Thursday - July 24, 2025
READING
“… [T]he light of compassion brings people out of hiding, out of unease and fear. The light that invites courage and renewal and resilience. That is light worth spilling. And it is the light of Grace.” Terry Hershey
WORDS OF HOPE
The air was dense with moisture and the pines vibrant with new growth as Sage and I set out on our early morning walk. Since Sage is a super-sniffer, ambling was our pace, and I delighted in lingering for birdsong, the sound of waves lapping the shore, and the touch of a cool breeze on my skin. It was a sweet morning already, but when we rounded the path not far from the house, a sight stunned me into silence. About 10 or 12 of our local deer lay in a semi-circular shape around my neighbor’s yard, having slept there during the night. When they sensed our presence, some lifted their heads, but did not bolt or run. Nor did Sage bark, though her attention quickened.
An Edward Hick’s “Peaceable Kingdom” in miniature, the scene might well have been accompanied by Handle’s “Sheep May Safely Graze.” But there was something even more touching about this particular scene in this particular place. My neighbor’s husband had died unexpectedly a few years ago from an aggressive brain cancer, and her own cancer had recently returned. Her doctors said there was nothing more to be done. My heart felt an aching tenderness that these beautiful does had come where they were needed, and I hoped that they offered some healing through their trust and gentleness.
The next morning Sage roused me while I was still lazing in bed. I reached over, stroked her fur, and received a bounty of morning kisses. Then I rolled out of bed, grabbed a cup of coffee, and got ready to take her for our ritual walk. She followed the scents of night creatures—possum, raccoon, deer, cats and dogs mostly-- and soon we approached our neighbor’s property. The deer were gathered round again—but this time standing, alert, waiting for their share of deer corn that Cheryl was tossing to them.
Because we both had our dogs with us—hers a tiny Yorkie off its leash—we hailed each other in country greetings and I proceeded on my walk. I thought of Jesus’ direction to Peter in the book of John: Feed my sheep, and smiled an inward blessing for her nurture of these soulful creatures.
The morning we left the lake Cheryl was at her post again, casting corn to the hungry herd. With the drive ahead and a less than restful sleep, I almost just waved and moved on, but as so often happens now, my GPS homes in on compassionate connection. I turned toward her and we talked of our dogs and her family who had come from California to visit, some of whom were still there. Gently but directly, we approached the subject of her cancer and whether the medications were keeping the pain under control. “I will hold you in prayer,” I said. “See you next time.”
At this time in my life, these moments of pure presence, these moments of radical tenderness move me more than I can say. They are part of an ongoing transformation of the heart that is at once mystery and wonder, yet another touch of Grace for which gratitude and service to others are the most fitting responses.
PRAYER
So much is still rough cut and unpolished in me, O God, but your mercy and grace have fashioned this tender-heartedness that reaches out toward others as trees do the sun. And for that I give you thanks and praise. Amen
DEVOTION AUTHOR
Dr. Pat Saxon
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