Peek!

day one

It was not too bad for being wildly unprepared.

We visited with our milk buddies -- lots of ball kicking (in the house!), doll pushing, and then some whacking.  (We were even inspired to make our own whackers, but I couldn't take a picture of them for all my micromanaging their use).

And because I couldn't be just five minutes from home and not see my mom, there we went.  Painting and snacking and reading of comics, reconnecting, listening for hope and hearing it.  On the way home, we drove over and by our first turtles of the year, within fifteen feet of each other. 

Flora would like very much to find another turtle and hold it on her lap.

five thirteen

Mother's Day 2012.  A surprise Morning Prayer service that was just right, a trip out that wasn't, and a walk to the creek to say we did.

Erma let me know that my piece was Just grand.  She said it more than once, and it made me smile every time.  So does the news tonight that the way has been made clear for an even bigger adventure, this one going on Faith alone.

But first, I wonder if I can take hold of the next two weeks and help them to be good.  For all of us.

Please, God, keep me mindful of your presence.
And lay your healing hands on my mom.  Amen.

of an evening

Making time for after-dinner walkabouts, seeing who's here, who's on their way.

Watching myself react to the intrusion of reality, feeling selfish in my own fear and grief, trying to rein in my ever-quick worst-case horse, wanting to trust that God is present in all things, even the clinical details of my mother's cancer.

Feeling grateful for the reminder to be present myself, to notice, appreciate, and give thanks.

 

 

even so

Even in the midst of grump and fuss, pout and whine, there is beauty. 

Sunlight through water; angelic brushes spreading light fantastic. 

Remember, remember, remember:  Love one another as I have loved you.

looking

Years and years ago, I found four sturdy bowls at a secondhand store.  Two of them are Carr China from Grafton WV; one's mark is faded, and the other says Victor.  (I'm partial to the latter, as it was my grandfather's name and is my son's middle name.)  I like them for oatmeal, granola, yogurt, and soup, and if we had five of them, they'd be the only ones out.

It was a treat to find a Victor mug to match the bowl at a thrift shop on the Eastern Shore earlier this year.  It's my favorite intact coffee cup (my first favorite cup is in pieces down the hill, and my second favorite has lost its handle, which is still lying like van Gogh's ear on the kitchen windowsill). 

Also found at that thrift shop was a serger (which turned out not to be the missing ingredient in the Etsy-shop quest), a little glass pitcher from Italy, and this potent reminder, underscored by its soiled unfinishedness.

That's what's on my mind tonight.  I put something out there, and I thought it would be a certain way, and it isn't.  The essence of itself is still there, just not the rightness of the way it looks.  It's no one's fault, what's done is done, and in the grand scheme of things, it's just a wee teeny tiny blip.  But it feels big tonight. I can't look at it, and I don't want to think of anyone else looking at it, either.  Neither is how I wanted to feel the first time I put something out there.  (Oh, vanity!)

I tend to think of things,  especially those that affect me viscerally,  as signs, indications, omens.  Yes, Rebecca, you're on the right track.  No, no, no, this isn't what you're supposed to be doing.

I suppose it's important to remember my original motivation -- to proclaim the power of God's presence in our life.  And to remember the original admonition -- not for my glory, but for God's.  Still, it would be a different world if it had worked out the way I wanted it to.  Or maybe it's just that I would feel differently in the world.

At least the bread turned out.  I've dumped the last three batches in the compost, so this was worth a picture. 

And so is she.

just right

Up the misty mountain on the Monday morning milk run.

And then -- rabbit rabbit rabbit -- our first Mayday ever.  My broom-loving friend asked about our Beltane plans, and I decided to pretend we lived in town and make Maybaskets.  We made cookies, the children picked flowers and four-leaf clovers, and down the mountain she flew to help us assemble and deliver our goodies.  From 40 to Five Mile Mountain, along Dry Hill, Buffalo Ridge, and Turner's Creek. Those names are like a song to me, full of curves and straightaways, up and around and along and beside.

And today we said goodbye to Jonathan again.  It always makes me cry a little when he goes away.  The children love love love it when their Uncle Jonathan comes over.  And who wouldn't?  He fetches culverts for Flood River in Mud County, checks out the weedeater, carries the backpack and the baby, and takes Ursula to follow Asa the straight-up straight way back to the house.  And he waits until the very last minute to let me know he won't be back before he heads to Arkansas.  Vaya con Dios, Jonathan!

We had pears and pbj and chips and milk, and we'd love to go back with anyone who'd like to visit the shadows of ferns, the mossy beech roots, the maidenhair fern (or just the mud and water). 

Flora consented to being photographed while wanting very much to go with her brother and sister.  (She has me wrapped, this one.)

Our first dinner outside (Hi moon!), and then a brilliant cloud as Helios departs.

Go with God.

all here today

There is light within a person of light, and it lights up the whole universe.  If it does not shine, there is darkness.  (Gospel of Thomas 24)

All day long, my heart has been so full from last night's circle of song, from the conversation there and back.  I sang on the way to church this morning, and Ursula, usually so loudly unhappy in the car, was silent.  I looked back to see her hands folded, eyes closed, and that is how she stayed.

I answered the call and wrote something this week, and in doing so, rediscovered that Christianity has a mystical tradition, that there is a great lineage of men and women who have lived to adore and glorify God.  I can't wait to meet them again.

And I keep finding opportunities to be brave, honest, open.  And it keeps turning out so well that I might just keep going with it. 

I am truly blessed.

just in time

Here's something to chase away a bad mood:  my husband stopping in the road, backing up the car, and staying still long enough for me and all the children to see this year's first flame azalea.  It is a comfort and a joy to see them singing out of the dark woods.  How could I have forgotten this about spring?

And the magnolias! Have I seen them before?  How could I have lived here for lo these many years and not ever seen them? 

Now here they are, these gorgeous flowers, for only a day or two more, smooth and perfect offerings from hands of giant leaves.

For Rhododendron calendulaceum, for Magnolia acuminata, and for the eyes and heart to see them, I give thanks.

left undone (in green)

This time, I didn't pick it.  I've been drying all my four-leaf clovers in the Book of Common Prayer, and lately they just keep falling out.  So you get to find it, too ... it's not too hard when you know it's there.

I am sad to say the bees are languishing.  Well, I don't know what they're doing, exactly, because they're still somewhere else, and I am having a massive block against getting them here.  I am avoiding just about all of it -- the figuring, the gathering, the assembling.

And my secret letter-a-day thirty-day challenge fizzled out after a week, so once again, the letters are conversing in my brain.

And then there's the garden, which is a lot more should than want to.  It just makes sense, right?  It's sustainable, healthy, and all the rage:  grow our own food -- we have time and space, but not a lot of discipline, an oft-present lack in the homemaking and homeschooling parts of our days, too.

All of these things --  bees, writing, gardening, living, schooling -- require actual doing, and that is where I am used to stopping.  I am so much better at thinking.  It is so much safer.  It can be done invisibly.  It is forever in the realm of possibility.  Doing requires stepping up, stepping out, being seen, and that can be terrifying.

So this is probably a good time to pray.  For Guidance.  For Quiet Confidence.  A Prayer of Self-Dedication.  A General Thanksgiving.  These are the prayers I want to know by heart, to let roll off my tongue. 

Use us, we pray thee, as thou wilt, and always to thy glory.

by what we have done

This was almost the last piece of the day.  

And even as I was making it  {late late later than I should have been awake), I said more than once to my patient husband, I don't know why I am doing this.  Thinking, No one else has done this.  Is it even okay to do this?  Will someone tell  me not to give them out? What if ....  And doing it anyway, following that pull, tweaking, playing, nudging, until Yes, there it is, that's what I wanted.

Not only a commemoration, but an offering, a word that means more for having just read this book, then hearing John make an offering of our conversation, then allowing myself to hear him encourage me to make an offering of my gifts.

This is what I was listening for in the Collect today, and I even got to hear it again in the sermon:  Grant that all who have been reborn into the fellowship of Christ's Body may show forth in their lives what they profess by their faith.

And it is amazing what a body can get done when someone else is folding laundry, washing dishes, and tending the children!  Three someone elses, actually, which makes the ratio just right for the fourth grownup to sew clothes.  Never mind that the dresses could have been lined, and that the vest was just that much too small:  I had the chance to find myself capable of making two sweaters, two dresses, and a vest.  And I got to remember reading at Grandma Bier's funeral Mass, She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands.

And then there was after ...

tidying, naps, reading, driving, running, eating, running, ice cream, running, and home again in time for our little bit of sunset.

Thank you to everyone who made today happen, specifically Glen, Asa, Ursula, Flora, John, Nanny, Poppy, Rachel,  Andrew, Dad, Irma, Pat. 

And thank you to God for the glory of it all.