A Pastime Much Like The Present

It's not a new statement that I continue to go through transition as a parent, as a wife, as an aging woman.  I was told awhile ago to come up with some hobbies, so far, one thing I've decided to pursue, is gardening.  I have always loved gardens - I visit them in almost every city (vacation) I go to if I'm permitted and indulged.  Unfortunately, I never know what plants and flowers to have in my own.  I think I can see myself tooling around with one of those little green carts. I can see myself taking tea and writing in a space I have created for rest and enjoyment. It's going to take some research and possibly more garden visitations to understand what I need to do, but it is a firm goal. Down the road I shall be a gardener like Samwise. Send all your tips and strategies to NY c/o The Old Acre.

I wonder, though, if gardening is actually an art that lives in the soul. Like writing.  Can you learn how to be a gardener, sure, but it is something that is innate?  Are all the best ones "naturals?"

I love that we are individually gifted.  Each person has special God given talents and we get to use those for encouragement and enjoyment.  There is nothing more affirming than when someone tells you, "You are so talented at ____" or "You have touched my life with _____." It's a compliment that starts at the surface and drip drops all the way to coat your soul.  Compliments that take a little time to digest are my favorite.  I'm not very good at accepting compliments initially, but you can bet, as only a writer can, I mull over your words until my brain and heart connect them, and then I'll smile, even though it might be 2 am.

You know what else I love?  That we can share with others the things with which we are gifted.  You can help me to understand gardening, or sports, or math.  The latter being fairly unlikely actually.  It is actually a very good bonding mechanism - sharing and learning - or it could totally ruin a relationship.  Tread carefully.  But truly it is a special experience to learn with someone who is gifted and passionate.

I'm a writer who hopes one day to become a gardener.  To walk among the things that you helped raise from a tiny seed.  It's like a second chance at motherhood; gardening brings out some of those same experiences, joys and woes.  Like your children, you know the seasons are temporary and you get to soak them up.  Your plants brighten your days and enhance your years.  Just like your kids you hope they will always come back. To your heart.

Chances Are

I believe that there are moments that change lives. Can you think of any?  Can you point back to a day that changed the arc of your life?  Maybe it's an event, maybe it's meeting a special person.

We live day by day in moments, spaces of time that mostly are not defining, in fact, they are usually pretty ho hum. But in every life there are specific seconds that change the journey.

Finding out I was going to become a mother was one such moment.  To say I was overwhelmed is an understatement, frankly I was certain I was too broken to be any good at this job.  I worried for months and then I worried through labor, which wasn't exactly short but was doable, and then I worried through pushing which was not short and was not doable.  When my peanut was finally handed to me, I knew there would be no end to worry.  And I knew I would forever be grateful.

Arriving in Utah in August of 2006 was heart wrenching, sending my mother home on a plane after our cross country drive was more than I felt I could bear.  The weight of loneliness ate through my heart day after day living in the west desert.  It was the very beginning of a molding process that would end with confidence and a strength I never knew was possible.  God really had a sovereign plan for this time in my life; He knew I had it in me all along because He put it there.  I would have never willingly chosen that path and I am grateful for a Father who has His hand upon my life.

Bringing home a pet seems simple and yet, it was a brand new experience that I never knew I needed.   I am such a pile of goo with this guy and as far as I'm concerned he can have anything he wants.  It's like being a Grandma in your thirties.  This baby son has mellowed me and Lord knows I need it.

You can't imagine the changes that come sweeping down through a life.  If we all knew what was coming we'd hide away never to see the sun or feel the falling leaves.  What a shame. Life cannot be predicted and that's a good thing,  for some of the best things in my life have been unplanned and sometimes, initially unwelcome.

Tomorrow has brand new moments.

Tomorrow has change.

Chances are something will change the trajectory of your life.

It's exciting, no?

Expressionless

I have a secret.

Buried deep in my heart is an ocean of words.

Can I tell you another secret?

Sometimes it is hard for me to express myself.

And it's the hardest usually when it's the most important.

I want to curl up with you and unburden my heart, but mostly I want to hold it all inside.  For all my words, for all my talking,  I often don't want to share.  Not with many people. Sometimes not with anyone.  

It has been an unusual week, the demands have proven to be too much and I mercifully succumbed this evening to quiet, candles, respite and tears. 

I can't exactly name my feelings for they are many.  To be asked, "What's the matter?" is ludicrous for I simply couldn't answer.  I can tell you a few things in specific but it is the larger, overwhelming picture that haunts me this night. 

I have too many responsibilities at my paid job.

I have too many responsibilities at my church job. 

I am pulled in too many directions everywhere I turn, and I resent it. Greatly. 

I have not recovered from the exhaustion of working so many hours coupled with a very quick road trip to Ohio to visit precious relatives, (some also from out of state), and then heading straight into a 12 hour inventory.  I was physically ill for a solid day, but it was worth it.  

My great aunt passed away and her funeral was Tuesday.  I can't stop thinking about it, and her.  I hope some nice things were said, and yet, I worry it was not entirely so.  Because the first thing anyone would ever say about her was, "She was downright mean."  A hard, hard women indeed, to the core, and I wish I knew the story of how it came to be.  Everyone has a story and people become what they live and what they endure.  She was the last surviving person in her family, and that in itself must be sad.  

My kids are at cousin camp and I received amazing pictures today of a fishing trip. The very first photo was of my aunt (in town for the funeral) and my two sons.  She had a big smile and looked so much like my Grandma that I instantly burst into tears. Followed was a photo of my grandpa with my sons.  He loves to fish and I love, love, that he is with them today.  He looks old; my heart cannot contain the love I feel, it slides down my cheeks unchecked and soaks my shirt.  I know that time is precious and my children will have this memory of him.  I'm grateful.

I'm a writer at heart, yet sometimes I can't explain.  Sometimes I just need you to know as you sit here with me in the quiet.  Look in my eyes, read the silence, and let it fall between us as the crickets sing outside the window, and the candle flickers into the summer night.