Texas Gulf Coast Winters are frequently mild, but so far this year has been strangely so. After the summer’s dreadful prolonged heat and drought, we welcomed Fall and cooler temperatures.  After earlier than usual temperature dips into slightly below freezing, we have had only a couple of freeze warnings and unusually warm days which are tricking the garden into thinking Spring.  The Peggy Martin roses on our arbor are throwing out new growth and bursting into a riot of color. Undoubtedly we will have some nips when temperatures drop again.

How can I learn and grow from tending this garden? 

I will remember that my circumstance is not always what it seems.

I will avoid jumping to conclusions based on unfinished results.

I will practice patience even when I want to demand “now.”

I will remember my Gardener knows the forecast.

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I did not realize that because our gutters are tied via the downspouts into a French drain system, we would not be able to hang the rain chain instead.  So we do not hear the soft tinkle of individual rain drops or a soothing rush of water.  The upside down cups clink and will never collect raindrops. 

Is there a purpose for which I am intended that is blocked by any upside down choices I make?   

At the beginning of a new year, I am not so much making resolutions as I am considering how I spent myself and a year’s worth of time in the year just past.  That leads to choices about spending time and personal resource in the present.  What do I need to keep or change in order for me to honor God, delight in His presence, and show my love to others in ever growing ways? 

 As I mulled these thoughts while packing away Christmas lights and garland, clearing table tops and starting the cleaning tasks which accompany taking down decorations, I saw the disappointing results of a gardening project I began around Thanksgiving.  Every year, I enjoy placing Paperwhite Narcissus bulbs into containers with stones and water.  They put down roots, send up green shoots, and always delight us with fragrant white blooms before Christmas.  Most of the bulbs offered beginning shoots of green. Some grew a few inches.  But none of them bloomed by Christmas, and in general failed to thrive.  Now, only one bulb appears to have the small swelling at the base of its leaves that tells me a flower may eventually unfurl.  I decided to remove the bulbs.  That is when I discovered that they never grew any roots.  Only the ones with more than an inch or two of leaf had grown the plump white roots which could reach down into the water for necessary nutrients. Beginning was all they did; then lacking roots and healthy growth they began to decay.

 That was an epiphany moment for me.  No matter how full I am of possibility and fresh starts, I can never grow if I am not rooted and absorbing the nourishment necessary to flourish. “Feeding myself” is never on a daily to do list.  But I realize I have little to offer others if I don’t choose healthy foods and activity for my body as well as take the time to begin my days with quiet time which feeds and grows my soul.  I love listening to a John Michael Talbot album called “Come to the Quiet” each morning.  As I listen and worship, I am fed.  My roots spread and deepen. I stretch and grow.  I can bloom!

Christmas Afterglow

Christmas Afterglow

savoring Christmas gifts not in a box,

sweet echoes of laughter,

dear traditions of music and story

Savoring Christmas gifts not in a box,

candlelight burning steady,  strong

dear traditions of music and story

keeping and being kept, golden circle

Candlelight burning steady, strong

sweet echoes of laughter,

keeping and being kept, golden circle

Christmas afterglow.

Christmas Is A Place

Christmas is a place, like the hearth,

where we all come in from the cold.

Drawn by warmth and promise,

cheered in flickering light,

we get closer to the flame

and each other.

Christmas is a place, like the hearth,

Where we gather

 in anticipation

 of Gift and Giver,

basking around a campfire

 of retold story.

Stoking to keep it hotly burning.

 Christmas is a place, like my heart,

where the Mary-me receives once again

astonishing news and says yes

to giving birth and being born,

to delivering and being delivered,

to remembering.

Advent Lullaby

We are given myriad scenes of nativity.

 Characters the same, yet always different

I return to Correggio’s Holy Night,

feel the sweet warm weight cradled in Mary’s arms,

smile at the glow on her adoring face,

 the loose folds of her dress,

 sleeves mingling with swaddling

Another page, another artist…

each capturing varying images of love on her face, light in her eyes.

I wonder about things she kept in her heart.

Precious ponders.

When I think of promises, I think of Mary.

Promised as a part of her people by God

Promised to Joseph in betrothal,

Promised alone in a new way by God

Promising to participate in this mystery.

I think of waiting when I think of Mary.

The world waited for thousands of years

for One who would help them turn around right.

Mary waited her forty weeks of pregnancy.

Did she smile in wonder?

In those times a baby-in-waiting was hidden.

No sonogram, no reassurance.

Waiting was for the unknown.

I think of songs.

 “May it be to me as you have said,”

The next words we read in Luke ,

she is singing “Joy to the world,

the Lord has come!  Let every heart

prepare him room.

 My heart already has!”

-her first lullaby, and His.

The one who neither slumbers nor sleeps

 but keeps

chose to come as a helpless baby

who needed sleeping, keeping.

 As sweet mystery grew in her womb,

did she sing still?

 As butterfly kicks began

did her eyes grow wide and weepy?

As her body and her heart made room

did she laugh and cry,

 pray to understand?

As birthing began, promise kept, waiting over,

 song became breathing, bearing, tearing.

In this hard work, was God magnified still?

As minor lament changed key to major praise,

did she sing again in exultation?

Did she hold her baby close

 rock side to side,

singing a whispery lullaby of love,

 echoing prophet’s promise?

“He will take great delight in you.  He will quiet you with his love.

 He will rejoice over you with singing.”

I receive the promise. I wait.  I sing Mary’s songs.

Come, O come, Immanuel.

Many years ago, Peter Marshall’s sermon published in a tiny book called Let’s Keep Christmas joined what was then my small collection of Christmas books.  There are many more books now, but the truths written on its pages make this one of my favorite to read during Advent.  “…we will not spend Christmas…nor observe Christmas.  We will keep Christmas – keep it as it is…in all the loveliness of its ancient traditions.  May we keep it in our hearts, that we may be kept in its hope.”  ~ Peter Marshall.   Another favorite book is You Can Choose Christmas, by Clyde Reid.   I think the words of both were in my mind when I wrote the following poem. 

                                              I Will Keep Christmas

I will keep Christmas

Waiting like a child on tiptoe

Eyes wide, watching for the wonder

Reaching for the light.

Waiting like a child on tiptoe
 Heart full of anticipation
 Reaching for the light
 Singing, praying, hoping

 Heart full of anticipation
Eyes wide, watching for the wonder.

 Singing, praying, hoping
 I will keep Christmas.

Art of Advent

 Cherishing story and image long loved

Opening to untold story, unpainted canvas

Breathing lingering frankincense and myrhh

Gathering rosemary, remembering.

Opening to untold story, unpainted canvas

Blessing fresh possibility

Gathering rosemary, remembering

Unfurling swirl of mystery

Blessing fresh possibility

Breathing lingering frankincense and myrhh

Unfurling swirl of mystery

Cherishing image and story

Thanksgiving 2011

 “ Gratitude is the inward feeling of kindness received.

    Thankfulness is the natural impulse to express that feeling.

     Thanksgiving is the following of that impulse.” ~ Henry Van Dyke

Today I am thankful it is November,

my favorite month of autumn,

my birthday month.

I was only one week old for my first Thanksgiving

not declared our official holiday until I was one!

Seventy-one  Novembers string out behind

 like fence posts or street lights

 or white lines in the middle of a Texas highway.

Looking back I can see only so far,

then the fading distance

 brings blurred markers of where I have been.

Feelings, impulses, followings

 tumble around in kaleidoscopic color.

I was grateful in all those Novembers,

 thankful much,

offered thanksgiving in most.

I take joy in this November, 

I celebrate now.

Today, I give thanks for…

God’s enough

changing seasons of weather and life

learning both to let go and hold on

ordinary things

green leaves brushed with burnish

the fragrance of basil on my hands

 as I gather seed

endurance

Grace and Mercy following me all the days of my life

 Vision – the cornea donors who helped me see again

 church, worship

lingering echoes of my granddaughters’ laughter

red crepe myrtle leaves

gold and scarlet Chinese tallow trees

caring friends

patience for waiting

our Meyer lemon tree harvest

singing songs of Christmas

poetry of Luci Shaw and Ruth Bell Graham

waking to sounds of Joe making coffee

the smell of burning cinnamon sticks in the chiminea

truth in a pumpkin poem – “hollowed out but shining”

morning music that sings “Come to the Quiet.”

simplicity in the chaos all around me

light and shadow

a curtain of moonflowers at my kitchen window

planting baby kale and cauliflower

mockingbirds on the fence

clock chimes, church bells

open arms

tender care

“paying attention, being astonished, and telling about it” (Mary Oliver)

Jan Karon’s recipe for roasting Rosemary and Honey onions

Holding the hands of those who have gone before (remembering Mother)

stitches of love in a crocheted afghan

my Forever Friend, Joe

Homework.  Heartwork.

Seeds from our own pomegranates

books that are old friends

a stay at home day

my beloved sons

and my daughters who are my son’s wives

granddaughters, my delight

a garden to tend

Violin music

Kristin’s piano playing

porch time

love that will not let me go

Joe’s courage in spite of pain

cooking, my kitchen therapy

“the love which from our birth over and around us lies.” (J Rutter)