In Bright Meadows

The Shortest Distance

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I’m sitting in the living room as I write to you. The Christmas tree is twinkling. Simon kitty is on the back of the comfy chair rubbing my ear and cheek as hard as he can while purring his happy song. The little holiday carousel is going ’round to its charming little tune. Everyone is napping but me.

I have a cup of peppermint tea, my laptop, and you on my mind.

I hope your holiday is lovely. I hope it’s peaceful, joyful, restorative, jolly . . . whatever it is that fills you up and gives you that little, quiet, internal smile. Those are the most delicious smiles.

Sometimes families have a hard time at holidays. It seems to be a time folks are most vulnerable to hurts both intended and accidental. And it seems a time when many are stressed enough to wound someone.

I hope you can find a way to keep your bearings. To sail smoothly through without hitting an iceberg or harpooning a shipmate.

But if you hit rough waters, remember that forgiveness is a trustworthy sextant. It is the shortest distance between hell and heaven.

Someone asked me the other day about forgiveness. How was it that I could forgive something that had such a negative affect on my life? I answered that I wanted to and also I kept in mind that while I enjoyed the change in the person, I didn’t trust it. And that is my human struggle.

Sometimes you think of what you should have said later; what would have been more true, more accurate.

Had I thought more about it. I would have said something else. I would have said I forgave that person because I love them and because I wanted to. I wanted to be in relationship with that person, and I know that person only did the things they did because of their own human struggle. It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t even about them. It was about painful feelings they didn’t know what to do with.

I think it’s important to learn what to do with our painful feelings. That way they don’t spill onto people we love.

I hope you have good ways of dealing with your painful feelings. And I hope you can forgive yourself and others when feelings get overwhelming and aren’t handled well. It’s going to happen every now and then. Or a lot. But it’s not what really matters.

What matters most is relationship with those we love.

I’m writing because it’s Christmas; a time for families and friends to gather together. Because I want your holiday to be joyful and peaceful for you.

In the Christian tradition this is the celebration of Christ’s birth. The beginning of a life that ended with sacrifice and eternal forgiveness. Why? Because of love and the desire for relationship.

Forgiveness is a precious gift.

Blessings!

 

 

I’m Never Gonna Stop the Rain . . .

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It’s raining!!!! 

We’ve needed rain for such a long time here in north Texas. Walking on the grass has felt much like tramping through a hay barn lately. The sweet sound of rain as I went to sleep last night continued this morning as soft thunder and heavy drops soaked our world and our thirsty land. 

After breakfast, I donned my river sandals and raincoat and went bareheaded for a long slow walk down the road. Yes, I splashed in every puddle. I sang Rain Drops Keep Fallin’ on My Head; accidentally at first. I noticed after a few lines that it was just there singing me it seemed. So I went with it enthusiastically.

I marveled at the streams forming along the sides of the road and wished I’d bought one of those cute little wooden sail boats in that charming French fromagerie. And except for my t-shirt and most of my shorts, I got really soaked in the rain. My hair feels and smells wonderful now, by the way.  I recommend getting rained on. It’s just got to be good for you.

It seemed to me that as much time as we’ve all been talking about the heat and dryness, and folks have been praying for rain, that it was absolutely necessary to go out and feel it. Celebrate it! 

And so I did. 

I hope you do too. 

Having fun enjoying the gifts of nature is essential. 

I did Tai Chi in the rain. A soggy gopher hole added to the lesson regarding balance. I spent some time with the largest pecan tree and the oldest oak. They have different rhythms.

Pecan

Pecan that’s been there since before I’ve been here.

The oak also has a colony of bees living in it. So I stopped and watched them for a while. They were buzzing around the entrance in spirals, a few flying out and back. I’m not sure what their purpose was because bees usually don’t do much when it’s raining. I’ll have to ask the BeeKeeper later. But I noticed they had some kind of pattern in their activity and seemed pretty peaceful.

Oak

Oak that’s been here since before my parents have been here.

I saw a couple of bees on the purslane that normally blooms in the sun. The blossoms were snugly folded for the rainy day. The bees were landing on them and trying to find their way in. Not today. Closed for business. 

It seems some of the bees were staying home and letting the rain do its thing. Some were trying to go on with business as usual to no avail. 

Aren’t we so often like that? Life gets so busy that in our hurry to get everything done, we can’t see when everything around us is changing and we need to change with it. 

I think when nature changes, it calls us to notice. To go outside and feel the shift. And let that change guide us to what we might need: Eating bitter greens in spring. Early rising and activity in summer along with late evenings under the stars. Warm food in fall. More sleep in the dark of winter. 

And hydration when it rains! 

We should have a few more days of this. I wonder what a good soaking would do for you? Besides softer hair, that is.

And if it’s not raining where you are, don’t despair. It will rain again. And when it does – run outside and feel it!

Blessings!

The Smallest Things

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“Little drops of water and little grains of sand make the mighty ocean and the pleasant land.” – Madeleine L’Engle from The Irrational Season

Her grandmother used to tell this to little Madeleine. It’s a reflection upon the smallest of things counting towards creating something larger. Making peace begins with a small kindness and grows. Making a home begins with a dream and some small item to give a sense of place; a certain coat hung in the closet, a piece of art, a living plant. 

And I think this also counsels us in the value of remembering that it’s the tiny steps, the small progressions that lead us forth into the expansion and blossoming of our lives. And into that expansion even when life seems to contract. When some important piece has changed like a livelihood lost or a loved one passed on. 

The little drops of water might be tears which, when poured out, cleanse us of our pain. And they might be small joys experienced or kindnesses offered which bathe us, revive us, quench our parched souls.

And the little grains of sand might be the agents of friction when we are drug unwillingly into another situation, painfully and slowly. And they might be tiny morsels of solidness to which we cling for safety until we find ourselves, finally, standing comfortably and capably on the ever-changing sands of life.

I think it’s well worth sitting with the statement. I find it creates a small and growing sense of joy within as I consider it. It’s encouraging while not demanding. It calls us to awareness of a truth: The smallest things matter.

This idea sustains me when I’m exhausted. I hope it does you too.

It’s important for the bees. The littlest drop of water can sustain a bee for quite some time, and it’s that tiny bee who in a vast ecosystem becomes the little grain of sand upon which much of our food supply is built.

The BeeKeeper and I are building a house in the North Texas Hill Country, and doing a fair portion of the work ourselves. I was on our roof last weekend helping to fill nail holes in the clerestory with putty in preparation for paint. The Texas heat has made the work all the more challenging. But with each little thing we complete, the house is becoming more whole. We do a bit of work to prepare for skilled craftsmen, they do their work and it’s so exciting to see it all coming together. Little drops of water.

And my family lost our patriarch in June. Daddy was 96. He was full of life and love and had many plans still to complete, but his body just wasn’t able to hold up any longer. He was hugging us and happy one day and a couple days later he left us. As the family was gathered at the hospital, my dear niece began to sing Amazing Grace. We all joined in. The hospital staff stopped outside the door and listened as we spread ourselves out in love toward Daddy, toward one another, and toward the staff who so gently walked with us in surrender to the moment and to our faith that all is well and will be. Little grains of sand.

And so from these moments come the next. 

The BeeKeeper and I, and our cat, are happily ensconced with my mother while we finish our house build. Mom has us for company during a challenging time of adjustment. We have the comfort of her home while we finish the house (we had made arrangements to leave the house in Colleyville at the end of July). Our alternative was a form of unglamorous “glamping” at the build site. It’s been very good for us all. And I love having all the extra time to spend with my Mom. 

In case you’re wondering, Mama is 94 and in wonderful health and vitality. She clipped some bag worms from one of the pecan trees the other day with a very large pair of snippers. She misses Daddy, but is doing quite well. She said that she has more life to live or she wouldn’t still be here, so she intends to live it. Wise words, I think.

I hope this little note has not made you sad. It’s meant to uplift. You see, in all the challenges we face there are little drops of water and little grains of sand everywhere. Look for them. 

 

Walking in Snow

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Down soft white blanket
covering the land
sends me walking
late afternoon in
frigid temps not seen
in almost a hundred years.

fwoosh, fwoosh, fwoosh

Stillness breaths me
expands my ribs
enlivens the bones of my soul
and dampened sound
relaxes my mind.

fwoosh, fwoosh, fwoosh

Nothing left to sense
but chittering sharp bird calls
soft dove coos and
geese honking at a distance.

fwoosh, fwoosh, fwoosh

Water trinkles a gentle song
echoing in the creek
its melody for lyric avians.

fwoosh, fwoosh, fwoosh

Crisp drops of air
silently mark the time.

fwoosh, fwoosh, fwoosh

Puzzle Poem #1

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From my morning solitary letter tile crossword I draw these little poems, just for fun. We all need at least some little fun each day, and rituals that calm and take us into that inner well of quiet joy are life-giving. It will be fun to see what these little poems become. They shall be in any case; just as I will. Yes, these related words appeared in the puzzle from blind draws, none put back. All used.

That jitter of youth vies for position,

in the verdant dale,

in tents cast along the vein of gold.

Time jets across the earth and eyes

unable to hold the gaze

sense telomeres wear

to frazzled end.

Bright pavilions turn loden.

In this valley of Spring,

quo the oxen tires.

Wise Tree

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You are old
You have lived and let go
Allowing deadwood to fall away
As you sprout in fresh new directions
You shade the place I lie
Looking up at your elder branches
Your baby leaves
And all the lives ringing in your limbs
Winds have bent you
Storms broken you
But you live on
Strong from swaying
Rooted firm and sure
You shelter and teach me
Your student adores you
Grandfather Tree