by jphilo | Apr 29, 2016 | Daily Life
The red buds are blooming in our neighbor’s ravine again. They are as achingly beautiful as they were at the end of April last year. Twelve months ago I wrote this post, and though I feel better than when this post appeared in April of 2015, the words written in it are as true on this Fantastic Friday as they were then.
Finding Beauty in a Not Very Easy Week
The week just past was not an easy one. Last Sunday, I was finally home for a good long while after months of speaking engagements and Grammy duties, with no book deadlines looming. Don’t get me wrong, all of the above are good–even great and blessed–events. But they were wearying, too, and I naively thought that the week would be devoted to creative activities that rejuvenate me…like finally getting back to poor, patient Jane and her languishing mystery novel. That didn’t happen.
Because I had forgotten that the first several days after being gone
are devoted to catching up on everything that piled up in your absence.
Laundry.
Mail.
Email.
Bills.
Grocery shopping.
Once those were taken care of,
it was time to respond to people I’d told,
“Contact me a few days after I get back, and I’d be glad to help.”
All that took until Saturday.
Which left me as frustrated as the crazy, two week allergy elimination diet I began on Sunday has been leaving me hungry after every meal. (More on the diet tomorrow.) And I was tired. Bone tired. A wee bit out of shape. And whiny because the weather’s been rainy and cold for days. Something had to be done. So Sunday afternoon, I sat down and racked my memory for the beauty hidden in my not-too-easy week.
Once I started looking, beauty was everywhere,
in the cherry blossoms in our neighbors’ yard,
blossoms left untouched by a nip of frost.
in finding the exact watch Mom wanted to replace her old one at the first store visited.
on the heavenly red bud trees blooming in the ravine along our road.
in the forgiveness of our church Connection Group
when I totally forgot about the potluck we were hosting.
Most beautiful of all,
most heart-breakingly beautiful of all,
in the kindness of staff members interacting with a resident in Mom’s memory care unit,
as they encouraged him, though his mind is dimmed by disease, to play his trombone,
as they hummed the birthday tune to him until the notes brought back his memory,
and he played the tune straight through,
with vibrato
and rhythm
and perfect pitch.
In his fellow residents giving him a rousing round of applause,
and asking him to play it again…
and again…
and again.
A miracle.
A miracle of grace.
A miracle of beauty.
A miracle of unequaled beauty almost overlooked,
though hidden in plain sight,
and waiting eagerly to be found.
And to think,
I almost missed it.
by jphilo | Apr 21, 2014 | Daily Life
Today’s post was supposed to be a mystery novel update. But we returned from a weekend in Wisconsin with family later than expected yesterday afternoon. Then the weather was so nice, Hiram and I decided to take a walk on our gravel road. As we passed the neighbor’s ravine, Hiram mentioned that their red buds will soon be blooming. Before they do, you’re invited to enjoy and anticipate the beauty yet to come, as described in a post that first appeared on this website in May of 2009.
The red buds in our neighbor’s ravine are blooming. Few things compare to the sight of the small trees. Some are barely visible above the underbrush. The still bare branches of the hardwoods – black walnuts, elms, maple and locust – hover over the little trees like anxious parents waiting for their children to perform their spring recital pieces.
The red buds performing beautifully every spring. When I descend the hill into the ravine, they catch my eye and draw it north across the bridge, into the greening woods. The vivid pink-purple of the near trees take my breath away, and I stand transfixed. But beyond them, ten or twenty feet another cluster of trees blooms. A short way beyond that cluster is another, and beyond it, another. On and on they go until the colors blur and meld in the far end of the ravine.
While I look beyond the bridge, a quote from C.S. Lewis’s Narnia series comes to mind. In the last book, when the children get to heaven (oops – I gave away the ending), they rushing up a mountain with their Narnian friends, shouting, “Further up and further in!” They reach the top of the mountain and look out over a great valley. At the end of their vision is another mountain range. “Further up and further in!” they shout, and run to explore the new vista. And when they have scaled that taller, grander mountain, a more beautiful valley awaits, and in the distance, a more spectacular mountain range.
For eternity, they explore the unending wonders of heaven and the eternal God who created it. For one week, I relish the redbuds. Then the blossoms fade and the new leaves of the shade trees overshadow them. But while they last, my heart shouts, “Further up and further in!” when the haze of pink and purple catches my eye. Heaven, I think, will look a lot like my neighbor’s ravine during redbud week.
I can’t wait to get there and go…
Further up and further in,
Further up and further in,
Further up and further in,
For all eternity!
by jphilo | Apr 5, 2012 | Three Thoughts for Thursday
Spring is in full swing with Easter celebrations in the works for the weekend. You have just enough time to check out these three thoughts for Thursday before preparations for the celebration crowds out everything else.
- A breathtakingly beautiful drive across the eastern half of our state – its red bud, wild plum, and crab apple trees in bloom mile after mile – made me grateful to live in Iowa in springtime.
- Watching oneself in a video is not nearly as breathtakingly beautiful as a drive across Iowa in the spring. In fact, the experience is so painful, I won’t make a habit of watching the book trailer for Different Dream Parenting. But if you’ve been wondering how the book came to be, check out both the trailer and information about how to order the new electronic version of the book here.
- Did you see Target’s Easter ad in the Sunday paper? Beside the picture of a carton of eggs was a big, red target dot spinning them as “ready to cook and dye eggs!” How long did it take for the advertizing department to come up with that one?
What’s the craziest spin you’ve seen in an ad? Leave a comment so we can chuckle with you.
by jphilo | May 23, 2008 | Out and About
No doubt about it, this spring has been one of the chilliest in recent memory. Though the weather warmed up earlier this week, yesterday the temperature slid enough to kick on the furnace. A noisy, crackling thunderstorm, complete with a soaking rain and a little hail, ushered in the day. The sky remains overcast and I keep putting off my walk, waiting for the wind to die down and the temperature to warm up. Pretty soon, I’ll have to suck it up and take a chilly walk.
But a cold spring hold blessings, too. Before we left for West Virginia, I mourned about missing the red buds, which were waking up just as we left. I was sure they would fade before our return. I didn’t consider the effects of a cold spring all across the Midwest.
Red buds were in full bloom along the southern route through Iowa, Illinois, and Indiana. Mile after mile of breath-taking color. On the return trip, the southern trees had faded, but as we drove north the blooming commenced again, even along our lane. I took this picture on Tuesday, three days after we got home. Not only the red buds, but the honeysuckles and lilacs, the irises and columbines waited to bloom until we came home – thanks to a cold spring.
Chilly blessings, I see, can be more beautiful than warm, fuzzy ones.
by jphilo | May 8, 2008 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
We’re leaving for West Virginia tomorrow, to visit our son in the monastery. I can’t wait to see him. The day’s been full of packing for the trip as well as helping our daughter, who came home from college, do laundry and unpack.
The day had no spare moments, but I can’t leave without sharing another taste of spring – the red bud trees in our neighbors’ ravine. The picture doesn’t do them justice because you can’t see how far back the reddish purple haze extends. You can’t see the depth.
So if you leave nearby, drive down our little gravel road and take a peek in the next few days. Even with gas at $3.57 a gallon, it’s worth the trip. But don’t stop by our house for a visit. Nobody’s home.
