“God is not a belief to which you give your assent. God becomes a reality whom you know intimately, meet everyday, one whose strength becomes your strength, whose love, your love. Live this life of the presence of God long enough and when someone asks you, “Do you believe there is a God?” you may find yourself answering, “No, I do not believe there is a God. I know there is a God.” ~Ernest Boyer, Jr
Paying attention is not just for eyes and ears. This week I am aware that being present to the fragrance in my garden brings a sharpened awareness of beauty and story. Joe brought these gardenias inside this morning. How lovely they are, shining with dew. But their sweet smell reached me before anything else. I breathe deeply and say “thank you”, remembering all the way back to those that bloomed by our front porch when I was a little girl.
It is easy to fall prey to complaining these days when the temperature registers 105 and most people, animals, and plants slow their pace and wilt. I remind myself that the same blistering sun that sears my skin and makes getting into my truck seem like opening an oven door also flavors my herbs and ripens the figs on our tree. Lord, help me be alert to the yes in every day.
i thank You God for most this amazing day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any–lifted from the no of all nothing–human merely being doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
— from E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962, by e. e. cummings
Gardens are such good storytellers! The climbing rose in this picture is on an arbor by our backyard fish pond. It is a Peggy Martin rose. For those who may have never heard this story, I will tell you it is named for the woman who grew it in her garden near New Orleans, along with hundreds of other roses before Hurricane Katrina. All the roses were under about 20′ of salt water for two weeks following the hurricane. When she was finally able to return to visit their property she found new growth on this one rose, all that remained. In the devastation she also lost her elderly parents, her home, and commercial fishing boat that her husband used to supplement their income. She didn’t even know the name of the rose since a cutting had been given to her by mother in law who had also been given a cutting.
Dr. Bill Welch from Texas A&M along with other antique rose experts and growers helped to get the newly named “Peggy Martin” rose into the marketplace where proceeds help restore gardens throughout the South devastated by Katrina and other forces of nature.
The story always makes me wonder what made this rose any different from the rest to give it the resilience and fortitude to say “I’m still here and growing better.” One thing has to be that its roots were stronger and deeper. I am still thinking about the fact that its cuttings root very easily…it is flexible and can handle change. The telling of all this has to include a theme of restoration, too. Out of the Martins’ great loss has come a way to help others.
This string of bronze bell shaped objects is hanging right now from one of the arches in our rose arbor by the fish pond. It is pretty, and if breezes get brisk, it sounds like a clattery windchime. It is OK as this ornament. But it is not functioning in the way it was designed. These “bells” are supposed to be cups. The cluster is intended to hang in one long string to replace a traditional gutter downspout. It is called a rain chain and is supposed to be a beautiful and functional alternative to a plain downspout. This was my gift to my husband one year when I read that the cups would visibly guide rainwater from the roof to the ground and transform our gutter into a pleasing water feature.
I did not realize that because our gutters are tied via the downspouts into a French drain system, we would not be able to hang the rain chain instead. So we do not hear the soft tinkle of individual rain drops or a soothing rush of water. The upside down cups clink and will never collect raindrops.
Is there a purpose for which I am intended that is blocked by any upside down choices I make?
My kitchen window frames an ever-changing work of art. The Morning Glory and Moon Flower Vines grow and twine, spreading their heart-shaped leaves for morning sun to cast light through. The pea vine tendrils hurry to fill the gaps. Then there are the blooms! White tissue paper blooms at night for the Moon Flowers. Rich purple trumpets herald morning for the Glories, and the brightest cerulean blue buds are offered by the pea vine. If that weren’t enough show and variation, light changes the colors as the sun moves across the sky all day long. I know it is just a window frame, but the gifts of the Creator it contains are never the same twice, and always make me breath a “Thank You” as I reach to pour my coffee early in the day, and at every kitchen sink task all day long.
For many years now, I have believed that when I find a feather, it is a reminder to me that little things are important, and that I am kept in the shadow of God’s wing. I have found feathers in the most unusual and unexpected places, when I wasn’t really looking. When my mother was dying, I went out to the car to drive back to sit with her. When I got to the edge of the lawn, I had to step over the median. When I looked down, I found a large black and green duck feather sticking straight up out of the grass. A wisp of a feather floated by and stuck on my windshield on another occasion when I sorely needed the reminder.
I had a little feather that was a wonder to me for years. I don’t remember where I found it or exactly when, although I kept it in a little birthday reminder book that was given to me in 1987, the year we moved to Indonesia. I put it there in the beginning because on that page there is a drawing of that same feather, right down to the size (tiny) and colors and markings (black and white). I was amazed at that. Usually the process is different…you find the object, then obtain or make its resemblance.
The other special thing about that feather was that it lived between the pages of the birthday calendar book where my oldest son’s name is written, January 13, his birthday. And that it was still there, through 2 moves in Jakarta, an international shipping, and the busy household shuffling of my kitchen desk every day. Feathers usually don’t stay. They drift in and blow away. But this little feather stayed between the pages and always caused me to smile when I came upon it. It reminded me of joy in small things, of hope … of lines of poetry and scripture, and that gifts can come when you open your hand and heart, and sometimes, the door. I gave the feather to my son on his birthday last year, telling him I hoped it would serve as a reminder of the same things for him. (This story was posted in the blog last September.)
I still find feathers. And they are still reminders for me of joy and faith…and that I am under the shadow of His wing. A favorite author, Leigh McElroy, likes finding feathers too. She reminds me that God may wink or whisper in the way He reminds me of His presence, and that He delights in delighting me with the littlest of things. The opening scene in a movie loved by many tells a story of a feather found and kept.
On our back porch is a basket of stones. On each, a word is printed with white paint that has worn over time. I use these as prayer reminders, but the children love handling the smooth stones. Sometimes they are warm, sometimes cool, but always good to the touch. This week I noticed my 5-year-old granddaughter, Maddie, moving the stones around, then going out to pick flowers to bring inside. As I started to open the back door, I found one smooth black stone lying at the doorsill. This was the one with Forgiveness dimly written across its surface. I looked back at Maddie, who called “I put that there for you. It is special.” And I thought how right she was, what a needed reminder, what a precious gift. A gift rom a 5-year-old little girl who thought it was pretty, from loved ones to whom I may have failed to encourage and bless, from my heavenly Father, who offers it so freely and loves me unconditionally. Forgiveness is indeed a gift. Now that I consider it, so are the words written on all the other stones.
Light for my darkness
Courage for my fear Hope for my despair Peace for my turmoil Joy for my sorrow. Strength for my weakness. Wisdom for my confusion. Forgiveness for my sins.
Love for my hates
Thy Self for my self.
Taken from At The Opening of the Day
By Howard Thurman
“Happiness? The color of it must be spring green, impossible to describe until I see a just-hatched lizard sunning on a stone. That color, the glowing green lizard skin, repeats in every new leaf… The regenerative power of nature explodes in every weed, stalk, branch. Working in the mild sun, I feel the green fuse of my body, too. Surges of energy, kaleidoscopic sunlight through the leaves, the soft breeze that makes me want to say the word “zephyr”—this mindless simplicity can be called happiness.”
—Frances Mayes
What color is my happiness? I could easily say Frances Mayes has said it all, that yes, the color of my happiness is spring green seen in the glowing leaf and lizard, weed and branch. That green does fuel my energy, and I have always loved the dappled sunlight as I stand under swaying branches with leaves transformed into countless shades of green. Indeed, this “mindless simplicity can be called happiness”.
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However, on this Monday, I am soaked in the exhilaration that comes from Eastering. The Alleluias of Sunday morning and joy of my granddaughters as they experienced awe and wonder in all the Easter colors filled my happy cup to the brim. Several years ago, after experiencing a season of sharply declining vision due to a corneal disease, I received cornea transplants, the gift of 2 donor families. Two weeks following the first surgery, as I sat out by our pond, I suddenly realized I could see the cobalt blue of an iris. I was shot through with happiness and gratitude that I could see that flower clearly.
This day, a different way of seeing for me means receiving the gift of seeing through the eyes of my granddaughters as they marveled at golden Day Lilies, orange fish swishing in the pond, and royal purples of the Zinnias and Salvia. The colors of happiness are the same as those of gratitude, I think. Alleluia!
When my granddaughter receives a present, she pulls off paper and bow, looks at her surprise with a giggle of pleasure, saying a sweet “Thank you!” The unwrapping and happy surprise come naturally. She has learned to say Thank You.
I have learned this, too.
If I can begin and end my day with gratitude, then the gift of that day has been carefully unwrapped, examined, delighted in, and acknowledged. God has given me a new day and I can choose to meet it by expressing my gratitude for the life and breath that lets me live it, as well as for work to do and strength to do it. Before I sleep again, I can choose to thank Him for what my day has held before I claim His peace for rest and refreshment. Those two bookends hold up my busy days and increase my awareness of being awash in grace.
Years ago I kept a gratitude journal, in which I wrote 3 things I was thankful for every day. I was recently given another calendar/ gratitude journal, this one leaving 5 spaces for each day. I love doing this. I like rereading those entries, because I am reminded of how many things I find for which to be thankful . Seldom are these related to possessions, although often for relationship. I am grateful for Plenty. I am grateful for enough. Gratitude and Contentment don’t mean the same, but they sure do look alike, so I am sure they are kin.
January 8, 2010: Today, I am grateful for a friend’s hug, herbs still growing in my January garden, starting a new book, making a memory with Skye and Lauren last night (movie night: Sound of Music), and these smiles…
Stones and Feathers 