Walk on the earth not on water.

The miracle is not to walk on water, but on the earth. Thich Nhat Hanh

The ground was a soggy, wet, mucky mess at the campground this weekend. Our work camp family was gathered for our annual reunion and we had a ramp to build for Nancy. Her diabetes is worsening and she is having difficulty getting up the steps to her house so a ramp was requested. Deweese, her brother, had most of the wood we needed so only one trip to the building supply in Bryson City was required. The weather co-operated, sort of, and gave us two long periods of dry time that the men used to discuss the plan, measure, talk, re-measure, cut, discuss some more, cut angles, re-cut angles, and assemble the ramp. The women washed the slimy boards that had been laying in the ground, home to snails and moldy leaves, dried them and laid them out for the men to use. Nancy’s planter, like my planter, was over run with weeds so we talked with her about what kind of flowers she wanted there. We planted mums, sedum, ornamental cabbage and some kind of trailing sedum in her wheelbarrow as a happy for her soul. And all weekend long, we walked on soggy ground.
Mary Lynn, Ida, Janise, Donna and I hiked to Mingo Falls. Actually, Ida and Janise hiked. Mary Lynn, Donna and I walked to Mingo Falls. We couldn’t stop looking at everything we passed by. Here was a bank covered in yellow and orange jewelweed, the mountain remedy for poison ivy. Over there was a small fallen log covered with a bright yellow flower looking fungus of some kind. Underfoot were mud puddles and big rock gravel. Beside the road a mountain stream swollen with rain water passed us by noisily. A berry bush of some kind covered in dried up berries and occasional bright pink flowers popped up in the path. And over there to our right were the bright red berry clusters of Jack in the Pulpit. Trillium leaves peaked out from under the berry bush and somewhere, there was poison ivy because I bear its mark on my arm this morning. A blue mountain heeler puppy came to join us on our walk bouncing here there and yon as well as on Mary Lynn’s white pants.
At the end of the walk, a seemingly endless flight of steps led up the mountain to the falls. Donna chose to lie by the stream and rest while Mary Lynn and I climbed up the steps. Mary Lynn wondered how far up the steps went. My practice is to pretend the climb ends where I can see the last step. And if the last step keeps being farther along, I can still see the end of the steps, just not yet. We sat on a bench along the way and looked around at the damp, sweet, soggy earth that surrounded us. The falls at the end of the climb were breathtakingly beautiful. Full, white water split into streams and trickles, falling four or five stories to the ground over rocks and fallen trees. The water flowed underneath our feet and began its ride down the cove to Cherokee and the Oconaluftee. Mary Lynn and I climbed down off the path and sank our feet into the clear water, not for long because mountain streams are so cold your toes turn blue quickly. We trailed our hands through the sand and felt the rocks smoothed by years of shaping running water. Once again Cherokee earth worked its magic on me and my soul rested in the sounds, smells and the feel of this particular place.
In Barbara Taylor Brown’s book An Altar in the World, there is a chapter named “The Practice of Walking on the Earth... Groundedness”. She tells of the many different religious traditions that require walking and of some of the holy places where pilgrims come to walk. The truth of the matter is that all of earth is holy ground if we but had eyes to see and feet that could feel what lies underneath us. Our walk to Mingo Falls was a holy pilgrimage and the walk I will take this morning down to the stable to muck out the stalls will be holy. The soggy campground was sacred ground because God was in our midst and underfoot. I will walk the labyrinth of my life today mindful of the ground underneath my feet, waiting and looking for God along the way. And if all I do is muck stalls and pick up apples, seeing the wonder of the earth under my feet, it will be my prayer for the day, one of thanksgiving and praise. Who needs to walk on water when you can walk on the earth.

Follow the yellow brick road...

She has been my friend for nearly thirty years and is old enough to be my mother. I was gathered in and gathered up by her outstretched arms of love as a young mother. She has known me at my best and my worst and neither seems to matter much in her unfailing faith in me. I sat at her table yesterday, as I have sat at her tables for years, eating lunch with two women I did not know who have also been gathered up by her. As I sat and let the conversation and good food settle my soul, soothe the frizzy nerve endings, I once again said to myself, I want to be more like Celeste. Here are some of the lessons I have learned from her.
Follow the yellow brick road... Celeste has the gift for following the yellow brick road wherever it leads. She heard about the death of a famous musician in our community, researched his contributions to the world of music, went to his memorial service at a local club, heard another young band playing, came to our son’s wedding and met one of the band members who was our son’s best friend, and is now the oldest, most enthusiastic fan of Tubab Crew, a band that specializes in West African music. You can see her at the concerts in the front row, dancing to the music. With her, one thing or person always leads to another experience or a new friend. The yellow brick road is full of possibilities for her.
Wipe out the six degrees of separation... Celeste connects people like the connect the dots pictures. No telling how many people, how many different kinds of people, consider Celeste their particular friend. She is equally at home with mountain grannies and grand dames, people of faith and those with not much faith, preachers and farmers and musicians and models, local yokels and citizens of the world beyond, all are kin to her and she is kin to them. We sit at her table, eating food prepared with loving care, drawn in by the strong ties that bind us to her and through her, to each other... family reunion with kin we have just met.
Walk on the sunny side of life... Celeste has had her share of life struggles and in the living of them manages to find celebration possibilities. Driving her husband to dialysis as his kidneys fail is transformed by making friends with another couple at the center, driving to dialysis together in a convertible with the top down, laughter and joy in the midst of pain and loss. As a teacher in her early life, being a learner is important to her. She finds ways to learn new skills... storytelling, creative clothes making, computer programs... and is surrounded by the gifts of her hands and gifts from others. As her body shrinks in size, her capacity for enjoying life expands and it is a pure pleasure to be a part of her joyful expansion.
Like the Artful Dodger Apostle Paul, Celeste has learned how to be more than content with all of life’s circumstances. Love matters more than being right. Staying in touch is more important than being proper. Adventure is always around the corner. Never pass up a chance to party. God is always closer to you than you think. Thanks, Celeste. I’ll be proud to help Mary serve champagne at your last party. I’ll call you when I get back from my niece’s wedding and we’ll have a tea party. Love you...