This Week, May 4, 2025

Six Things of Interest

1) Beautiful Things

Settle in the here and now.
Reach down into the center
where the world is not spinning
and drink this holy peace."

Awareness Knowing Itself" by Danna Faulds

2) Foraging Grace

"The Garden is a place of perfection, but not of wholeness. Wholeness requires knowing joy and sorrow, strength and vulnerability, connection and loneliness. When Adam and Eve leave the Garden, they enter the real world — the world where we become human by experiencing it all." Rachel Naomi Remen

Sometimes when I’m in nature, I have a deep conviction that we were never thrown out of the Garden of Eden. That it’s all been a terrible misunderstanding on our part, and God, the Universe, or however you perceive the essence of life, is just waiting for us to get over ourselves.

This week, Zamira led Sue Schuerman—my sister in EarthWhispers Abbey—and me into a green sanctuary, a hidden Garden of Eden nestled behind the Cedar Falls Welcome Center. We went to gather stinging nettles, those fierce, tiny warriors that greet your touch with a whisper of pain. Yet, the sting is a sacred rite, not a punishment but a pact.

From there, we drifted to the lake in the Greenbelt, where the air tasted of wildness and possibility. We foraged garlic scapes curled like green question marks, blackberry leaves soft and serrated, and violets—small, brave bursts of purple wonder.

The Garden is not lost—it thrives quietly in our midst. Its offerings are simple, profound: nourishment, cleansing, communion.

The nettle’s sting focuses me. It burns just enough to wake me up, to remind me of the trade: a touch of pain for a body healed, a soul stirred. It is God’s signature on a living letter. Not approval. Not denial. Just presence.

3) Flowerama: Part 2

Marilyn said yes to Flowerama Part 2. Truth is, all Floweramas began with her—years ago, when petals and friendship first entwined. I cherish rituals, and ours is a sacred script carved by time: a 10:30 departure, brunch at Klunders, greenhouse wanderings through K&R and Hoovers, one last floral haven for good measure, pie back at Klunders, a nap kissed by sunlight, then hands in soil.

There’s a gentle grace in traditions held with old friends—the quiet rhythm of “how we do things” becomes a refuge when the world feels loud and unkind. Amid life’s swirling storms, it’s these rituals—steady and familiar—that anchor me. Patterns become poetry, and in the embrace of a friendship that forgives our stumbles and spans the years, I find shelter. Here, in the bloom of continuity, is peace.

4) You’re Invited: Experience Creating Deep Time

Earlier this spring, with generous support from the Hearst Center for the Arts, Sue Schuerman and I (as EarthWhispers Abbey) had the joy of co-facilitating Creating Deep Time—a workshop designed to slow us down, attune us to nature’s rhythms, and help us see the world with ancient eyes.

Now, we’re excited to invite you into that same experience through a virtual version of the workshop. This photo-illustrated reflection includes images, journal prompts, and insights from our in-person participants. It's not just something to read—it's something to move through, pause with, and respond to in your own way.

👉 Take the virtual journey.

Afterward, we’d love to hear your thoughts and continue the conversation. Join us in the EarthWhispers Abbey Facebook group to share your reflections, questions, or simply to witness the unfolding dialogue.
💬 Join the conversation

Wherever you are, we hope you’ll join us in this slow, meaningful practice of seeing with ancient eyes.

5) Voices of Faith, Questions of Heart

💧 Our Westminster Confirmands have spent time deeply reflecting on the meaning of Baptism—a sacred sign of God’s grace and a joyful welcome into the family of faith.

Through study, conversation, and shared questions, they explored how baptism marks the beginning of a lifelong journey of following Jesus and living out God’s love.

⛪I came away inspired by their thoughtful reflections, honest questions, and personal journeys.

6) Blank Pages Waiting

With gratitude to Mary Oliver

I have chapters in my life

written on the blank pages of loneliness.

Do you have them too?

Those quiet, aching pages—

so hollow, so brimming

with the ghost of what could be.

Yearning to hold... something.

Now, I turn back to them

with hands inked by joy,

palms warm from holding love.

Laughter clinks like silver on china,

and tears fall like spilled wine—

sweet, shared, unashamed—

as we pass birthday cake

from hand to hand,

like communion.

Those blank pages

were never empty—

just waiting.

Waiting for the crumbs of spring sunlight,

for the blush of wine in teacups,

for the scent of cocunut frosting

on fingertips.

What I once called waste

was only a pause—

a stillness steeped in tear's salt,

so joy could rise

bright and bold.

The blank page—

a prayer,

heard,

and answered—

lavishly.

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