Spiritual Short

Praying daily for oneself is, to me, a lot like nurturing a potted plant.   You prune the dead leaves and flowers so it’s not wasting its energy on something useless; you make sure it has enough water and sunlight; and, best of all, you enjoy all the beautiful growth that’s happening.

Do you ever find yourself dwelling on the past? You begin to think about big and little incidents that may cause regret, grief, sadness, or self-condemnation.   Recently I was on a trip, where I had time just to sit and think.

I lead a Bible study group at a local jail in Boston, and the men I talk with use and love a diversity of Bible translations. However, I often hear that many of these men find the words of the King James Version hard to understand or relate to.

I was about to leave my workplace, and couldn’t find my keys. It’s a large building, and I had been all over it the past hour with keys in hand.

I love the Lord’s Prayer, and I love Mary Baker Eddy’s “spiritual sense” of the prayer, too. The inclusive love in this prayer embraces the universe.

The story of Solomon praying to God for wisdom and an understanding heart to rule his people (see I Kings 3:5–15 ) begins with his being asleep and having a dream in the night, where God comes to him, answers his prayer for wisdom, and also gives him what he didn’t even ask for—riches and honor. It says that Solomon awoke and “behold, it was a dream.

The four young swimmers were excitedly diving into the water at the local gravel pit and coming up with a variety of colorful, beautiful rocks they had found at the bottom. One young boy swam over to me and asked breathlessly, “Do you want me to find you some diamonds?”   To see the enthusiasm of these innocent amateur geologists made my heart sing.

In my practice of Christian Science, I have found that divine law has been a bulwark to my spiritual progress. The very nature of this law is its universality, impartiality, and immutability.

When we were in Belize this past spring, my family and I went tubing in some caves. We went deep into those caves, floating on inner tubes, clambering over rocks, edging along ledges with stalactites dripping.

Late one beautiful morning in Boston soon after Christmas, I paused for a moment to contemplate what I had been studying and turned to my window, scanning the horizon from my eighth-floor apartment. The view constantly changes.