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Archive for May 29th, 2013

 

 

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Choose your rut carefully:  you will be in it for the next twenty-five miles. 
~unattributed

You are closer to glory, leaping an abyss, than upholstering a rut. 
~James Broughton

The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled.  For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers. 
~M. Scott Peck

The first unattributed quote came from a longer piece spoken by Norman Vincent Peale.  He’s quoting a sign outside an old farmer’s piece of land.  He continues on to name the rut dwellers a “sad and pathetic lot”.  My, my … you can see why I didn’t include the totality of that.  I bring it up to illustrate how everyone speaks from their own perspective.  Perhaps someone would find brow beating a motivator.  I have a used “brow beater” for sale, if anyone needs it.  I’ve put a lot of miles on it, but a little oil and she’ll be good to go for hundreds more at least! 

The second quote is part of a much longer poem “Easter Exultet” by James Broughton.  It ends with the words “honeymoon with big joy!”  I used to carry that poem in my wallet.  Yes, JB, if I am going to get in bed with a feeling, let it be big joy.

Yet sometimes one doesn’t have access to big joy.  Sometimes we land in what feels like a rut.  Maybe we do upholster it, hang the pictures on the wall, break open the fridge, uncork the wine, grab the cupcakes, and just for good measure, set up a fruit bowl on the kitchen island. 

But now, I am looking for the love that’s always present.  It’s there before the rut, it’s there in the rut, it’s there after the rut.  It’s there in the sleepless hours.  It’s there in the room that I walked into forgetting what I came for.  It’s there while I distract myself with the wine and the cupcakes, and the smartphone.  It’s there in the letter I meant to write.  It’s there in the joy and the sorrow.  It’s there in the flowers I arranged just so, a prayerful homage to their glory, even in my upholstered rut.  It’s there when the day inevitably vanishes into night.  It’s there in the words I meant to say, but never did.  It’s there when there are no words left.  It’s there in the silence.

Ah, yes … I remember …

It’s right here.

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