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an everyday life

an everyday life

Category Archives: Soul Care

The Garden Club

06 Wednesday May 2009

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

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Aging, Everyday Life, Master Gardeners, Oklahoma Gardening, Soul Care, Writing

In the gentle rain of yesterday, I was in my sister’s cottage garden.  Laughing at ourselves for still playing in the mud at our age, we were digging up Fever Few, Larkspur and French Hollyhocks.  And in this morning’s soft mist, still dressed in my jammies and robe, I was out puttering in my own cottage garden, planting flowers — those from my sister’s as well as some delphinium bedding plants I grew from seed — and preparing other plants to give away to my sister and others.  Give and take is a way of life in the gardening world.

Before my sister called Sunday morning, I had planned to go set up the Master Gardener’s plant sale and take advantage of early bird shopping.  It’s the club’s biggest fundraiser of the year and the plants sold by gardeners are always different from what can be bought at local garden centers.   But when I heard from Christi that Daddy was not having a good week, I decided plant sales could wait.  This too was a form of give and take.

Of course, life is the biggest give and take of them all.  The Bible compares  mortals to the flowers of the field that flourish until the wind passes over them and then they are gone.  And the place knows them no more.  This last part always breaks my heart, as I know just how true it is.  Until a few months ago, I didn’t even know my Granny’s mother’s name.  And there are only a few left in the world who still do.  As Job said himself, ” The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away.”   

In many respects, dementia has already taken much of Daddy away.  But I am thankful Daddy still knows us when we walk through the door even though he can’t keep track of our comings and goings.  Real sweetly yesterday, in what’s left of his whispery voice, he struggled to ask me “Where did Christi go?”  With a gardener’s patience, I told him that Christi was at work, and reminded him of her work schedule.  Rather than shaking his head in acknowledgement, my response left Daddy a little confused.  Only a month ago, daddy knew this.  So is this too give and take? 

Today I was able to shop the dregs of the plant sale, picking up a few plants for my sister’s garden and mine.  I was also able to find a home for my remaining tomato seedlings that have grown strong and tall with the help of the Oklahoma wind.  I’m tickled my friend Wanda took the tomato plants and I know Christi will be happy to take in a few new plants as well.  Gardeners are happy no matter whether its give or take. 

Not so with the taking of human beings.  But perhaps I’ll take comfort else where.  I now recall one Gospel’s reurrection account where Mary Magdalene confused the risen Jesus with a gardener.  I like to think Mary wasn’t confused at all, just as I like to think that Jesus is the true master gardener, as he transplants people from one garden to the next.  After all, give and take is a way of life in the gardening world. 

Worry Beads

05 Tuesday May 2009

Posted by Janell in Life at Home, Soul Care

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Babysitting, Everyday Life, Grandchildren, Soul Care, Writing

I am preoccupied by knowing truth, especially my own.  But I wonder:  Is it possible to fully know and understand our original true selves?  And if not, how does one really follow that bit of Shakespearean advice – “to thine own self be true?” 

Like a bunch of Greek worry beads, I move what I believe to be beads of truth from one end to the other.  Back and forth they go, but so far, I’ve nothing to show for my effort.  Not even less worries.  I think I’m waiting for that proverbial lighting bolt to strike, so I can cry “Eureka,” then in a mad dash, grab some pen and paper to get it all down before I forget my discovery.  It would be ideal to write about self-knowledge with a sense of direction rather than from this feeling of lostness. 

Two of my worry beads are biblical sound bites from Jesus.  The first is a promise — “And you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”  And the second, which is housed in another Gospel, so certainly not said in the same breath as the first, is this foregone conclusion, “Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”  In some hard to express way, these two beads of truth sit together, one against the other. 

This past January, I watched two of my grands on their last day of Christmas vacation.  Jackson is a wise third-grader and his younger sister Karson is growing up fast — this coming fall she’ll begin kindergarten.  Karson and I are ‘old’ pals, as I began watching her a few days a week from the time she was two.  Our days then were filled with just everyday togetherness,  a mix of chores and playtime activities that always included watching a series of favorite cartoons on afternoon television.  And now, with both of them coming to visit, I chose to do nothing more than serve up the best dish of everyday life that a grandma can serve.    

While we were watching cartoons together, Karson plopped down beside me on the couch, and without taking her eyes from the cartoon, kept scooting closer and closer, until her body formed itself next to mine.  Still looking staight at the television set, I heard her whisper  “I love you”   in such a breathless rush, it was as if her love had just bubbled up out of her heart and slipped  off of her tongue, as if her scooting had just jarred her words free.  No big production, no thought of gain, no thought of holding back.  Out came her love as natural as breathing, which I imagine may be something like the way love reigns in the kingdom of God.       

As I sit muddled in my thinking on truth, it strikes me that Karson and I were just two beads of truth sitting close together that January day; Karson was the bead of trusting love, who hasn’t yet learned to be self-conscious in wearing her heart on her sleeve.  And that makes me the wizened old woman, who knows truth when she hears it.  

Every young child worth their salt knows that where love reigns, there’s always a happily ever after.  And every wise grandma worth her salt knows when to surrender to love and give up the lost cause of knowing it all.  Like Karson, I need to just freely share my love the truest way I know how.  And stop worrying.  

Magical Suitcases

25 Saturday Apr 2009

Posted by Janell in Home Restoration, Life at Home, Soul Care

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Books, Evelyn Underhill, Everyday Life, Soul Care, St. Ignatius, Writing

In a couple of weeks, my ‘noisy’ Ignatius retreat will be over.  My bags are a little lighter for the journey but I’ve still plenty to unpack, which will help make room for the ‘spiritual writings’ I can once again read. 

 

In anticipation of this, I’ve set about collecting old favorites and buying a few new ones. For some reason, I’m especially drawn toward picking up writings of Evelyn Underhill.  Someone once told me that Ms. Underhill called God by the name ‘Reality.’  I want to know more about how she came to her God name just as I wish to know more about anyone who found God real enough to name ‘Reality’.       

 

Being real is important to me, which goes hand in hand with this idea of being more comfortable in my own skin.  I think my journey with Ignatius has helped with both, though God knows, my work in both areas has only just begun.  My pretending to be something other than who I am began early in life.  First grade, actually.  So I’ve acquired more than a few masks and costumes and magical tricks along the way.  It will take a lifetime to unpack my acccumulations and my tendencies.      

 

For instance, why do I begin thinking about moving every spring?  I’ve worked so hard on this lovely old house we live in, and while some work remains, I know the lion’s share is already done.  It’s hard for me to rest on my laurels.  I want to go out and buy another historical ‘diamond in the rough’ and start all over.  Hocus Pocus, presto chango:  The ugly duckling becomes a beautiful swan.  The house next door would be a good duck candidate.   But my neighbor is probably a ‘lifer’.  And this much neglected house will outlive both my neighbor and my own magician’s interest.     

 

Then there’s my writing.  Right now I have a writing project in mind.  And even though I began it about a week ago, I can’t motivate myself to get back to it.  I’ve no excuses other than fear or lack of interest, because with my husband gone, I’ve time on my hands to devote to it.  Time and a too quiet house, with a new writing desk pushed into the corner, with shades drawn.  I’ve all the necessary ingredients, but no interest in the task at hand.  

 

I grow bored easily, and while I enjoy the creative process, the creating process can be a lot of drudgery.  Except those times when I begin writing words I had no notion to write.  Sometimes words just come and leave my fingers all tingly from their writing.  And I imagine some of those ‘spiritual’ writers that I long to read know exactly what I’m writing about.  This may be part of the reason I wish to cozy up to them right now.  I want to unpack their thoughts and let them rest in my own mind and heart.  And maybe something of their experiences and words will stir me to unpack and write about my own sacred souvenirs. 

 

Sounds a little like magic.  But probably more like ‘Reality.’

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