Patience and perspective

This painting by Townsend DavidsonTownsend Davidson hangs in Ashley River Tower at MUSC. 

I like how it plays with perspective the way supermoons do. 

Lost in space

     We watched a full moon rise Saturday night, with thin clouds bisecting it. I turned off the car radio to a chorus of complaints from the three kids jamming to the music so we could watch it in silence.

     “Why can’t we leave the radio on?” asks my teenager. “We can still see it rise.”

     Another child pipes in, “Are you even watching it or playing electronics?”

     “Uhh, yeah, where is it?”

     Explaining that this is a supermoon, bigger and brighter than ever for just this one night because of its closer passage to the Earth, I insist on a moment of silence to honor it. There’s a pause. “Oh my gosh, that’s incredible. It looks so big,” says the teenager who finally has looked.

     I’m pleased we can share this moment of a rising supermoon.  The moon gives me chills, dwarfing the horizon as it does, dwarfing me, reminding me of the celestial spin we’re on - of how we’re not the center of our own universe. I get the same feeling when I journal or serve at the family shelter or help a friend or watch one of my children sleep. It’s that being part of something bigger, that both shrinks and expands me at the same time.

      I start to comment on perspective, how important it is to switch gears for the celestial view sometimes, but I get interrupted.

     “Are we going to be there in time for the movie’s start?”

      I shake my head and smile, responding yes. I turn up the radio and flip on my turn signal. Moment over. But there, for an instance, I felt the Earth move.

DB

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     I am learning patience from my garden. It has been weeks now since I planted tomato, squash, and pepper plants (not to mention strawberries, but the birds take the fruit from those before I even have a chance to admire it), and finally there are signs that my care

for the plants has not been in vain. After all the watering, fertilizing, weeding, and checking on them every day, at last there are vegetables at different stages of development on all the plants.

      The first little tomatoes appeared a couple of weeks ago, and many more have joined them since. I even ate two red ripe fruits from the plant this week. The squash began coming in a bit later. I was amazed as I watched the large orange-yellow flowers seemingly turn inside out and become recognizable squash-shapes. Some of them should be ready to pick any day now (if the dreaded squash borer bugs my friend Carrie

told me about don't get to them first). 

     I had nearly given up on the green peppers. That plant was the last to flower, and having never watched vegetables grow (I'm embarrassed to admit), I was not even

sure which part would turn into the edible bell peppers like the ones I bought in stores. Just a few days ago, I finally saw that one little pepper-shape had formed, as if by magic, overnight. But it won't be ready to pick for awhile. It will need sunshine, rain, my continuing care, and time. I will just have to be patient.

SS

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Graduation at Furman University,  May 2012

     Graduation.  A time of endings and new beginnings.  For us, it's the end of an era of moving daughters in and out of Furman University each year. Savannah graduated on Saturday, moved out of her apartment on Sunday and began a whirlwind week of travel to discover what's next for her.  Graduation is an emotional rollercoaster for both students and their feeling-suddenly-much-older parents.  There's sadness over friends, professors and a beautiful campus left behind along with excitement, apprehension, and uncertainty over what lies ahead.  

     But in the midst is gratitude (at least from this mom's perspective).  Gratitude for great professors who were challenging teachers and good mentors,  for best friends and roommates who pulled each other through long study nights and college drama, and for those late night philosophical/spiritual/political conversations with friends that change and shape an outlook on life.   Gratitude for a beautiful, safe campus here in South Carolina and gratitude for study away programs to England, Scotland, Spain, New Orleans, Mexico and Turkey  which helped my daughters learn and experience more about this new global world in which we all live.

     A good education helps you grow into a person more interested in others than yourself; challenges your own (and your parents!) assumptions and beliefs about the world we live in; takes you places you've never been - both intellectually and physically;  and gives you friends to last a lifetime.

     For all these blessings and many more,  thanks Furman.

AF

Tomatoes, lemons, and remembering Clay

Please don't take offense at this:

I don't like tomatoes,

Normally, as a general rule.

But you are certainly the exception.

See, you are MY tomato,

And that changes things.

When I put a few vegetable plants in the ground,

Just a corner of the yard, two weeks ago,

I was only half-joking when I said aloud,

"Be fruitful and multiply"

As I covered your roots with compost and soil,

Hoping but fearful.

The problem is that I kill everything.

Keeping plants alive is not one of my skills,

And I told the man at the garden center as much.

"Not to worry," he said. "These are hearty."

I'm not sure I believed him,

Which is probably why I spoke my blessing as I planted. 

And now, through some strange alchemy,

Some miracle of sun and water, soil and fertilizer,

Time and luck, God and me,

Here you are, proof of life.

Small, green, promising ripeness in a few weeks.

By then, I may learn to love tomatoes.

SS
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      I reached in the onion bin to pull out an onion to chop for the Greek pasta salad I was preparing for dinner with friends who are staying with us.  It had been a busy week with two rounds of houseguests, leaky faucets, disappointing news, critters in the attic - plus the normal rush of work, church and life.
       But when I reached into the bin, I found not onions - but lemons.  In my hurried  absent-mindedness, I put the lemons in the onion bin - instead of in their proper place in the fridge. I've done this before - putting the cereal box in the fridge and the milk in the cabinet.  It's a cue to me, a red flag, that I've got too much going on in that moment or even in that day.  Absent-minded.  Those two words say it all.  My mind has gone AWOL and is off thinking about yesterday's worries or tomorrow's future stress.  I"m not at all focused on the present moment and the lemons end up in the onion bin. 
        Luckily, hiding under the pile of lemons was one yellow onion, just enough for a big bowl of pasta salad.  And the good news is that the dressing for the pasta salad used, you guessed it, fresh squeezed lemons.  Sometimes, life really does give you lemons,  and if it does, I have a great pasta salad recipe for you.

AF

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I Remember

      This week is my brother’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Clay!

      He would have been 52, but he’s eternally 33, always young in my mind. He asked me for two favors when he was dying. One was to help save him from the melanoma ravaging his body. Two was to not forget him.

      Of course, I could do nothing to save him, other than be there for the rough journey.   But remember him I have.

      Unlike my Mom, I don’t visit him at his gravesite. He’s not there for me. But when my boys play their sports and score a goal, I can hear my brother, who was an awesome athlete, cheering them on with me. I know he’s ecstatic that his frilly, ballet/jazz/tap sister ended up with three boys who can wield a Barbie as a substitute gun toy. He’d love that I sometimes wear camouflage instead of pink and have bruises from fending off his nephews.

      When I went to the movie, Hunger Games, I smiled at a gory scene he would have liked. He loved action, fantasy and horror movies. Sometimes I go to one just because I know he would have loved it. I'll laugh at jokes I know his mischievous self would have liked. I can still hear his deep, rich laugh.

      I have a friend who also lost her brother, but she says she rarely thinks of him now that so many years have passed. We all have our ways of coping, but for me, to remember is good – bittersweet and soul enriching.

      You mattered, Clay. I probably wouldn’t have had kids had I not lost you. My oldest son is named for you.  I remember.

      And I forgive you for calling me egghead, bookworm and apestink.

DB

February thoughts

(Photo courtesy. www.trappist.net)

Early Morning

     It’s 4 o’clock in the morning. 

     I stare out the window watching the night rotate into day. I woke for some reason and hope to go back to sleep without my mind going down my to-do list for the day. The harder I fight to go to sleep, the more it eludes me. 

     Finally the dark shifts to the deepest of blues, a hue of the blue that reminds me of a retreat I took at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit in Conyers, Ga. It’s been four years since my retreat there, but there are images that stick to me - that flow through my dreams.

     One is of the interior chapel at Vigils and Compline or evening prayers, the sun serving as a color wheel casting shades of dappled blues along the arches. I know the monks are in chapel praying and chanting now.

     I am not alone. My heart sings with them.

     I drift back to sleep.

DB

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     This has been my view for much of the week. I've had a lot of writing to do the past few days. What keeps drawing my attention is the space bar, and that worn out place in the middle where my thumbs have landed thousands of times. I can't help but wonder, if my life were a keyboard, which would be the worn out keys? Do I land most often on worry, fear, jealousy, anger? Or on hope, kindness, faith, love, joy? 

     I know which I want to be true, but still I wonder.

SS

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Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; 

they toil not, neither do they spin.   Matthew 6:28

     Laziness can have surprising benefits.   Last winter, I carefully planted shoots of baby romaine lettuce in a garden pot filled with fresh soil and a little compost.  The romaine loved the cool winter and I harvested romaine until the days got too warm.  When the lettuce bolted, I pulled it out and replanted the pot with sweet basil for the summer.  

     This winter found me lacking in time and energy for the garden.  I pulled the frost bitten basil out of the pot in late November and simply stored the pot full of dirt beside the house without even a plan for spring.  And look what happened!

      Free lettuce! Volunteer shoots of romaine appeared, growing again in the container.  I watered it a bit and now I have another winter of fresh romaine. 

     I love finding these small miracles in my life  - even when I've done nothing to deserve them.

AF

     

Third Week of Advent - Joy

This is one image of joy I've had sitting around my house the past few days.  It's pretty indicative of what we are told this time of year.  Joy is about the right gift under the perfect Christmas tree surrounded by the happy family.  Really?  I don't think that's exactly what the Bible means by joy.  James exhorted his fellow believers, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds" (James 1:2 TNIV).  In times of trial, it's not brightly wrapped gifts I crave.  Even now, when my life is relatively trial-free, that isn't what I really want.  What I want is to be one of those people who can endure life's struggles with an unshakeable joy in God, not just a sappy smile.  I'm still trying to understand all that joy is about, but if it has anything to do with gifts, I know it's less about the ones wrapped under the tree than the One who was placed in a manger.

SS

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    Let a joy keep you.

Reach out your hands

And take it when it runs by...

Carl Sandburg

It’s easy to catch joy when it’s all piled up on your lap.   My nieces and nephew - a trendy 8 year old, an all-boy 5 year old and a two year old who begins everyday with the announcement “It my bir-day!”   - are visiting this week and our quiet evenings at home with the cat and the Christmas tree have been replaced by silly giggles, campfire s’mores in the backyard, and a floor full of legos and Polly Pockets.    

We toured the Charleston holiday scene - including the James Island Holiday Festival of Lights.  We had already made one drive through the light show with our three grown children.  It was a fun trip, full of memories and hilarious political and religious commentary on the light vignettes.  This week, we returned to see the lights with the nieces and nephew in tow.   “Yook! Yook!  A weindeer!”   It was pure jumping up and down delight  (well, except for the few moments of sibling disagreement and rebellion- but I’m not their mom so I was having a great time!)  

I love catching these fleeting moments of joy as they go speeding past - in the guise of a two year old who thinks everyday is her birthday and three children who manage to jump in the ocean - even in December!  What joy!

AF

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I love storms. I took this photo in St. Augustine, Fla., at dawn, just before a storm rolled in. It was a long, quiet walk, full of shifting clouds and light, a stolen moment before I resumed the drive down to Satellite Beach with my family, the destination of our Thanksgiving break.  The choice was to sleep in or to walk. The light and electric charge of the air drew me out. By the end of the walk, I walked back in soaked, but happy. In the entrance of Shay’s school, Ashley River Elementary, is a Picasso quote: “Art washes away from the soul the dust from everyday life.” I don’t always have time for a long, soaking walk, but I’ve learned every day has its offerings of joy to be gathered. Manna moments, if you will.

Sometimes, it’s the only way I get through the day.

DB