Archives for October 2012

31 Days in which I Am Saved by Beauty – Day 4

I walk in the evenings.
I walk in circles,
eighty-five paces to be exact,
eighty-five paces around my driveway,
round and round I go.
I count in decades,
and reverse every ten,
until I get to thirty-six,
which equals one mile
and a half.
I walk fast most of the time,
fast enough so as not
to be able to sing.
But every ten rounds,
I slow it down for two.
I am old, you see.
And I got scary sick a couple of  years ago.
I realized that to be well,
to be remotely close to well,
I needed to M-O-V-E.
So walking each day became
my place of commitment
to health.

And I began, very early on,
to connect one kind of health
with another. 
My circle-walking became my
primary time of prayer
each day.
I walk out the door,
and I say,
“So Lord, whose face will you
bring to mind today?
How can I join with you in 
the work of the kingdom tonight?”

And I say, “Thank you.”
Over and over again.
Thanks for the beauty of this place,
this home,
this town,
this part of the world.
These people I love,
this work I do,
this health I enjoy.
The green of the trees,
the pink light glinting on the 
foothills,
the setting sun and the shadows
it creates. 
And I breathe in the beauty.

I even force myself, from time to time,
to give thanks for these flowers.
These flowers that I do not like.
We have sixteen large bushes of these,
all down the fence at the side
and across the front of
our property.
Planted long ago by a previous
owner, I endure them. 

When their whiteness glistens in
the sunlight,
I say thank you.
But it is always a hedged thanks.
A constrained,
reluctant
gratitude.

These flowers are poisonous you see.
Every bit of this bush is poison
to human creatures.
Scratches fester,
eyes itch,
and if you eat one?
An immediate trip the ER.

Somehow that knowledge makes
these beautiful things
far less beautiful to me. 

And that is a good reminder,
especially as I jump into this
31-day-thing of celebrating beauty. 

Not all that is beautiful is good for me.
And I need grace, wisdom, 
and courage
to sort it out,
to be wise. 

Because wisdom is beautiful too, don’t you think?






The Long Unraveling: A Deeper Family

My husband as a newborn with his beautiful mother.

Today is my day to post over at A Deeper Family.
It is such a privilege to write in this space,
where honesty is encouraged,
and going deeper is invited.

The tension in the car is thick enough to choke on. My husband begins his litany of things-wrong-with-the-world, something he’s been doing with alarming frequency of late. It makes me tired. Long, loud sighs begin to whoosh from deep inside, as I sit next to him, at my perch behind the steering wheel. Finally, I decide to face into it more directly and ask, with the tiniest hint of superiority, “Can you tell me one thing you’re grateful for right now? Just one? All this negativity is exhausting.”
Silence.
We pull into the underground parking at the health facility where his mother now lives. She is 96-years-old, very frail, fading away like a mirage on a desert highway.
And this is the truth of it: we are waiting for her to die. There it is, in the harsh light of day, like brown, barren sticks in wintertime – we are waiting for her to die.
Perhaps that explains the litany, the sighs.
Twice each week, we make the 20-minute drive across town to sit with her at lunch, watching her not eat. Some days, we rouse her from a deep, gasping sleep. Some days, she is already awake. Always, we get the walker from across the room, remind her how to stand up, gently comb her hair and very slowly walk with her down the hall to the dining room. . . 


31 Days in which I Am Saved by Beauty – Day 3

It is dark as I begin.
I am an owl, a night owl,
so this early morning darkness
feels strange to my skin.
Yet it invites discovery.
I sense a secret, 
waiting to be unwrapped.

I gently close my lodge-room door,
walk down the lighted hallway,
the one on the outside
of the building,
searching the downward pathways,
the ones that take me past the art studio,
the gallery,
the large covered pergola,
the tennis courts.

I am hunting the jogging track.
One quarter mile,
circling through the brush,
winding a bit,
decorated with deer scat,
yet carefully tended and groomed.
Like everything else in this place,
a welcoming thing.

Slowly, the morning sun
makes itself known,
and as I reach the halfway
point of round four,
I stop for a moment 
on a bench, perfectly placed.

And this is what I see.
The darkness is fully rent now,
no more flash required,
that flash on my small pocket camera, 
the one that bounced back
at me,
reflecting only
trunks and branches.

Now I can see through them
to the river below,
almost out of sight,
down the grade.
The river that flows easily,
gracefully,
gently.
It does so in the light,
but also,
it does so in the dark.

In the feeble, clouded light of day,
I can see the path itself,

all of it – 
the edges,
the surroundings,
the general direction of things.
And somehow, 
it feels more real,
more solid,
more purposeful.

Yet nothing has changed.
The river,
the path,
the trees –
all of them are there
in the light and in the dark.

But sometimes it takes being in the dark
to fully appreciate the light.
Sometimes what seems hidden
in the dark
is not really hidden at all,
only veiled beauty, waiting
to shimmer in the light of day.

And sometimes we have to walk
the path when we’re not sure
where it is,
much less where it’s going. 



31 Days In Which I am Saved by Beauty – Day 2

The blessing of Moses over the land of Joseph:
“Blessed by GOD be his land:
The best fresh dew from high heaven,
and fountains springing from the depths;
The best radiance streaming from the sun
and the best the moon has to offer;
Beauty pouring off the tops of the mountains
and the best from the everlasting hills;
The best of Earth’s exuberant gifts,
the smile of the Burning-Bush Dweller.”
Deuteronomy 33:13-15 – The Message

Ah, this is a land blessed by God. The canyon edge 
does not a mountain make. Still, it pours beauty.
Fountains spring up from the depths and a river is born.
From far below the ground, tumbling from a secret place,
a hidden lake makes the Frio flow. 
Together, canyon and river, they wander these hills,
carving layers of pink and golden beige, 
encouraging cactus, wildflower, scrub brush. 

Standing on the edge, the sun sets behind you, 
and history shines up, right into your lens.
You remember that eons flowed, suns rose and set, 
the earth turned millions of times before you ever looked 
through that viewfinder.

Strange comfort, this feeling. Maybe the beauty, 
this shimmering, reflected glory, 
speaks to the grandness of God,
the faithfulness of stone, the stability of water. 
Maybe the whole idea of age is ludicrous 
in such a setting.  Three score and seven is a blink,
a sigh, a shift in the sandy soil at the bottom of
all 
that 
water. 








31 Days in which. . . I Am Saved by Beauty

At the end of it all, I am tired.
I am weary, to tell it true.
I wonder about so many things,
so many people,
so much pain,
confusion,
loss.

There are days when I am tempted
to lose heart.
To chuck it,
check out,
roll over and play dead.

And then . . .

I walk into a room
where I will be alone
for a few days.
And I sigh, deep.
I peer through the slats,
find greens and browns,
lines and curves,
light and shadow.
And I am stunned,
silent.

I hear water, 
moving over rocks.

Smell rain,
coming in the back door,
blowing, dancing,
playing with the sky.

I find welcome,
tables spread with goodness,
candles lit,
napkins ready,
bread fresh-baked.

I find row upon row of hand-thrown mugs,
colors of earth and sky,
ready,
for the taking,
for the warming.

And the sighs keep coming.
One of my mother’s 
greatest gifts to me —
the finding of beauty in both
the everyday gifts
and the  
once-in-a-great-while ones.

Like simple wild roses,
and cerise beauty-berries,

exotic and unusual
to this California
grandmother.

Solid, old hymns,
and newly-minted words,
all of it gifted
with excellence
and joy.

There is deep thinking,
hard questioning,
good learning —
about our brains
and our words,
and our faithfulness
to the gifts
given us.

And there is the turning-around
closing service,
chairs facing out over the glory,
beholding the Glory.
Because this is the heart of it all.
When we’re weary,
when we’re frightened,
when we wonder where next
to put our feet,
this is how we find the way.

We hear the words,
we say the words,
we see the words,
and we meet the Word.
We take the Word,
we share the Word,
and we remember.
We re-member.
We find food for the journey,
rest for the weary,
and hope for the world.

Giving thanks this night for time at Laity Lodge, whose location, hospitality, beauty and generosity are not to be matched. We were led by brilliant and creative teachers – Professor, researcher and author Dr. John Medina; author and film critic Jeffrey Overstreet;  publisher and editor, John Wilson; author and priest, Lauren Winner; Professor, poet and essayist Julia Kasdorf; musicians extraordinaire, Ashley Cleveland and Kenny Greenburg.

And with this post, beginning a 31 day exploration of a famous Tolstoy quote which has haunted me for the last three years, since it was given to me by my spiritual director as we began our time together. Somehow, these seven words (“The world will be saved through beauty.”) have spoken to deep places in me and I’d like to explore those a little, with photos, words, quotes, scripture, prayer. It’s not all mapped out, but I believe we’ll get there just the same. Kind of like life.

Joining with The Nester and the 1000 (YES, ONE THOUSAND other bloggers who have taken up the gauntlet and will write every day for the month of October. Go on over there and check it out if you don’t believe me.

And I cannot leave this particular post without saying specific words of thanksgiving for the people with whom I was privileged to live, eat, work, think, talk and worship this past weekend. Here are a few of them:

From left to right-Dena Dyer, Sheila Lagrand, Michelle DeRusha, Deidra Riggs, Nancy Owens Franson, Sandra Heska King, Amanda Johnston Hill, me. (with Shelly Miller and Marilyn Yocum at the table just behind this one.)
Shelly Miller of Redemption’s Beauty and Amanda Hill of Hill+Pen
Marcus Goodyear – our faithful Senior Editor at The High Calling 
and his henchwoman, Deidra Riggs.
A whole bunch of The High Calling bloggers – we were about 1/3 of the total number of 
participants in this magnificent weekend.
Megan Willome and Dena Dyer, former neighbors, native Texans,
brilliant writers, great people.
Cindee Snider Re (Breathe Deeply) and Marilyn Yocum, one from Wisconsin, 
the other from Ohio,
fabulous human beings, creative lovers of beauty.
Amanda Hill, Shelly Miller, Michelle DeRusha (Graceful) and Sheila Seiler Lagrand (Godspotting). DO YOU SEE HOW BLESSED I AM?
IF YOU EVER HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY TO COME TO LAITY LODGE IN THE HILL COUNTRY OF TEXAS,
MAKE EVERY EFFORT TO GET YOURSELVES THERE.
IT’S NOT EASY, BUT IT IS SO, SO GOOD.
THEY OFFER A WIDE VARIETY OF RETREAT EXPERIENCES THROUGHOUT THE YEAR.
YOU CAN CHECK IT OUT
Sharing with Michelle, Ann, Jen, Laura Boggess & LL Barkat tonight:

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