Deeply Rooted

 

Windflowers
(because they are deeply rooted,
with a nod to Psalm 1 and St Paul)

Tall
and graceful,
supple dancers
straining heavenward,
though no one tends them,
swaying in the slightest breeze
storm-blown but not broken
in autumn as others fade
cheery pink and yellow 
welcoming faces
hosting hungry
bees.

The Least of These

I have been thinking about juxtaposition, "the act or instance of placing side by side, especially for comparison or contrast", lately. Every day I sadly read of the incoming administration's new instances of assault on the land, disregard for people and utter disdain for decency and the dignity of life. But, every day, I also delight in walks through the woods, the birds at the feeders, the play of sunlight on holly leaves and the rustling of persistent beech leaves in the wind. On the one hand, discouragement at what feels like encroaching darkness, and on the other, gratitude for witnessing life and light, in all its seemingly simple day to day normalcy.  

Lately, I have also been pondering my place in this world and what my contributions to it have been and might be. I tend to measure myself against the efforts of the people who do "big things" for good which, of course, leaves me feeling considerably lacking and is a decidedly unhelpful attitude. Still, I long to make a difference...

 It was in answer to that longing that some well-known words and a new hedgerow planting intersected into the affirmation that my intentions and efforts are valuable, possibly life-changing. The hedgerow is a mix of black chokeberry and still-fruiting winterberry bushes, the latter being visited daily by a migrant hermit thrush from the north. It was while watching the thrush eat that Jesus' words came to me, "For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in..." 

I realized that all the kindnesses that I extend, be it toward creatures who come to live out a part of their lives in the back yard, or fellow jury panelists with whom I recently spent a day, or a neighbor who needs a listening ear, or a roadside that needs to be cleared of the trash of too many careless passersby....all those kindnesses combine into opportunities for healing, healing for me, as well as others. It is in the doing what I can do, and the trusting to God what I cannot manage that will allow me to live, if not always at peace, at least with the gratitude that I have been able to give to the world what is mine to give, hopefully, for the blessing of all.

Much Needed Respite

Pollinators, pollinators everywhere in the yard! Bees of all shapes and sizes, butterflies and hummingbirds...Everywhere I look there is buzzing, humming and the fluttering of wings...swamp milkweed, green-headed coneflower, ironweed, joe-pye weed, cardinal flower, garden phlox all playing host to our tiny native wildlife...I feel like a shepherdess winding through the plantings, keeping watch over her flock, ensuring that what they need for life and health is provided.

I have spent much of my day outside, longing for peace and respite from the upheaval and concern of these tumultuous times.  Sometimes I go into the garden as a naturalist, to watch and observe the biological interactions. Sometimes I go for the joy of myriad colors, fragrances and bounty of life. But sometimes I wander into the garden because I am troubled, and it becomes a place of sanctuary, a place of refuge for me, as much as for wildlife.

Stepping into my yard, where the wild comes to live alongside me, does not remove the fears or losses of my life, but it does provide a space large enough to hold the accompanying emotions and ensures comfort as no other place can. The life found there pries my eyes off myself and points them to something greater than my worries. I am reminded that there are seasons and cycles to life and that calm really does return after storms. I am reminded that life goes on. The garden that was created to be a home for wildlife has become home to me and, surrounded by its abundance of life, I am blessed.

                              

Obscure Blessing

Sometimes blessing comes in circumstance we would have never chosen for ourselves or for others.  Last week, my 10 month old grandson was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis and he and his parents have spent the last two weeks in the Children's National Medical Center in DC. His tiny little body had wasted away to 12 pounds and he was admitted for malnutrition, none of us knowing why. After a few days of testing, the specter of CF was raised, his mom's family having a distinct history of the disease, and several days of waiting for a diagnosis began. When the CF diagnosis came, our worlds were shaken, filled with fear and uncertainty, and at the same time, we determined to trust God's hand in whatever the future brings.

 Trust is difficult when I am afraid. When the days ahead loom uncertain and are potentially filled with suffering, I have to make a definitive choice between becoming incapacitated by that fear, or turning my face to God and holding fast to His promises of nearness.  The seesaw of emotions teeters between debilitating, nauseous anxiety on the one hand, and deliberate confidence, on the other.  Even if trust and confidence win the day, or more accurately, the moment, the turmoil takes its toll, nonetheless.

What I have rediscovered in these last two weeks, however, is my gift for loving and caring, for nurturing those who need support in trying times. St Teresa of Avila wrote some lines centuries ago that John Michael Talbot set to music and the words have been my prayer for many years. "Christ has no body, now, but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes with which He looks, compassion on this world. Christ has no body here on earth, but yours."  

The obvious blessing of these past days is that my grandson has responded to treatment, is gaining weight, is happily becoming his old self again, and has returned home.  The more obscure blessing is that in the suffering and grief that has been part of our lives lately, God has been at hand, "saving, helping, keeping, loving," in the words of the old hymn.  And He has reminded me of my most important contribution to the world, to be His hands and eyes in this broken, hurting world, and, in so doing, I discover again just who I am.