A man named Andrew included it in a comment on Off the Left Eye. He did not coin it, but whatever the origin, I resonated. 

 

"Ordain the Ordinary".

 

I have no aspirations to circles of theology in which one person teaches another. Rather, my heart moves with the invitation to make meaning of the mundane. 

 

The other day I went to the post office, and as chance would have it, saw a man whose wife is on hospice. The world stopped turning as I listened to him anticipate the loss of her. 

 

This week I sang with the children in the preschool, which is about as ordinary as it gets. That is, if ordinary describes tunes I have been strumming since their mothers were small enough to think the slide on the playground is an epic climb. 

 

I attended a mom's group. No news there, as such things have been happening since my aunts had coffee klatches in the fifties. 

 

My daughter called from Europe, and told me about her thesis between mouthfuls of stir-fry. I could see her face. How commonplace is that? 

 

I relayed a joke to an elderly man whose days are slowing down. Few things get him excited, or angry anymore. But he laughed with gusto. 

 

Each of those connections was as sacred as I know how to hold. More, really, as they spilled over with tenderness.