My friend, Mary W. Cox, began a practice several years ago of walking each day. She soon married the practice with a discipline of writing. Inspired by her walks or the day’s events, she writes remarkable haikus, somehow bending the very specific structure of this Japanese form of poetry into a provocative snapshot—all in seventeen syllables. She graciously shares these poetic gifts on her social media and here, in this meditation. These poems are like modern-day psalms, responding and reflecting on the breadth of life, the grace and glory, the agony and loss. They are a tangible witness to the praise we are called to offer God: for the beauty of creation, the thoughtfulness of a shade tree, the splendor of the ocean, the whisper of butterfly wings. We should praise God for songs and friends, long lunches and new books, spouses and children and parents and siblings, and all the many gifts given freely to us.
Often Mary delights in the wonders of creation. With a keen eye and a curious spirit, she zooms in on the curve of a flower, the work of a bee, the leaves of the trees:
Bent down, daffodil
trumpets through pine straw,
“Hear me, cold earth: Spring will come.”
If there’s a clean slate,
rain washed it—gutters filling
with sky, trees, lost leaves.
At other times, Mary succumbs to whimsy, inspired by yard signs and street litter and even the purchase of new shoes:
Breaking in new shoes—
or maybe just retraining
some old worn-out feet.
And then there are the difficult days, when it would be easy to turn from praising God. When we heave and holler, lash out and crumple in, and when we mourn:
Every day this year— lost,
some ordinary thing
we took for granted.
Mary’s words join the psalms in reminding us to praise God not only in the feast but also in the famine, for God is always with us. “The Lord upholds all those who fall…[and] near to those who call upon him” (Psalm 145:15,19). And that is worthy of praise indeed.