Category Archives: Soul Care

The Word Detective

20 Sunday Sep 2009

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Whenever I hear an interesting string of words, I pull out my journal and take notes just like a detective.  This morning my friend Joni found words on the foil seal of a carton of Daisy Sour Cream  —  “The most precious thing one can make is a friend.” — and she thought I might like to record them, as I’ve done with other words off and on all weekend.

Twice yesterday I pulled my journal out; once while touring a thoroughbred horse farm and again when touring the Woodford Reserve Bourbon Distillery.   When the tour guide at the horse farm spoke of  how dangerous it can be when a horse becomes spooked at the starting gate, I wrote down her phrase ”one thousand pounds of freaking.’  And later, after driving back to Joni’s from touring the distillery, my friend Donna used this expression — “as serious as a heart attack” — about whatever she was talking about.  Perhaps it’s a fairly common expression to some.  But to my ears, it was uncommon and worth notation.

But this morning, I was not moved to write down the Daisy lid saying because I found it troubling.   On the heels of a wonderful weekend with my four gal pals, the words ‘make’ and ‘friend’ just didn’t seem to belong together.  These words were not friends.  At the same time, I am untroubled by using the word ‘make’ in connection with either bourbon whiskey or thoroughbred race horses.  I’ve learned that the making of race horses and bourbon whiskey requires time and passion and even a bit of science in the following of defined and results-proven processes, in addition to having good genes and good ingredients.

As I think about these four friends of mine and how different we are, I marvel that we should even be friends.  We did not choose one another out of desire or will.  Instead, our friendship seems so happenstance.  And this happenstance nature makes me question whether friends like us can truly be made.  And if not, are they instead begotten by God?

It will take more time to sort out my thoughts before I’m able to draw a conclusion.

No Regrets

14 Monday Sep 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Soul Care

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Today’s blue plate special is white milk sky and drippy outside.

It was the same yesterday when I put on my rain jacket and ventured outside to sow grass seed.  I was going against the experts when I decided to sail full steam ahead and sow my seed in the rain.  Sometimes I ignore well-meaning recommendations and do what my heart and gut tell me is right.  And with all the lovely Irish rain we’ve received, this time I’ve suffered no regrets from doing it my way.  

Wouldn’t it be nice to live ALL OF LIFE without regrets?   I think some people can do this fairly successfully.  People like my husband for instance.  When he makes a mistake, he doesn’t beat himself up.  Instead he shrugs it off — knowing he’s done the best that he can — and then doesn’t look back.  How I wish I could be more like that.  Is it self-confidence that allows this man to sail through trials so easily? 

One of my children is going through rough seas right now.  Part of me wants to throw out a life preserver to keep my child from drowning in sorrow.  But  I sense this situation may be a life-defining moment for one who tries to live life as a people-pleaser.  So I’ve forced myself to give my child space to swim out of the storm without my well-meaning intervention.

The situaton reminded me of a letter I wrote to one of my children not too long ago.  In it, I tried to string together a few motherly pearls of wisdom on this very subject. 

While it’s not easy asking for help or admitting mistakes, you can do both with grace and often with a sense of humor.  But if I’m going to keep this real, you do not do this as quickly as you could or should.  Humor your mother by allowing me to offer lessons I’ve learned from the school of hard knocks:   Be vulnerable – accept that you do not always need to be strong or right.  Especially trust in the goodness of those who love you.  Don’t sit on bad news (or what others might perceive to be bad) that needs to be shared.  And don’t worry about other’s opinions – seek the input of those you love then own your own decision – make no apologies for living your own life.  It’s yours to live.  It’s a funny thing that we humans strive for independence when I think God designed us to be interdependent, one on another. Why else would each receive different gifts and graces, if not to give and receive help?  Child, I think your life choices have shown you the value of dependence.  If others knew the story of your life, they might think the trials and challenges of school were a cakewalk in comparison.

It’s hard to see those I love suffer.  And though I’ve made sure my child knows that I am here if needed, I know that this trial is something that must be overcome without my direct involvement.  So even now, I sit on my hands and take solace in the words of the good book when it teaches that suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character and character produces hope and hope does not disappoint.  And in my book, one who experiences no disappointment is a close cousin to one who experiences no regrets.

Peek-A-Boo

06 Sunday Sep 2009

Posted by in In the Garden, Life at Home, Soul Care

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Mystery Guest under the Roses

A few weeks ago I ran across a mystery plant hiding beneath an antique rose bush.  This pretty little plant bearing purple tinged foilage was growing where I’d sown no seed.  What was it?  And where did it come from?  

Days later, in another part of my garden, I found my answer.  Through a quick match of garden gin rummy, I learned it was the Peek-A-Boo plant.  Living up to its name —  with its small ‘eyeball’ blooms peeking out from  some sweet potato vines  —  the Peek-A-Boo wore the same purple tinged leaves as my mystery plant. 

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PEEK-A-BOOS - Spilanthes, Acmelia oleracea

Once named, other answers soon fell into place.  I recalled that it was growing there because I had planted the Peek-A-Boos in both garden locations.  In April under the rose bush;  and then in May, when the plants appeared to languish, I transplanted them elsewhere in the garden.  Or so I thought.  Now, almost four months later, I see  my late spring transplanting left behind roots — and once the environment became friendly, up grew more Peek-A-Boos. 

Outside the garden gate, playing peek-a-boo and rummy match games are not just for babies and toddlers.  I am learning just how often I hide my own real feelings, by either ignoring them outright (hoping or pretending them away) or by not calling them by their proper name.

I do this without even noticing.  Just recently I’ve talked to friends about how my father is no longer interested in my visits.  But rather than talk about the hurt from rejection, I pretend it’s not there and instead focus on this fallout from Dad’s dementia.  It’s easier to face reasons that feelings, even with myself.  Quick.  Cover it up.  Don’t speak about the hurt.  After all,  Daddy can’t help it because Daddy isn’t Daddy anymore. 

Most of my friends or family give me a free pass on such inconsistencies — on those times when my emotions don’t quite match or fit the circumstances.  But not my trusty spiritual director.  Instead he said something like, wow, that must have hurt.  And in response, my eyes uncontrollably teared up.  The feeling, with its deep roots hiding just beneath the surface of life leaked into reality.  Once the feelings found a friendly environment to live, no longer could they stay under wraps beneath their big beautiful bow of understanding forgiveness.   

Why do I play these games?  Am I afraid people will laugh?  Or worse, not care?