Front porches are for company and up front sitting and reading. The swing and pretty rockers have flowered cushions and the butterfly bushes smell sweet in the summertime. The back porch is where your everyday life shows up. The back porch on our farm house is where we sit down to take off our muddy boots and keep our house shoes. Great Aunt Polly’s wicker furniture provides comfortable seating for the cats and humans alike. The old white drop leaf table is perfect for meals during the warm seasons and you don’t have to take your boots off... just sit, eat and take a nap with the ceiling fan whirring overhead to provide a cool breeze while you snooze. Occasionally it is neat and tidy but usually it is cluttered with the evidence of farm chores... power tools charging, sprinklings of hay, newspapers read and not yet picked up, screws and fencing staples in piles emptied from pockets on the table, bug spray, watering cans and stray hats. In the winter we take down the screen panels and replace them with glass, an uptown solution to the north winds that blow on that side of the house. Then our back porch becomes a sun warmed comfort in days that have need of it.
I’ve been thinking about my spiritual life as porches lately. My front porch spiritual self shows up for church on Sunday, dressed in my best with my hat on my head. This Sunday front porch self is my best foot forward, my “loving my neighbor” self. On my spiritual front porch I try hard to present myself, to be, to behave as a Christian should and sometimes I do that very well. I am gussied up and trying to live up to my image. That is not a bad thing. Sometimes we can live into our front porch selves with practice. And sometimes, we forget that our front porch image is not all of who we are. That is why we need back porches.
My back porch soul is a little messy, untidy and another reflection of who I am. If I am trying to live up to my Sunday best on the front porch, then my everyday soul shows up on the back porch to balance me out. People who know me as I am can sit on the back porch with me and we are both comfortable. Here we can relax and let our hair down, be easy with revelations of tender hearts and sore souls. There is no pressure to measure up or sit up straight. Those things are hard to do surrounded by the clutter of daily living and with a cat on your lap.
It took me awhile to live into my back porch soul. I so wanted to always be my front porch self and as a child, I spent my life trying to please everyone who mattered to me, losing myself in the process. It has taken many years to regain and appreciate my back porch soul. As I live my sixtieth decade, I am learning to balance my front and back porch sitting so that I may become a more complete creation. I am finding everyday miracles on my back porch soul. The sound of donkey heehaw reminds me that all voices sound lovely to those who are loved and loving. Junie B’s sweet morning nicker reminds me to look around and see who is waiting for my tender care. The muddy red spots on the back porch rug keep me humble, remind me of all my clay feet that have shattered. The sounds of Gary the hawk screeching overhead in the boundless blue sky makes me look up and reminds me of God’s limitless love. The sunset “of an evening” reminds me my life is no longer at its beginning but in its ending and I am grateful for all of what has been and what is yet to come.
“Miracles seem to rest, not so much upon faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly to us from far off, but upon our perceptions being made finer so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears hear that which is about us always.” Willa Cather’s words help me see and hear miracles abounding as I sit on my back porch. I am being healed, made whole in my soul and I give thanks for the unending everyday miracles that are revealed as I sit and wait on the Lord on my back porch.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
singing in the rain....
I put on my bright pink mucking boots, walked outdoors, turned my face up to the skies and let the rain rinse (or rinch, if you live in Texas) the red clay dust from body and soul. Yesterday I did all my farm chores in the rain without a raincoat or an umbrella, wallowing in the mud like a happy pig in a puddle. It has rained for thirty six hours so far, over two inches, and more yet to come. It came in waves so that the rain had time to soak in between showers. The grass is greening up and the birds are singing in the rain. The horses spent the day in the stable by choice and didn’t venture out until last night at dusk. Beautiful grey days and skies full of clouds of promise...
This feeling of being washed clean is intoxicating and clarifying. The world around me has sharper edges, no longer blurred by an accumulation of gravel dust. The grass blades stand up straight, not beaten down by drought. The smells of the rain world are as sweet as my butterfly bushes. The syrup kettle by my back porch is overflowing and the leaves of the water lily float to the edge. We are saved from utter despair and destruction by the rain falling from our heavens.
It is a baptism of sorts. Two days ago I was living on the edge with dust, drought and despair as my companions on daily farm chores. Today I am rebirthed, rebaptized and have another chance, an opportunity to grow again bathed in rejuvenating rain. Like the grass and flowers, I need regular rain for my spirit to grow. Droughts make my roots grow deep while my outer self shrivels. But the blessed rain lets me bloom inside and out, made new by showers of blessing.
Today I give thanks for water... rain that drenches the farm and turns the hay fields green again... rain that fills the streams and the cattle cisterns... rain that settles the dust in the road... rain that cools and bathes frogs and black snakes and box turtles... holy water that sprinkles my soul and causes me to leap for joy in my hot pink mud boots, singing “Glory, glory, hallelujah!”... “Rain in abundance, O God, you showered abroad; you restored your heritage when it languished; your flock found a dwelling in it; in your goodness, O God, you provided for those who are needy.” Psalm 68:9-10
This feeling of being washed clean is intoxicating and clarifying. The world around me has sharper edges, no longer blurred by an accumulation of gravel dust. The grass blades stand up straight, not beaten down by drought. The smells of the rain world are as sweet as my butterfly bushes. The syrup kettle by my back porch is overflowing and the leaves of the water lily float to the edge. We are saved from utter despair and destruction by the rain falling from our heavens.
It is a baptism of sorts. Two days ago I was living on the edge with dust, drought and despair as my companions on daily farm chores. Today I am rebirthed, rebaptized and have another chance, an opportunity to grow again bathed in rejuvenating rain. Like the grass and flowers, I need regular rain for my spirit to grow. Droughts make my roots grow deep while my outer self shrivels. But the blessed rain lets me bloom inside and out, made new by showers of blessing.
Today I give thanks for water... rain that drenches the farm and turns the hay fields green again... rain that fills the streams and the cattle cisterns... rain that settles the dust in the road... rain that cools and bathes frogs and black snakes and box turtles... holy water that sprinkles my soul and causes me to leap for joy in my hot pink mud boots, singing “Glory, glory, hallelujah!”... “Rain in abundance, O God, you showered abroad; you restored your heritage when it languished; your flock found a dwelling in it; in your goodness, O God, you provided for those who are needy.” Psalm 68:9-10
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Share and share alike...
I watch my daughters teaching their boys to share. It is a hard won lesson often accompanied by bops from the “sharer” to the “sharee”. It is an act of discipline to let go of something of value and take the risk of letting someone else have it. It is one of the earliest and most important lessons we learn as members of the human family. Every religion has a statement commanding us to share. Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have. Hebrews 13:16 Most of us cannot be Mother Teresa or Albert Schweitzer but all of us can be common garden variety givers and doers of good.
We sat in our small group Sunday night worried about one of our own, a single parent, who is facing several intense issues... death of a family member, money woes, worry about a teenaged child. We love her and wanted to help, to do good. First we passed the gourd around and collected some money to help with travel expenses for the funeral and then we decided to put feet to our feelings. Her basement is a worry to her. It needs organizing and a broken closet pole fixed. She keeps trying to get the job done but it is a symbol of all in her life over which she has no control. So after the funeral, we are going to meet (and eat chilli) and get that basement done. She says she knows basement cleaning is a trivial thing but it looms large and weighs her soul down. Not so trivial after all.
In September Michael and I will be meeting my work camp crew in Cherokee again for another run at doing good. We will clean, do some construction jobs, nothing spectacular or particularly noteworthy in the history of the Cherokee people. But it will be a force for good for the Wolf family, our special friends on the reservation. They carry the memories of their clan and tribe, a rich part of our country’s past, and we are friends. Friends share time and love and energy with one another. This place and these people are dear to our hearts and we are dear to them. So we will work together, share meals, laugh and weep as we remember Elsie, Deweese’s wife, who died since last we met.
My friend Leisa told me a story about her beach trip. She was walking on the beach and passed a woman sitting at the edge of the water, her head down on her knees, surrounded by laughing children and adults. When she walked back by her, the woman was alone, in the same position, oblivious to the water creeping up on her feet. Leisa felt drawn to her and risked sharing with a stranger. She went to her, knelt down, put her arm on her shoulder and spoke simple words. “You look sad. You must be in a hard place right now. May I pray for you?” The woman’s tear streaked face was close to Leisa as she prayed a simple prayer. “Dear God, be with this child of yours who needs your tender care.” As Leisa walked away down the beach she heard the woman say, “Thank you for your kindness.”
Sharing... time, money, work, life, love, prayers, faith... is one way we can be good children of God. Taking the risk to let someone into your world, to be the “Sharee”, is scarier than being the “Sharer” but both places are holy ground in loving relationships, even temporary relationships with strangers. This holy ground is home to angels and we are surrounded by them. Help me, Dear One, whether I am the “sharer” or the “sharee”, to remember how you shared yourself with us. Let all my good deeds, large or small, spring from my love for You. Let me be one of your angels and help me see the other angels that surround me all the day long. Amen.
We sat in our small group Sunday night worried about one of our own, a single parent, who is facing several intense issues... death of a family member, money woes, worry about a teenaged child. We love her and wanted to help, to do good. First we passed the gourd around and collected some money to help with travel expenses for the funeral and then we decided to put feet to our feelings. Her basement is a worry to her. It needs organizing and a broken closet pole fixed. She keeps trying to get the job done but it is a symbol of all in her life over which she has no control. So after the funeral, we are going to meet (and eat chilli) and get that basement done. She says she knows basement cleaning is a trivial thing but it looms large and weighs her soul down. Not so trivial after all.
In September Michael and I will be meeting my work camp crew in Cherokee again for another run at doing good. We will clean, do some construction jobs, nothing spectacular or particularly noteworthy in the history of the Cherokee people. But it will be a force for good for the Wolf family, our special friends on the reservation. They carry the memories of their clan and tribe, a rich part of our country’s past, and we are friends. Friends share time and love and energy with one another. This place and these people are dear to our hearts and we are dear to them. So we will work together, share meals, laugh and weep as we remember Elsie, Deweese’s wife, who died since last we met.
My friend Leisa told me a story about her beach trip. She was walking on the beach and passed a woman sitting at the edge of the water, her head down on her knees, surrounded by laughing children and adults. When she walked back by her, the woman was alone, in the same position, oblivious to the water creeping up on her feet. Leisa felt drawn to her and risked sharing with a stranger. She went to her, knelt down, put her arm on her shoulder and spoke simple words. “You look sad. You must be in a hard place right now. May I pray for you?” The woman’s tear streaked face was close to Leisa as she prayed a simple prayer. “Dear God, be with this child of yours who needs your tender care.” As Leisa walked away down the beach she heard the woman say, “Thank you for your kindness.”
Sharing... time, money, work, life, love, prayers, faith... is one way we can be good children of God. Taking the risk to let someone into your world, to be the “Sharee”, is scarier than being the “Sharer” but both places are holy ground in loving relationships, even temporary relationships with strangers. This holy ground is home to angels and we are surrounded by them. Help me, Dear One, whether I am the “sharer” or the “sharee”, to remember how you shared yourself with us. Let all my good deeds, large or small, spring from my love for You. Let me be one of your angels and help me see the other angels that surround me all the day long. Amen.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Sounds of silence...
One of the luxuries in my life is silence. The children are grown and gone so I no longer have the constant interior conversation of active parenting racketing around inside my head. Michael leaves for work and I am alone with the blessed silence... no music, no television, no radio... just sweet, sweet silence. Birdsong... the albino Carolina wren singing to her babies on the front porch... interrupts my silence and I sit and listen. The soft hum of the ceiling fan in our study is a slow rhythmical accompaniment to my slow thoughts. I survey my surroundings. My house would not win a Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval today. The leftovers from a Sabbath weekend flow around me in a river of disorder. I detach from the long list of “must do” and “can’t stand it any longer”as I settle into the silence.
And here I am, writing. Anne Morrow Lindbergh said, “I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living.” Writing has become my four lane highway to my soul’s interior landscape. I travel this highway almost every day and sometimes the writing car flies along, full of high octane fuel. Other days it sputters and stalls, dying in the middle of the road. Both trips are of equal value to me. The days I write effortlessly with clarity and poetry are intoxicating. When I struggle to find words or images that start my soul’s engine, I am reminded that life is never easy all the time.
--------- So much for the silence! Mama came in to tell me rain was on the way and I needed to go feed the cows before it started. It will be our first rain in a month if it gets here. I took corn shucks from Jeannie and cantaloupe rinds along as an appetizer for the hay. Our hay stock is dwindling at an alarming rate and I must find some hay to buy this week. David was getting ready to turn on the pump in the stream to water the small fall garden so I stopped to talk. As we stood there, it began to sprinkle a little and then stopped. He decided to turn on the sprinkler just in case rain does not come. We have had so many false starts in the past month... small sprinkling rains that just settle the dust but do not really soak the earth.
---------Megan calls. Matthew and Mason started school today so her morning was going to be busy. Yesterday at her church Maria, the Minister to Children, incorporated a Blessing of the Backpacks into worship. Children brought their backpacks to big church and were called to the front for a special liturgy and blessing. They had already received a special book from Maria in the mail earlier that week. So all of the children in that church have heard and felt God’s blessing of their new school year because Maria is being the face and hands and voice of God just for them.
---------David calls. The yearlings are out. Even though I took the cows hay, the fields are dust bowls and there is nothing to graze after the hay is eaten. We talk and he takes some feed in a bucket to entice them back in to the pasture.
---------Alison calls. She, David and Aidan are sick with snuffly colds. We talk about Aidan’s promotion into the three year old class. Their church recognizes each child promoted in big church so all the children are in church for their special moment. Aidan’s school starts this week and they are all ready for the fall schedule to begin.
No rain... grey skies but no rain. Rain in Asheville but no rain here. Dear God who sees the sparrow fall and who knows me inside out, hear my plea for sweet showers of wet muddy blessing. We are covered in red dust and need to be washed clean by rain. Let us feel You filling up the rain barrels of our souls with love and thanksgiving. Thank you for the showers of blessing that have come my way this day and remember me as one of your own children. Peggy
And here I am, writing. Anne Morrow Lindbergh said, “I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living.” Writing has become my four lane highway to my soul’s interior landscape. I travel this highway almost every day and sometimes the writing car flies along, full of high octane fuel. Other days it sputters and stalls, dying in the middle of the road. Both trips are of equal value to me. The days I write effortlessly with clarity and poetry are intoxicating. When I struggle to find words or images that start my soul’s engine, I am reminded that life is never easy all the time.
--------- So much for the silence! Mama came in to tell me rain was on the way and I needed to go feed the cows before it started. It will be our first rain in a month if it gets here. I took corn shucks from Jeannie and cantaloupe rinds along as an appetizer for the hay. Our hay stock is dwindling at an alarming rate and I must find some hay to buy this week. David was getting ready to turn on the pump in the stream to water the small fall garden so I stopped to talk. As we stood there, it began to sprinkle a little and then stopped. He decided to turn on the sprinkler just in case rain does not come. We have had so many false starts in the past month... small sprinkling rains that just settle the dust but do not really soak the earth.
---------Megan calls. Matthew and Mason started school today so her morning was going to be busy. Yesterday at her church Maria, the Minister to Children, incorporated a Blessing of the Backpacks into worship. Children brought their backpacks to big church and were called to the front for a special liturgy and blessing. They had already received a special book from Maria in the mail earlier that week. So all of the children in that church have heard and felt God’s blessing of their new school year because Maria is being the face and hands and voice of God just for them.
---------David calls. The yearlings are out. Even though I took the cows hay, the fields are dust bowls and there is nothing to graze after the hay is eaten. We talk and he takes some feed in a bucket to entice them back in to the pasture.
---------Alison calls. She, David and Aidan are sick with snuffly colds. We talk about Aidan’s promotion into the three year old class. Their church recognizes each child promoted in big church so all the children are in church for their special moment. Aidan’s school starts this week and they are all ready for the fall schedule to begin.
No rain... grey skies but no rain. Rain in Asheville but no rain here. Dear God who sees the sparrow fall and who knows me inside out, hear my plea for sweet showers of wet muddy blessing. We are covered in red dust and need to be washed clean by rain. Let us feel You filling up the rain barrels of our souls with love and thanksgiving. Thank you for the showers of blessing that have come my way this day and remember me as one of your own children. Peggy
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