The Gift Of Hope

Sharing another post from Christmas past, this one from two years ago. It speaks to our world today even more than it did back then. Enjoy!

There is a picture hanging on the wall of my bedroom that has hung in every bedroom of every house or apartment I've lived in for the past 25 years. The picture is called In Disgrace, and it shows a little girl of about 3 standing in the naughty corner with her loyal puppy sadly at her feet waiting for her to be reprieved. It was given to me by my youngest daughter, now 43, who spent a good deal of her young life in that same position, only her puppies were imaginary friends. Her favorite line to her pretend puppies was," I hope she doesn't forget us here."

Hope is powerful. As long as we have hope, there is no one and nothing that can stop us from believing that there is another way. I have to admit that of all the gifts  I have written about this month, this one was the hardest to do. It is hard to hold on to hope when all of the news is so bad. Every day when we turn on the TV or log on to the computer we are greeted with another tragedy, another horror, another example of man's inhumanity to man. But somewhere in the back of my mind is a saying passed on to me during some crisis in my life that came to me as I sat down at my desk this morning: "As long as the sun comes up tomorrow, there is always hope ... and the sun always comes up tomorrow, so there is always hope." I would add to that a line from that wonderful movie, The Last Best Exotic Marigold Hotel: "It will all work out in the end, and if it hasn't worked out yet, then it's not the end."

The sun will come out tomorrow, and with that gift, we can do anything. Wishing you and yours a wonderful holiday filled with love, joy, and the hope for a better world for everyone. It's time to start writing a new story.

And so it is.

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree!

I finally got my little woodland Christmas tree up and decorated with the able assistance of my 5 year-old great-grandson who told me he liked it because it was little like him (a very astute observation from one so young). I especially like this one because although it is artificial, it has white flocking on it to imitate snow on its branches. It looks exactly like some little tree one might come across on a hike in the winter woods.

We started out with real trees when I was just about my great-grandson's age but switched to artificial trees a few years later when my mother, tired of cleaning up pine needles all over the floor and crawling under the tree to put water in the tree stand, decided that it was more cost-effective and less labor intensive to have a fake one. Little did she know that the fake ones required hours of trying to color coordinate the correct branches in the correct order. Lucky for her she had excited little helpers to delegate that job to! 

The tradition of putting up Christmas trees indoors originated in Europe around the 16th century. They were often decorated with berries, fruits and other natural ornaments. It probably followed on the heels of some pagan tradition prior to Christianity. It would certainly have been a symbol of how not everything dies in winter. The green needles would have been a colorful way of keeping spirits up during those cold winter nights. After Christmas, it would continue to give back by turning into firewood!

I do not have to bring a live tree into my home to receive the benefits of looking at a symbol of life continuing through the winter. I have only to look out of my window at a magnificent representative next door. It must stand at least 60 feet or more, which scares the life out of me when it waves back and forth in a really bad storm, but which fills me with hope on those days when it feels as if Spring will never return. I think this is one of Mother Nature's best creations yet!

Here's hoping your winter is filled with love, warmth, color and the promise of our inevitable return to Spring.

And so it is. 

Divine Inspiration

Okay, I have to come clean with you folks. I usually wake up on a Monday morning with at least a vague idea of what I'm going to write about this week. I even sometimes get an inspired thought during the week leading up to Monday and jot it down so I won't forget it. This morning, however, I woke up and knew the minute I realized what day it was that I didn't have even a tiny idea of what I was going to write about today. As the saying goes, "I got nothin'."  So I did what I usually do when this happens ... I seek out Divine Inspiration.

First I whipped out the slip of paper with a writer's prayer on it that I borrowed from writer, author, and psychologist Robert Holden:

Writer's Prayer

I am a pencil in God's hands.

I am here to write love letters from God to everyone in the world.

God is ready to write and, therefore, so am I.

I sit patiently before God and listen for the thoughts of God.

I ask God to remove any imagined blocks to writing now.

I find it easier than expected to write because God does the work.

All I do is listen,

and take notes,

and enjoy the process.

So I did. I sat patiently. And I listened. And this is what I heard: "Open the curtains and look outside." I had drawn the curtains because it was a cold, blustery day outside and I was adding another layer of warmth to the room by keeping the curtains closed. Now I opened them wide and looked ... I mean, really looked. This is what I saw:

• The same grey, dreary, socked-in cloudy sky that has plagued us for days parted for just a moment, like the Red Sea, and a sliver of blue sky peeked out, releasing a pearly pinkish-white ray of sunshine that spotlighted the roofs of the houses across the street. It was the kind of light that made you think of angels.
• I saw the little grey squirrel on the roof across the way who is valiantly trying to reclaim his home from the angry birds who drove him off last Spring. Now that they have raised their kids and moved on, my squirrel (I have named him Pip after a children's story I've been working on), has started to move back in, tossing out the used straw and carrying nuts and bits of this and that to store up for the winter. I'm glad to have him back. I've missed his antics.
• Several crows are screeching around and around overhead. I have no idea what they are so excited about. Did you know that even though, to us, all crows sound alike, the truth is that they can pick out the call of their mate from all the others? And that they always remember a face? Maybe today is the day I'll look up that blog about crow language that I always wanted to check out.
• The geese are at it again. There is a small flock that doesn't leave for the winter like the rest. They must live nearby at a farm where they will have good shelter and food all winter. Every morning they head out for the river a few blocks from here and hang out, only to return when the sun begins to set. I guess to them it's true that "there's no place like home." 
• Two blue jays are playing tag, darting in and out of the branches of that huge pine tree outside. How they make those tiny maneuvers through the branches without getting hurt is a miracle.

It never fails. Mother Nature teams up with God and puts on a show for me every day. I watch in amazement at the courage, agility, and beauty of creation and end up asking myself: How can I show up today as the best version of myself for the world? And usually, with a little luck and patience, the answer comes. 

So this is my love letter to the world today. May your clouds part to let in the angelic light of hope. May you find and embrace your place of belonging. May you hear the words of a loved one in your ear today, and may you find time to play with joy and childlike trust. 

And so it is. 

A Measure Of Time

Yesterday I was part of an interesting conversation in my Adult Sunday School Class about how people used to measure time before the invention of modern methods like clocks and calendars. Most of us agreed that the concept of time and how to measure it most always involved something in nature as the measuring stick, be it the moon, the tides, or the signals in nature that announced a change of season. Depending on where in the world people lived, folks living in desert countries might measure time quite differently than folks living in the mountains or at the North Pole! 

Native American and other indigenous people measured time by the cycles of the moon, a change in the air, the way plants and trees went through their own process from season to season, how the animals behaved, and a host of other ways that Mother Nature provided to guide living things from one year to the next. They took the time to stand still and follow the stars.

It seems like only yesterday that we were carving pumpkins and soaking in the beautiful Autumn colors. Suddenly it is all gone, at least in my part of the world, where the trees are now stripped bare and the leaves are laying under what's left of our first real snow of the season. The parades are over and people everywhere are ending November with the same question: "What am I going to do with all these leftovers?"  And then, of course, there's Black Friday, Cyber Monday, and the Christmas season comes rushing at us full force whether we like it or not.

This year I decided to go back to the way my ancestors did things. I am not running around trying to fit into someone else's schedule of what I should do, and when. I am slowing down and letting nature guide me. I am watching the skies for the geese, keeping an eye on the behavior of my squirrel neighbors, taking note of the recently frenzied behavior of the crows that live nearby (what do they know about the coming winter that we don't?), and feel the seasons. I am not fighting crazy mobs of shoppers. I am visiting the small, local shops in my area for my gifts this year. I am not rushing to decorate for Christmas. My inner knowing will tell me when it is the perfect time to hang the holly and bring out my little woodland tree to decorate. I am returning to natural time, nature's time, God's time. 

So while I wait, I think I will pull out my yarn and needles, and let my fingers guide me as I listen to the cacophony of honking that is flying across the sky, and the cries of the crows trying to tell me what I need to know. After all, they don't need a calendar to tell them which way to go.

And so it is. 

A Season Of Giving

And so it begins. In kitchens across the country, pies are being baked, ingredients for the family stuffing are being gathered, and cooks are making one last rush to the grocery store for that one item they need to "make the meal. Thanksgiving is upon us.

In other kitchens around the country, those housed in churches and community centers, the same agenda is being played out only on a much bigger scale. The "Season Of Giving" is here. Millions of free Thanksgiving meals will be served to those who would not otherwise have one. Baskets of food, all the fixings for a Thanksgiving meal, are being sent out to homes who cannot afford to make their own. In parking lots outside of grocery stores and Walmarts everywhere, turkeys are being donated in record numbers, loaded up and taken where they are needed. Pantries are filled to the top with canned and packaged, non-perishable items to give to those whose own pantries would otherwise remain bare. Harvest season is meant to be more than just for harvesting the bounty of the earth. It is about sharing that bounty with others.

This last Sunday I watched as dozens of men, women and children carried bag after bag of donated food items up the main aisle of our church sanctuary and placed them in front of the altar. There were easily 100 bags of food. Much of what was donated would go to towards the Thanksgiving dinner the church was serving on Thanksgiving Day, as well as to restock the stores needed to continue our weekly Shepard's Supper, held every week all year long. For this church, the "Season Of Giving" is every season.

I often find myself being of two minds at this time of the year. On the one hand, it is a beautiful sight to see people give so freely to those in need, to sacrifice time and money to help others have a nice holiday season. On the other hand, I ask myself where many of these good-intentioned folks are the rest of the year. The Season Of Giving is every season, all year long. While the holidays are a way to remind people that a good way to be thankful for what they are blessed to have in their own lives is by giving to others, I wonder if we might be able to come up with a way to keep that idea going all year long. Winter is almost here and promises to be a long and cold one. Hunger and need doesn't stop after Christmas.

Maybe we can find it in our hearts to donate one of the many gift cards we might get as Christmas presents this year to a church or service agency to purchase food, hats, mittens, and other much needed items during the year ahead. Maybe we can pick up a few extra cans of soup at the grocery story each week and drop it off at a soup kitchen. Maybe we can spend the long, cold months of winter knitting or crocheting blankets and sweaters to give to those in need. Maybe we can donate our kids outgrown-but-usable clothing to a clothing center. 

The Season of Giving is every season, all year long. The best part about giving is that in giving, we receive as well. We receive the knowledge that someone, somewhere is a little better off because of us. You can't buy that kind of gift at Amazon. May the peace and blessings of this Thanksgiving be yours as well.

And so it is. 

Mother Nature's Last Hurrah

I woke this morning to the first hard freeze of the season. Even though we have had a few snow showers already, it was too warm for it to stick around. This morning, however, the grass had that freezer-burn look, and the rooftops shone with white crystals that glittered in the sun. The temperature said 25 with a wind chill of 23. This comes on the heels of a nasty rain and windstorm that hit us the other day, stripping the more fragile trees bare of the few  beautiful leaves it had left. My favorite tree, the one with the golden leaves that I can see from the window when I sit on the love seat to read, was particularly hard hit. One minute it was glorious against the sky, the next it was bare and looking lonely. However, maybe it's all in how you look at it. 

I always like to think of the beauty of autumn as Mother Nature's last hurrah before everything goes gray and dark for the winter. It takes a certain amount of courage and belief in one's self to go out in a blaze of glory. Sure, spring can be spectacular in its own right, and summer is no slouch, either, but autumn pulls out all the stops. The reds are deeper. The oranges are bolder. The yellows are brighter, and the sun spotlights all of creation like a beauty queen on a pageant stage. If you have to let it all go, I say do it with gusto and glory!

I like to think that when it's time for us to move on to the next chapter in our lives, we can take a page from Mother Nature's playbook and go out in style. "Do not go quietly into that good night," as the poet said.  I don't know about you, but when it's time for me to move on, I plan to go out in living technicolor and surround sound! 

And so it is. 

To Soar With Eagles

If you've been a fan of this blog for the last few years, you know that I have been following the lives of two beautiful bald eagles living in Decorah, Iowa, as part of The Raptor Project. This educational group installs cameras in different locations around the country that allow us to experience these beautiful creators up close and personal. I have been following this particular pair since 2007, watching them bring 30+ new little lives into the world as they restore the population of bald eagles that for a time was in danger of extinction.  

So why, you might ask, do I spend time staring at a computer screen at two very large birds as they go about their business? Because I have always found that studying our animal relations in their natural habitats teaches us how to be better humans. Because as we watch them go through all of the same challenges that we do, although often in different forms, we come to understand our connectedness with our world and everyone in it. They all go out there every day and work to build and maintain their homes, raise, feed and protect their families, and ward off the predators that would threaten their way of life. I have watched them survive snow storms, having the tree that holds their nest blown down in a gale, watched them rebuild their home and their lives, survive the death of one mate and the beginning  of a new life with another, laughed at the antics of the fuzzy bits of feathers that baby eagles start out as only to be amazed at how fast they grow, and how soon they leave the nest after only a few months. Year after year they come back to the same nest, make the needed repairs, lay their eggs, and bring forth new life. They are the most devoted parents I've ever seen, never leaving the eggs or the chicks unattended. Dad will even bring Mom food when the little ones are newborn and she needs to spend the majority of her time with them, although Dad gladly takes his turn sitting and woe to anyone or anything that comes even remotely close - his prowess with a wing slap is legendary and deadly! 

No matter what is going on in my life at any given time, good or bad, just knowing that I can tune in and watch the dedication, courage and perseverance of these creatures gives me hope. They do what they were put here to do, never complaining, never wanting more, never comparing themselves to other eagles, and the best examples of parenting I've ever seen. Yep, watching them gives me hope. That hope was almost shattered at the end of last season when the original Dad eagle disappeared, and was presumed dead, most likely having been ganged up on by other eagles (they are very territorial - a lot like some humans I know). Eagle parents do not leave their chicks and mates unless they are injured or dead as it is simply not in their nature (a lesson in monogamy and parental responsibility?). All of the thousands of us who follow these eagles rejoiced this year when we saw that Mom had allowed a new male to come into the nest and help her make repairs for the new little ones to come. Thankfully the story will continue. Yep, they give me hope.

We go on, folks, we go on. Through all the storms of our lives, we go on. That's what we were put here to do, and those who would come after us are counting on that. 

By the way, I'm not the only one in this household who follows the eagles. Here are some shots of my fur babies enjoying the views:

Charlotte is learning all about nest building here.

Laura is wondering if they are somehow related since they share the same coloring.

And so it is!