Aprons...

Yesterday my theme song was “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen”. As I did my stable chores, hauled wagon loads of cow, donkey and horse manure through mud up over my ankles, I sang my solo loudly and not very sweetly. To add insult to injury, it was another grey rainy day. The animals are grumpy and bored with the weather so I am their twice a day entertainment. Junie B pretends to nip me with her ears laid back. Biscuit head butts me. Dixie nips Biscuit. The donkeys kick each other. Only Ferdinand, the gentle bull, seems immune to the vagaries of mood.
The mood swings in weather are producing mood swings in me, too. In the past week, we have gone from snow covered ground with temperatures in the teens to muddy thaw and fifties during the day. Just about the time I adjust to one weather reality, another change comes along.
After a long winter’s nap, my muddy mood lifted as we began to prepare for a farm family covered dish supper. Black and pink eye peas, turnip greens, cornbread, ham with cherry sauce, sauteed Brussel sprouts, dirty rice, stewed tomatoes were accompanied by conversation, laughter, the sound of baby Grayson laughing and trying out his new word, mamama. I was not the only one with post holiday blues. We all needed a lift last night. My solo was transformed from trouble to “I’ve Got The Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy Down in My Heart”.
As we stood on the porch seeing everybody off, I remembered Mary Lynn telling me about her grandmother’s apron. Women always wore aprons around the house as they worked. Some aprons were sash tied and others were wrap arounds. Aprons could have pockets to hold treasures and trash. When company drove up, aprons were hurriedly removed unless they were close friends. Aprons dried tears and wiped smudges from faces. And when beloved ones drove away, aprons fluttered in a silent goodbye. Aprons were a useful comfort in times of trouble and in daily life.
I’m going to pull my aprons off the hook in the mud room and move them to the kitchen so I can grab them to wear during the day. It will be my concrete connection to all the women who have gone before, my grandmas, my great aunts, women I never knew and women I knew well. Those women sang the same songs I do and lived their lives with courage and joy. When Biscuit shakes her head at me, I’ll shake my apron at her. When we wash dishes after a shared meal, I’ll wear my apron. When my mood sinks beneath the mud or I celebrate the sunshine, when I cry tears of joy or sadness, I’ll wipe my face with my apron and move on along.
My soul’s apron is music. Whether I sing trouble songs or joy songs, music protects and enlivens my spiritual journey. This morning I will play the piano for worship, accompany one young woman as she sings a solo and another as she plays her clarinet and my apron will flutter in joyful accompaniment. I give thanks for music this morning and will sing “Love Lifted Me” not “I Was Sinking ‘Neath the Waves”. My apron is fluttering in joyful thanksgiving.

winterlight

The winter sun, a pale white circle, hung in the dove grey sky. The deep snow shone more brightly than the sun as i went to feed the cows. Two days of unexpected snow had added drama and beauty to the Christmas family gathering. Once again the weather forecasters were wildly inaccurate in their prognostications. The mountains rarely co-operate with those who would try to predict the passage of weather fronts through them.
And now, I sit in front of the fire, watching the clock and bracing up for the afternoon feeding of horses, donkeys and cows. Several of our cows are great with calf and one was born this week just before Christmas. As I drove from the barn to the field this morning, Noel, our newest baby, scampered in front of me. She ran through the belly deep snow, her tail held straight up, playing with Barney.
At night the lopsided moon, nearly full, blots out the starshine and is is brighter than the morning sun. Walking in the snow by moonlight is beautifully quiet and luminescent. There are no chores to do, no busyness, just the lovely light on the quiet snow. The sounds of the day fade as all of the farm animals, wild and domesticated alike, seek shelter and warmth in the midst of the storm. Dark, quiet, snowlight…
I have a friend who became a Quaker recently. Still angry with our faith birth mother who cast us out as unwanted children, he declared he refused to die a Baptist. The silence after the Baptist clamor, the search for inner light not the proclamation of a particular truth, is a Balm in Gilead for his wounded soul.
I was a child who desperately wanted to please and was terrified of failure. My feelings were easily wounded and as a new Christian at the age of twelve, I searched the Bible for a verse that could be my very own. That was the beginning of my love affair with the Psalms. And in that book of songs I found my verse… The Lord is my Light and my salvation: whom then shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
Light…salvation…stronghold… It begins with the light, light that can only come with darkness. Fear, loss, illness, failure, death… these are the beginnings of light. Our culture does not value darkness of any kind. Eeyores are not allowed. Eternal Light is God, not we who are a pale winter sun reflection of our creator. Until we make our peace with our inner darkness, there will be no inner light.
Salvation is a dirty word in some religious circles these days. It smacks of sin and worms such as I for some Christians. It is a word that holds great promise for me, however. To be saved from my own darkness, to become my own true self as God created me to be, to live and die in Light of Love that never lets me go but leads me home, this is salvation.
Stronghold, a safe place that strengthens me, sends me back out into the scary world ready to love and lose again, to be a part of all creation as a Christian who is trying to reflect the Christ light from the inside out. I need a stronghold that reminds me to whom I belong, where I am going and how to get there. Not only a resting place, my stronghold is also a place where I "gird up my loins" . I always wondered how that was done. I figured it was akin to putting on pantyhose for Sunday church. I can go out putting my best self forward because I have been made ready, stronger, healed and forgiven in my safe place.
So in this wonderful season of light, Epiphany, I remember the source of my light and give thanks for a little baby boy born to be the Son of Light in a world of darkness. I remember the Lord who is my light, my salvation and my stronghold and am grateful for the gift of life with all its darkness and light. And for this season I will let my light shine. I will send my light. I will be light for those who walk in darkness. And when I walk in darkness again, as I shall, I will find my stronghold to rekindle the Light within and without. Peace and Light to all this Season of Starlight.

Christmas Cheer

I hover on the edge of Christmas Joy with the house cleaned and made ready. The new heifer Biscuit lies next to Ferd the old bull waiting for breakfast hay. The sun shines on the far mountain tops this morning and I begin my Christmas Litany of joy and thanksgiving.
I am grateful for children and grandchildren who come home to the farm all year long, not just at Christmas. My mother’s presence at the farm has given my grandchildren the opportunity to know their great-grandmother, to hear her stories, to know her name and her person and I give thanks for family tradition embodied.
Other families have come to the farm and we will gather for Christmas Eve service in the new old high barn that Michael has been working so hard on. The Moravian Star hangs at the barn’s eve and the Christmas tree, decorated with Gary’s old multi-colored lights, shines in the distance like a stained glass window. Built in 1950, the old barn nearly collapsed but with the help of our talented friend Jim who loves old barns, it stands tall and proud once again, ready for a new life. The sight of the barn at the top of our hill is one of our picture postcard sights on the farm. I celebrate and give thanks for all who have worked long and hard to make it ready for Christmas.
My heart sings and my soul rejoices when I remember worship at Calvary Presbyterian last Sunday. After being snowed out the Sunday before, our community took twice as long to pass the peace. Miss Louise hugged me every time we passed each other as we circled the sanctuary. I love the old ladies in our church. They ground us and keep our backbones starched and in place. Ashley, a middle schooler, danced as LaJuana sang “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming” from the balcony. The ladies choir sang even though we had only had two practices. We sounded good.
But the topper, the Magnificat for the morning was Alexis’ solo. Alexis and Diamond, cousins, caught me during the passing of the peace and asked if they could sing a song for me. During the sermon we went downstairs and I listened to this beautiful little African American girl sing a song she had written... Thank you Lord for standing by me. Her voice was clear and she sang beautifully. I took them upstairs and Alexis sang for the offertory with her cousin Diamond sitting on the step beside her. She sang it twice, small of voice but poised and happy. Next time she sings I will see to it that we have a mike for her. My heart bubbled over with joy.
I will continue to sing praises and give thanks this week as I dance my way to the manger. There is much to celebrate and even more to say grace over. Christmas Cheer to you all and may your hearts be made light with laughter. May our souls sing grace and thanksgiving to the One who came as one of us so that we might know God In Us. Great is thy faithfulness, oh God our father (and mother, Mary Lynn) the old hymn says. It is so...joy from sorrow, peace from discord, silence from clamor, healing from hurt and hope for bright tomorrows. Thanks be to God.

Biscuits and Gravy

There is a new girl on the farm...Biscuits and Gravy. She looks like Grandma’s biscuits smothered in sausage gravy, white with brown and black spots. Her eyes are rimmed with black eyeliner. She is a beauty and knows it.
The first time Gary brought her over to our cows, she found an open space in the fencing and nearly beat him back home. This time we locked her down in Dixie’s stall for three days to give her time to separate from her mama and her herd. Every day I fed and watered her, gave her treats and worked to gentle her. When she gets aggravated, she shakes her head like a bull and claims her space. I got too close for her comfort one morning and she rushed me only to meet my boot on her nose. We have come to a mutual understanding.
Last night I let her out of the stall. She came out full steam ahead and began eating the hay I had laid out. The pecking order began with Junie B moving to Biscuit’s pile of hay to claim it. Biscuit moved but not for long. I watched the wheels turn in her bovine mind and she came rushing back to her pile, swinging her head, pushing Junie B who is twice her size, away.
Dixie, the alpha horse, tried next and received the same treatment. Whatever Biscuit wants, Biscuit gets. There is a new leader of the pack and she is the smallest one of all. After filling her belly she ran the fence line while I walked behind watching. She kept looking for a break, a place to go through and when she didn’t find one, began to run and buck.
She will spend a week or so in the horse pasture learning the ropes and settling in. Then we will move her down to be with the other cows and watch the games begin there. I can’t wait to see how Tilly Crowned with Horns handles this little upstart.
Personhood in cows and people is a wondrous gift. We each come wrapped as a Christmas gift to the world full of our own unique selves. Some of us are spitfires like Biscuit and others of us are more like Ferdinand the Gentle Bull. The mystery of our presence in the world is echoed in the paradox of our uniqueness and our sameness. We are all alike and we are all different.
My birth and your birth were incarnations of a loving God who takes delight in our being. Jesus was a more complete reflection of this Love but we too can be God’s children on earth. It has taken me a lifetime to begin to know and love myself, to appreciate the gifts I have been given and to forgive myself for my failures. During this mysterious holy time of new beginnings, I pray for a Biscuit spirit to rise up in me so that I might follow where I am led by Love. There is too little time left to dilly dally. Today I will sing the old spiritual “Rise Up Children and Follow” then get my head swinging as I move on down the road towards Bethlehem.