A Spring Squall in New England

By Dawn M. Adams

The wind dances through the falling snow, which twinkles and shimmers

as it lay itself upon the ground –

each flake bent over like a ballerina folded and waiting for the next note to spring to life.

The bluster rattles the windows and threatens to draw us back into winter,

but the crocus and the Lenten rose stand defiantly against the onslaught.

Tomorrow the sun will melt away the snow

and the winds will subside.

Locals will go out without a coat and claim,

“Spring is here!”


written during a spring squall April 2025

All rights reserved. Permission for use in educational or religious settings with citation.

Sacred Noticing

Yesterday, as I was preparing to leave for church, I looked out our backdoor to the lake and there I saw the beauty of creation in a way I had never seen it before.

I think it was a rare confluence of events that made it so. In the eves of the overhang to the porch were these fragile ice crystal cobwebs. They were invisible to the naked eye normally (not that we’ve been doing a whole lot of outdoor sitting these days in -6 degrees), but the kerosene heater with an outdoor vent had come on. It was very cold, and the eves caught the moisture.

Every moisture molecule that landed on the spider’s web froze immediately creating this crystalline creation. Each layer upon layer brought forward and made visible the beauty of the underlying design. It is surely a wonder to behold – similar to dew captured on a web as it glints in the sunlight. Part of the wonder in both of these situations is its impermanence. It was there in this moment, but within a few hours they were invisible again. It was a deep reminder to pay attention – deep attention.

When we think of prayer, we often think of words that we say out into the world, but perhaps we should expand our understanding to include that which enters into us as well. Perhaps our prayer is that moment when our breath is caught and all we can utter are syllables: “ahh”, “ohh”, “wow”.

Sacred noticing is a spiritual practice to always be on the look out for wonder and to be willing to pause the rest of the world so that you can fully take it in.

In this case, I called my husband over to behold it with me and he too offered the sacred prayer of “Wow! That is amazing.”


What have you seen today that has taken your breath away?

Seeing things in a new light

As we enter into this Epiphany Season, we are beginning a series about seeing this in a new light: basically, considering alternative perspectives. As I’ve been rattling this theme around in my mind, I have felt compelled to put together a bulletin board using some of my photography in ways that make people think more deeply.

Now one bulletin board isn’t going to change the world, but in conjunction with the remainder of the series, I hope it may affect a few people. I’ve always been amazed at how sometimes old-school ways, like a bulletin board, can really help people connect with a message.

I actually enjoyed putting this particular board together. In fact, I have really come to enjoy photography. I don’t mean fancy photography that requires special lenses or careful development; I mean Contemplative Photography. Contemplative Photography invites me to commune with the sacred and to really pay deep attention to the world. I simply use the camera on my phone to capture places where I see God is still speaking. I have been doing this so often that I began to look for an outlet for some of my pictures.

One of the places you might see some of them is in the UpperRoom’s Sight Psalms. There is no financial reward for these submission, but I find that I get the reward of hopefully opening the world in a new way for others, and it causes me to reflect even more deeply.

Here is the link to the one that I most recently had published and below is a modified picture of it. Interestingly, these blackberries were picked from wild blackberry bushes fresh that day I photographed them. In fact, that is how the photo started. My husband picked one and said that they were delicious and so we decided to pick more. When I saw the lush abundance in my hand, I decided I needed to capture that to remember God’s abundant care for the world. I hadn’t planted these bushes. I hadn’t weeded this garden. I was simply enjoying the harvest on this particularly lovely day. For this, I needed to be grateful, and I suspect we have all had an occurrence like this.

Abundance:

God provides. Let us be thankful for the many ways we receive what we need.

The photography will not ever make it into the Louvre, but that is not where I hope it is displayed. I’d prefer that such pictures help people open their hearts.