Memorial day...mysteries, mercies and hallelujahs

Instructions for living a life.

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.                       -Mary Oliver

One of the good gifts of being old(er) is being able to look back, while still looking forward, to survey the topographical map of your life.  We all have mountains, hills and valleys, green pastures and rushing waters in our lives along with deserts and dark nights of the soul. Some of us come to trouble and grief earlier than others. Some seem to have more than their fair share of the table set before us all. All of us have choices to make even in the midst of a maze that seems to have no end, or worse, a bad ending.  During my quiet times this week… washing dishes, mucking stalls, sitting in the doctor’s office, driving to town to teach… three words kept circling the drain in my ADD brain… mysteries, mercies and hallelujahs.

My life is full of mysteries. These are not the kind of mysteries you can solve like a murder mystery or a   problem that has a solution. These mysteries come from deep within and without, leaving me with more questions than answers as all good mysteries do. John Jacob Niles’ Christmas carol, I Wonder as I Wander, is a word picture of my life.

 I made Death’s acquaintance early on when my husband was killed in Viet Nam the month I turned twenty one. That mystery, rooted in my childhood and adolescence, ejected me into a world where there were no easy answers.  This world of grief tempered by joy, a world of grace and mercy, was my entry into the reality of lost control. Never before had I needed God and God’s bodies in this world like I needed them then. And, God came. God came weeping, with others who loved Tim and me, the young officer who escorted his body home, Walt and MaryLynn and the work camp family, the words of my favorite hymn…O God our help in ages past, our hope for years to come. God came in the dark days after the funeral in remembered words from the Bible… Be of good courage, the Comforter will come, fear no evil in the valley of the shadow of death… and again in the Family of God, my aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers in the faith who held me in the light as I walked in darkness.

I look back now and see mercies, small and large, surrounded me not only in those days, but all the days of my life. Tim’s death gave me new eyes to see and ears to hear the endless river of grace and mercy flowing through my life. It was that unwanted baptism by fire that shoved me into the waters of life.  I was lifted up by the water wings of love and a new faith, a tender and severe mercy, as I began a life much different from the one I dreamed of. This new life was filled with more mysteries, mercies and hallelujahs.

Only now am I able to see how these mysteries, mercies and hallelujahs are entwined. When I had to accept a world that I could not control, a world that did not revolve around me, my eyes were opened to mystery upon mystery, world without end. None of these could be explained…Why do good people die young? Why does spring lift our hearts at the same time it saddens us? Where do babies really come from?...and it is good not to have all the answers. Having no control, I am forced to recognize the mercies that fill my life… health, Sabbath Rest Farm, family, friends, the sweet smell of newly baled hay, animals I love who love me back… and knowing these are a gift, I give thanks. Gratitude leads to hallelujahs for what good is a gift without an enthusiastic thank you?

 And I am back to the Buechner quote that started me thinking. “Thus you do not solve the mystery, you live the mystery. And you do that not by fully knowing yourself, but by fully being yourself. To say that God is a mystery is to say that you can never nail him down. Even on Christ the nails ultimately proved ineffective.” Hallelujah, amen!

 

Guinea Hens...

GrandMary always knew we were coming before she saw our car. The guinea hens would sound the alarm, running and flying and squawking and raising a loud hullabaloo. It didn’t take much to set them off so they were not always reliable watchbirds.

Guinea hens are beautiful birds... black and white speckled with a touch of red in their combs. But beauty is as beauty does because they set the standard for the definition of birdbrain. Tiny heads, tinier brain...Every year about this time, I consider getting some guinea hens for one reason only... they eat ticks and we have an abundant crop this spring. Then I remember how they sound, the desire fades and I continue to pick ticks off the dogs and myself as usual. Remembering those pesky guinea hens prompted me to think about other watchbirds in my life. I have three guinea hen birds that protect and nourish my soul. 

The first one is reading. I have a passion for words, their meaning, the stories they tell, the source from whence they spring and the wisdom that is contained in all writing. I have read great works and science fiction and mysteries and romance and sacred books. The first book I read in school, “Dick and Jane”, excited me as much as the book I just finished, “The Ecstatic Journey” by Sophy Burnham. Words, flawed and imperfect as they are, have power and possibility for the soul.

The second watchbird is creativity. I was the child who picked flowers for the table, drew endlessly, taught myself to sew so I could sew my own clothes, went back to college in my fifties just to take all the art classes I missed the first time around. Calligraphy, Zentangles, painting, drawing, sewing, writing... all lead me to a holy ground where God waits for me. It is my burning bush.

Hospitality is my third guinea hen. More often than not, God and angels show up when we have company, invited and uninvited. This weekend, children from College Park Baptist church in Greensboro are here with us at Sabbath Rest Farm. They are in awe at the “millions” of tadpoles in the syrup kettle, struck by the utter blackness of a cloudy night in the country, giggling with glee as they see chickens and gather eggs, conquering their fear and letting Junie B and Dixie take treats from their palms, running pell mell down the gravel road shouting their freedom from the usual. As our two very different worlds are shared in this hospitable place, I see and hear God in their joy. It is a lovely hostess gift, this joy, and my heart sings.

The ancient prophet Jeremiah was a watchbird for his people, trying to remind them to whom they belonged and what was required of them. One of my favorite verses, Jeremiah 6:16, says, “Thus says the Lord: ‘Stand by the roads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it and find rest for your souls.’”

Keep me close, Lord, so I might hear the guinea hens when they sound the alarm that calls me to come see You pass by on the good way. And give me a generous heart, Lord, so that I might share all that I am and have when you come calling as children and guests and unexpected company. I love you. Peggy

Lentangle IV...Are ye able?

The Journey to Jerusalem passage I have been reading this week is the story of sibling rivalry among the disciples. Two of the disciples, brothers, got to talking and decided they deserved to sit on either side of Jesus in his glory. So, they caught Jesus off to the side and asked if he would do something for them. He, like any good parent, asked what it was they wanted before he committed himself to the unknown. They laid their request out and Jesus’ response was …You don’t know what you are talking about… and then a question…Are you able to drink my cup and be baptized as I will be? By then the others caught on to what was happening and got ticked at James and John. Jesus had a family meeting and laid out the rules. Those who would be first or greatest, must be servant to all. No lording it over your brothers and sisters.

One of the old hymns drawn from this passage was a favorite invitation song at Clyattville Baptist Church. “Are ye able, said the Master?” Most of us, myself included, subscribe to the notion that we are indeed able. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, most of the time, I live with the illusion of being in control, able. We live as if our long term care insurance can stave off the fate that awaits us in our old age. Our children will all grow up without struggle or pain to become loving, kind geniuses who will change the world into a better place because we are able parents. My faith will provide all I need in times of trial and I will triumph eventually because I am an able Christian. Tarzan chest thumping accompanied by the proudly spoken words, “I am able” echo James and John’s response to Jesus’ question. And like them, we know not whereof we speak.

One of my Grandma’s favorite sayings was, “Pride goeth before a fall”. Often when all is going well in my life, I hear her voice in my inner ear reminding me not to get too cocky, not to believe in the illusion of my control, not to think I am the master of my fate. Walk humbly, the prophet said, not ably. Walk aware that you are not the center of the universe and have no business lording it over all your brothers and sisters. All of life, trials and tribulations, laughter and joy, accomplishments and failures, are a gift and not a result of our ableness, our abilities, our control.

On this lovely sunny daffy down dilly spring day, my heart leaps in joy, Lord, towards you. In my ignorance and lack of control, I find in you a resting place. You are my final destination, my home, my safety net when I stumble and fall from the tightrope that is my life. Have pity on me, Lord, when I crow like a rooster, proud of what I have done or who I am. I am indeed, unable to live without your abiding presence to sustain and challenge my limited knowledge. I love you. Help me to do you proud. Amen.

Memo to a Mockingbird...

Memo to a Mockingbird…

It was a Monday with all the unscheduled interruptions and unexpected happenings leaving my plan for the day in shambles. Mama’s routine visit to the doctor turned into a trial by needle stick that left her faint and worn out. The tractor tire installation was a two person job so Michael needed my help. When I went to cut grass, the mower had no gas and there was no gas at the shed. I had told Leisa I would come letter her quote on the kitchen wall at the river house and had to call and cancel. My day was bits and pieces leaving me feeling scattered to the four winds. Thank God for the restorative yoga class that knit my frazzled self together in silence and stretching at the end of the day.

Some days… some weeks… some months and years can feel like one damn thing right after another. We all have times when the merry go round won’t stop and let us off. If we aren’t careful, our lives can fly by consumed with trying to keep it all together at the expense of living in the moment. Easier said than done sometimes, to find the balance between responsible living and deadening accountability.

Last night Marley, who takes her duties as a watchdog seriously, refused to come in. She was chasing unseen terrors in the night and arguing with a visitor dog down the hill. In exasperation, I closed the door and left her out, knowing I would have to get up later to let her in. Around two thirty in the morning, she barked at the front door so I let her in to the basement to join the other dogs. As I lay in bed trying to go back to sleep, a mockingbird began to sing.

At first I thought it was an auditory hallucination but it really was a mockingbird just outside our bedroom window singing his entire repertoire with abandon and joy. What kind of bird sings in the darkness of an early, early morning? After internally cursing a bird who could be filled with such joy at such an infernal hour, my sense of the ridiculous holy kicked in. How like the Great Comedian to send a messenger to remind me my frustrations and worries are not the reason for my being… not Balaam’s talking ass but a revved up mockingbird, drunk on joi d’ vivre. My soul shifted gears and while counting blessings to birdsong, I fell asleep full of laughter and a sense of God’s presence.

Thank you, God, for knocking me off balance every now and then. Just when I think I’ve gotten my act together, you let life teach me another lesson about laughter and grace in the midst of trials and tribulations. The mockingbird was a wonderful reminder of your beauty in this world. I will try to find more of you in my day today. Amen.