#hendrickschapel

[monk1019]

You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending. C.S. Lewis #wordstoliveby #lifeinthespirit #congratstograds2021 #hendrickschapel #cnysunrise #syracuseu (at Syracuse University) https://www.instagram.com/p/CPQBeaChmaM/?utm_medium=tumblr

[monk1019]

Happy Easter Sunday one and all! Great to see everyone. Many blessings!#eastersunday #sucatholic #hendrickschapel (at Syracuse University) https://www.instagram.com/p/CNQwzbdBVTD/?igshid=24t8w58dv9q

[monk1019]

And I tell you, ask and you will receive; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. Lk 11:9 #wordstoliveby #prayerispowerful #prayerisallyouneed #orangecoreopsis #hendrickschapel (at Syracuse University) https://www.instagram.com/p/CGFCUQnBJcN/?igshid=179m62owxxt5l

[monk1019]

You are Peter (insert your name here) and upon this rock I will build my Church and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it. Mt 16:18 #wordstoliveby #takeupthechallenge #livethegospeldaily #followjesuschrist #hendrickschapel (at Syracuse University) https://www.instagram.com/p/CEOmidLhpOd/?igshid=7meydmlopddo

[therescuemission]

Newly appointed Dean of Hendricks Chapel, Rev. Brian Konkol recently toured the Rescue Mission to better learn how @hendrickchapelsu can collaborate more completely with our community @syracuseu #rmlifechanging #syracuseuniversity #hendrickschapel #community #collaboration

[carolshya-blog]

nice weather☀️ #syracuse #hendrickschapel (at Hendricks Chapel)

[hendrickschapel]

Day 7 Daily Poems

About the Big Picture What love did God recall When He thought pecan? Whose skin, eyes or heart could bear the sweet so well? Only select souls ascertain a need for shell and protection. The hardened and vulnerable congregate to teach each other and decidedly show proof of sanctuary. In community, the safety of love. It takes merely the moon, the honey on the tongue only the pecan can gift. The kiss and nourishment, the flavor of the Beloved's breath. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * On Prayer Rugs Squat at his loom, the rugmaker readies for the incessant chant of weaving. He adjust the warp, fingers tightening ordinary sisal into backbone. He has selected wools from sheep grazed on spring shoots, spun by virgins, steeped in dyes drawn from beet, onion skin, pomegranate, and blueberry. He will blend mimosa silk into the weft, gold and silver will exalt prayer. He intends service, meditaties from first sail of shuttle, left to right. The weaver plucks and twists tufts of color into the map of God, the devotion of each who will sit in supplication is set before him. He must permit no sense of woman praying, the curve beneath black cotton, avoiding her kohl-lined eyes, or flesh untainted and soft, seated on blue and burgundy, gold woven at his hand. No itch should distract her delicate renewal, no burn to grace the small of her back. He must refuse the nectar dream hidden in her lips after her patchouli bath, that tiny cask, blood warm relief. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * I am butterfly a garden laid out like a map for my pleasure             states of bee balm      lavender             columbine and violets raise their topographies to me But I wander into the higher mountains             of tree my wings tissue thin      stained glass             yellow panes joined by black night lead I have seen sister snake in her silent flight            through weed and thicket She raises an eye         a tongue to the sumac chenille            overhead bare branches tipped with dried blood of last's year's fruit Later in the season she will shed her skin It will dry as thin            and vulnerable as my wings This morning was my awakening A sun kiss dried me            to take to air a tiny kite in boundless flight My only tether            this short life A bird cries in the distance            like a kitten hungry for mother

I am reminded I have no voice One might think me indifferent as I shift along leaf edges but I have little power            over wind Georgia A. Popoff Community Poet 10-Day Journey of the Heart Digitial Poet-in-Residence

Day 7: As the photos are posted, I am feeling the vibration of all of the experiences, and nearly smelling the aromas. Today, the Hendricks Chapel tour has been in Konya and Rumi continues to be breathing close. Two more poems inspired by his words and then one about flight, in honor of the balloon ride and the alternate view. On Prayer Rugs  originally appeared in Comstock Review and is included in my second collection,  The Doom Weaver (2008, Main Street Rag Publishers).