America is made up of small towns, lots and lots of small towns, with a few large towns tossed in for variety. Each small town has some commonalities, but they are all unique as well. Each has its own flavor and personality. There is an incredible cook, an artist, a story teller, playgrounds, schools, churches, and flowers. But, each one is a little different and each is special.
Life is also made up of many small things with a few big things tossed in. Remember that saying a few years ago which became so popular? Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff – and its All Small Stuff. Well, they got it somewhat right anyway. It isn’t all small stuff, and some small stuff shouldn’t be sweated and worried over. There are some great big things thrown in there as well. The majority of my days go by with small stuff, little things, minute gestures, seemingly trivial and insignificant decisions and conversations. Then, you look back over years of the small stuff with a few big moments thrown in and realize, it was all important!
I watched the sky clear over the Mississippi River last night. The rain came and then went, the clouds parted and then gathered again, hanging lower and greyer. Sparrows came and watched from the eaves of the shelter, hoping that there was food to be shared. A light rain pattered onto the pond and was caught in the light. Ducks splashed in puddles and their muffled quacks rang just above tapping of the water rain onto the water pond surface. Small moments, but important - enjoy the small stuff, it’s important.
Showing posts with label ponder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ponder. Show all posts
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Blueberry Garden Dreams
Yesterday it was the first day of visiting family, a whirlwind set of visits really. First it was a visit on a front porch with great coffee, after having a delightfully long sleeping-in morning time. Then a quick (perhaps the driver, who was not me, was speeding a bit) drive to a neighboring town for a lunch visit. After that, a stop to visit one set of grandparents, led to a visit with an aunt, uncle, and cousin. This was followed by a visit with the other set of grandparents, aunt, and cousin, and then dinner at a cemetery. I craved a nap around three which never occurred and enjoyed the day thoroughly.
I have to laugh at the themes that seem to have run commonly throughout the day, blueberries being one of them. At each stop blueberries seemed to come up as a topic of “brain food”. Apparently there has been some sort of recent scientific breakthrough on the importance of blueberries, which I have completely missed. Each group seemed to be laughing and discussing how they needed to remember to eat blueberries, kind of like people have joked about the need to remember to take ginko-biloba for memory. The thing I found funny is that it seemed to fit in every single conversation today at least once. How? I don’t know. I wonder if we are really running in these parallel and interlacing topic conversations all the time and just don’t stop talking long enough to listen and realize it, and enjoy it. The world got a little smaller.
The majority of the day was spent with one set of grandparents in particular. As a variety of health issues have kept them unable to visit us eight hours away, these are precious and a little bit sad times. They are precious because they run deep with memories and emotions, sad because every time I come the aging process can strike me when I least expect it. I walked my grandma’s beautiful yard today. She has so many flowers, snowball bushes that make the whole yard filled with a delicate fragrance and the most beautiful rusty red roses you have ever seen. I noticed how large the pine trees were, pine trees that I remember having branches cut off at Christmas when I was a little girl. Grandma would turn me loose with a pine branch, somewhat precariously arranged, in the living room to decorate. She would pull out all the old ornaments she could find and let me decorate it as I wished. There was no hint at going back and rearranging to suit a sense of balance on her part, but it was always something I felt she thought was beautiful just as it was. I have memories of family gatherings in the yard; summers spent smelling the snowball bush every time I walked out of the kitchen door. The memories were as fragrant as that bush and hit me with such a whoosh that I was grateful for the sunglasses hiding the rim of wetness in my eyes.
Finally it was a dinner at the cemetery. On the drive there, grandma shared a dream of all the flat roofed buildings being made into garden areas. She has such a green thumb and love of plants, that I can see how that would have been her dream long before green spaces became the popular thing to do. Sitting in the backseat, the conversation sound moved in and out, and I let myself drift away from that and think of the beauty of flattop roof gardens. Not just produce for restaurants that may be below, but think of how nice it would be step into a garden on a work break, or at a retirement center. Then, we passed the hospital, which is very large and very flat roofed, what a beautiful place that could be for patients and staff to rest and recuperate, either from a medical procedure or just from stress.
But, I mentioned dinner at the cemetery. That may sound strange to you, even a bit morbid. I can offer assurances that it is anything but that. We all showed up with lawn chairs, or a blanket, something to eat, and sat around and talked. There was some memory times being shared, photos, and even a poem and a song. There was laughter and there were tears wiped away. That’s okay; it’s a safe place to wipe those tears. Fears were shared of future ailments and difficulties being walked through in quieter tones as some moved short distances away to talk in the private. A little boy found an excellent climbing tree and took great delight in watching the branches sway above our heads. I sat at one point and listened to four different conversations going on around me, one about genealogy, another about pets, telling stories on children and family gatherings past, and another telling stories on siblings sitting right there. I laughed when I heard blueberries. I have lived away from my “home” long enough that I know that this will seem a strange thing, disrespectful in some circles and perhaps bordering on outrageous in others. It is healing though. I don’t grieve for the great grandmother, great uncle, or cousin buried there. I grieve for us who are left, the son without his mother, the three sisters who miss their mommy, the father and mother missing their daughter. It is okay to grieve them, it is okay to hurt. It is also okay to share our grief in a different way, celebrating not only their lives, but their legacy.
The legacy they leave us, of lessons taught, stories told, songs favored, favorites and dislikes are a powerful thing. Standing in the hallway of my grandparents’ home, I was reminded of one of the legacies they are leaving us – learning, family, memory making, and of course enjoying the beauty of life, be it snowball bush, child, or blueberry. It makes me think a little deeper, plan a little harder and a little more purposefully on what type of legacy I am leaving those around me.
I have to laugh at the themes that seem to have run commonly throughout the day, blueberries being one of them. At each stop blueberries seemed to come up as a topic of “brain food”. Apparently there has been some sort of recent scientific breakthrough on the importance of blueberries, which I have completely missed. Each group seemed to be laughing and discussing how they needed to remember to eat blueberries, kind of like people have joked about the need to remember to take ginko-biloba for memory. The thing I found funny is that it seemed to fit in every single conversation today at least once. How? I don’t know. I wonder if we are really running in these parallel and interlacing topic conversations all the time and just don’t stop talking long enough to listen and realize it, and enjoy it. The world got a little smaller.
The majority of the day was spent with one set of grandparents in particular. As a variety of health issues have kept them unable to visit us eight hours away, these are precious and a little bit sad times. They are precious because they run deep with memories and emotions, sad because every time I come the aging process can strike me when I least expect it. I walked my grandma’s beautiful yard today. She has so many flowers, snowball bushes that make the whole yard filled with a delicate fragrance and the most beautiful rusty red roses you have ever seen. I noticed how large the pine trees were, pine trees that I remember having branches cut off at Christmas when I was a little girl. Grandma would turn me loose with a pine branch, somewhat precariously arranged, in the living room to decorate. She would pull out all the old ornaments she could find and let me decorate it as I wished. There was no hint at going back and rearranging to suit a sense of balance on her part, but it was always something I felt she thought was beautiful just as it was. I have memories of family gatherings in the yard; summers spent smelling the snowball bush every time I walked out of the kitchen door. The memories were as fragrant as that bush and hit me with such a whoosh that I was grateful for the sunglasses hiding the rim of wetness in my eyes.
Finally it was a dinner at the cemetery. On the drive there, grandma shared a dream of all the flat roofed buildings being made into garden areas. She has such a green thumb and love of plants, that I can see how that would have been her dream long before green spaces became the popular thing to do. Sitting in the backseat, the conversation sound moved in and out, and I let myself drift away from that and think of the beauty of flattop roof gardens. Not just produce for restaurants that may be below, but think of how nice it would be step into a garden on a work break, or at a retirement center. Then, we passed the hospital, which is very large and very flat roofed, what a beautiful place that could be for patients and staff to rest and recuperate, either from a medical procedure or just from stress.
But, I mentioned dinner at the cemetery. That may sound strange to you, even a bit morbid. I can offer assurances that it is anything but that. We all showed up with lawn chairs, or a blanket, something to eat, and sat around and talked. There was some memory times being shared, photos, and even a poem and a song. There was laughter and there were tears wiped away. That’s okay; it’s a safe place to wipe those tears. Fears were shared of future ailments and difficulties being walked through in quieter tones as some moved short distances away to talk in the private. A little boy found an excellent climbing tree and took great delight in watching the branches sway above our heads. I sat at one point and listened to four different conversations going on around me, one about genealogy, another about pets, telling stories on children and family gatherings past, and another telling stories on siblings sitting right there. I laughed when I heard blueberries. I have lived away from my “home” long enough that I know that this will seem a strange thing, disrespectful in some circles and perhaps bordering on outrageous in others. It is healing though. I don’t grieve for the great grandmother, great uncle, or cousin buried there. I grieve for us who are left, the son without his mother, the three sisters who miss their mommy, the father and mother missing their daughter. It is okay to grieve them, it is okay to hurt. It is also okay to share our grief in a different way, celebrating not only their lives, but their legacy.
The legacy they leave us, of lessons taught, stories told, songs favored, favorites and dislikes are a powerful thing. Standing in the hallway of my grandparents’ home, I was reminded of one of the legacies they are leaving us – learning, family, memory making, and of course enjoying the beauty of life, be it snowball bush, child, or blueberry. It makes me think a little deeper, plan a little harder and a little more purposefully on what type of legacy I am leaving those around me.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Preparation
I can be a bit geeky at times. No really, I mean it! But, trip planning for me is normally the time to kind of let my inner geek have a field day. I blame it on all of those years of travel with my mother who diligently read the guide book to me, instructing me and insisting I had the history of each town we came to. But, for trips normally I have a three ring binder with all of the maps, confirmation numbers, contact information, location information, and budget information all neatly three hole punched and put together. A pocket that is also three hole appropriate normally resides in the back – or rather two. One for pens, pencils, sharpees and any other miscellaneous small item and another for receipts and perhaps the unwitting seed I might find and want to save.
As I prepare for a trip home, the preparation this time has been a bit different. Business of life has led me to gratefully rely on my mother, for this girl’s trip, to take care of all the minutia of planning. I know she has done a fabulous job and it has been an enormous stress relief for me. All I have to do is get some clothes, the camera of course, and various plant gathering tools thrown into the van between now and our departure. The preparation for a trip is part of the fun of a trip, as you build anticipation of what you will see and who you will get to catch up with.
My three ring binder will be staying at home this time... maybe.
As I prepare for a trip home, the preparation this time has been a bit different. Business of life has led me to gratefully rely on my mother, for this girl’s trip, to take care of all the minutia of planning. I know she has done a fabulous job and it has been an enormous stress relief for me. All I have to do is get some clothes, the camera of course, and various plant gathering tools thrown into the van between now and our departure. The preparation for a trip is part of the fun of a trip, as you build anticipation of what you will see and who you will get to catch up with.
My three ring binder will be staying at home this time... maybe.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Anticipation then Delight in the Gift
“Great are the works of the Lord; they are pondered by all who delight in Him.”
Psalms 111:2
Green, red, blue, silver, purple, shimmery, glittery, flowers, patterns, penguins, red hats, reindeer… all sorts of patterns are splashed across wrapping paper, which wraps up the gifts under the tree. Bows, ribbons, tags, and cards hold surprises to be enjoyed in just a few hours. Each gift has been carefully picked out or constructed with care, each card prepared with the right words and gently placed around the tree. Look at this with the eyes of a child and it becomes a wondrous vision of possibility, promise, and the anticipation of it all just builds and builds in their hearts. Then, the moment comes when gift opening begins and paper is ripped, torn, bows find new homes on playfully patted heads and sticky bow floral arrangements. The gift is seen and the excitement of the waiting is worth the gift that is now seen.
Mary had witnessed a gift being presented to her. Instead of a tree with packages, paper, ribbons, and bows; she had a life growing within her. But, I’m sure that with an auspicious start that the anticipation had only grown in Mary’s heart. Then, the baby was born – the eternal Son of God! Zechariah had seen an angel, been quieted for a time; and now a new baby greeted him – John. Joseph had been spoken to by God, had been chosen to be an earthly father by God the Father to His only son. A stable became a nursery and maternity suite for Mary. Shepherds had seen angels, visited the baby, and then told everyone they could about what had happened. I’m sure the entire town was buzzing about the story of this baby. Mary’s gift had been wrapped in her own womb, and then she gave birth. After all of the other events also occurred, Mary “treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart,” (Luke 2:19).
She took what had happened, all of what had happened and pondered them. To ponder is to think about, taking a topic in your mind and heart; turning it over and over, upside down, right, left, and right side up. Mused over, brooded over, deliberated, considered, contemplated, and mulled over by Mary were a reminder to her of the gift of God. How do we know that? She treasured all of these things in her heart. Think about something of great value to you, a treasure. Is it treated differently? Is extra care gone into cherishing this item, appreciating its value? Mary viewed these occurrences as treasures.
Merry Christmas to each one of you. I hope that as you go about your day today that you will have special reminders of the treasure of the gift of Jesus this Christmas.
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