Today is Pentecost. The liturgical color is red. And the symbol is fire, or a flame.

Did you ever think how noisy this Pentecostal event must have been?  The clamor of a violent, rushing wind filled the house where they were all gathered together.  Talk to anyone who has survived a tornado.  They describe the roar of a train attacking their home.  It sounds like there are railroad tracks that bisect their living room or that explodes from underneath their bed.  And the 11:05 express is roaring down a detour that runs right through the picture window.  The noise must be unmistakable and unforgettable.  I've certainly heard of people getting religion during such frightening moments, being converted because of a fear‑producing event.  But I prefer the more peaceful, meditative experience of solitude.  I want to be able to  reflect.  Could Pentecost have been so noisy that you couldn't even think?

Invite 25 children to a party.  Fill them with sugar.  Add helium balloons, several cats and a couple of dogs.  Include a rock band that rolls through the house on skateboards circling a clown that does magic tricks.  Now try to have an intelligent conversation without yelling!  That's Pentecost.  Read the story in Acts 2 for yourself.  Notice that the place is at the edge of pandemonium.  The miracle of Pentecost is not the variety of languages being spoken or the first experience of strange tongues that are Spirit‑produced.  The miracle is that anyone heard at all!  It is amazing that in the midst of near‑chaos there was any understanding.  The spiritual revelation that occurred in that house was not in the speaking but in the hearing.

I wonder if the point of Pentecost is that community is being created by God's spirit. And all, anyone, everyone, will be included. That's pretty exciting!

Breathing deeply, noticing the beauty all around you, and centering on God's love.

The moment lasts. Life lingers.

Rejoice in the now.

Where do you get your energy?

I'm thinking of emotional energy, spiritual energy. I enjoy being with people. I like to exchange ideas, share intimate stories, laugh at our foibles, and delight in community arts. I value the support of others when wounded, and gain inspiration in public worship. But I find that some encounters drain energy, rather than provide a boost.

I discover refreshment and renewal in quiet times as well. Whether I am reading or meditating or taking a photograph or swimming or writing, I gain strength in these inner moments of reflection. I need both to be whole.

I have always been a reflective person, examining my life, my faith, my practice.

And recently I have authored ten affirmations about my life and who I am and intend to be. I'll not share them, but I have also been considering how important it is to live in the now. The past is comforting or could be bent to be better ( and I have so much past). I am so practiced at living in the future and imagining something different. But I can't actually live in the past or the future. I really only have now.

It may be why I am attracted to the camera and the immediate moment. True, I can look at that image years later and remember that moment. But a photo freezes that instant, that slice of now, and can be interpreted, analyzed, even shared. It may make now last longer.

Something more to think about.

Not much mail comes any more, not letters anyway.

There's email, and texts, and twitters, and probably a hundred other ways to communicate electronically. But letters, personal and hand-written are rare. When was the last time you got a letter from someone that was not soliciting your financial contribution or wanting to enroll you in a new credit card or reporting the safety of the water supply or detailing the failure of the government to do anything; a letter from friend or lover or family that was simply sharing news or emotion?

When did you last receive a letter written in cursive? On real stationary?

I found that it takes thinking and time to write a letter. And it takes a stamp, how much is first class postage?

Every other method is faster, but to have a letter, in someone's handwriting is a treasure. Well, it could be.

Peoria in June.

This was my view from my suite in the Pere Marquette Hotel looking west toward Methodist Hospital in 2011. Although I was busy nearly every moment of the day, I managed to get a few photographs that day. The sky often attracts my attention. I was noticing the clouds this morning and this evening from my backyard. Every moment is different, unique. The clouds three years ago rolled across the sky. I've enhanced them a bit to suggest the impact that view had on me. I remember the sky that day and little that happened inside the Convention Center. I should have spent more time with my camera.

Tomorrow, the Annual Conference Session begins again. I hope some will find opportunity to step outside and look up.

Did you ever watch fish swim in the water over your head?

Maddy, at the Tennessee Aquarium.

My son will hate this; that's probably too harsh. He just dislikes peeling paint.

But I find it fascinating: the texture, the colors, the shadows. You can even see the outlines of numbers that were painted there long ago.

The good news is that the fascination has skipped a generation and Maddy took a photo of the same railroad car with her iPad.

This is sweet!