January 2010
Nine a.m.
It’s is time to feed the five thousand... not quite five thousand but it does feel like it sometimes. I feed our two dogs, our two cats, two horses and two donkeys, twelve to fifteen cows depending upon how many calves we have, and the ducks on the pond when I drive by. The weather has been unusually cold since the week before Christmas. Major snowfalls, ice, below freezing temperatures every day... this makes feeding the stock more difficult. So I gird my loins. I always loved that phrase in the Bible. It felt naughty, like looking at the underwear ads in the Sears and Roebuck catalogue. The first layer is my long handles followed by a lightweight sweatsuit. Then I climb into my insulated Carrhart jumpsuit and zip up. My wool socks fit nicely in the rubber muck boots and the wool cap pulls down over my ears. If the wind is really bad, I put the hood up on my Carrhart suit. I put on my Sherpa gloves and I am ready to face the outdoors. Of course I look and feel like a sumo wrestler and move with the same deliberative grace.
First I give the chickens some water. The outside faucet is frozen so I am hauling water to the chickens and the horses. The chickens are easier. One gallon does for them but horses take five or six five gallon buckets a day. Then it is on to the stable. Since the weather has been so bad, the horses are spending more time in the stalls which equals more poop to haul out. A normal days haul is one wagon load. These past few weeks I have been hauling three to six loads a day. After feeding Bud the Barn Cat, I spread hay for the horses and put out the protein block. I make a half hearted attempt to rake up the stable pad but my heart is not in it. It is too cold and the wind is vicious.
On to the cows... The mule is an open air method of transportation. On the really bad days I drive the old Mazda MPV. It will hold four bales of hay in the back and is a refuge from the wind plus it has a HEATER. I feed them four bales of hay, morning and evening, sweet feed and some alfalfa cubes for nutrition and variety. In the evening, they meet me at the barn right on schedule, five o’clock sharp. In the morning, they eat out in the field. It is easier to check them out when I can see all of them at the same time. Buttercup and Ferdinand are getting a little extra feed. They are old and bony, not enough fat for the winter insulation they need. So I put a bucket of sweet feed on the floorboard of the mule and Buttercup sticks her head in and eats away. This helps keep the other cows from horning in (did you get that pun, Thad?)while she eats.
Someone asked me why I feed them twice a day. Why not just put out enough in the morning and leave it be? Two reasons... One, my daddy always checked on the cows and fed the twice a day. Two, I now know why he fed and checked on them twice a day. If something goes wrong, the sooner you catch it, the better. One bitter cold night a few years ago, I found a yearling who had wrapped a cable around his leg, cutting off circulation. With the neighbors help, we were able to free him. If I had not found him until the next morning, he could have been dead or lost his leg.
This week Annie has been sick. Eyes stuck shut with oozy stuff, bad runny nose and wheezing, diarrhea like you wouldn’t believe... She was so weak that when she fell in the field, I wasn’t sure she would be able to get up. Off I went to Tractor Supply, my home away from home, to buy some Tetracycline. Now she gets meds twice a day for four days and I am giving Buttercup a preventative dose since she has had a touch of this, too. Each gets a bucket with a little sweet feed and a lot of those huge cow sized yellow pills. They eat it all up. Some farmers use a spring loaded gun to shoot the pills down their throats but I prefer to just feed it to them. Every mother knows the applesauce method for medicine. It works for cows, too.
Sometimes Mama needs me to feed the barn cats. With ice on the road, walking down to the barn could be hazardous for her so if I am needed, I finish up the morning round feeding barn kitties. Currently there are seven barn cats, four that came from mama’s South Georgia farm stock and three strays. One of the strays, an old orange and white tom cat, was here when we came. He is old as Methuselah and nearly tame now that mama has been working with him.
I drive back to the house, disengage from my heavy duty layers of clothing and take stock. It is now 10:45 or 11:00 and the rest of my day awaits. Today I will clean house to get ready for company tomorrow, wash clothes, continue taking down Christmas, file H.O.’s last insurance claim for medicines, and then at five o’clock, it all starts over again.
None of these jobs comes with a paycheck or a retirement plan. They do come with relationships, however. Buttercup lets me scratch her ears. Annie is looking better. The horses come when I whistle, now. They know it is the signal to come home for supper. Bud the Barn Cat always has some interesting conversation when he eats his meals. My hands look and feel like a Brillo pad but my upper body strength is pretty good from throwing hay bales. Most of all, I am practicing endurance, the virtue that keeps you going when the going is tough.
And if Saint Paul was right, endurance will end up in hope. I sure could use an extra dose of that this winter. Hope for new life and light yet to come... Hope for spring after winter’s dark night... Hope for those I love who are struggling... Hope for the new year that stretches out before me with unknown joys and sorrows. Oh, Lord, keep my feet moving and do not let me freeze up in the cold blast of winter’s winds. Keep my soul warm and supple. May my ears be inclined towards you and my voice be raised in joyful song. And when I complain about the dammed cold weather, ignore me, Lord. I get crabby in the dark cold wintertime. I forget all my blessings of warmth, shelter, food, animal friends, human companionship and the light. Your grace is sufficient for my day today and for all my days yet to come. Thank you.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
This vale of tears...
I filched a book from Michael’s stack on his side of the bed. We have a gentlemen’s agreement not to read a book from the other’s stack without permission... boundary issues. I read so fast that the sight of me ripping through another one of his books, pages flipping at the speed of light, is irritating. It was a long winter’s night and I was caught short so I sneaked a book, The Wisdom Jesus by Cynthia Bourgeault, and began reading it. Russell and Jeanine had given it to Michael as a birthday present. It is one of their favorites and now one of mine. Some books have the gift of reading and re-reading. This book will be revealing itself to me for some time yet to come.
“...where suffering exists and is consciously accepted, there divine love shines forth brightly...I have often suspected the most profound product of this world is tears. I don’t mean that to be morbid. Rather, I mean that tears express that vulnerability in which we can endure having our heart broken and go right on loving. In the tears flows a sweetness not of our own making, which has been known in our tradition as the Divine Mercy. Our jagged and hard edged earth plane is the realm in which this mercy is the most deeply, excruciatingly, and beautifully released. That’s our business down here. That’s what we’re here for.” In this hard edged bitter cold winter where this last grief has called forth memories of other griefs for other loved ones, these words put shape to a soul shaping process that has been a part of my life since my youth.
The old timers knew about suffering. Life was difficult. Food and shelter were often hard to come by. Children died young. Women died in childbirth. Life was limited in length and often opportunity. Suffering was a part of daily life. They sang of “some glad morning when this life is o’er, I’ll fly away... some brighter day, the sun will shine upon the troubled way... when you are lonely and weary in heart, Jesus will never forsake you...in this sad world with sin and sorrow rife, keep praying all the time...” The recognition of suffering was given a corporate voice and their hope came in the assurance of heaven.
In our time, we have insulated ourselves from the hard edges. Our expectations are for “happiness”, a big screen t.v., always healthy children and a fulfilling marriage. We want our religion upbeat and inspirational, our retirement accounts generously endowed, and children who are gifted and talented. Superstardom has become our measuring stick for success. The prosperity gospel is alive and well. Suffering is not a desirable part of our learning curve for life.
Unlike the old timers, I cannot live with suffering as an unending part of life in this vale of tears that will only end with my ascent into heaven, assuming I am saved and one of the glorious elect. Nor can I live as if suffering has no place in my life, cushioned by the cotton candy that surrounds me as a middle class American at this time in history. Beginning with the death of my first pet at the age of eight, I have tasted the tears of grief and known that life had limits beyond my control. A husband killed in war, a sister who committed suicide, a beloved grandchild who carries the diagnosis of autism, watching a friend live and die with ALS, my father’s two year struggle with myelofibrosis and death, Michael’s parents descent into dementia and death... this is just part of my struggle with suffering. And each of us carries our own pack of life altering circumstances that lead us into the valley of the shadow.
The “conscious acceptance of suffering”, whatever shape that suffering might have, is the key that opens the door to God’s heart in the vale of tears, sets us free to weep and be transformed by Divine Mercy. We are limited in our understanding and control of the suffering that comes our way, often undeserved and unnecessary and unwanted. But we are not limited in our ability to let go of the illusions of power that keep us from drinking the cups of sorrow that are set at the banquet table of life. We can only find our lives by losing them, find our solace by being sorrowful, weeping our way into the Heart of God, being transformed into the broken Hearts of God here on this earth.
Paul knew something about suffering. His writings tell us of his path to wholeness in times of trouble. “Now that we have been put right with God through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ... and we also rejoice in our troubles (suffering) because we know that troubles produce endurance, and endurance brings God’s approval, and his approval creates hope. This hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by means of the Holy Spirit who is God’s gift to us.” Romans 5: 1-3 Today’s English Version
This new year, Lord, will be full of joys and sorrows alike. Let my laughter be music to your ears and my joy affirm the pleasure you took in my creation. When I weep, take my tears and transform them by your mercy into the peace that passes all understanding. May I keep my heart turned towards you in all that comes my way. Give me strength to endure and grace for the journey. And may I never forget that my hope is in you, the Lover of my soul, the Love that will not let me go. Amen.
“...where suffering exists and is consciously accepted, there divine love shines forth brightly...I have often suspected the most profound product of this world is tears. I don’t mean that to be morbid. Rather, I mean that tears express that vulnerability in which we can endure having our heart broken and go right on loving. In the tears flows a sweetness not of our own making, which has been known in our tradition as the Divine Mercy. Our jagged and hard edged earth plane is the realm in which this mercy is the most deeply, excruciatingly, and beautifully released. That’s our business down here. That’s what we’re here for.” In this hard edged bitter cold winter where this last grief has called forth memories of other griefs for other loved ones, these words put shape to a soul shaping process that has been a part of my life since my youth.
The old timers knew about suffering. Life was difficult. Food and shelter were often hard to come by. Children died young. Women died in childbirth. Life was limited in length and often opportunity. Suffering was a part of daily life. They sang of “some glad morning when this life is o’er, I’ll fly away... some brighter day, the sun will shine upon the troubled way... when you are lonely and weary in heart, Jesus will never forsake you...in this sad world with sin and sorrow rife, keep praying all the time...” The recognition of suffering was given a corporate voice and their hope came in the assurance of heaven.
In our time, we have insulated ourselves from the hard edges. Our expectations are for “happiness”, a big screen t.v., always healthy children and a fulfilling marriage. We want our religion upbeat and inspirational, our retirement accounts generously endowed, and children who are gifted and talented. Superstardom has become our measuring stick for success. The prosperity gospel is alive and well. Suffering is not a desirable part of our learning curve for life.
Unlike the old timers, I cannot live with suffering as an unending part of life in this vale of tears that will only end with my ascent into heaven, assuming I am saved and one of the glorious elect. Nor can I live as if suffering has no place in my life, cushioned by the cotton candy that surrounds me as a middle class American at this time in history. Beginning with the death of my first pet at the age of eight, I have tasted the tears of grief and known that life had limits beyond my control. A husband killed in war, a sister who committed suicide, a beloved grandchild who carries the diagnosis of autism, watching a friend live and die with ALS, my father’s two year struggle with myelofibrosis and death, Michael’s parents descent into dementia and death... this is just part of my struggle with suffering. And each of us carries our own pack of life altering circumstances that lead us into the valley of the shadow.
The “conscious acceptance of suffering”, whatever shape that suffering might have, is the key that opens the door to God’s heart in the vale of tears, sets us free to weep and be transformed by Divine Mercy. We are limited in our understanding and control of the suffering that comes our way, often undeserved and unnecessary and unwanted. But we are not limited in our ability to let go of the illusions of power that keep us from drinking the cups of sorrow that are set at the banquet table of life. We can only find our lives by losing them, find our solace by being sorrowful, weeping our way into the Heart of God, being transformed into the broken Hearts of God here on this earth.
Paul knew something about suffering. His writings tell us of his path to wholeness in times of trouble. “Now that we have been put right with God through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ... and we also rejoice in our troubles (suffering) because we know that troubles produce endurance, and endurance brings God’s approval, and his approval creates hope. This hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by means of the Holy Spirit who is God’s gift to us.” Romans 5: 1-3 Today’s English Version
This new year, Lord, will be full of joys and sorrows alike. Let my laughter be music to your ears and my joy affirm the pleasure you took in my creation. When I weep, take my tears and transform them by your mercy into the peace that passes all understanding. May I keep my heart turned towards you in all that comes my way. Give me strength to endure and grace for the journey. And may I never forget that my hope is in you, the Lover of my soul, the Love that will not let me go. Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
