All farmers worth their salt live in the meantime. The hay is ready to cut but the afternoon storms keep on coming. In the meantime you repair fences or plant winter rye. Fanny is nearly ready to calve so you lock the herd down in the meantime to keep the coyotes from harming the new calf. Most things on a farm do not happen as you might plan or expect so living in the meantime becomes an art, a necessity.
I have been living in the meantime this summer. Truth be told, most of my life has been lived in the meantime. My best laid plans always seem to skid sideways at some point as life takes an unexpected detour. Being the at home professional requires the skill of meantime living. Dixie’s stall was flooded in the last fierce storm and a lake of dirty water pooled all over the floor. So yesterday I was shoveling waterlogged wood chips, manure, sawdust and dirt out of the stall for an hour or so. It took two loads in the Daddy O to strip her stall down to mud. Then I layered lime to sweeten the ammonia before putting the corn cob pellets down to absorb the moisture. While shoveling and spreading, I prayed for those I love who are living in a meantime place filled with uncertainty and fear. Waiting on a diagnosis, living with dementia, struggling in counseling, living with the aftermath of illness…
Meantimes can be filled with anticipation and hope… a new baby is coming, a wedding is planned, a best friend is coming to visit, a special anniversary is celebrated. Paying attention to these special in between times sweetens the pleasure and deepens the joy. We share a wedding anniversary with good friends. For years when we lived in the same city, we celebrated our anniversaries together. This year we will resume the tradition and are spending a night at a mountaintop inn. Our joy is tempered by the recognition of shared griefs and losses. But we are the stronger for it, and our celebration will be rich with laughter and life.
Jesus knew how to live in the meantime whether in a boat escaping needy crowds , praying alone and deserted on a dark mountain, leading a parade or having supper with a sinner. Nothing in his life was beneath his notice and when the unexpected came to call, his responded. Lazerus died? The young daughter is at death’s door? The sick woman grabs the hem of his robe? Five thousand people to feed? Twelve disciples to prepare and teach? He could shift gears and be in the moment whether it called for joy, sorrow, anger or action. Life in the meantime…
An English alternative rock band with the unlikely name of Spacehog wrote some beautiful lyrics to a song named “In the Meantime”. Thanks to the wonders of Googeling, I found these words and I pass them on to you, my morning prayer.
And in the end we shall achieve in time The thing they call divine, When all the stars will smile for me, When all is well and well is for all, And forever after.
Maybe in the meantime wait and see We love the all of you Our lands are green and our skies are blue When all in all we’re just like you We love the all of you.
And when I cry for me I cry for you with tears of holy joy for all the days you’ve still to come…
In the meantime, I laugh and love and weep and pray for us all as we wait for the stars to smile and all to be well. Amen.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Rooster light...
As I lay in early morning darkness listening to the rooster crow, I began to count the different ways light has been a part of conversation in the past week.
The Electric Light Parade is in full swing here on the farm. Every night the darkness is punctuated with tiny dots of light. Each firefly dances to its own beat and the little lights swirl in the trees sending messages to all the other fireflies. I do not speak the language of firefly but I am a grateful observer of their beautiful communication.
Our power went out last week. An oak tree fell on the line that serves the farm family and left us temporarily in the dark. Electricity is an ephemeral necessity that goes unnoticed and unappreciated until it is interrupted by nature. The lights that shine in our homes are relatively recent inventions. My mother’s generation remembers the care and feeding of oil lamps as a daily necessity for evening light.
Standing in the aisle at Lowe’s, I ponder the choices in light bulbs. My kitchen lights need replacing so I study the choices. I will feel environmentally irresponsible if I buy an incandescent bulb so I waver between the more expensive LED and the dimmable fluorescent bulbs. I settle for the dimmable fluorescent bulbs as a compromise between my budget and the power grid.
Summer solstice, a light filled day that holds darkness at bay, was observed. We crossed the continental divide between darkness and light and now darkness has begun to nibble at the long summer days. Most of us never notice this annual ritual of light that comes twice a year, the ebb and flow of light. The Old Ones knew the power of light and darkness so this shift was ritualized and recognized in the times when light was not taken for granted.
Many of us find our emotional well being depends upon the light. Summertime brings a lifting of our spirits that is inexplicable. The circumstances of our lives remain the same but the light lifts us up and lightens our load. Light is our visual Prozac and we are able to rejoice again in the abundance that surrounds us.
Sunday morning we sang “This Little Light of Mine” in worship. A gospel song and a children’s song with motions… remember the hand covering the upright pointer finger candle? The gospel song book we use along with our regular Presbyterian hymnal, had verses I had never sung before. A new way of hearing and singing this song about light pricked my ennui and I sang with gusto.
God said “Let there be light”. The first order in creation was the separation of light and darkness…day and night. The Psalmist sang “The Lord is my light and my salvation” and reminded us that God’s word was a lamp for our feet on dark paths. Our soul’s inner light comes from God and we find our way through darkness safely when we remember the Loving Light that is leading us home. The Preacher in Ecclesiastes says “Light is sweet and it is pleasant for the eyes to behold the sun”. He knew how much the sweet summer light could mean to someone who lives with SAD. “I am come that you might have light”, Jesus said,” and have it more abundantly”. Light and life are poured out in equal measure for those who seek God even in the midst of darkness and death.
Rooster light… early morning not quite light yet light… seeing through a glass darkly light… for today, I have more than enough light. Thanks be to God.
The Electric Light Parade is in full swing here on the farm. Every night the darkness is punctuated with tiny dots of light. Each firefly dances to its own beat and the little lights swirl in the trees sending messages to all the other fireflies. I do not speak the language of firefly but I am a grateful observer of their beautiful communication.
Our power went out last week. An oak tree fell on the line that serves the farm family and left us temporarily in the dark. Electricity is an ephemeral necessity that goes unnoticed and unappreciated until it is interrupted by nature. The lights that shine in our homes are relatively recent inventions. My mother’s generation remembers the care and feeding of oil lamps as a daily necessity for evening light.
Standing in the aisle at Lowe’s, I ponder the choices in light bulbs. My kitchen lights need replacing so I study the choices. I will feel environmentally irresponsible if I buy an incandescent bulb so I waver between the more expensive LED and the dimmable fluorescent bulbs. I settle for the dimmable fluorescent bulbs as a compromise between my budget and the power grid.
Summer solstice, a light filled day that holds darkness at bay, was observed. We crossed the continental divide between darkness and light and now darkness has begun to nibble at the long summer days. Most of us never notice this annual ritual of light that comes twice a year, the ebb and flow of light. The Old Ones knew the power of light and darkness so this shift was ritualized and recognized in the times when light was not taken for granted.
Many of us find our emotional well being depends upon the light. Summertime brings a lifting of our spirits that is inexplicable. The circumstances of our lives remain the same but the light lifts us up and lightens our load. Light is our visual Prozac and we are able to rejoice again in the abundance that surrounds us.
Sunday morning we sang “This Little Light of Mine” in worship. A gospel song and a children’s song with motions… remember the hand covering the upright pointer finger candle? The gospel song book we use along with our regular Presbyterian hymnal, had verses I had never sung before. A new way of hearing and singing this song about light pricked my ennui and I sang with gusto.
God said “Let there be light”. The first order in creation was the separation of light and darkness…day and night. The Psalmist sang “The Lord is my light and my salvation” and reminded us that God’s word was a lamp for our feet on dark paths. Our soul’s inner light comes from God and we find our way through darkness safely when we remember the Loving Light that is leading us home. The Preacher in Ecclesiastes says “Light is sweet and it is pleasant for the eyes to behold the sun”. He knew how much the sweet summer light could mean to someone who lives with SAD. “I am come that you might have light”, Jesus said,” and have it more abundantly”. Light and life are poured out in equal measure for those who seek God even in the midst of darkness and death.
Rooster light… early morning not quite light yet light… seeing through a glass darkly light… for today, I have more than enough light. Thanks be to God.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
I was a stranger...
He was my lion hearted chicken livered guardian, chewer of bumpers, chaser of cars and coyotes. Monday morning with my hand on his head and his eyes on my face, he died and my heart broke. He came to us a stranger, abused in his early life, a stray living in the high barn who circled around us in ever narrowing circles until he became family. Loyalty and love were given freely on his part but always on his terms. Children loved him and they were the only ones he allowed to approach him easily. Cameras and men in baseball hats terrified him and his deep loud bark echoed a remembered fear that we never understood. On those nights when my busy brain kept me from sleeping, Barney and I would sit side by side, leaning on each other, on the top step of the front porch listening to the night sounds. He kept fearless guard over us in the night chasing coyotes and bears away, running and barking through our farm often waking us. And now I weep as I drive into our yard and there is no big yellow dog rising to meet me. Michael has lost his morning walking companion and he and Rufus are lonely. Mama misses his daily visits to her. He came so often that a path is worn through the pasture next to her house. How did this stray dog, a bundle of contradiction and command, become so important to me? To mama? To Michael?
My friend Janet helped me yesterday by giving me an image, a Biblical connection that I had not made. For Janet, Barney was the stranger we took in, a complicated not easy to love stranger who became the symbol of Sabbath Rest Farm, a safe place to rest. Our loving Barney became a testament to our willingness to love strangers, others who show up needing something or someone. Young men and women living through in-between times who need work and some community show up to bale hay, build fences, ride horses and do farm chores. Pastors and church staff come for respite care. Families come and their children run free. Neighbors walk over bringing friends and our circle widens once again.
I was a stranger, Jesus said, and you took me in. Heartbreak, frustration, joy, laughter, steadfast love… all are gifts from the strangers who are welcome here at Sabbath Rest Farm and in my heart. You will live in my heart Barney as a reminder of God’s gracious arrival in uninvited guests. Thanks be to God for love and loss, life and death, and strangers who become family.
My friend Janet helped me yesterday by giving me an image, a Biblical connection that I had not made. For Janet, Barney was the stranger we took in, a complicated not easy to love stranger who became the symbol of Sabbath Rest Farm, a safe place to rest. Our loving Barney became a testament to our willingness to love strangers, others who show up needing something or someone. Young men and women living through in-between times who need work and some community show up to bale hay, build fences, ride horses and do farm chores. Pastors and church staff come for respite care. Families come and their children run free. Neighbors walk over bringing friends and our circle widens once again.
I was a stranger, Jesus said, and you took me in. Heartbreak, frustration, joy, laughter, steadfast love… all are gifts from the strangers who are welcome here at Sabbath Rest Farm and in my heart. You will live in my heart Barney as a reminder of God’s gracious arrival in uninvited guests. Thanks be to God for love and loss, life and death, and strangers who become family.
Friday, May 27, 2011
The earth is the Lord's... and mine too
The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof…
I’ve been reading Wendell Berry poetry again letting my soul fill up. This man reminds me of all the men and women I knew growing up for whom the land was both work and play. In my reading this morning one poem called my name.
BELOW
Above the trees and the rooftops
is the range of symbols:
banner, cross, star;
air war, the mode of those
who live by symbols, the pure
abstraction of travel by air.
Here a spire holds up
An angel with trump and wings;
He’s in his element.
Another lifts a hand
with forefinger pointing up
to admonish that all’s not here.
All’s not. But I aspire
downward. Flyers embrace
the air, and I’m a man
who needs something to hug.
All my dawns cross the horizon
and rise, from underfoot.
What I stand for
Is what I stand on.
This week I have stood on fields rowed by golden hay shining in the sun, smelling sweet and clean. Standing on top of the trailer high with hay bales, I see the hillside pasture with bull, horses and donkeys surrounded by pines and briars. Walking to the stable in the early morning dew, the morning mist lingers in the valleys as the sun rises behind a pink rimmed cloud. The spring fed red clay muck sucks my shoes off and I squish my toes in the mud, a guilty pleasure of childhood once again mine. I pull weeds from the flowerbeds gloveless and black dirt rims my fingernails. What I stand for, I do indeed stand on and I give thanks for farm, family and friends.
I’ve been reading Wendell Berry poetry again letting my soul fill up. This man reminds me of all the men and women I knew growing up for whom the land was both work and play. In my reading this morning one poem called my name.
BELOW
Above the trees and the rooftops
is the range of symbols:
banner, cross, star;
air war, the mode of those
who live by symbols, the pure
abstraction of travel by air.
Here a spire holds up
An angel with trump and wings;
He’s in his element.
Another lifts a hand
with forefinger pointing up
to admonish that all’s not here.
All’s not. But I aspire
downward. Flyers embrace
the air, and I’m a man
who needs something to hug.
All my dawns cross the horizon
and rise, from underfoot.
What I stand for
Is what I stand on.
This week I have stood on fields rowed by golden hay shining in the sun, smelling sweet and clean. Standing on top of the trailer high with hay bales, I see the hillside pasture with bull, horses and donkeys surrounded by pines and briars. Walking to the stable in the early morning dew, the morning mist lingers in the valleys as the sun rises behind a pink rimmed cloud. The spring fed red clay muck sucks my shoes off and I squish my toes in the mud, a guilty pleasure of childhood once again mine. I pull weeds from the flowerbeds gloveless and black dirt rims my fingernails. What I stand for, I do indeed stand on and I give thanks for farm, family and friends.
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