It's Sermon Sunday- Rilke Style

Yesterday I bought a toaster oven. It is awesome. I had my first piece of toast this morning, and I remembered how much I love the sound of the knife spreading butter and jam across the crackling surface of the bread. That scratching was immensely satisfying for no reason at all, and I took joy in it. 

Also, I am continuing to swim through Rilke's Book of Hours. I want to share another of his poems with you. So, dress your heart up in its Sunday best and sit down. Allow yourself to be vulnerable for a few short minutes in this day. My favorite parts are bold. 

I, 17

She who reconciles the ill-matched threads

of her life, and weaves them gratefully

into a single cloth - 

it's she who drives the loudmouths from the hall

and clears it for a different celebration

where the one guest is you.

In the softness of the evening

it's you she receives.

You are the partner of her loneliness,

the unspeaking center of her monologues.

With each disclosure you encompass more

and she stretches beyond what limits her,

to hold you. 

I feel that I am breaking the sacredness of the moment perhaps, by putting my own small and insignificant words after Rilke (I mean, who speaks in the hall after good writing is read?), but I want you to know how earnestly I am longing to weave these ill-matched threads I've been given, how desperately eager I am to stretch beyond these things that limit me (they exist in abundance), to reach over them victoriously and to hold Love. And after holding Love, to be so full up with it that I've no choice but to love others with it. Genuinely and authentically to love the ajumma stepping on my foot, the girl pushing me in order to see her reflection in the window. And most of all, to love those who love me. 

Go, stretch beyond your limits. Weave a beautiful and pleasing garment from the seemingly ill-matched threads in your life. And I'll meet you there, in Love's house.