age, she had two kids and yet I had none. The youngest boy and I counted a bit in English and he helped me with some Spanish words, including "do you have games on your phone?", a not-so-subtle hint to pass my phone over. The joke was on him though, as all my games are puzzles or word teasers. 

After returning the tired but grateful family to the hotel, Maco, Cathy and I finished the day in community, sharing a meal together at 6pm, brought by a local community group. I suspect both of my companions are asleep by now, and I'm not far from it. For what is turning into my daily check-in, I confess to you that tonight I go to bed with the memory of a mama finally relieved of her pain, the sweet cheekiness of the boy and tender care he gave his mom while she was ill, and the warmth of the 4-month old headed off to a new life. God is good. 

Not quite day 1

I started the day by reminiscing my years spent in the Southwest, with an early morning roadtrip from Phoenix to El Paso, watching the sun rise with the brilliant pinks and oranges cresting over the jagged craggy mountains that only Arizona can offer.

My sweet serenity was occasionally punctuated with the memory of a political opinion that was thrust upon me forcefully the previous evening, completely unprovoked, while this person and I were witnessing the eclipse.

To this little non-confrontational doe of a girl (me, just to clarify), I sat in stunned silence while I was told how this country could be fixed, eclipsing what was a lovely evening with the shadow of righteous elitism. "Feelings shouldn't come into it" was the concluding statement, though I am still confounded as to what the person was advocating for, only being sure of what they are against (answer: refugees). 

It was good fodder for thought as I arrived at my destination: a motel/emergency annex, where I was greeted by dozens of smiling faces, people so relieved to be out of the icy government facility and into the warm environment Annunciation house provided (even in their annexed location). It seemed almost comical that these friendly, smiling refugees were the same people that were perceived as criminals, sneaks, and lazy vagabonds (according to my friend from the previous night), and yet I do hold with me my friend's expression of fear, wanting to preserve a country they love. As nonconfrontational and noncommital as I was with my friend, I need to acknowledge that coming to El Paso is a choice and statement in itself, to not leave feelings out of it and see the people behind the wall of fear. 

I picked up two fellow sisters from the airport and we went through orientation together at the motel, now more knowledgeable about the processes and duties we will have here. Jumping right in (around 10pm), we escorted a woman and her daughter (who were released today from an ICE facility) to a different annex location, where her husband and second daughter were staying. The family traveled all the way from El Salvador separately, and all 4 just happened to be released at a similar time. They were reunited tonight for the first time since October! This is the story I will take to bed with me, dreaming of a new life for this hopeful, determined family and the good fortune that brought them together. 

Our next run to the bus station starts early tomorrow at 5:40am, helping 6 people get on their way to their families across the country, so I better catch some Z's myself. One thing I am sure of - these next two weeks will not be monotonous!

Just North of the border

Time for an update! The second year of the novitiate has focused on ministry and mission, with me spending the fall months in Toronto working with people who are homeless, and the spring months will be spent in North Carolina working with the people of Appalachia. 

In between, (tomorrow!!) two sisters and I will go to the US/Mexico border in El Paso, where 500 people are being released from ICE (Immigration Control and Enforcement) facilities each day. A nonprofit organization called Annunciation House helps these newly landed Americans get on a bus or plane to where their family is, and provides shelter, food, and a change of clothes until their scheduled trip begins. (I'm told that's how they get out of the detention center - their sponsoring family member buys them a ticket and guarantees a place for them to stay). 

Because of the recent influx of people crossing the border seeking asylum (following the appropriate US legal processes), Annunciation House asked for volunteers, making a specific request to the religious communities. So, two sisters and I are fortunate enough to have the time and resources to get to El Paso to respond to the call and help out. 

For the next two weeks, we will be living in an annex of Annunciation house in a motel (possibly sharing a single room) with an ever-changing population of people who will be passing through, destined for their families in different parts of the US, where they will wait for their court date at their new home. 

Not speaking Spanish will certainly be a limitation, but I expect to change a lot of beds, hand out tons of clothes, make a bunch of meals, and as one person explained to me, "you just need to be a loving presence. You can imagine the hard looks they received while in detention. Your expression of love is all the communication you'll need". 

Smiling? Now that I can do! Keep us in your prayers and we'll keep you updated on one town in the US of A with a lot of happenings. 

Here's the link our community posted about our adventure with some photos:

http://www.cnd-m.org/en/news/article.php?id=1547223919

Building up to my first year

I am often asked "what do you do in the novitiate" and some days - I get to build! We needed a stand for gifts from our Japanese sisters and a platform to make a table in the chapel more stable on the very thick carpet. So... saw'ing on the roof I go with scrap material from around the house. (The table is actually our sacristy table that holds the Blessed Sacrament, the very real presence of Jesus, a table my Uncle Ted and I made from birch wood from our cottage)  

My question: What would you expect we do in the novitiate? Our foundress Marguerite Bourgeoys asked that we be able to do all kinds of things...being versatile and responsive to the needs around us. For me that means creating! 

I have never heard someone say "I'm not that kind of nun" and am so glad I am a part of something where we are encouraged to grow everyday, in all kinds of expected and unexpected ways. As you might expect, we spend a lot of time in prayer and going to church. As well as building yesterday, I helped at a funeral with 3 minutes notice after just coming in from mass up the hill. I jumped in my black dress and ran to the church. I have been reading, drawing, talking, cooking, baking, singing, volunteering, visiting, and learning to play a few instruments. Life has been busy and in two weeks, while I am on retreat, I will have been here for a year. 

I think this picture summarizes the year well. I am still me - with all the building creating and cutting, but what is new is that my hair has been coiffed by our sisters from Cameroon, my cross hangs seemingly between two city buildings, and now I am working with the awareness of God all around me, through me, and in what I am doing. It hasn't been an easy year, but it has been filled with grace, beautiful people, and a lot of learning. I am excited for my year of ministry to begin, to get back out into the world and visit with people where they are (to put this sister thing into practice). Hello Toronto!! See you in October (for a few months anyway). 

A week of “yes”

As I wake up this morning with the waves crashing on the rocks, I ponder where saying “yes” all week has led me. Emotionally drained, physically fine, and wonderfully, spiritually filled, I smile at the complexity of my current state of being.

It all started on Monday. There was no conscious choice to say “yes” to everything, it just seemed to be where the spirit was calling, so I followed. Bingo happens every Monday night at the church my novitiate is attached to, and though they often need help, I have never felt I had the energy by the time Monday night came around. Spiritually fuelled and surprisingly full of energy from putting the finishing touches on a 15-page paper on Teilhard de Chardin, this particular Monday I felt great – so I went.

I met a community of people who told me all about the parish they love so much, where their kids received their sacraments, where their grandparents were married, and where so many memories lie for them. Having moved every few years, I can’t fathom this, though I can relate to loving the church where my parents were wed, as that’s the church I attended most on PEI. I never expected to serve in the church by peddling lotto tickets, but I can see that for $10 you could have a night of entertainment, the possibility of winning prizes, and being surrounded by friends.

On Tuesday there was a memorial for one of our sisters. I don’t remember her, just as I don’t really remember meeting the last few sisters who passed away and who’s services I attended, but I’m not sure memorials are for this. When asked to go, I said “yes” to be around a community of sisters who were grieving through their own pain and celebrating the joy of her life. I said “yes” to learning more about who she was and how she lived her vocation. I said “yes” to being in a room filled with love.

Wednesday held a “novitiate training” activity (that I was expected to go to and only learned about it when it appeared on my calendar.) So rather than answering a question, this was an internally motivated “yes,” to go with a willing heart, an open mind, and a smile. It was a panel discussion about a new book written by young sisters “In Our Own Words.” A nice read on many aspects of being a sister, including a hopeful and well-written chapter by CND’s own Debbie Warner.

Being regularly told from lots of different sources how so few sisters are joining religious life, I am always surprised to go to a gathering and see so many young sisters, especially ones I didn’t even know existed. In a room of 100 sisters, I knew only 3 people. There were at least 40 sisters there my age (or there about), confronting the notion that I know in my heart is false – that religious life is dying. I met vibrant, joyful, and hope-filled sisters who knew what I did – there is a reason we are being called and we need to meet occasionally to remind each other. As you can tell – it was easy to say an internal “yes” to this.

Thursday morning started with the usual greeting of friends at the local food bank and putting together bags of food for the local community, before running off to mass and an all-day novitiate class. On Thursday afternoon, I learned they needed people to sit in an adoration chapel at the local convention center because there was going to be a gathering of 2100 young’uns. When I say local – I mean walking distance, less than a mile away. It’s amazing what happens right under your nose and you don’t even know about it. I went to the early shift, prayed for an hour, and kept Jesus company until the next companion came along. Later in the evening, a few of us went back to the rally to see the charismatic event in action. Filled with impassioned speeches and witness talks, I was surrounded by an army of priests administering confession for eager teens. A second “yes” to go back, I learned that in the NY area, the future of the church is ts Hispanic youth. It felt nice, like I was back in Texas, the only blonde in the crowd.

Friday involved a four-hour roadtrip (twice as long as it should have been due to traffic), a slight bribe getting to stop at Chick-fila along the way (my favorite place for sweet tea and waffle fries), and a weary arrival at shore. In Quonnie, Rhode Island, we were greeted by the sound of the ocean and a towering 3-story inn. When sisters tell me about this place on the shore, their eyes always brighten, their smiles come easily, and their minds drift to happy memories. Arriving in the fog and cold under the veil of night enhanced the feeling of magic. Like Hogwarts or a false wall in the wardrobe to Narnia, this seems to be the setting for a number of mystical tales. My “yes” today really means helping tomorrow morning to prepare the rooms, so all summer long, guests can enter into their own tales and stories n this mystical setting. Even though this is my first visit, the feeling of “opening the cottage” is familiar. Each year on PEI, our family comes together on a cold, wet day, laughing through the mundane tasks to wash dishes and make the beds, enjoying each other’s company and expecting a summer of adventure. Among the PEI trees, the silence of the forest is as deafening as the waves I now hear on the Rhode Island coast.

During this week of “yes,” I have encountered so many people, my little introvert inside is crying for quiet time. Though not physically tired, I am emotionally drained and mentally wiped. With everything else, this week held meetings, a term paper, reading 3 books and a few additional chapters, and 2.5 intense hours learning from Elizabeth Johnson. And that’s since Monday. Spiritually, I am so gratefully full, in part for the awareness of the many “yes’s” that just as easily could have been “no’s,” for the people I met this week, and for the many places where I saw love weaving its way through the tapestry of life. I leave you with this quote that has accompanied from the noisy bingo halls, through the conference room-turned temporary chapel, to a wood paneled room on the Atlantic coast:



"God is the tip of my pen, my spade, my brush, my needle – of my heart and of my thought" - Teilhard de Chardin, a paleontologist and author.

A time before: Adopting an Endlessly Renewed Openness, Starting with Sustainability

I am part of the Xenial generation, a bridging group that spans only a few years, too old to be a Millennial and too young to be a GenXer.

Technologically, we remember a time before cell phones and before the digital explosion, but we were young enough to whole-heartedly embrace it. We never lived without a remote for the TV. We were the first to embrace Blockbuster online, and then Netflix.  We were the first generation to be quietly occupied during long car trips, plugged into our Game Boys and Walkmans, able to play a video game on the go and zone out from the chaos around us. In grade school, we had penpals, and in college, we were the first to try facebook (or the less popular myspace). We had gmail accounts when you had to be invited to get one. We have always done our taxes using computer programs, never on paper. We lived long enough without technology that we know to appreciate it, and young enough not to be scared by it, perhaps even addicted to it as our phones are never far from our reach.

Culturally, we remember the time before TSA: when you went to the airport to pick someone up, you could wait at the gate, staring out the window, excitedly watching the plane pull up and all the people get off. We are a generation of fire drills, not actual fires, so a fire alarm is rarely cause for alarm. We have different “moments when”. The GenXers talk about where they were during the Challenger Explosion, the Boomers before them talk about the assassination of JFK, MLK, and the moon landing. The Millennials talk about 9/11. For us, the Columbine massacre was the first to change everything.

In class this week, a picture of the earth was displayed, and I smiled at the familiar image of the swirly blue oceans and white clouds set against a striking black background of nothingness. Our teacher (Elizabeth Johnson, CSJ) talked about how this picture, entitled the Blue Marble, changed everything and was named the most influential picture of the 20^th century. For the Boomers and the Greatest Generation before them, this image showed one united world, the first chance for the globe to see itself in the mirror. Teilhard de Chardin (part of the Greatest Generation) had been buried for decades by the time this photo emerged in 1972, but he would see this as the incredible evolution of the universe – true global consciousness – the thinking layer of the earth (the noosphere) seeing its own reflection, and the ability to know that it knows. Wow.

To me – I didn’t understand the significance of this photo. I had never considered that this picture even had a name. It was as familiar to me as my baby photos were, and so, I had never known a time before this photo, that there could even been a shift in consciousness because of a single photo. I knew there was a time before people landed on the moon or sent something to space, but there was never a moment when my fellow Xenials and I didn’t know what the earth looked like. By the time we appeared, the impact of this photo has settled and the wave of ecological reform was well underway. We grew up with Sesame Street telling us to conserve water when we brushed our teeth, and we were reminded in school to turn off our lights for an hour each year on Earth Day. As adults, many of us embraced hybrids about a third of us go meatless to reduce the impact on the earth. For us, there was never a time that our economy and culture wasn’t global…after all, I had a pen pal on another continent. We never knew a time when we weren't worried about saving the world.

But really – who cares? Why does this photo and my personal awakening matter enough to warrant a blog? Well, I was reminded of my post-modern existence. That the lens with which I view the world is so very different from everyone else’s, and by extension how much that flavors how each of us thinks and acts. In the Congregation of Notre Dame, one of our current priorities is towards ecological sustainability to: ‘honor and respect our “common home”, take concrete action, resist the forces of destruction and promote life in all its forms’. Practically, what does that look like? From what I have seen, we meet to find ways to advocate for more ecologically-centered practices and have discussions within our houses to reduce consumption (of water, energy, paper, ink, gas…the list goes on). For example, the sisters in our house met to talk about whether it takes more energy to turn on a light rather than leave it on (with today’s bulbs, turn it off every time!), and whether to use the dishwasher or wash dishes by hand to save water (a full dishwasher conserves resources more than washing dishes by hand).

What surprises me is that the sisters engage in conversations that could seem confrontational and evoke defensiveness about how we do things and why, but instead they are open to constantly changing practices to do what is better for the earth. Wow. That’s not what the literature says about Boomers…(that they are stuck in their ways and unwilling to change). Maybe I need to realign my assumptions and worry less about the label of my generation and what we do (after all, that’s not very post-modern of me and instead labels me as a modernist, ack!).

Learning how to learn about sustainability is not something I expected to learn in the novitiate. Ever in the process of transformation, I recognize that to be a sister means to have an endlessly renewed openness to the cries of the world. Today, that is ecological sustainability. Tomorrow… we’ll have to wait and see (and hopefully be open to whatever challenge comes).

A tale of Adventure

I almost died this week. Well, not really, but I could have. On my camino day this week, the day when I venture out into the world to paradoxically retreat inward to connect more with god, I found myself on an exhilarating adventure where I easily could have broken a bone and yes, died (though that was not the intent). I thought I was going for a hike on one of the many gorgeous, well maintained trails in New England. This time venturing to Stone Church in Dover Plains NY, a short trail that winds alongside a babbling brook and meets a cave who's opening looks like a church, with a waterfall and large stone pulpit inside. Sounds lovely, yes? All my research said so (as evidenced by this site). It turns out the church doesn't have many visitors in winter, and fewer visitor still when winter is becoming spring.


After walking down a set of icy stone stairs, the trail welcomed me with a gorgeous view of the mountains with a runway of grass in between, lined with manicured trees. I am sure in fall this view is even more breathtaking than the dead grass and bare trees offered, but fall could not offer the lake of ice that was recently melted into water, reflecting the sky, trees and plains all around. Realizing I would get wet and too excited for adventure to be put off so early, I rationalized, "my shoes are waterproof and that doesn't look deep. It's cold anyway - 0 deg C and 35 deg F, and it would be a shame to turn around at the first trial, so let's go!"

The crystal clear ice water was colder and deeper than I expected as my shoes filled up with water and I skated on the ice at the bottom while wading through the water (with a giant grin on my face). By the time I even considered turning around I was already half way, so preceded on with two blocks of ice for feet (the grin now more like a grimace).

The second part of the trail was a sheet of ice, staccatoed with dirt clumps from below, so I used my awesome Ahnu boots to ice skate. The slight inclines required maneuvering on the snow on the edges for traction, but on I went accompanied by the babbling brook. Finally, I came to the trailhead (the beginning as most would see it), went over the stream on a new footbridge, and looked in the direction of the stone church.

Though not yet in view, what was visible was magnificent. The path was about 2-3 feet wide, pure ice, with a natural wall of snow covered rocks and sharp hills on the left, and a small cliff into a more forceful brook on the right, with the water rushing around rocks big and small. The sound of the brook was louder, with the waterfall close by. With very little to grab onto, I sauntered ahead, shuffling one foot at a time, grabbing a branch when available, and leaning left so as not to fall into the river.


It was such fun! Trying to go up what I couldn't even see was a hill, failing, trying a different way. Marveling at the melting ice and frozen waterfalls along the way, somehow poised next to the rushing water. As some point I realized other people would probably find this dangerous and wouldn't have come this far, especially wearing only a hoodie and yoga pants, with a thin rain jacket in case it rained. Definitely under-dressed for the cold temperature, I reflected how unprepared I was for this journey, similar to how unprepared I have felt for the journey I've been on the last 6 months at the novitiate, yet that has been bumpy and I have survived, so I could certainly handle this short trail of a journey.

Some of the branches I grabbed were covered in thorns or not attached to anything, and I jerked back before remembering the rapid water rushing behind me and twisted back again towards the hill. Many years of ballet, yoga, and general clumsiness trained me to catch myself over and over. I mused how these deceptive branches looked like help but weren't what I was looking for, like the many people who we reach out to in times of need that whether they want to or not, cannot help us. That strength and guidance needs to come from within, emanating from a source of truth, experience, and training for this moment.



 Closer to the cave, I had to stretch between rocks submerged in the water to enter the cave, tried a few different footings, and with the grace of a T-Rex playing hopscotch, eventually made it inside the cave to a rock a few inches higher than the surrounding water. I perched on the rock to begin to absorb a scene so mysterious, it must have been contrived by C S Lewis and Salvador Dali. I was consumed by the mist rising from the water, the powerful waterfall at the back juxtaposed with the frozen waterfall right next to it, a crack of blue sky in the ceiling, and the deafening noise as the water crashed by, escaping from the cave and headed down the valley. I was in another world - Jim Henson's Fraggle Rock creatures were sure to spring out of a hole in the side.

I stayed and meditated, becoming so relaxed at one point that my foot slipped into the water and I caught myself from going downstream just in time. Adjusting a little, and pleased at the level of physical relaxation I was able to attain, I was compelled to continue to contemplate the magnificence of a sight that existed as a gift for me from the creator of the cosmos. This site, evolving for millenia, hallowing out from what started as a trickle in a rock to become a waterfall in a cave, waiting for the perfect wintery conditions to combine flowing water, ice, and mist, to invite me into a mystical experience of the all encompassing love god shows through nature. I know this was a gift for me, in the words of Rainer Maria Rilke, "If this is arrogant, God, forgive me, but this is what I need to say." No one else would have been fool hearty enough to go past all of those elements, to not feel a twinge of fear and rather excitement and anticipation of what was waiting ahead, as if being propelled by an all-knowing spirit. This moment, this place, this experience was waiting for me from the dawn of time in order to be fulfilled. Of this I am sure.

While in this transcendent state, I pondered how Lent gives us a chance to pause for a moment and reflect on our spiritual journey to reset our course. Are we doing enough for others? How regularly and intentionally are we communicating with our god? Do we show enough compassion and love for ourselves, the amount god showers on us? These three elements of almsgiving, prayer, and fasting are ways we can reset our course towards spiritual wholeness this season. We get 40 days to try and try again, being kind to ourselves when we fail and feeling renewed to try again. Jesus spent 40 days in the desert to get ready for his public mission, to grapple with god and who he was, to shed all of the things that weren't really him or necessary for his journey. Perhaps this lent, that's what we can do too. Shed the things that aren't us and are hindering us from our becoming our potential. With each act of kindness, each turning away from temptation, and each prayer to the creator for the miraculous life we all have, we can shape this world into the way the world should be, a new heaven, a new earth.

After a prayer of thanksgiving for such a fantastic experience (and realizing if I stayed too long, I might fall in completely), I left. The way back was downhill, faster, and messier. I sprawled around like a giraffe learning to walk, slid down a hill of ice at one point, unintentionally twirled on the ice numerous times, and splashed through the icy water. If something had happened, such as tripping on a rock, something that could have happened anywhere, no one would have known and I probably could have died, but that sense of knowing in that deep place where you know things, from the first steps in the water, I knew that experience was brewing from my first 'yes' to god. I knew that trip was destined from the dawn of time, from the first explosions of hydrogen. With my angels by my side and a smile big enough to release the joy spilling out, I was being safely escorted along my path in, out, and beyond.

Oh, and I must thank Rainer Maria Rilke, who was kind enough to write a poem about my experience in his Book of Hours back in 1905. He really captured the awe and hope I felt in the cave, and the journey along the way.

I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
I want to free what waits within me

so that what no one has dared to wish for 
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.
If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing you as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea.
- Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours