A contemplative day morning to dusk, I return to the window. Heavenly light casting shadows, I center my heart’s attention on the one thing Tree in eternal standstill. Earth spinning on its axis, in and out of daylight Subtle changes, shifting shadows. The one thing is still the one thing. Cloaked with leaves from green to golden yellow or in winter, naked The tree is still the tree. Light and dark, a blanket of snow and shadow branches. Insights shifting with the shadow. Perspective is everything. Shadow deepens, lengthens, lightens, disappears. For shadow, for me, the Source of Light is essential. The only lasting truth is change.
“Wonders are the signpost to the Wonderful. Wonders will not cease while time keeps unfolding. Time left ahead assures us of wonder’s returning.” –excerpt from Ceaseless Wonders, Ana Lisa de Jong, Living Tree Poetry, February 2025
Wonder captured me the other day as I was working in the kitchen. Our first measurable snowfall didn’t happen until February this year in southeast Nebraska. The sunlight on a backyard birch tree elicited the most intricate artwork on the fresh snow. I returned a time or two to see how the shadow shifted, deciding to make it contemplative prayer throughout the day.
Ooh, I wonder What is to come, out of this darkness I’ve been moving moving moving moving through the darkness… I wonder when the light is cracking open.. (Wonder by S. Nutting/ K. Longaker)
The first verse to the song Wonder by Ma’Muse poses questions about the “dark night of the soul” that most of us experience at some point in our lives. Whether it is melancholy, depression, fear, or grief that grips us, we wonder: When is this going to end? What is going to come out of this darkness? What comes next? When will we see relief from our suffering? When will there be more light than dark?
The song continues.
I thought this candle had long gone out… But today today today today I can see There’s still a flickering flickering
Today I saw a flickering, just a little light cracking open, after some weeks of darkness.
I had just finished reading a new poem from Ana Lisa de Jong, when Wonder came up in my Spotify playlist. The poem, Ceaseless Wonders, offers insights into when light may come.
CEASELESS WONDERS Wonders never cease, while we are sleeping or awake in rumination wonders are not ceasing Wonders will not cease until wonders are not needed, meanwhile wonders are the signpost to the Wonderful. Wonders in the breath, which has exhaled us into being, and wonder in the breath that keeps us living. Wonder in the breath of the fresh new morning, the birds who sing of the restoration of creation. Wonders will not cease while time keeps unfolding. Time left ahead assures us of wonder’s returning. And wonders never cease as darkness precedes the morning, the morning star points us to light’s dawning, and the rounding sun, which hardly falters in its momentum, though wonders seem far flung and courage is ebbing.
-Ana Lisa de Jong, Living Tree Poetry, February 2025
The synchronistic moment of the song and poem coming together was itself, a glimpse of light, my 2025 word of the year. Experiencing synchronicity is a holy surprise, an inkling of something more, a nudge to pay attention, to look and listen deeply. Perhaps this is a glimpse, a reminder, that darkness will pass with time because darkness always precedes the morning. Wonders will not cease/while time keeps unfolding. Time left ahead/assures us of wonder’s returning.
During this time of darkness, wonders never cease, are not ceasing, will not cease. The wonder is our breath. We can use our breath as prayer—the literal inhale and exhale, that takes us from one moment to the next, from this day to the next, from night into morning. We continue to
Burn burn burn burn on the inside Burn burn burn burning like a bright light Burn burn burn burn on the inside This light’s still burning, burning bright I thought this candle had long gone out… but today i can see, there’s more than a flickering
Our longing for hope, peace, and light becomes the prayer. And in times of darkness, our purpose is not to question our lack of courage or hope, but instead to bring wonder as fuel to burn like a bright light, to keep the flame alive. Yes, I wonder and I wonder.
Each of us in our Oblate community comes to a Lectio Divina discussion from our personal experience of the Divine. The beauty of Lectio is that the reading, insights, and discussion fall differently on each of our hearts. When we practice Lectio Divina, we learn from each other by sharing a word or phrase that resonates. We see a deeper meaning to the reading with each contribution as we “listen with the ear of the heart.” (RB Prologue) What resonated with our group:
“The crowd was pressing in…put out a short distance from the shore.” Sometimes what we bear seems so much. Perhaps we could break our feelings, responsibilities, or worries into smaller pieces. Jesus only asks us to go a short distance–taking on only what we need to while trusting that when we go into deeper waters, God will be with us. Even Jesus sat down for a bit to continue his teaching. We learn from his example: our work sometimes requires distance and healthy boundaries from others. We must listen and discern.
“We have worked hard all night.” In times of weariness, feeling overworked, defeated, or unsuccessful, we must carefully listen for the hopeful words of Jesus. The first word in the Rule of St. Benedict is “Listen”—he knew that we cannot go out into deep waters alone. We find encouragement in pausing, resting, and receiving help from others.
Being Benedictine 