Duty calls, but sometimes I don't answer.

Since I don’t write for a living, writing is more a creative outlet, like cooking or sewing, or carpentry is for some.  All these things can be a vocation where one is paid, but each is also a form of creative nurturing for the soul.  For me, writing poetry can be a form of play.  Having been a preschool teacher, I’ve watched a number of children in play and know that when children feel safe, they can find their inner selves through play.

If we are completely honest with ourselves, we know that we each harbor a dark side, a shadow self, and for me it comes out most clearly when I write my poetry.  I have a bit of a selfish streak which I try to hide as any “good Christian” tries but usually fails to do. 

Yesterday, I came across a poem I wrote years ago that revealed to me an aspect of this selfishness. The poem speaks to that problem of motive we all encounter at one time or another in our loving relationships: duty or desire.

Here is the poem, with its most recent revisions – as of this morning.  (My poems are never finished!)

I took a nap instead

But for the last three weeks,

I’ve made space for her, every Sunday

afternoon for over two years.

Lately though, I’ve stayed away.

I do not wish to watch the decline

of her small aged body, reclined

in her easy chair. 

I do not wish to watch her wrestle

to remember who it is at her side.

She’s dying there, surrounded by the stagnant scent

of “skilled care” air.  I don’t know if she’s in pain,

or gently withering like the roses on her TV set.  But,

once again, I did not visit her.

 

Holy Litter

I’m a collector of sorts.  Many have seen my elephant collection numbering over 100. The more unusual the elephant, the more inclined I am to get it—within a decent price, of course!  The collection is fun, but I’m not always proud of what this collection can represent: the sort of luxury only available to those of us in more affluent cultures. 

However, I have another kind of collection building slowly but surely, on my desk:  two small, very different stones, a feather possibly from a blue jay, a slightly smaller, spotted feather – (woodpecker of some sort?), a sand dollar, and the most recent additions—two cherry-sized green acorns from our oak tree. This collection is different; the kind of collection with which children might line their pockets or from which a child-at-heart (like me) might draw spiritual inspiration.

As I was walking this morning, I thought about why I keep such seemingly trivial items on my desk.  Call it a thread of sacredness which connects these objects – holy litter; reminders of God’s benevolent and enduring nature--reminders of life at birth, rebirth, transition (acorns) or a life past living which still leaves beauty (sand dollar).  Stones or pebbles shaped smooth by wind or rivers or whatever God placed around them; feathers shed, no longer necessary, or in the way.  All of these become metaphors for me of a life lived in God’s presence.

We all experience birth and rebirth, transitions throughout our lives.  In experiencing those transitions we often have to shed “feathers” which might have been necessary at one time, but no longer are.  And who hasn’t weathered streams of difficulty; erosion is painful, but can leave us less “rough around the edges”. And in spite of (or because of) all of this, my hope for you, for me, is that like the remnant sand dollar, we’ve lived the kind of lives that remain in the memories of others, a very beautiful symbol of God’s love.

Count your blessings!

The stock market fell 600+ more points today.   Things don't look so great on the financial scene. Okay, Lord.  I get it.  We're supposed to depend on You for everything.  Last week I wrote about having an attitude of gratitude.  Well I don't feel very grateful today.  Forgive me.  So I guess I need to get started.  Let me count the ways I'm blessed... (just like the old gospel hymn: "Count Your Blessings, one by one...")

1.  I have a roof over my head.

2.  I don't live in Somalia.  (Lord, please help them!)
3.  I have more than enough good food and am not starving.
4.  I have access to clean water.
5.  I have a closet full of clothing and shoes.
6.  I have several people I love and who love me. (There's at least 20 reasons to be praising God right   there!)
7.  My health is good. (Knock on wood! Better yet, thanks be to God!)
8.  I can read!!!
9.  The day began with rain.
10.  I have a dog who thinks I'm great!
11. I'm mobile.  (I can get around on my own two legs without help.)

There's more than ten things right there.  I could go on and on...


Okay. I feel a little better.  My life is good. Thank you Lord.

Give me an attitude...

I probably don’t need to tell anyone that the stock market tanked yesterday.  Most of us, particularly if we are retired and don’t have a guaranteed pension other than social security, keep our eyes permanently fixed on those 401(k) s and tax-sheltered annuities. 

But if I could wish for anything for my loved ones, it would not be money – though that would be helpful to most of us! Rather, it would be a spirit of gratitude to a loving God.  With gratitude one can face anything and love freely.  With gratitude, one consistently sees blessings and is therefore, consistently blessed.  Gratitude replaces the dark places in one’s soul: anger, malice, despair, hate, fear, anxiety and more.  Without gratitude, even material wealth only leads to greed, a desire to possess more, and an endless pursuit for contentment. 

Gratitude teaches us to live in the present and appreciate the simple things-- to be content with what we have.  It gives us energy to create, to love, to hold to truth.  Another way to put it; gratitude is the presence of the Holy Spirit living within the soul. 

Listen to the words of the apostle Paul:

“Finally beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”   Philippians 4:8

Though some nest eggs may be dwindling, I wrote this poem in 2008 shortly after my husband retired.  I still feel this way.

Nest Egg

I do like this time we spend together,

the passing of minutes in our lazy days.

No words, maybe yards from each other

yet still within a glance, a smile.

And sometimes not even within sight

of each other—he in the garage and I

in the gazebo—yet still within knowing;

the invisible shell that wraps around us. 

We’re like an egg—yolk and white distinct,

but together, delicious.

Save money. Live better.

Today marks six months in which I have not stepped foot inside a Walmart store.  That’s quite an undertaking in a small town like Hays, where sometimes about the only place one can find something is the Super Walmart north of the interstate. 

I started this exercise in February after having watched Robert Greenwald’s documentary Walmart: The High Cost of Low Price.  This film was uncomfortable to watch because of its witness to the “way we do business” in this country – the primary tool is exploitation. The reason: simply unfettered greed.  This film was uncomfortable because of all the times I’ve tried to forget that all that clothing “made in China” came at a very high personal cost to a very real person in China.

Certainly Walmart is not the only corporation “big box store” that is making small town mom and pop businesses obsolete.  Nor is it the only corporation that engages in unfair labor practices here in the US  and slave labor conditions in countries with even more lax regulations than ours.  This is perhaps why my little action of “boycotting” Walmart, means nothing at all to the corporate world.  But it means something to me.

Sometimes I’ve had to pay a little more for something in one of our local stores; sometimes I can’t even find what I “think I need”—but this has been an opportunity in looking at how much my “needs” have really been “wants”.  In some ways, too, this exercise has actually saved me money.  By not having instant access to things I  think need, I have a chance to the true necessity of an item.  By not traipsing up and down colorful aisles beckoning to me with their treasures, I do not cave in to impulse spending.

How long will I be able to keep this up?  Who knows?  But for six months, Walmart has not received a dime from me. 

!

 

Oh, No You Can't!

Two nights ago, President Barack Obama died.  The reason that Americans nor the world has heard about it, is because it happened in a dream I had.  He did not die from assassination or from an accident or some kind of terrorist act as many might expect or even fear. No, in my dream, he simply died from an unexplained illness.

When I awoke, the sadness stayed with me and as I "analyzed" this dream out loud with my husband, it occurred to me that Barack Obama did die.  During his 2 1/2 years of presidency, the hope which I and many other Americans equated with Barack Obama, has given way to despair.   A deep feeling that things will never change...that truly the "mantra" being shouted into the faces of the ordinary, middle class American citizen, is "no you can't!"  Everything I and many other Americans felt that election night in November, 2008 -- all the hope and anticipation that things were really changing, that we ordinary Americans really do have power -- for many of us, that has died. 

But perhaps, for Christians, it is wrong to be putting hope in any man or man-made government.  Perhaps the most important thing we can do each day is put our hope in the God who created us in His  image.  Usually when I am least expecting it, something happens that gives me incredible hope;  something that can only be the working of the Holy Spirit, usually in very simple, humble manisfestations.  This morning, I witnessed it in the incredible rain we had; something rare in Hays, Kansas.   And that was enough to redirect my attention properly to that God of all wonders.  As Christians, we can all have the "audacity of hope".  And we can pray. Daily, I will continue to pray for our president, and the other leaders of this nation.  Will you join me? 

Heat wave!

So it was 109 degrees in Lawrence yesterday and we were out in the sticky, soupy air, moving heavy boxes, horribly awkward mattresses, hefty couches and chairs, and what all, up and down stairs, lifting, pulling, pushing, crawling up and down from the pick-up bed and all the while, sweating like fountains.  And one of us was a 76-year-old man!  Bob is amazing!Today, we’ll pay with sore muscles, aching backs and popping joints, and an incredible lack of energy.  Let’s just be lethargic and enjoy our age today!

Jessica and her roommate, on the other hand, will be repeating yesterday all over again, as they still have more to move; but she is young…

and we are not.

Below is a poem I wrote just the other day, so it has not yet been worked over with revisions  (other than some very small revisions this morning.)  Most of the poems I’ve put on this blog are older poems which have been revised several times. Revision is a necessary part of any kind of writing, I suppose – except this blog which serves more as a “public diary”!

Anyway, here’s a simple little poem, “rough” if not ready! 

Saturday Summer Morning

What I should be doing is walking

the three-mile route I walk on the days

I can get started easily.

But this morning is not one of those days.

Today, the sun reaches

over the house across the alley

through the lace of leaves on our cottonwood,

touching the top of the gazebo. An invitation

to sit beneath its roof  and breathe

the air as it smells only on an early morning in July.

Before the heat takes hold and strips away

the saving breeze, and takes the day as hostage.