“So every day
I was surrounded by the beautiful crying forth
of the ideas of God,
one of which was you.”
– Mary Oliver
Today is Sarah’s birthday. I’ve now celebrated 21 of her 35 birthdays with her. I think that’s special.
I’ve been struck by the suddenness of both joy and grief that we’ve experienced in our life together. The depths and twists of our life have been so unpredictable, yet they have felt strangely universal when I’ve taken the time to notice the connections that we all truly have with one another. I do intentionally try to notice these things, but sometimes even though I’m trying to pay attention, the world around me still feels blurry. So I’ve learned to put on the bifocals of art and especially of poetry to help bring the blurry details of this world into focus. And no one poet’s poetry has done that more for me than that of Mary Oliver.
When I read Mary Oliver, (St. Mary, as Sarah and I affectionately call her), I get excited because it’s like she sees the world as Sarah and I both attempt to see and understand it. And when I read St. Mary’s poems, I often can’t help but read them as describing Sarah. So I’ve adapted some of the words of her poems to help you understand what I mean by that:
I.
You know you do not have to be good.
You know you don’t have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You have learned to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
You are earnest in your work.
Because you know that each morning is a gift,
and you only have been given so many mornings
to do it.
So when you breath even just a little,
you call it life.
II.
You think of dangerous and noble things.
You are light and frolicsome.
You are improbable, beautiful, and afraid of nothing,
as though you have wings.
Your heart is spacious,
you have left plenty of room
for the unimaginable.
You do not distinguish between work and play.
You’ve figured out
that when happiness is done right
it is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Of all the things you choose,
you choose grace, you take it,
even when you don’t know what it is.
III.
You’ve learned to stand
wherever you’ll be blessed.
And you know that the soul exists
and is built entirely out of attentiveness.
Because you have learned
that to pay attention
is our endless and proper work.
IV.
You do not ever stop being whimsical.
And you do not, ever, give anyone else
the responsibility of your life.
V.
I know you love me very much
because I have gone
to the woods with you
(even though I’m a talker).
You have taught me that it is better
for the heart to break
than not to break.
You have broken my heart
by which I mean only
that it has broken open
and never closed again
to the rest of the world.
And you have told me
what it is you plan to do
with your one
wild and precious life.
VI.
You are willing to be dazzled
and you cast aside the weight of facts.
You float a little
above this difficult world.
Because you believe in kindness.
Also in mischief.
Also in singing,
especially when singing is
not necessarily prescribed.
You don’t hesitate
when you suddenly
and unexpectedly feel joy.
You give into it.
You notice it in the instant
when love begins.
You are not afraid of its plenty.
You know joy is not made to be a crumb.
You love what is mortal,
and you hold it against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and you are ready
for when the time comes
to let it go.
VII.
You are a bride married to amazement
You have taken the world into your arms.
You know you have made your life
something particular and real.
You have no intention
of just visiting this world.
Because you know all too well
that it is a serious thing
just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in this broken world.
Stepping Back 