Mercy Drops...

I sit at the computer this morning, dressed in my overalls, drinking hot tea from my Hadley mug, making preparation for a holiday that is profoundly sacred but not religious, Thanksgiving. All this week memories from the past year have been floating to the surface of my inner wisdom river, bubbles of gratitude and grief breaking the smooth surface of the small places of stillness in that ever flowing stream. A year full of endings and beginnings, new life yet to be revealed, and gifts of grace and plenty tumble over the rocks in my memory.
Friends and family have died... Uncle Tud, Aunt Mary, Mary Etta, Dot... and their passing from this world left empty spaces in the hearts and lives of those who loved them. New friends and family will come as time passes but the depth of the grief marks the importance of their presence in my life.
A relationship with a church that had been home for thirteen years was severed. It was painful to live with the ending of that long cherished connection but now I am free to move beyond the grief, to see what new life might be waiting around this unexpected bend in the road. A small worship family meets on Sundays and we lead one another in the search for the Holy Unexpected One. Without any formal structure or name or long term goals, all the light we need and all the soul food we need is there, enough to fill us up and lift us up over the rough and empty places in our lives. Grief and grace...
Michael and I read an autobiography this week written by a pastor friend of ours. He epitomized the old Southern Baptist Convention as we knew it, conservative, honest, hardheaded at times. The tent of his faith was wide enough to welcome those who were different, like us, and narrow enough not to provide protection for the power hungry and arrogant. Tough old memories of another faith home loss were made tender by the memories of a people and a denomination who gave us many good gifts.
Beloved animal companions have died this year. Lily, the elegant black and white cat who helped raise our children to be compassionate creatures, died after a long life. Bud, my Grey Garfield, was buried under the shade trees on the hillside. Zekie, my basset hound buddy who raced to the Kawasaki mule whenever it cranked up, riding wherever it was going, died. And last night, Phoebe, our eighteen year old basset hound, the last dog our children knew while they still lived at home, died in her sleep. She had been deaf and nearly blind for some months but she still walked the farm with Michael and Barney every morning. For the first time in many years, we have only one dog and no basset hounds. So this morning, we will call the children and give them the news. Like Judith Viorst’s story, “The Tenth Good Thing About Barney”, we will remember good things about Phoebe as we cry a little and laugh a little. This afternoon we will bury her along side Maggie, Sadie, Coke, Bud, Lily, Zeke, Nelly, Harvey and all the other animal friends who are resting in the shade of the oak trees.
But this year has also seen the advent of new adventures in animal companions, horses and donkeys. I have been graced with new four legged friends of a different sort... donkeys who play and bray for fun, horses who have admitted me into their family and offer me the gift of friendship. An albino wren made its nest in my front porch planter and an albino turkey left me some white feathers as it walked across the farm. A five point buck visited us this week and stood in silent strength watching me pass by. A bear came and cleaned out the Deerings bird feeders while we watched. I am surrounded by animal companions seen and unseen. I am grateful.
There have been some difficult times for our family. Michael’s dad continues his long decline into the world of unknowing. He was in the hospital for pneumonia and a small stroke recently. Each time of illness leaves him with more deficits and less reserves. Mason’s diagnosis of autism catapulted us into the world of children with special needs. His mother, our daughter Megan, has become a warrior for her child in a world that does not make the way plain nor the path easy for those who are different. Another child saw the ending of a professional dream and the beginning of a new one.
There have been gifts of grace for our family, too. Adam is back in North Carolina with a new home and new job. Matthew is knocking the top out in kindergarten, superstar student this week. Mason is thriving in his new school. Mead is throwing the best temper tantrums a two year old can muster. Aidan is ice skating with the big kids, the three and four year olds. Our daughter Alison will be ordained a deacon in her church this January. Megan embarked on a successful weight loss and exercise program. Our health and mama’s health has been good this year. All in all, we have much for which I am grateful.
One of my favorite old hymns is “There Shall Be Showers of Blessing”. The verb tense, shall be, affirms the future presence of blessing in my life yet to come Not only can I sing “There have been showers of blessing”, I can look forward to the fulfillment of the promised goodness in my life not yet lived. “There shall be showers of blessing; This is the promise of love; There shall be seasons refreshing, sent from the Savior above. Showers of blessing, showers of blessing we need: Mercy drops round us are falling, but for the showers we plead.”
The prophet Ezekiel spoke the words of the Lord to his people. “I will make them and the places round about my hill a blessing; and I will send down the showers in their season; they shall be showers of blessing.” On our hill, the hill that belongs to the Lord at Sabbath Rest farm, we have had mercy drops and showers this year, blessings that have filled us up and are overflowing. I am grateful. Thanks be to God.