blessing

In honor of National Poetry Month, I offer this poem.

Baptism

It happens sometimes
in early spring or fall 
or any bright day
when the air is chill
despite our star’s faithful burning.
I’m walking outside
and everything is shining.
Suddenly the sky –
- flowing around every bit of matter in its path -
transforms, and
I now walk through water
that yields just enough to let me enter.
With every step
I’m encased in a glorious glove of cool, liquid shine.
I can’t see the stuff sky has become,
but my heart quickens
and I must make an effort
not to fall on my knees.
I glance at other walkers and wonder
if they feel the same
or if this is a private miracle,
a baptism that opens my soul to morning’s glory,
that refuses to let me move on ungrateful.
I can’t remember the first time
I knew sky could turn into water
and back to breath again in an instant.

It doesn't matter.
Nor does how.
Content with mystery
being mystery,
when the moment passes
I emerge into air-breath,
changed as surely as if I’d been walking the beach
and waded into the water
and crouched beneath a wave as it washed over me
and rose up
renewed, awake,
in love with the world again.

© 2024 Mary van Balen

Photos: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Hank is one of my favorite people. I don’t know him well, but I’m getting there. At the end of most work days I stop and talk with him on my way out. We talk about politics and religion despite conventional wisdom that warns against it. He shares memories of growing up in this city, keeps me updated on jazz events around town. I’ve lent him books and articles, and he drops nuggets of wisdom he’s learned along the way.

The other day we were talking about a recent column I’d written, “Rain, an Icon of Grace,” that shared my experience of God’s Grace always pouring over us, refreshing and renewing us, like rain nourishes the earth.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

“It made me think of growing up,” he said. “I’ve always loved the rain and storms. Listening to it on the roof or hitting the windows. When I was little, I used to sit on the porch during heavy rains and watch the water pour down from the overflowing gutters along the overhang above my head. I was mesmerized. You know how it is when you are so young. Everything looks big and amazing. The rain looked like a waterfall. I could sit there for hours.”

From there our conversation turned to Grace and the importance of being present to it, like Hank was present to the beauty of the rain gushing down during the storm all those years ago.

“You know that saying,” Hank continued. “Yesterday is History. Tomorrow is Mystery. Today is Blessing.”

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

I didn’t know that saying. But since he shared it with me, it has become a constant prayer. A reminder of God’s Grace present in the moment and the futility of fretting over what cannot be changed or worrying about things that may or may not happen. I’m prone to do both. Thanks to Hank, the past and the future are less successful at pulling me away from the present. His short saying became a mantra. “Yesterday is history,” I say to regret. “Tomorrow is mystery,” I throw back at worry. “Today is blessing.” I take a deep breath and remember this is so. And remember a little boy soaking it up on his porch.

Baptism

Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is mystery. Today is…