Category Archives: Soul Care

Ding Dong

01 Sunday Feb 2009

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My friend Dianne called on Tuesday to tell me she was coming to town on Friday.  Her daughter Lara would soon be working and living in OKC, so it was time to find an apartment.  And, while they were here, Dianne was hoping to see me and my old house and introduce me to Lara.  She thought Lara might just like to have a “second string mom” in her new OKC life.  Perhaps I could fill that niche?              

For the next three days, I relished the thought of Dianne’s visit.  I thought about Lara and her upcoming move, and hoped she would feel comfortable enough to call on me if local “mom” services were needed.  But I also wanted Lara to hold no false impressions – if she were going to call on me, she needed to know the real me — a person still getting comfortable with self, who’s not afraid to admit she’s a dreamer and who easily loses track of time.   

As I prayed to wear my real self in an everyday comfortable way, I wanted my house to shine in its Sunday best.   Windows needed to be cleaned, wood surfaces needed to be dusted and my floors needed to be mopped.  But being a born procrastinator, I kept putting it off until postponements ran into Friday morning and my planned spa day for the house had to shrink to more realisitc proportions — a quick bath and dressing up for friends with some nice steaming potpourri on the stove.  As I finished my last bit of poofing, I glanced out the window to see — oh no I thought…. it can’t be….but, no….there they were — Dianne and Lara were pulling up in front of my house.  Oh, well.  It seemed that my unfortunate tendency to stuff ten pounds of life into my five pound sack had once again caught up with me — and the evidence was now standing on my front porch, wearing smiles on their lovely faces.  In a way I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams, Lara was getting a chance to meet the real me.  As the door bell rang, all I could do was shrug at my attire and steel myself for the riotous laughter I knew would follow.   Exposed and vulnerable, I opened the door.  And as I reached out to hug Dianne, still wearing my pajamas and robe, we both began to laugh.    

They say our first impressions of a person are lasting.  I pray this is so.  Because with the benefit that comes only with hindsight, I see it was me wearing my Sunday best, as the guise of nightclothes in a late morning light shined faint with exposed humility.       

 

Who needs an alarm clock?

27 Tuesday Jan 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Mesta Park, Soul Care, The Great Outdoors

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They say our icy weather will not be as bad as last time.  Even so, when I woke up early to the sounds of ice pelting my rooftop, I could not shake off memories of last year’s storm.  So I got out of bed to let my sleep-robbing thoughts out on paper.  Maybe they’ll stop whining.

I tell myself there is nothing to fear, but something is bothering me.  What is it?  I know we weathered last year’s ice storm all right.  Compared to many in the neighborhood, our losses were minor – no heat and power for three days and one old Elm tree gone forever. 

But, as I remember this, I wonder whether the brevity of our suffering was a rare sort of grace given to those in mourning. 

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

Two days before the storm hit, we had laid to rest my mother’s body.  And because the ice storm followed mom’s death so closely, I fear I may forever associate them together.

Will I always wake up at night when I hear ice hitting the rooftop? 

Will I always recall that moment of fancy–while living in our dark and cold home during last year’s storm– when I wondered whether slinging around ice was mom’s way of venting anger at death from the grave, in the same way she infrequently resorted to slinging around a pot or pan, or slamming a door or drawer to vent her anger at life when she was alive?

As I write this, I realize mom was not an angry person by nature nor was she angry about dying.  No, that fancy had nothing to do with mom’s anger.  It was all my own.   

Today, I release the anger to go back and live with last year’s storm.  And for this new storm, I choose to remember mom’s life, and the way she absolutely loved to look out her window on falling snow.  And so, in honor of her, I stop and look.  And it’s beautiful.  Then I stop and listen.  And it sounds like hundreds of little bugs are crashing into my windshield. 

Winter trees

25 Sunday Jan 2009

Posted by in In the Garden, Prayer, Soul Care, The Great Outdoors

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dsc01172a2Even now, on a winter’s day in Mesta Park, it’s the trees you notice first. In a position of prayer, they lift their stark naked limbs toward the sky.  What do they pray for?  Whatever it is, answers will come.  In God’s time.  And in unexpected packages.

For winter trees in need of strength, answers are often delivered by a strong gust of wind.  Living here in Oklahoma, their wait will be mercifully short; soon, the tree’s petition will be granted as it submits to the wind’s ministrations.  Limbs will sway back and forth and long skelton fingers will shake around madly.  The tree’s bare bones will grow strong in its dance with the wind.  But what of the trees restrained from dancing, those stretched taunt to the ground with wires and stakes?  No limbering up for these.  No strength.  No long life. They are crucified.

If winter trees are in prayer for leaves, they must be patient and persistent as not all answers are delivered by air mail.  Exposed and vulnerable, they must wait for new leaves to hide their scars and imperfections.   Hungry for a spring feast, they must wait for new leaves to cook a fresh meal.  Until then, they fast.  Or survive on leftovers.  Reduced to a state of dormancy, winter trees must hunker down and humble themselves with unseen busy work as they replenish their root systems deep within the earth.  In their wintery faith, they must prepare themselves for a season of visible growth.  God knows winter trees need leaves to fulfill their creative purpose — to take in nitrogen and give back oxygen, fruit and nuts to the world.  For this, they must wait.  Resurrection comes only with spring.