Saturday, January 22, 2011

The Change




"I was watching a Chicken Soup for the Soul tape, I loved this and it didn’t even say who wrote it so if you know who did clue me in, “When I was a young woman I wanted to change the world. As I became older I was content with changing my country. When I saw that I couldn’t change my country I decided to change people in my family. Finally as an elder I see I cannot change anyone else, I can only change me. At last, I realize that if only I had worked on changing myself in the beginning, then I could have changed my family, which would have changed my country, which might have changed the world.”


"There must be no feeling of revenge, of unkindness, of bitterness against anyone in the heart. When such a feeling comes, one must say: this is rust coming into my heart. When all such feelings are cleared off the heart, it becomes like a mirror. A mirror without rust reflects all that is before it; then everything divine is reflected in the heart."

from http://wahiduddin.net/mv2/VIII/VIII_1_14.htm

My eternal hope card for January is Here

Friday, January 21, 2011

We Are the Seeds


Don’t give up hope. A new world is just around the corner. It is tough to be a seed,to fall from the tree and land brutally on the cold, wet ground.
The seed cannot help but wonder why it lies in the muck.
The muck is here and here we are, we are the seeds! God is in the seed. God put everything in the seed that the seed would need for the journey it takes from the sky to the ground. This same precise coding is in us. This coding will help us lift our tendrils to the light when spring comes, right around the corner.

~

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

To Be a Seed is to Know




"Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone;
but if it dies, it bears much fruit." John 12:24

In late winter, often with snow still on the ground, I carry packets of annual Larkspur and Forget- Me- Not seeds in my pockets as I am puttering about in the gardens. With my index finger I press the little black capsules of life down in loose spots of soil. I like planting them here and there to create the rambling, cottage style gardens that I adore.

It is desirable to plant them while it is cold. They need the nip of frost to crack their tough shells. They also only sprout in the dark so I push each one of them down into a tomb of soil and cover them with a grave-blanket of leaves and moss.

As I do this I am reminded that sometimes we humans, just like some seeds, will only sprout after a time of cold and dark. The dark days are not for nothing but prepare us to bloom sturdily, in our season, as The Creator longs for us to bloom. I must remember in the midst of my long, cold winters that the winters of the heart, just like in the garden, are preordained to melt away at last, into jubilant springs.

Dear Lord, help me remember when the winds of life seem harsh and cruel that I am not alone but you are with me, help me to realize that the cold and the dark serve a purpose, new life is their reward and to know in my heart that you Lord are nourishing the seed that is me in the darkness. Amen

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Just a Little Meandering




Meander
1: to follow a winding or intricate course
2: to wander aimlessly or casually without urgent destination; Webster’s Dictionary:

          Does anybody meander anymore? In our world of hurried straight lines to focused destinations (rush hour), taking the scenic route or meandering has become more or less a lost art.

            The origin of the word meander comes from a river located in Turkey and was known to the ancient Greeks as (Μαίανδρος) Maiandros or Maeander. By the time of Classical Greece, the name of the river had become a common noun meaning anything twisting and winding, such as in decorative patterns, long-winded speeches and elaborate ideas.

             The definition of meander in Audio English  tells me that modern use of the word is unusual and rare. Noun. a bend or curve, as in a stream or river. an aimless amble on a winding course. Verb. to move or cause to move in a sinuous, spiral, or circular course.





                  Rivers and streams need to meander because that is how they renew themselves. As they snake about they wash soil and plants from the banks into the stream, which then become nutrients for the plants in the water, keeping the chain of life healthy.

                   As the current weaves itself naturally through the land the wildlife living on and near the shores have time to adapt to the rise and fall of their breeding grounds on the banks. We attempt to make our world full of straight lines, straight shots and straight roads and even attempt to tame the wanderings of our rivers and streams. To prevent waterways from meandering we channel and dam them altering their natural ebb and flow. This drastically affects the amount of wildlife waterways can sustain.

              “To wonder aimlessly without urgent destination.” In our modern world this seems like a waste of time yet it is in meandering that the stream and all that it comes into contact with is nourished. I admit I am old fashioned and when I walk down a path, I prefer to dally.

                 I want to flow like a natural stream and go from this attraction to that attraction, enjoying where nature takes me. I receive nourishment in wandering about the yard or in the woods and in old forgotten places. Like the streams, I don’t have much nourishment to offer those I come into contact with if I have not been allowed some meandering.



          I have found though that you must not meander just anywhere. Meandering, being out of style, is not even expected nor anticipated by others making it so dangerous that it could get you crippled, killed or worse.

             Take the bike path for instance. I took a walk there one afternoon and I rejoiced in the fact that I spied bittersweet growing up and over a fencepost where the trimmers had missed and I was happy to see wild blue ageratum peeking up at me from the stream. I veered to the opposite side of the path to get a closer look at something, I think it was a red squirrel, when swoosh I barely missed crossing in to the path of a passing bicycle.

            Swish it went on by and I suspect the bicycler had no idea how close they came to squashing a meanderer. I guess they expect all walkers to march forward with precision like those who are out power walking with their I-Pods on their heads? I walk for the view, for the heavenly perspectives, I walk to be renewed and so I meander. Not once but three times I was cut off by a flying bicycle that day, leaving me with a fast beating heart on what was suppose to have been a relaxing walk-a-bout.

          I managed to yell out at one of them as they sped off, “Blow a Horn!” but I suspect them of not caring, it would just be good riddance to some drifty in the way pedestrian if they contributed to my demise.

              I thought about getting some special t-shirts made up to wear when walking bike paths. These shirts would proclaim in bold, large letters on the back of them, Caution: Pedestrian Makes Sudden Sharp Turns, Announce Your Arrival to Avoid Collision.

              My young friend Tyler had a good idea he thinks I should just have a hat made up to wear, while walking bike paths, with review mirrors on it that I could use to keep an eye on what is silently, zooming up from behind.

                The modern world seeks to tame our meandering, dam our natural stream and channel our energy. Oh for a trail to mosey on, a day to dally in, an unaccounted hour here and there just to dawdle around in. It seems to me we could all use a little more rambling ambles and undemanding meandering.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

December Thaw




Yesterday it got so warm. All the snow that has brightened the ground for the last few weeks desolved, then trickled away.

The honeybees made cleansing flights and we left our bedroom window open all night long. The fresh air smelled so good.

When I took a walk on the ridge a flock of blackbirds were migrating across the fields before gathering on the tops of the locust trees in our farmer's wood-lot. From there they flew to who knows where and I wished as I watched them that I could go with them, to be together like that, to be free like that, to be a migrant of the wind like that.