On returning from vacation...

It was perfect, I said

Every day was wonderful

I almost didn’t mind coming home

The time away was somehow complete

Now I’ve had time to reflect

On what made this trip to Jackson

So much more enjoyable and relaxing

Than any vacation I’ve had in a long time

I believe I may have

Figured it out—or at least

I think I have some insight into

What made this visit extraordinary

It’s a new way of seeing

Seeing with the eyes of the heart

Enjoying the possibility of each day

Living each moment to the very fullest

Living in my daughter’s space

Drinking morning coffee from her mug

Leisure walks through her neighborhood

Sleeping each night between her Toy Story sheets

Following Joanie (she's a lawyer)

From courtroom to judges chambers

Sitting across from her desk in her office

Talking—children, memories, things of the heart

Drinking coffee on the stoop

With Mom Perkins in her scooter

Laughing and enjoying abundant roses

My nieces running to do Grandma’s bidding

Reunion with friends

Watching Lisa and Jubilee

My mentor and teacher now

Offering her wisdom to my child

There’s more—more of family

And eating and shopping and friends

Krispy Kremes, E&L’s, Hal & Mals, and

Turning 60 among friends at Burgers and Blues

And now I sit and smile

And know that I am changed

That seeing with the heart is really

Seeing God and all His gifts more clearly

After a week in Jackson, Mississippi, April 2012

Ode to the Cabin: A Psalm of Nancy

Oh cabin

Place on earth so treasured

Place of fish and fire

Of green and blue

A simple offering

Of rustic walls

Of faith and renewal

Of freedom and play

Keeper of memories

Of laughter and tears

Of wailing in pain

Of hope restored

Balm for the spirit

Of longing and loss

Of belly laughs and beer

Of nights by the fire

A cathedral like none

Altars made of stone and tears

Our favorite place on earth.

April 2012

I decided to add this reflective paragraph that I wrote while sitting by the pond last weekend. It gives some insight into the history of the cabin's place in the lives of me and my children.

Father, my heart is full and overflows through my eyes as I dwell in your love and care--for creatures great and small, and for this widowed mother of three, whose lover is buried in Mississippi clay but whose soul speaks to mine in the plot of land that is the cabin. Even now, fourteen years later, I close my eyes and see him sitting by the island, white bucket of Mississippi night crawlers by his chair, his youngest daughter by his side; his son and first daughter manning their own rods for the blue gills Dad has taught them how to land.

I am so full it's ridiculous!

Waiting for the other shoe to drop

I sit in quiet in my favorite chair

and hear you tell my heart of blessed peace

and still I worry about not worrying

jaded by loss and hardship

having heard the previous clunk of pain

dropped into my lap

I await what seems inevitable—

I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When in reality

my heart is filled with peace

a gift of grace from an attentive Father

to his child; and I bring to you this

senseless anxiety—this shoe which may or may not drop

and choose instead to

inhabit the cheerful tranquility

of a Father’s promise for peace this day.

I’ve been thinking about how easy it is to be caught in a web of fear and anxiety. That even when there’s no cause for concern, I worry about the absence of worry. I read this morning that God’s peace is a daily gift into our lives, not unlike the manna given to the children of Israel in the wilderness—enough for one day.

This phrase of waiting for the other shoe to drop, kept recurring in my thoughts. It comes from the late 19^th and early 20^th century, when laborers lived in stacked apartments with little insulation. A neighbor above would come home late, remove a shoe and drop it with a thud, waking the sleeping tenant below, who now awake, would lie there waiting for the other shoe to drop. It is has come to imply awaiting a seemingly inevitable event, usually undesirable.

So even though I’ve asked my Father for peace, and He has so graciously given me His peace, there are days or moments when my eyes can’t see or I cannot know, and I hunker down and wait for the other shoe to drop. And it seems more likely that this pall falls over me when good things happen; as if I doubt the promise of good gifts. Well, like most mental considerations, it takes a choice to believe and dwell in peace. This day I choose peace, and fortunately, it’s not dependent on anybody’s shoes.

Dwell in Possibilities...

On my April calendar there’s a saying by Macrina Wiedekehr, a wonderful contemplative whose readings I’ve come to appreciate.

I stand before what is

And dwell in possibilities.

This beautiful sentence holds so much. As a realist, possibilities are not usually a part of my life vocabulary. But I am drawn to this phrase, and hope to discover some of what it has to offer.

Sitting in quiet in my daughter’s apartment recently, I was drawn to the moment-to-moment beauty of this phrase. As I encounter each moment, I have the opportunity or possibility to turn away or to engage, to wound or to encourage, to be false or true, to withdraw or to show love.

As I stand before what is—God’s extravagant love and grace, I want to live and move and have my being in that reality, and in each moment seize the possibility that flows from that experience of love.