It’s ant season at the farm. Everywhere I look I see little black ants going about their daily business of gathering food and taking the groceries home. On my kitchen counter, in the window sills, in the yard... unseen most of the time, ever present busy little ants who share the farm with us seem to be more visible in late spring. Invisible ant trails are filled with long black moving dots going about their work. I try to take the Gandhi approach to critters when our lives intersect. I have even been known to lift up spiders from my tub and take them outside rather than smush them. They have their place in the universe and I have mine. We are all vulnerable.
Monday night I sat in the tub and watched the water flow slow to a trickle. I had just cleaned out the filter and there was no reason for the reduced flow. Our well, like all the wells around here, are drilled through rotten rock and a fine black silt comes up through the pipe to the house. You have to have a whole house filter to catch the silt and protect your appliances. Once a week I flush the filter to keep it clean. Michael went down, checked the filter and came back up laughing. The filter was clogged with drowned black ants. How they got there is a mystery but somewhere the leader made a wrong turn and the community followed, ending up in a wad in our filter.
I’ve been a busy ant these past four weeks. We have had a group of businessmen who lost their jobs come to the farm with their pastor for a one day retreat. I cleaned and cooked for them. Friends from my work camp spent the night in the middle of an Appalachian Trail adventure. They got clean sheets and supper along with a glorious sunset. I gave a tea party for the farm family women to celebrate a birthday. We sat around the kitchen table sharing sweets and stories. I’ve been transportation support and food supply for our neighbors who are facing terminal cancer and dialysis. Their blood kin is far away and our farm family is right here next to them so we are all pitching in. Last Saturday our Cat Square church gathered to build a ramp for a family who needed one. It was a privilege to be able to help. We have a party tonight for our college student farm helper who is graduating. He has carved out a special place for himself in all our hearts. He went on a mission trip with Gary to rebuild hurricane damage. He has learned to drive a tractor, pull a trailer, put up hay, shoveled mulch and manure, eaten more meals at my table than I can count and become an adopted son for all of us. And tomorrow Suzanne and Rick get married on the sunset deck surrounded by those who love them. The yard is beautiful. The yellow roses are blooming. The horse and cow piles have been shoveled up and all is ready. We will have such fun celebrating their new beginning.
Some times during the dark nights when I lay awake wondering about the meaning of life, the meaning of my own life, worrying about all that I have done and left undone, I will visit these stored memories of help and hospitality. The light from these memories will warm my soul and I can catch a glimpse of my ant trails leading me home to the One who has set a table before me. This table is never empty but always has what I need when I need it. My Gracious Host has prepared for my going in and my coming out. And as I come and go, I sing... Perfect submission, all is at rest, I in my Savior am happy and blest; Watching and waiting, looking above, Filled with His goodness, lost in His love. This is my story, this is my song, Praising my Savior all the day long; This is my story, this is my song, Praising my Savior all the day long. Happy trails to you...
Friday, May 15, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Happy Mother's Day, God
Yesterday was Mother’s Day, one of our secular holidays. It is the biggest day of the year for people in the restaurant business. Mother’s are still the primary meal makers so taking mom out to eat is popular. Michael took mama and me to the Greek Orthodox Church for their annual fund raiser meal prepared by the men in the church. For twenty five years, the men have used a Mother’s Day meal with all the Greek food favorites like moussaka and stuffed grape leaves and orzo, enough to feed the five thousand. On Palm Sunday, another meal is prepared by the women. They have been cooking for forty years. It is a family tradition for us. We go, sit at long tables and visit with our larger community. There is dancing and music, good food and old friends. There are mothers everywhere.
In my childhood, Mother’s Day was celebrated in worship. The oldest mother, the youngest mother, the mother with the most children, all mothers in the congregation were recognized and sometimes given a flower to take home. Mrs. B.I. Davis was always the oldest mother. She seemed ancient to me. Mrs. Kannon, the pastor’s wife, had the most children (four) every year. Those whose mothers had died wore a white flower corsage and those whose mothers were alive, wore a red flower (or maybe I have that reversed). We sang “Faith of Our Mothers” from the hymnal. And on Father’s Day, the same ritual occurred.
My dad did not do the grace notes of life. He even grumbled about Christmas. His growing up was deprived of tenderness and celebration. Poor mama was reduced to our childish offerings from school projects and church recognition. No eating out for her or Hallmark cards from daddy. Mother’s Day at church was always a special day for her.
Many churches of my liberal persuasion have done away with these customs. I miss them. I’ve heard the arguments against Mother’s Day emphasis... secular holiday, the pain of women who wanted children and couldn’t conceive, the pain of children who had abusive mothers, not a part of the Christian message of peace and justice. We have lost an opportunity, I think, to not only celebrate the mothers among us but also the Divine Feminine, the Mother God, the One Who Birthed Us. When I was on the worship committee, I always argued for a transforming Mother’s Day worship and lost.
I’ve wondered how we could expand the scope of our vision. Feminine energy is different from masculine energy, different in our own selves and different in my own understanding of God. We were created in God’s image the Bible says, so these differences are a good thing. If one has been wounded by either father or mother, the church could offer redemption and resurrection, healing old wounds instead of avoiding the pain. We could take this secular holiday, and as Christians did with Christmas, use it to teach and lead us to a fuller appreciation of the Feminine sides of God. Most of us do not read Greek or Hebrew, cannot speak with theological expertise about Biblical traditions, do not know the roots in our Christian tradition that honored the feminine. What a missed opportunity to redeem a holiday and along the way, redeem ourselves as children and mothers.
I’d like to have a crack at being the oldest mother in my church family someday, please Lord. And I want to say thank you to my mama and to You for giving me life, life here in this world and life yet to come. Happy Mother’s Day, God.
In my childhood, Mother’s Day was celebrated in worship. The oldest mother, the youngest mother, the mother with the most children, all mothers in the congregation were recognized and sometimes given a flower to take home. Mrs. B.I. Davis was always the oldest mother. She seemed ancient to me. Mrs. Kannon, the pastor’s wife, had the most children (four) every year. Those whose mothers had died wore a white flower corsage and those whose mothers were alive, wore a red flower (or maybe I have that reversed). We sang “Faith of Our Mothers” from the hymnal. And on Father’s Day, the same ritual occurred.
My dad did not do the grace notes of life. He even grumbled about Christmas. His growing up was deprived of tenderness and celebration. Poor mama was reduced to our childish offerings from school projects and church recognition. No eating out for her or Hallmark cards from daddy. Mother’s Day at church was always a special day for her.
Many churches of my liberal persuasion have done away with these customs. I miss them. I’ve heard the arguments against Mother’s Day emphasis... secular holiday, the pain of women who wanted children and couldn’t conceive, the pain of children who had abusive mothers, not a part of the Christian message of peace and justice. We have lost an opportunity, I think, to not only celebrate the mothers among us but also the Divine Feminine, the Mother God, the One Who Birthed Us. When I was on the worship committee, I always argued for a transforming Mother’s Day worship and lost.
I’ve wondered how we could expand the scope of our vision. Feminine energy is different from masculine energy, different in our own selves and different in my own understanding of God. We were created in God’s image the Bible says, so these differences are a good thing. If one has been wounded by either father or mother, the church could offer redemption and resurrection, healing old wounds instead of avoiding the pain. We could take this secular holiday, and as Christians did with Christmas, use it to teach and lead us to a fuller appreciation of the Feminine sides of God. Most of us do not read Greek or Hebrew, cannot speak with theological expertise about Biblical traditions, do not know the roots in our Christian tradition that honored the feminine. What a missed opportunity to redeem a holiday and along the way, redeem ourselves as children and mothers.
I’d like to have a crack at being the oldest mother in my church family someday, please Lord. And I want to say thank you to my mama and to You for giving me life, life here in this world and life yet to come. Happy Mother’s Day, God.
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