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an everyday life

Tag Archives: Peace

On Connecting

01 Thursday Dec 2011

Posted by Janell in Life at Home

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Christmas Cards, Everyday Life, Friends, Peace

Well, I did pick up the phone to call my good friend Wynona.

We didn’t talk long.   Like me, she stays too busy everyday of the year and today I caught her on her way to visit the dentist.  But we talked long enough for my eyes to grow watery.  Not because of what she said.  Or what I said —  which is strange, since I love words so much.  But oh my gosh, the tears came simply from hearing the sound of her voice.   And if tears lead to heart’s truth — then it’s clear I’ve allowed myself to become Wynona-deprived.

Why is it that we don’t pick up the phone more often to speak to old friends — or family — to check in and hear the sound of their voices.  Life gets in the way and I tell myself I’ll do it later — yes, I’ll do it after doing this or that — not really realizing I’m telling fibs to myself because  — don’t you know — I always have a this and that in my life to do!  And can I be the only one saying these things to myself, to deny myself such little pleasures in life — as a phone visit with a good friend?

While staying connected is important all the time, I’m only diligent about it this time of the year, when I take time to send out old-fashioned greeting cards.  It’s sad that I don’t receive as many as I once did.   And that a few I do receive sometimes carry hidden — or not so hidden motives — like the one I received this morning.

My first Christmas card of the season — no, after opening it again, I see it’s a “Holiday” Card rather than the Christmas variety, though the front of the card, as shown in the photo above, does contain a scene of the seeds of the season.   “Peace” the headline says — and Lord knows, in a year where family feuding has rattled my home more that those four (or is it five?) earthquakes we’ve suffered — that’s all the card has to say to garner my full attention.  So I open the card to read:

“May your Holiday Season be filled with all of the joy and peace on earth.”

It’s a nice wish.  Though I’m greedy enough to wish that the peace and joy weren’t limited to just what we had on earth.  But wait, beneath this greeting in a tiny soundbite of Scripture:

“God blesses those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they will be satisfied.”  St. Matthew 5:6

Justice is good, I suppose, though what is justice to one is not to another. Depending upon outlook, depending upon which side of the fence one stands on — which side of the war zone one lives in.  Oh, I wish it had been a Scripture about peace — such as the one just a few verses down the page, which reads:

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”  St. Matthew 5:9.

Yes, I’m being nit-picky.  More than a nit, if I’m being honest.  But not a nit-wit I think, because under the Scripture, is the name and address of my newspaper delivery man, who’s hoping  — I’m pretty sure — that a card to me will inspire gifts of seasonal greenery.  Because he’s such a good delivery man at all.

Well, truth is — he is.  And so — not out of fear that my failure to respond will cause him to no longer connect with my front sidewalk, which he does with unerring accuracy — I’ll grant that wish.  And I’ll do it for the best of reasons — because in doing so, I’ll connect — even if ever so dimly — with something far greater than myself — to that one “whose sandals I’m unfit to untie.”

Today I’ll tuck that monetary gift into a Christmas card with a simple “thanks.”  Because sometimes less is more.  Except, of course, when it comes to gifts of seasonal greenery.  And staying connected with good friends — like Wynona.

Praying Peace by Piece

04 Monday Jan 2010

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

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e-mail, Everyday Life, Peace, Prayer, Soul Care

I picked up the threads of everyday existence this morning as my husband returned to work after two-weeks off.   My three greatly distressed dogs are off at the groomers, and already, I’ve completed tonight’s reading for class.  There’s no question that the holidays are officially over for every member of our Mesta Park household.

For now, I have this old house all to myself.  No sounds of video games float up the stairs.  No doors are slamming.  No dogs are barking to be let in or out.  All is quiet.  Peaceful.

No so in others parts of the world.  I picked up the morning papers to take in a disturbing piece of news —  a story about two Middle East embassy closings amidst threats of terrorism.  I walked up the stairs to two pieces of  e-mail.  The first was a quickly dashed note from a friend asking for prayer as she keeps a sad vigil by her dying mother’s bedside.

The other came from an e-card vendor, gifting me with  a soothing e-card that played soft music and images of olive tree branches growing and a dove soaring with a piece of olive branch tucked in her beak .  The card read  “Happy New Year.” And in the place reserved for personal greeting, Ann wrote, “Pray for Peace”.

It was the same plea hidden beneath my own Christmas greeting this year, that without fanfare said, “Peace on Earth”; and I believe there were similar pleas buried within the news piece about embassy closings as well as that piece of email from my friend whose mother is dying.  Oh, that we might enjoy peace on earth and goodwill toward all peoples, living and dying.

I do pray.  I pray even when I don’t say I will.  Sometimes it’s better that I pray as I will rather than as I say I will.

There are many situations for which I pray.  I pray not so much because I believe that the people and situations need my prayers as much as to satisfy a mysterious urge within me.  I pray because I must.

I pray with my life mostly.  My prayers take the form of a written note or a new garden or a weeded yard for a neighbor.  Sometimes it’s a home-cooked meal.  Or even a piece posted in this blog.

I hold people and situations close to my heart as I go through the motions of my everyday life.  Sometimes I pray with a few scattered words here and there.  But mostly, I just whisper names.  Or I name the need or the situation.  My prayers are not weighed down with many words.

My piecemeal prayers are a reflection of who I am  —  a person that is not so disciplined, who ponders mostly with her heart instead of her head.  Even my words to my friend Ann this morning were mostly heart pondering, which I call prayer more than correspondence —

“When and how does peace come, I wonder, but through dying.  Not just the death of the grave but the death that comes from dying to the need to control others through power or dying to the need to control riches (like oil)… and all those other human traits that rise up in us that make us so inhumane (to others) that divides the world into pieces.  But pray?  Yes… this I can do… even my piecemeal way of praying can’t hurt.”

With lives tattered and torn, we pray with the thread of imperfect prayers  —  piece by piece.  We ask another to do what we cannot do for ourselves.

Peace.  Sweet Peace.  The weight of this word may bring me to my knees.

Life Amongst the Saints

18 Wednesday Nov 2009

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

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Everyday Life, Nursing Homes, Parents, Peace, Soul Care

I was greeted with a sonic boom of thanks yesterday, as I stepped into the nursing home for my regular Tuesday visit with Daddy.  Glenda, the nursing home recreational director, always talks loud.  Maybe it’s a hazard of spending your days with the hard-of-hearing.

“I want you to know that those dresses you brought really were appreciated.”
“What dresses?” 

I had no idea what Glenda was referring to.  Already forgotten was last week’s discussion in my parents closet, when my sister spoke of taking Mom’s dresses to the nursing home. 

“I didn’t bring any dresses.” 

Christi & Me -- As Different As Can Be

Walking toward me, Glenda realized her mistake.  Once again, she had confused me for my sister.   The case of mistaken identity between Christi and I is something that happens frequently amongst all nursing home personnel.  For me to be confused for my saintly sister is no problem at all.  She, on the other hand, may have an entirely different perspective.  But don’t we all have our crosses to bear?  

“Ohhhhh.  That was your sister that brought the dresses.  I just wanted you all to know how appreciated your Mother’ dresses are — four are being worn today.  See, there’s one right there.”

With memory now in place, I followed the direction of Glenda’s pointed finger to the lady seated in the wheel chair.  Seeing the familiar curved spine with head tucked down toward her chest, my heart filled with joy. 

“Oh, Miss Alpha got some of Mother’s dresses.  That’s wonderful!  Thanks for letting us know.  I needed some good news today.” 
“Oh yeah.  She needed them baaad.  Can you believe she didn’t have any dresses?”

This bit of news was surprising.  That Miss Alpha should be in such dire need for Mom’s hand-me-down dresses when she, in better days, was the proprietor of Seminole’s finest women’s clothing store is one of life’s little ironies.  (And just between us, I don’t imagine she would have been caught dead wearing one of Mom’s still good but everyday house-dresses back in those finer days.)  But in the quiet days of nursing home life, these leftover dresses from my mother’s life seem to suit Miss Alpha just fine.

Miss Alpha , you may remember, once kept Daddy company at the dinner table —  what with much affection and admiration I called The Quiet Supper Club  —  in those early days of nursing home life when Dad still took nourishment by mouth.  I went  over to check on Miss Alpha to see how life was treating her, since it had been a good while since she and I had last visited.  It was good to find some things don’t change — Miss Alpha still has nothing to complain about —  but then, what woman isn’t doing fine when she’s wearing some new duds?

But before I headed toward Miss Alpha, I leaned down to a different wheel chair to greet my father.   Daddy had been waiting for my brother and I in the gathering area.  I drew close to Daddy’s shrunken face to see his big shiny eyes and gorgeous smile.   “I love you Daddy.”  Then my father did something totally out of character.  He reached out to take my hand.  Then gracefully, he carried my hand all the way to his lips.   And then ever so tenderly, Daddy kissed my hand.

For my daddy to offer me his best self — on the day I learned of another father committing the worst toward his child —  brought peace to my soul.  I didn’t deserve such tenderness.  Nor, of course, did that young boy deserve what he received at the hands of his father. 

That life doesn’t always give us what we deserve is the human experience.  But sometimes, we receive just what we need and peace settles in around us.  The gift received is so perfect that it seems to bear a touch of the holy.  It was a holy difference that clothed Miss Alpha yesterday; and it was a holy difference in my father than covered my own aching heart.

Both Miss Alpha and I were covered by another’s love.  And this… well this is humanity at its best.   It’s what life amongst the saints should be, a passing of the peace beyond any I’ve experienced before. 

And how I long for this peace to be passed to all.   It’s all of our business isn’t it, this peace-passing work of the saints? 

“To take each moment
 and live each moment
In peace eternally.
Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me.”

“Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? — every, every minute?”

-- Thornton Wilder, "Our Town"

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