Wall

I felt
The layering of the bricks
Rising most certainly
Between us
I felt the air chill
And wondered
Were they made of ice?
Chin height
We looked at each other
Over the wall
Hearts apart
Perhaps maybe
One day
Worlds apart
I asked
What material did you build with?
Was it sticks?
Sticks could easily be kicked down
But, no, I knew it was bricks
You said there was no mortar
Give it time
Time perhaps
Will allow it to be pushed over
But it went up far too fast
The rapidity
The solidity
Frightened me
And the chill of that ice
Bid me to turn away
If there was to be a gate
In your haste
It was forgotten
And standing
Outside a wall
I felt the fool
Knocking on a wall
Without a door

Content in the now...

I was driving away from the yoga class I just taught, and it struck me how thankful I am for now. For this moment. This present time. For the ways God has chosen to bless me. For the lessons I've learned. For the sense of contentment that has lately been covering me like a blanket tucked around me by a loving mother.

It's funny, not in a haha way, but in an ironic way, that sometimes we need to spend a season in Hell to truly be thankful for peace. Certainly, the last couple of years since Pat died have been a roller coaster, one that had sharp turns, steep drops, and frighteningly, no known end in sight. Times that I thought I found a straight away with the exit within visual range, the coaster would bank suddenly and off I'd head for another nail-biting go-round. By the way, I have never liked roller coasters.

Perhaps right now, I'm on one of those straight aways. I don't know if I'll be enjoying a period of recuperation or entering another "How long, Lord?" phase where I come face to face with the living not just the conceptualizing of "walking by faith and not by sight.' I've had those moments where I simply felt "done" with all the stress and like Elijah, sat down under my broom tree and wished it would all just be over. Sure enough, God has nourished me and put me back on my feet. In I Kings 19:11-13, "The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave. Then a voice said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?" And when Elijah answered, the Father let him complain - and then gave him direction. I'm listening for that still small voice.

I suppose that through each trial, I'm learning to be more like the Apostle Paul who said in Philippians, "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want." In order to master this attitude, we must accept it is necessary to become accustomed to both conditions. Hard to swallow, but I'm not going to learn this sort of contentment if life is always tailored to my liking.

And so, I am grateful for where I am at this moment in my life. The things God has done in my life. The successes and failures of 2018. In my kitchen I am making a pie from a pumpkin that I grew in my very own yard completely unexpectedly, from waste raked to the roadside.I'm going to work two minutes from my home; I'm fortunate to be in a supportive, caring work environment, collaborating with a believer who regards me as an answer to prayer. It's nice to be an answer to someone's prayers. My wonderful daughters and precious grandchildren bring endless joy and meaning to my life. I've got friendships that have withstood the test of time; real, true friends are to be cherished. Six months ago the Father put a godly man in my life and we've been learning each other, building possibilities and growing in hopes. Again, being the answer to someone's prayers is special. Several times a week I have the privilege of instructing fitness classes, just as I did tonight. How fabulous it is to get paid to do what you love! My book is nearly done; I have a volume of poetry as well - and a short story that will hopefully be published next year. While I do not know where the road is leading, I do know that my Lord's plans for me are for good. So right here, right now, I'm grateful to be content. To be happy. To enjoy today. To give glory to my King.

Turning the pieces

Let's meet at the beach
And have picnics on Sundays
Until the dogs are old and the
cats have died
And then...
No, let's mix them up and
Learn to live, to mingle
Let every day
Be Sunday

Predictability says
That you hang back
Predictability says
That I plunge in
Incompatibility says
This won't work
Faith says
Two become one
And we spend a life time
Building our puzzle
Turning the pieces this way and that
Until we find what fits

Kintsugi

After all these years, he thought aloud
Maybe he didn't understand
Love
Wasn't it a hand that was snatched away?
A comfortable shoe
That wore down and got tossed in the trash
When the rocks and wet came in
A scenic view but beware the precipice
Tread carefully, play it safe
No, no
After all these years
Her heart had a different understanding
Love
Is to be vulnerable and hold on
Its behaving like an idiot
And knowing, even if I'm a jerk
I'm your jerk and you are mine
It is to spend forever
Working to fit square pegs into round holes
With the faith that
Someday
The puzzle would come together
It is stepping out in fear but believing
That a gift of each heart will be treasured by the other
And so I place mine in your hand
Taking yours in mine
Accepting each as a precious
Once exchanged, we commit
That we shall guard them carefully
And if you should stumble, or should I?
Love is accepting that a crack or two
Might need some TLC
Some glue to fix...but we don't throw away
We'll mend them with gold, Kintsugi
And those repairs will add to the history and
Beauty of the love we share
Until then
Take take my dog hair
And I'll take your pessimism
Take my need for reassurance
And I'll banish your insecurities
We'll take misunderstandings and
Plunge recklessly past them
We'll stand on that precipice and enjoy the scenic view
And jump
Together
Because love doesn't play it safe
Yet it's the most secure place you'll ever be

A work in progress 11/11/2018

The death of the accidental pumpkin patch...

It was inevitable: the death of the accidental pumpkin patch. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 is common knowledge - “To everything there is a season and a purpose under heaven...a time to be born, a time to die, a time to plant, a time to uproot…” This is the end for my accidental pumpkin patch. It has known its season and its time has come. I can’t begin to express how much joy this pumpkin patch brought to me this year. 2018 has been a rough year and that wild, unexpected garden was such a blessing in the midst of adjustments, unknowns, facing the music to the tune of big mistakes -- all part of my continued realization of widowhood.

I’ve said before - I’m not much of a gardener.  My husband and I always joked that I had the Black Thumb of Death. Pat would warn not to let plants get near me. My grandfather, Leonard, was a terrific gardner; I have pictures of him standing proudly amidst his produce. He died when I was very small but my few memories of him include the beautiful garden he grew. I never thought I inherited the genes for that skill - I was prone to over-watering. Once damage from over-watering was done I would be afraid and then under water. I always had a rough time getting a knack for keeping greenery alive. It’s not that I didn’t want to...  I’ve tried growing things before and wound up with one tiny cucumber, a cantaloupe, watermelon eaten by ants when it was under 3 inches long, and one perfect pumpkin that I cherished.  I get very, very excited about pumpkins so I always felt that one was a big success. (I made it into pies after admiring it for a few weeks). Having a volunteer pumpkin patch decide to grow on its own, right outside my kitchen window - this was spectacular!

Given that I had tried to grow pumpkins before and wound up with just one, I wasn’t very confident but I read up on the topic. I studied the needs of pumpkins, learned how to feed them and water them properly. I kept turning the vines from the street. I fought off slugs and mildew with help from friends in the know (big thanks to cousin Pete). I went out there daily with a paintbrush and a Q-tip ready to help pollinate (I learned about pumpkin plants having male and female flowers - quite interesting). Turns out I didn’t need to help the process. Bees and friendly little bugs were hard at work from dawn until midday. Before I knew it, pumpkins were growing and I, with bated breath, was out of doors every morning checking for new ones.

Some grew well, some didn’t. Some started off with promise and were attacked by slugs or worms that pierced through the still soft outer skin. How much this reminded me of myself! As I have been adjusting to widowhood, I’ve scattered my seed in the forms of hopes, dreams and bids for survival. Some of that seed grew, some didn’t. Of the seeds that grew, there were many that held promise but could not grow to maturity because the soil that wasn’t right, the attacks of the enemy, or my own neglect. Some pumpkins were hardy; some were fragile from the get-go.

In my pumpkin patch, the seeds all came from one pumpkin but the pumpkins that grew all looked very different. There were large pumpkins, oval pumpkins, pigmy albinos, small green ones that didn’t turn orange… variety.  There were ones that held promise, that I was so excited about, and that couldn’t take the heat after harvest and rotted sooner than I expected.  And so my plans and expectations have all been different -- and even things I thought held great promise didn’t necessarily last.

So as you can see in the photo, my pumpkin patch is dying and I’m sad to see it go. Harvesting that last pumpkin was like reading the last page of a book that I didn’t want to end… but it doesn’t have to. The characters in a book live on - a sequel could be written, just like my pumpkin patch is not truly, really dead; it’s fruit will be used for future growth. The beautiful pumpkins that didn’t stay intact as I hoped? They are out in the far back of my yard and I hope to grow a planned pumpkin patch with them next year. Each seed holds within it the hope of a new pumpkin vine and the potential for future fruit. John 12:24 reads, “Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds”  Think of how many seeds are in each pumpkin!  Think of how many seeds - ideas, dreams, goals, challenges - are in me, just waiting for a chance to be planted.

The accidental pumpkin patch wasn’t in the safest place but it grew...and I learned from its growth.  My hope is to use what I have learned to be a wise and prepared gardener, not just a gardener by chance. I will strive to grow things in the best place -- but I’ll still be open to surprise gardens. There are things in my life that held promise, that even produced fruit...and their season is also over.  I think of Thomas Edison who said, “I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work.” For the things that I put hope in that didn’t float,  Learning growth and death, success and failure, the patterns or the randomness - it has all been and continues to be necessary for me to become who I’m meant to be. Maybe the pumpkin patch right there, accidentally planted on a roadside, is who I am… but maybe my life in its fullest is still a seed inside one of the pumpkins that grew from that patch and needs to be planted, grow its own vine, and become a patch to be reckoned with. 

So is this the end of my accidental pumpkin patch? I don’t think so...within the seeds it nourished there is hope.