by jphilo | May 25, 2010 | Out and About
I was only gone overnight, but still I missed home – my bed, Hiram, spending a day with the daughter, fussing over my flowerpots after all this wind and heat. Most of all I missed walking down our little gravel road for even one spring morning. This is it’s most beautiful time of year, every day a surprise of new wildflowers in the ditches and the songbirds serenading every step I take.
My overnight hostess pointed me in the direction of a good place to walk this AM. “It’s real pretty down through the cemetery. Just go south on the blacktop a little bit and take the gravel road straight instead of curving along the blacktop. You can’t miss it.”
But I’ll still miss being home on this beautiful May morning. God, help me be grateful where I am.
I took off, certain no walk could be as sweet as our little gravel road on a sunny May morning. My pessimism was rewarded during the brief stretch of blacktop and even on the first stretch of gravel. No cool shade trees. No birdsong. None of the stillness that puts my heart to rights when I walk hidden from the world.
But one step into the cemetery, the birds began to sing. Two steps in, and the trees blessed me with shade. A few more steps and the road noise was gone. My mind quit racing, and my spirit grew quiet as I passed the rows of headstones, many of them already decorated for Memorial Day. I walked further in and spied a road that curved along the cemetery’s western edge and down a hill. Following the path, I descended into a cool, green, shady woods, the view so similar to the one along my little gravel road, my homesickness vanished.
God’s graceful answer to my plea surrounded me. I was grateful for my night away from home, for this reminder that God hears my prayers and answers them in kind and ordinary ways. I took in the view, breathed the fresh greenness of it, and breathed out praise, feeling a bit like the farmer in one of my favorite movies, Babe.
That’ll do, God. That’ll do.
I looked up as God looked down. And I’m pretty sure He winked.
by jphilo | Oct 9, 2009 | Daily Life
The lone cosmos in my flower garden ran out of oomph this year. It came up by seed, and I moved it behind the shorter plants on the west side of the garage, near where it’s parent had lived a full life the previous year. But this love child took it’s own sweet time to reach maturity, kind of like it thought the warm weather would last forever. The pokey plant put off setting buds until a few days ago. Finally, this morning, the first flower bloomed, shivering with cold.
Alas, the blossom is a one day wonder. With a hard frost predicted for tonight and snow for tomorrow, it doesn’t have much time. Thankfully, the sun came out this morning, so it’s short life will be pleasant. But the puny flower is a mockery perched atop the huge plant that created it. And the wasted potential of the buds doomed to die without blooming dampened my spirits. Because some days, I know, I am like the errant cosmos.
How much potential have I wasted, thinking I had plenty of time, thinking things would never change? How many opportunities have I put off, assuming they would still be there tomorrow? How much beauty has been lost? How many relationships squandered?
The cosmos didn’t grace my fall garden with it’s cheerful pink promise. Instead it reminded me of the swift passage of time, the brevity of life, the fleeting days given me to complete God’s work God. That’s not the life I intended for the seedling I transplanted last July. But I accept its unintended grace with gratitude.
The grace of urgency.
The grace of purpose.
The grace of mortality.
by jphilo | Mar 31, 2009 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
The wind has been fierce off and on all month, proof positive that the authors and illustrators of my elementary school Dick and Jane books knew what they were talking about. Their spring pictures of windblown Dick and Jane struggling against gales that turned their umbrellas inside out, fascinated me. How, I wondered, could the wind do that to their umbrellas but not lift Jane’s skirt and reveal her undies? The lack of attention given to the undie scenario, much more common than ruined umbrellas, destroyed my faith in the Dick and Jane authors, though I still coveted Jane’s wavy blond hair and full-skirted dresses.
My windy day fears have increased with age. They’ve become more expensive, too. Will the silver maple drop on the house before the lawn dries out enough for the tree guys to come? Is the shingle I found in the yard yesterday an indication of the state of our roof which was redone not that long ago? What will my husband say when he sees where the wind tore the second story rain gutter loose? When will the wind die down enough so he can safely climb his new Little Giant ladder and fix it?
When I walked this morning, I stepped over the worries the wind deposited on the doorstep and went down the road. I leaned against the wind as it pushed me down the road. I breathed a sigh of relief when I descended the hill and reached the sheltered stretch of road where the wind didn’t reach. There by the bridge, amidst the grey tree trunks and bare branches, the willow tree stood still and faintly green. It was for me the first and slightest sign that winter will soon end, the wind will calm, and new life waits just beyond what I can see.
New, as yet undetectable worries wait beside them, I’m sure. But for now, the promise of spring gives me strength to walk past the worries to find the grace waiting in this windblown day.
by jphilo | Dec 14, 2007 | Daily Life
Five Mile Drive is still cold. I thought I was handling the winter thing pretty well, until Tuesday afternoon when even my hot flashes couldn’t disguise the chilliness in the living room. A quick look at the thermostat and a trip to the basement confirmed my suspicions: the furnace/boiler wasn’t running.
Hiram restarted it and called the furnace guy. The furnace guy tinkered with it Wednesday and said it needed more work. It quit again sometime last night and a higher echelon furnace guy came today. By the time he got done fixing and replacing and bleeding air out of radiators, our bank account was a little emptier and the house much warmer. This furnace guy, a very patient man who thought that if he explained things like valves and keys and sensors to me I would understand them, said our heat might go out again because something burned up. But, he assured me, we will be able to restart it and stay warm. I hope he’s right.
SInce the boiler’s pretty big, I plan to wrap it in colored paper and top it with a big bow. Then I’ll drag the tree to the basement so our present will be under it. We’ve always wanted fill valves and sensor gizmos for Christmas, and this year we finally get them!
Come to think of it, I’ve received everything I want most this year. My daughter’s home, my son’s safe and my husband loves me. We have a warm house, we’re together and healthy, and we have plenty to eat. Those are gifts many families around the world won’t have. Whenever I walk by a radiator and feel its soft heat, I thank God for giving me new eyes to see His grace at work. I pray for those who are cold and hungry and sick this winter, whether in body or spirit, who need that same grace. And I pray that over the next year, He will teach me and our family how to share the grace we’ve received with others.
Next Christmas, maybe our gift will be the ability to see how He’s answered that prayer.
