The Divine on Your Doorstep: Barbara Mahany
Long time Chicago Tribune columnist Barbara Mahany has written a "book of common prayer" for everyday living, celebrating the divinity of everyday moments. The result is Slowing Time: Seeing the Sacred Outside Your Kitchen Door. Mahany believes the sacred is all around, within finger’s reach—here to be gathered, culled, collected, through the simple yet complex art of paying attention, of savoring the moment, of cultivating stillness.
Also on the show, David Dault reads "My Winter Rose," by Alfred Austin.
Publisher's Weekly said that Slowing Time was "balm for the hurried heart," and picked it as one of the top 10 fall religion books for 2014.
The book is a collection of meditations inviting readers to discern the divine in the ordinary moments of everyday and live an examined life where everything is a form of prayer. Mahany mixes in recipes, reflections, and Farmer's Almanac details to weave together a mosaic that brings the spirit in tune with the passage of time and the changing of the seasons.
Also on the Show
David Dault reads "My Winter Rose," by Alfred Austin (1835-1913).
Why did you come when the trees were bare?
Why did you come with the wintry air?
When the faint note dies in the robin's throat,
And the gables drip and the white flakes float?
What a strange, strange season to choose to come,
When the heavens are blind and the earth is dumb:
When nought is left living to dirge the dead,
And even the snowdrop keeps its bed!
Could you not come when woods are green?
Could you not come when lambs are seen?
When the primrose laughs from its childlike sleep,
And the violets hide and the bluebells peep?
When the air as your breath is sweet, and skies
Have all but the soul of your limpid eyes,
And the year, growing confident day by day,
Weans lusty June from the breast of May?
Yet had you come then, the lark had lent
In vain his music, the thorn its scent,
In vain the woodbine budded, in vain
The rippling smile of the April rain.
Your voice would have silenced merle and thrush,
And the rose outbloomed would have blushed to blush,
And Summer, seeing you, paused, and known
That the glow of your beauty outshone its own.
So, timely you came, and well you chose,
You came when most needed, my winter rose.
From the snow I pluck you, and fondly press
Your leaves 'twixt the leaves of my leaflessness.
This poem is in the public domain.
