My Gift/"Morning Poem" by Mary Oliver

I haven't really begun Assignment Two in earnest yet, but I did read ahead to see that it involves identifying my gifts that I bring to the program.

One of the things that I've always valued the most about myself is my sense of wonder. Every morning, when I wake up, I wake up amazed by details: the sunlight streaming in the window; the spiderweb it highlights; even the spider itself. I don't think I've ever put on my glasses (or put in my contacts) without uttering a simple prayer of thanks for the delight of seeing a blurry world come sharply into focus. I sit in my back yard and marvel over the small ecosystem in place -- the bunnies that live in the brush pile, the Koi and frogs and plants in the pond, even the skunk who makes his home under my porch, and has never sprayed me or anyone else coming or going in the over 3 years he's lived there!

In studying social psychology, I've learned that alcohol tends to bring out a person's most intrinsic nature; and while I realize that I shouldn't be using this journal to advocate for the overconsumption of alcohol, I do find it interesting to note that when I drink, I am not an angry drunk, nor a silly one, but an amazed one, entirely awestruck by the moon, the stars, the leaves on a tree or the face of a stranger. I am fortunate that I take this with me; it is a trait merely enhanced by alcohol, when the lowering of inhibitions strips away the jading ascribed by the world.

It seems that Francis was gifted with some of this same constant amazement [insert quote from Bodo book here!].

I found this poem by chance; a portion was excerpted in a colleague's e-mail .sig file. It seems to fit my thoughts on both stewardship and amazement. And it describes my mood upon waking every day...


"Morning Poem" by Mary Oliver

Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange

sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches ---
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it

the thorn
that is heavier than lead ---
if it's all you can do
to keep on trudging ---

there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted ---

each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.

from Dream Work (1986) by Mary Oliver