My big, beautiful Barney the Brave has lymphoma. A Southern Black Mouth Yellow Cur (remember Ole Yeller?) who showed up on the farm battered and abused, has become our beloved companion. Dogs, even the pesky ones, always come into our lives bearing gifts for our spirits and Barney had a Santa Claus sack full of soul for me.
Men wearing baseball caps and anyone with a camera received the full court barking press from Barney. The UPS man leaves my packages with Jeannie now if I am not at home. Yet, he is unfailingly tender with the old and the young. The first person who was able to touch him was a child. When the grandchildren come for visits, he wants to be with them.
No one is perfect and Barney has his share of bad habits...barking at any motorized vehicle, chewing the bumper as he runs in front of said moving vehicle, barking loudly at perceived life threatening dangers in the night. The gifts of his spirit have leavened my frustration with his big mouth bark and car herding, however.
Barney has such courage. Whether he is confronting coyotes, bears or his fear of being touched, his stand up in your face courage inspires me. I have watched him on our front porch, struggling with his fear of our front door, yearning to be inside yet unable to step over the threshold. And then, out of the blue, you can see him take a deep breath, gird up his loins and rush through the door to come be with the family.
Barney has given me the gift of his love and trust. After abuse from my kind, he risked loving again, trusting a human again, let himself be loved. When I sit on the front porch step, he comes to sit beside me, nudging me for hugs. We sit in quiet loving kindness, side by side, friends. Wednesday as we waited at the vet’s for his chemotherapy to begin, he climbed up on the bench, laid down beside me and put his head in my lap. Leaving him at the vet’s feels like a betrayal but he never holds it against me. Forgiveness is his strong suit.
We don’t know yet if the chemo will work. One of the tumors is proving resistant to the medicine so far. I tremble at the thought of losing Barney, my special friend, as I enter the season of Lent and Loss. Life and love do not come with any guarantees save one... if you love truly and generously, your heart will be broken sooner or later. Barney teaches me that it is worth the pain price to love and be loved. We have rescued one another.
The most ardent atheist or failsafe fundamentalist of any religious persuasion cannot say with absolute certainty what happens after death. What we believe about life (or no life) after death is an article of faith for us all since none of us living have died and come back. Lent is a journey into death... Jesus’ death and our own. We are reminded of our limits, have our shortcomings highlighted in flashing neon during the quiet darkness of Lent, catch glimpses of our glorious and inglorious selves if we are paying attention.
Together Barney and I will journey through Lent with no assurances of a happy ending. And yet, in the midst of the darkness, a faint glimmer, a lightening bug of hope, flies towards us. As long as love lives, life will not end. Saint Paul was right. Nothing can separate us from the love of God. We, Barney and I, are held by Love That Will Not Let Us Go, and that is enough for this Lent, and for our life and death.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Spring time at Sabbath Rest Farm...
Springtime at
Sabbath Rest Farm
Mountain spring time...living with change and contradiction... can tax the body and soul. Unexpected snow showers, warm sun, cold rain all in one day can leave you in a wardrobe quandary as well. Dressing in layers that can be easily shucked is a necessity. Everyday is an adventure.
Gardens are plowed but mountain wisdom is not to plant anything but cool weather crops...greens, peas, lettuce... until after Easter. We have had blizzards in April. I have been planting tree whips, though. Gary brought me some from the sale at the Farmer’s Market put on by our Soil and Water Conservation folks. I have planted redbuds, persimmons, river birch, butternuts and potted a wax myrtle. I will be dead and gone by the time the butternut trees are full grown but they will remember my name. Planting for the future I will not see is one way to thank God for my present time in these beautiful mountains.
Junie B, Dixie and the donkeys are enjoying the newly flattened riding ring even if it is only red clay mud at this point. Several times a day I see them running the circle playing catch me if you can. Junie B is particularly fond of rolling in the red clay and her black coat is now multicolored. Her long mane is clotted with red clay, a horse version of dreadlocks.
Light comes earlier in the morning now and just as I have gotten used to this, here comes the time change again. The balance between light and dark is shifting. More light kick starts us all out of late winter lethargy. Stained glass daffodils backlit by the morning sun accented by the royal purple hyacinths is visual caffeine for my soul.
This morning I fed everybody early. We are going to have heavy rains today (for the second time this week) and I wanted to get a head start. The gate is open so the cows can take refuge in the barn if they need to and I left the horse stalls open with the radio on. They will be closed in by the rain, too, and they like to listen to music. Today they will be listening to jazz and mountain music.
Aidan, one of our grandsons, came home from his church pre-school having learned about Lent. At first he said he was going to give up soda but decided that would be too hard. Candy, which he LOVES, was also too dear to his heart to give up. He offered to give up wearing underwear or socks, his nightly bath, applesauce or diapers(which he does not wear) but his mother is holding firm that these are not appropriate offerings for Lent. I am fascinated that he has caught Lent in his imagination as an important part of his faith. He is beginning to understand the concept of sacrifice.
Pastor Pat and I met to talk about our Ash Wednesday service. We both love the old songs of our childhood, the blood hymns, the ones that seem to drive some folks crazy. They are our soul comfort food in many ways. Whatever one believes about Jesus’s death and resurrection, these old hymns and the season of Lent are an in your face reminder of our calling as Christians to offer our lives up, a living sacrifice for the One who died telling us God’s story.
Squeamish as we moderns are about blood, it is the perfect symbol for life. Without blood, healthy blood, we die. We can share our blood literally with others who need it. And we can share the blood of our souls with others in worship, prayers, good works, love that is in our blood stream because we have been loved by God into being. Thanks be to God for this forty day time out, Lent, so that I may get ready to be more holy, more loving, more like my brother Jesus.
Sabbath Rest Farm
Mountain spring time...living with change and contradiction... can tax the body and soul. Unexpected snow showers, warm sun, cold rain all in one day can leave you in a wardrobe quandary as well. Dressing in layers that can be easily shucked is a necessity. Everyday is an adventure.
Gardens are plowed but mountain wisdom is not to plant anything but cool weather crops...greens, peas, lettuce... until after Easter. We have had blizzards in April. I have been planting tree whips, though. Gary brought me some from the sale at the Farmer’s Market put on by our Soil and Water Conservation folks. I have planted redbuds, persimmons, river birch, butternuts and potted a wax myrtle. I will be dead and gone by the time the butternut trees are full grown but they will remember my name. Planting for the future I will not see is one way to thank God for my present time in these beautiful mountains.
Junie B, Dixie and the donkeys are enjoying the newly flattened riding ring even if it is only red clay mud at this point. Several times a day I see them running the circle playing catch me if you can. Junie B is particularly fond of rolling in the red clay and her black coat is now multicolored. Her long mane is clotted with red clay, a horse version of dreadlocks.
Light comes earlier in the morning now and just as I have gotten used to this, here comes the time change again. The balance between light and dark is shifting. More light kick starts us all out of late winter lethargy. Stained glass daffodils backlit by the morning sun accented by the royal purple hyacinths is visual caffeine for my soul.
This morning I fed everybody early. We are going to have heavy rains today (for the second time this week) and I wanted to get a head start. The gate is open so the cows can take refuge in the barn if they need to and I left the horse stalls open with the radio on. They will be closed in by the rain, too, and they like to listen to music. Today they will be listening to jazz and mountain music.
Aidan, one of our grandsons, came home from his church pre-school having learned about Lent. At first he said he was going to give up soda but decided that would be too hard. Candy, which he LOVES, was also too dear to his heart to give up. He offered to give up wearing underwear or socks, his nightly bath, applesauce or diapers(which he does not wear) but his mother is holding firm that these are not appropriate offerings for Lent. I am fascinated that he has caught Lent in his imagination as an important part of his faith. He is beginning to understand the concept of sacrifice.
Pastor Pat and I met to talk about our Ash Wednesday service. We both love the old songs of our childhood, the blood hymns, the ones that seem to drive some folks crazy. They are our soul comfort food in many ways. Whatever one believes about Jesus’s death and resurrection, these old hymns and the season of Lent are an in your face reminder of our calling as Christians to offer our lives up, a living sacrifice for the One who died telling us God’s story.
Squeamish as we moderns are about blood, it is the perfect symbol for life. Without blood, healthy blood, we die. We can share our blood literally with others who need it. And we can share the blood of our souls with others in worship, prayers, good works, love that is in our blood stream because we have been loved by God into being. Thanks be to God for this forty day time out, Lent, so that I may get ready to be more holy, more loving, more like my brother Jesus.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Go outside and play....
Mothers for my generation were often heard to say to their children... Get out of the house and go play. Outdoors was seen as the natural place to send children to play, to settle sibling disputes or to get out from under parents feet and off their last nerve. Outdoors could be depended upon to supply entertainment and amusement whether digging for doodlebugs under the barn, climbing trees, catching lightening bugs or watching spiders weave webs. Dirty was the usual description of children who spent time outdoors and no one seemed to get too upset about it.
I had three sets of clothes. My Sunday dresses, two of them, were reserved for church, funerals and weddings. School clothes were taken off as soon as I got home and replaced with outdoor clothes. Since we were not allowed in the dark ages to wear jeans to school, only dresses, mama kept us in jeans, flannel shirts for winter, shorts and tops for summer as our outdoor wear. It was assumed we would go outdoors when we got home to feed the chickens, tend the hog, and hang around until mama and daddy got home from work and we did.
Adam, our youngest child, never needed to be told to go outside and play. When he was two and being potty trained, I heard him calling for me outside. There he was, standing in the middle of the little creek that ran through our backyard, calling, “I need potty, mama!” It was already too late but I gave him credit for self knowledge. Later in his childhood, he roamed the neighborhood with his pack of boy buddies exploring the park, climbing rock cliffs and chasing crawdads. Our family catch phrase for him was, “Where’s Adam?” knowing he was off somewhere having the times of his life.
Science is finally catching up with what our parents and grandparents already knew. Being outdoors, getting dirty, living with animals is good for you at the most basic level for your immune system. The increase in asthma, according to a recent study, seems to be linked to our increasing isolation from the great outdoors and all the clean dirt that is there. Eating dirt as a child was actually good for you. Who knew? Inside dirt, however, seems to be different. Inside dirt, composed of dust mites, roach and other bug detritus, mice and rat leftovers, do not stimulate your immune system but tax it.
My eighty four year old mother gets out everyday that the weather allows. She digs in her flowers, feeds barn cats and walks Rufus the Basset Hound. On Wednesday she was complaining about her knees hurting. She had been digging rocks out of her flower bed and rolling them down the hill. Some of those rocks were small boulders! She asked Michael to bring her a load of manure up so she can dig it in her flowers bucket by bucket. Her garden is tilled and ready for spring planting. As a child, she roamed the woods on the family farm and spent her time outdoors helping her father farm. This connection with the outdoor world has sustained and nourished her in ways that transcend modern medicine.
The Psalmist sang, “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein.” Rainy days, warm days, sunny days, cold days, country, suburbs, city... all the earth is full of God and for our health’s sake, our soul’s sake, go outside and play. Get dirty. Get wet. Sweat a little. Look for doodlebugs or creekwalk. Fly a kite or sit on a park bench. Walk your neighborhood and say hello to your neighbors. Get out of the house and enjoy God’s earth full of goodness and grace. Help prevent asthma for generations yet to come!
I had three sets of clothes. My Sunday dresses, two of them, were reserved for church, funerals and weddings. School clothes were taken off as soon as I got home and replaced with outdoor clothes. Since we were not allowed in the dark ages to wear jeans to school, only dresses, mama kept us in jeans, flannel shirts for winter, shorts and tops for summer as our outdoor wear. It was assumed we would go outdoors when we got home to feed the chickens, tend the hog, and hang around until mama and daddy got home from work and we did.
Adam, our youngest child, never needed to be told to go outside and play. When he was two and being potty trained, I heard him calling for me outside. There he was, standing in the middle of the little creek that ran through our backyard, calling, “I need potty, mama!” It was already too late but I gave him credit for self knowledge. Later in his childhood, he roamed the neighborhood with his pack of boy buddies exploring the park, climbing rock cliffs and chasing crawdads. Our family catch phrase for him was, “Where’s Adam?” knowing he was off somewhere having the times of his life.
Science is finally catching up with what our parents and grandparents already knew. Being outdoors, getting dirty, living with animals is good for you at the most basic level for your immune system. The increase in asthma, according to a recent study, seems to be linked to our increasing isolation from the great outdoors and all the clean dirt that is there. Eating dirt as a child was actually good for you. Who knew? Inside dirt, however, seems to be different. Inside dirt, composed of dust mites, roach and other bug detritus, mice and rat leftovers, do not stimulate your immune system but tax it.
My eighty four year old mother gets out everyday that the weather allows. She digs in her flowers, feeds barn cats and walks Rufus the Basset Hound. On Wednesday she was complaining about her knees hurting. She had been digging rocks out of her flower bed and rolling them down the hill. Some of those rocks were small boulders! She asked Michael to bring her a load of manure up so she can dig it in her flowers bucket by bucket. Her garden is tilled and ready for spring planting. As a child, she roamed the woods on the family farm and spent her time outdoors helping her father farm. This connection with the outdoor world has sustained and nourished her in ways that transcend modern medicine.
The Psalmist sang, “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein.” Rainy days, warm days, sunny days, cold days, country, suburbs, city... all the earth is full of God and for our health’s sake, our soul’s sake, go outside and play. Get dirty. Get wet. Sweat a little. Look for doodlebugs or creekwalk. Fly a kite or sit on a park bench. Walk your neighborhood and say hello to your neighbors. Get out of the house and enjoy God’s earth full of goodness and grace. Help prevent asthma for generations yet to come!
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