Look for the gifts. . .

Several hours ago I put a homemade frozen dinner in the microwave for lunch before mowing the lawn. While it heated, I made the mistake of taking something to the garage to put away. I ended up cleaning the garage; a job that needed doing but not necessarily today. I try to look for God's purpose in all things, particularly the unexpected. Sometimes it is very clear and others, not so obvious. Today I realized that it is getting more comfortable for me to be in Bob's "spaces" for longer periods of time. (It's true what 'they' say; that grief does not go away but we gradually learn how to experience once again the full realm of other feelings simultaneously. Or, as I like to say, "along side of it.")

As I sorted, rearranged, swept and vacuumed, I was flooded with warm memories. The story of our lives unfolded in front of me as I noticed grandparents' tools and other items that had once belonged to grandparents and parents. The most vivid recollections, though, were triggered by the paint drippings and, in some cases, old spills. The paint trail is a tell-tale sign of the many projects that were 'born' in that garage over the years. The John Deere green and yellow are the more recent 'drippings.' Some splotches that go back 20+ years are the silver & blue from a Jr. Prom project that was assembled there. (Although...I don't believe those colors got there by accident.)

That has been my unexpected gift for today. The Gift of the Garage, I shall call it. Just think, we can just as easily miss those gifts. One way we miss them, of course, is by proclaiming ourselves "too busy." Another way would be to require such perfection that those symbolic 'biographies' are quickly erased because we look upon them as blemishes. I, for one, am so very thankful to have learned to recognize their poignant value as they were happening.

The gifts are there. We just have to look for them.

A good day. . .

There is nothing quite like the peace one feels having spent several hours outside in the company of lilacs phasing out, lily of the valley phasing in and an old dog. Such is life.

I worked on some more edging and was happy to see that after a little churning of the old mulch, I won't need to replace nearly as much as I thought. Very tenderly, I pruned dead branches out of the old fashioned rose bush that came from the farm. Bob's mother called it "seven sisters." I rescued a few lambs ear plants that had spread out into the grass. The loose sod that comes from edging works good for filling in bare spots here and there. The yard is vast and there's a lot to do but it is one of the pastimes I enjoy the most.

I would say this has been a good day. There is always, always something to be thankful for.

New Year's resolution. . .

My resolution for the new year, 2010, will be: to remember that life is surprisingly very uncomplicated because there is only one focus that is necessary, which is God. If we *always* focus on God, surrender to His will instead of our own and remember that God is good (even when His answer is 'no'), then His grace is sufficient in all things. And that is all we need to know. Surrender to win.

Anniversaries of the heart. . .

On this, our 45th wedding anniversary - Bob's and mine, I am thinking of the words to a hymn, referring to marriage:

"Wherever you go I shall go.

Wherever you live so shall I live.

Your people will be my people,

and your God will be my God too.

Wherever you die I shall die

and there shall I be buried beside you.

We will be together forever,

and our love will be the gift of our life."

~~~

Anniversaries mark all sorts of life's events but those I hold most dear are the secret anniversaries of the heart.

Tis a gift to be simple. . .

There is nothing quite so refreshing to the soul as time spent alone in quiet observation of the simple things in life. Children have this capacity quite naturally but I think all too often the practice gets lost as the years go by. As adults, we sometimes tend to lose control of how our time is spent and only when we begin to reach the end of our time here do we realize how misplaced our priorities have been. These words come to mind: "Life is what's happening while we're busy doing other things." I think it is a real blessing if we have learned this, early on.

Every late afternoon - early evening, it was Bob's and my custom to make the rounds, as we called it. We visited every single growing thing on our property, commenting on the growth process (or lack thereof), shared our feelings of awe for the beauty of nature that surrounded us and talked about life, in general. I don't think I can recall our ever making those rounds without one or both of us being moved to near tears due to the significance and splendor of it all. We would often wonder, aloud, how it could be possible for anyone to believe these marvelous intricacies evolved by any other means than through God's handiwork.

I think those walks were instrumental in laying the groundwork for the faith that sustained both of us during Bob's illness and the faith that sustains me now. By God's grace, I still make the rounds but the conversations are in the silence of my heart.

Amen.

Clementi strikes again. . .

Clementi, the cat, mighty hunter, strikes again! Fall is officially here. I don't care what the calendar says. I know this, not only because the chipmunks are scurrying about with their little cheek pouches crammed full but also because there has been evidence of home invasion by deer mice. You know the signs - "chocolate sprinkles" here and there. This morning a mouse corpse had been strategically placed where I would be sure to notice. It's still there, in fact. That's because I have taken the liberty to declare DRD (Dead Rodent Detail) to be an inappropriate task to begin any day with. One has a right to have breakfast first. Coffee, at least. However, I always do take the time to feed Clementi's ego by praising a good job done. He'll be preening himself all day now.

The battle of the mice. . .

The following is an entry I made on a different blog back in January. I haven't forgotten the experience nor do I expect I ever will. I think it is worthy of repeating:

Sunday, January 18, 2009

The Battle of the Mice. . .
Thoreau has nothing on me. . .He had ants -- I have mice.Someday I should write a book about my adventures with mice! I didn't think the experience of being startled awake by feeling one running around on me with my cat, Clementi, in hot pursuit could be topped. Runner up is the small corpse under the Christmas tree which I mistakenly took for a fallen ornament. Then there's the piece of wicker I picked up off the floor. When it didn't feel quite right, I remembered the tailless mouse I had tossed into the woods the previous day. Well, this morning's harrowing experience is definitely the "topper."First of all, let me say how much I look forward to what I call my "meditation baths." (You know where this is going, don't you?) I fill the room with fragrance, the tub with bath beads, bubbles, soothing vaporizer and very hot water. Then I settle in for a time of meditation and, most importantly: spiritual listening. Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor!? Why else would a mouse drop out of nowhere right into my bath water, swim circles around me in its attempt to scramble on top of me? Preferring not to become the rodent's island of safety, I yelled, I screamed, I hollared while trying desperately to get to my feet. I slipped and slid in all directions. Soap, books, tub toys and washcloths flew everywhere; my Daily Bread devotional right into the water.When I finally landed on the floor, slammed the shower door closed and regained my composure (as much as could be expected), I wrapped a towel around my soapy body, stood on the toilet and ever so cautiously peeked over the tub door. There was "Pepino" drifting contentedly, smack-dab in the center of my mesh bath scrungie. It occurred to me how mouse and make-shift raft resembled a lavendar sunflower, if there were such a thing. "I'll fix you," I said aloud, as I gingerly poked my arm in to pull the plug.When the water had drained out, I lifted Clementi so he could take a look. At first Clementi didn't see the mouse because it was well camoflauged as it nestled in the suds of the scrungie. The mouse held very still -- as though its life depended on it. I grew impatient waiting for it to move and catch the cat's attention so I began throwing things at it. First the yellow duck, then the blue fish. It moved . . . Clementi came to attention . . . I threw the cat into the tub and closed the glass door. The chase was on. But it didn't end there. Mouse escaped with cat close behind. I lost track and have no idea what the outcome was. Whether the mouse is still hiding somewhere or if it has become a prize trophy for me to find sooner or later. Preferably sooner. I would much rather find these things with my sense of sight rather than sense of smell.There must be a country-western song somewhere in this. You know, as in "The Squirrel Went Berzerk in the First Baptist Church." Maybe ... "Ever Since my Cow Died, It's Been Raining Mice Instead of Cats and Dogs."
Posted by Dorothy at 9:52 AM