Category Archives: Quotations

Living in sacred moments

What sort of day was it? A day like all days, filled with those events which alter and illuminate our times… and you were there. from You Are There – hosted by Walter Cronkite.

Behind the silence here, the drama of a life ending has been unfolding. A drama I would never choose to be a part of and yet, I was, I had to be. In the days since the final goodbye, I began to look for words. Words to record the pains, the sorrows, the griefs, and also the laughter,the love, the sacred… oh, the sacred moments… of watching a mama sing her last Happy Birthday to a son – fully grown, but always her baby.

Marguerite. It means daisy or pearl or child of light.

Marguerite – daughter, sister, wife, mother, grandmother

Daisy – butterfly attractor, organic gardener, flower lover

Pearl – baker, crocheter, embroiderer, doll collector

Child of light – a woman of faith who showed up, and quietly, faithfully lived her life and served everyone in it

When she moved from home hospice to a facility, we were given a booklet. One that tells the truth about the stages of dying in a very compassionate way. But, there is really no knowing when the last day, the last moments will come.

September 25. My birthday. It was a Monday and my husband and I went early to see her and to pray with her. She seemed alert and strong and prayed with a calm and certain voice. Then she thanked us for visiting and we left. After dinner, I drove back, I had promised pie for the celebration. She was sleeping while her other visitors chatted softly. Eventually everyone left but my niece and I. I had brought Erin her dinner and we went down to the kitchen for her to eat. She kindly showered me with gifts and also delivered a gift from her mom, my younger sister who could not be in town.

Quirky napkins!

When we went back to the room, Margie roused and we had her re-positioned. While that was happening, she told the staff that it was my birthday. It was about 9 pm and we thought we would just leave but she asked about the pumpkin pie I had promised her to celebrate my birthday. And so, we ate pumpkin pie and used our quirky party napkins and laughed and enjoyed our minutes together. There were hugs and kisses and happy smiles, as we said good night. Sacred moments.

That was the last time she chatted with us. Though we all continued to speak quietly to her our words of love, sweet memories and thanksgivings through the next days and nights. She quietly slipped away from this world the morning of October 3.

Marguerite – Margie to me, my older sister. Her presence will always be like music running in the background of my life. Music full of the steady beat of faithfulness, punctuated with trills of infectious laughter. A sacred life.

My life — forever altered and illuminated by her presence.

I’m so glad we were there those days — together.

October Days

“The world is so full of a number of things, I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.”

Robert Louis Stevenson

Just a few more things as we leave this October…

This tree. I can see it across the field, leaves all a-quiver even on the calmest days. Like a Quaking Aspen. Golden leaves in autumn, like an Aspen. I used to think that was its identity and I waited for it to grow into the white bark. But it didn’t. And actually, when I really looked at them, the leaves are all wrong for a Quaking Aspen – too rough around the edges. It is possibly a Bigtooth Aspen or maybe even an Eastern Cottonwood. But, no doubt , it belongs to the genus Populus with its quivering leaves. As tall as it has grown, It is impossible to see the catkins in spring, so I may never really know. But then, I don’t need to know its formal name. I can just enjoy this happy tree, so sensitive to the slightest breeze.

This is actually not an October find, but I just need to share it! We went to the park down by the river and I spotted this as we pulled into the parking space. As large as a good sized cauliflower and nestled as the base of an oak tree. Cauliflower mushroom is its actual name and they are edible. Best harvested when white, cleaned thoroughly and cooked. Maybe next year! My research says that they tend to colonize in the same area year after year. Oh, and they are related to the Hen of the Woods mushrooms that you can find in your grocery store.

I hadn’t driven through the reservoir in a while. But on a particularly lovely day, I stopped. I have several observation points along the portion that allows parking. When I first stopped, I spotted a goose who appeared to be the watchman. He stood in one place for the longest time while the other birds foraged. A car pulled up and that drew all the ducks to the curb, looking for a bit of bread to go with the bugs, I suppose, They were disappointed and had quite a lot to say about it. I moved on down the drive to a more quiet stretch, to have a bit of forest quiet and my own lunch.

Our house wrens fly south come fall, but then the chubby little Carolina wren makes itself known. They sing loudly! And they mimic other birds’ songs and calls. They are almost always busy flitting about under the shrubbery and shy away from having their picture taken. I was happy to catch this one!

Last Friday, my hubby came home from an early morning meeting and couldn’t wait to show me photos he had taken before the dawn. A sliver of moon and Jupiter! Beautiful. We made plans to go back to that site and watch for the sunrise on Saturday. With coffee and a breakfast nibble, we waited. Of course, the sky is never the same two days in a row. The moon was slimmer and paler and Jupiter was moving farther in its course, but it was a lovely adventure all the same.

Everyday things really are amazing in variety and complexity.

June Days

There is a freshness in the air today. Glowing greens and beautiful bloom where yesterday there were only buds.

In the early mornings, This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope. Through the Lord’s mercies, we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “Therefore I hope in Him!”

Lamentations 3:21-24 NKJV

Times

Time.

The way we measure out life in minutes,hours, days, years.

Taking time and using it wisely and well.

To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven:

I read that April was National Letter Writing Month, from Barb. This took me back into my love for snail mail and I accepted the 30 day letter writing challenge. 30 days to think about relationships, to mark the days and honor those put on the path of my life. It was a time to remember events that brought people – unique and wonderful people – into my time.

On the 15th of April, on FB, I read of the death of the Mother-in-Love of an old acquaintance. Over several months, Libby had briefly shared the illness, the frustration with medical care and finally, their decision to bring this lovely lady into their home until she passed into the arms of God. Now it was time to write sympathy, condolence, a time to acknowledge a life well lived and loved.

I met Libby when we were young. She spoke highly of this lady through the years we shared an office and on every occasion before and after she married into that family.

A time to be born, and a time to die… a time to plant… a time to heal… a time to build up…

Death is never an easy thing to face. Whether long or short, a life is a great presence and its passing is loss that can make us fragile while it seems to expand our hearts. Acknowledging the grace gift that is life is so important.

a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance;

I’ve mentioned that I’m reading Looking for Lovely. Annie Downs started her chapter, “Tragedy” with the text of Matthew 11:28-30 NIV, and eventually drew me into Ecclesiastes*. She speaks a truth I’m learning, that only in Christ Jesus, can I find rest in the weary and burden and tragedy of life. Only if I look to Him, choose to come to Him in the pain and suffering. And that is not my usual response, my first response.

Like me, you are probably not a stranger to pain and suffering. No one wants to live in pain, sadness, loneliness, rejection, shame, war, tearing down, ripping apart… I want to avoid it. Annie writes of this pain and tragedy and says, “I’m not sure I’ll find beauty in this. But the only way to truly see beauty, for my heart to grow in capacity and in ability to love and cherish, is through pain and heartache.”

Later, she continues, “I don’t know exactly how it works, I just know that the more I hang on and feel, the more I am able to feel; and each time more balm gets rubbed into the wounds of my soul.” She finishes the chapter with these words, ” But there is beauty in choosing to feel that pain, in calling hurt what it is, and not pretending everything is okay.”

The world is not comfortable with pain and often we are encouraged to ‘just get over it’, move, on, count your blessings. But the wise man said, there is a time to weep… a time to mourn… And somehow in the mourning, in the weeping, there is a balm that is rubbed into the wound.

May 1, 2016. Sunny. Changing to sheeting rain, creating impressionist art outside my window. Reducing seed heads to earth stars.

May 1, 2016, checking FB updates in the afternoon, I found get well prayers for Libby. These were followed all too quickly by posts of grief at her death. Shock is not really an adequate word to express my state that evening.

Many old relationships just die a natural death, but some go on, changed, but connecting us to our history, our lifetime scrapbooks. She was one who knew me “then”; who was part of bridal and baby showers. We went to each other’s weddings. For Libby and I, our lives unfolded in different places and ways and we rarely took the time to meet although we promised in every Christmas update — next year!

a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to gain, and a time to lose;

Looking for the lovely, the good reports, the praiseworthy things**, I continued to read the FB updates. I believe that the many seeds of goodness and love planted by this gracious woman will produce a harvest in the many lives she touched.

Dear Libby, you leave gaping spaces in the hearts of so many. You will not be forgotten; your legacy will endure. I’m so glad our lives touched.

*Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 ** Philippians 4:8

Longings

Tim Willard in Longing for More, week 17, reflected on the mystery of beauty – it’s draw on our souls, the need to stop and see. I have found many writers who train my eyes, speak to my soul. My friend, Marta, challenges me the same way. Will I be still, will I allow myself to see, to rest in the seeing?

Twice in April, we were able to get away to the park. While the area we go to has a beach, it is the woodland that we enjoy. Each table really has a different view, almost a different plant environment.

Not many people this Sunday, so the park is quiet with only occasional boat sounds from the river, bike tires whizzing by or the small birds that flit and do the original twitter. Bees buzz in blooms so small, I must bend low to look into the beauty. We are refreshed.

A week passes – we choose a different table. Fresh leaves shine green on some trees this clear day. On others, there are still buds of promise. Not so many wildflowers at this site. Here we have mosses and flowering trees and shrubs. Mini suns – and a moon – explode from the ground nearby.

We picnic with hot soup and sandwiches then sit enjoying the last of our time here. I lean back to look up at the shining green against the clear blue. Sweet gum leaves like stars. Then looking beyond the canopy, I see them. Bald Eagles riding the currents, sky surfing!

This place is like a soul spa. A soaking, cleansing, refreshing place. A place displaying the beauty, mystery and wonder of Creator God.

Tim ended Week 17 with this prayer, “Lord Jesus, I love how you unfold your truth in the mystery of your glory. Thank you for thinking of me enough to delight my sense with all that you are. ” Amen!

Joyous Christmas wishes to you and your kin

From our house to yours, may you be blessed this Christmastide with wonder and peace.

May you have gifts of love and joy and goodness to share in abundance.

“O holy night! the stars are brightly shining, it is the night of the dear Savior’s birth.”

October’s passing

Morning fog and the plaintive cry of the lone goat down by the pond – he’s the white spot down there. I think he mourns loneliness these days. I haven’t seen his buddy for about a year.

We have leaf lawns like old brown/gold shag carpets in every view.

The deer are almost invisible now except for white tails as they bound across the yard. This one paused for quite a while before slowly going over the hill and down through the sluggish morning traffic.

And then, all is glorious!

I found another poem by George Copper that speaks of the season. Here are the first two verses:

“Come, little leaves,”

Said the wind one day,

“Come over the meadows

With me, and play;

Put on your dresses

Of red and gold;

Summer is gone,

And the days grow cold.”

Soon as the leaves

Heard the wind’s loud call,

Down they came fluttering,

One and all;

Over the meadows

They danced and flew,

Singing the soft

Little songs they knew.

Since I first encountered Barbara Mahany’s lyrical writing in Slowing Time , I’ve been a visitor to her table. Her current post on the coming darkness of the long nights of winter ends with this thought: to “… wrap ourselves in the whole of the long night’s offering, the invitation to burrow deep inside our souls. and bring on the night candles, the flame, and the blankets.” She writes of the long winter cozy that I do love with more candles, more soup and stew, more blankets and comforters, more reading and yes, more time outside. In the dark.

I’m moving a jacket up to the kitchen so I’m more agreeable to respond to the drawing to step outside to watch the dawn create silhouettes of my tree friends. Stars and planets visible without the canopy of leaves.

You’re invited out into the wonder!

Growing Oak Trees

I found this poem to share. It is a wonderful metaphor for the life of faith, I think. Scripture calls us to yield and to become “oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord” – Isaiah 61

Can you see your life in these lines?

The Acorn

In a small green cup an acorn grew

                On a tall and stately oak;

The spreading leaves the secret knew,

                And hid it like a cloak.

The breezes rocked it tenderly,

                The sunbeams whispered low,

“Some day the smallest acorn here

                Will make an oak, you know.”

The little acorn heard it all,

                And thought it quite a joke;

How could he dream an acorn small

                Would ever be an oak?

He laughed so much that presently

                He tumbled from his cup,

And rolled a long way from the tree,

                Where no one picked him up.

Close by him was a rabbit hole,

                And when the wind blew high,

Down went the acorn with a roll

                For weeks in gloom to lie.

But, one bright day, a shoot of green

                Broke from his body dry,

And pushed its way with longing keen

                To see the glorious sky.

It grew and grew, with all its might,

                As weeks and months rolled on;

The sunbeam’s words were proving right.

                For, ere a year had gone,

The shoot became a sturdy plant,

                While now the country folk

Can sit beneath the spreading leaves

                Of a mighty forest oak.

                                                                           Anonymous

Sunday hours at the river

There were three wonders to absorb my play time at the park.

1. Three oak trees clustered along the bank where we chose to sit. I have not yet identified them, but perhaps a reader knows. There seem to be a dozen species native to this state.

2. Sweet gum trees. I had learned that the color of these leaves is dependent on cool nights and sunny days. The range of color on a single tree is amazing.

Even the stems are colorful!

3. Black Walnuts – so many trees! You will notice them first by the fruit.

The thick green husk gives way to thick shell. Only persistence will yield the nut meats. Lacking my own trees and having heard the tales of blackened hands – from the husks – and the challenge of wresting the meat from the shell, I’ve never opened one, preferring to buy the delicious morsels by the bag. The taste is not at all like that of English walnuts. If you are not familiar with the taste of them a great way to start is with Black Walnut Jiffy Cake which is one of the easiest cakes to make. I highly recommend it! Follow the link to the recipe. It freezes well so it can be made ahead of the holidays. No frosting is needed. And, as my Great Aunt would say, I hope you have good luck with this!

I so agree with Anne –

“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers”

Anne Shirley – Anne of Green Gables

Reflections – true or false?

Sometimes, it seems that I get very out-of-focused in reflection.

And everything turns topsy turvy.

There is only one way for me to right my mental world:

Finally, brothers and sisters, fill your minds with beauty and truth. Meditate on whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is good, whatever is virtuous and praiseworthy.

The Voice Bible

Filling my mind with beauty all around. What beauty have you found today?