Foggy landing-happy homecoming

My week away came to a heavy, jolting halt as the pilot seemed to brake sharply to slow the plane down. The air craft dropped so fast. Discomfort faded away to relief at being home when we realized that we had sailed through a blanket of fog so thick that we were almost diverted back. Safely on land in the early minutes of the young day, the fog enveloped us in a cosy world.

I was glad to be home and enjoyed the unusual experience of being missed. It was a challenging week which started when one of our flights was delayed and after a further two delays, our last flight was cancelled. It was a day so long that my feet ached despite my comfortable chunky shoes. Relieved to find a hotel, my colleagues and I faced the prospect of spending another day in the clothes we were wearing. I recalled what I had written about delayed flights and mislaid bags last week and resolved to be calm and stoical.

All our bags did arrive the next day when we deplaned at Fargo and although late, we were able to join our class whose main participants were police officers. A week so disruptive of normal routine moved me from my comfort zone; but I gained greater insight into domestic violence from many perspectives. I saw Moorhead through its food as we visited different eating places twice daily. We had little time or energy to sightsee although we did visit a Burlington coat factory. We worked solidly through the week and to keep us engaged, every class-member had a presentation on Friday. So we were all looking forward to being home. Fortunately, on Friday night, the decision was made to land and I was able to enjoy my day at home.

After sleeping in all morning, I left with David and Philip to mow the lawn of our elder brother while his arm heals. We had good fun and a great meal. Afterwards, I read a book and when I returned home, trimmed the roses and went for a two mile walk around our division admiring the carefully tended gardens. My best activity today was talking: to my three brothers, my sisters-in-law, and my neighbor. We connected in a look, a word, in laughter. So I am thankful that I’m home and tomorrow will offer special thanks for the blessing of the family.

Planting and Packing clothes

In forty-five minutes, it will be another day of rest as we wait in God’s presence and experience the icy patches of our hearts being melted by forgiveness, our minds being renewed with different thoughts and our spirits quickened with new resolve.

Tomorrow, I will need to take the Sabbath with me as I stand barefoot in impatient lines or squeeze past harried flyers trying to find their seats. How can I remain serene if my flight is delayed or luggage mislaid? Particularly when today was spent in a circuit of activities. I took my brother for his commitment, went to Charleston, then to the shops in Nitro before coming home to plant the many plants I bought from my idyllic nursery visit last week

Plants rooted, I changed into evening clothes, rushed to Dunbar to meet my brother before returning to Charleston for a party that was over. To salvage the evening we went for a Chinese meal . I have not finished my packing because I cannot decide what to take: woolens or cottons, suits or casual, skirts or trousers., red or navy.
I feel that the energies expended in making this decision should be saved for momentous situations but still I hesitate and ponder.

So this Saturday, I feel flustered and harried and I won’t be in Church to-morrow but I know God has loved me this week and has looked out for me. I know as Lord of the Sabbath, He transcends time and place. Whenever, I can find time to worship in celebration, He attends with new wine. I am filled, I am blest. I am at rest in His peace.

Dancing and greenhouse joy

Last night I went to a dance-a-thon, a fund-raising event for KISRA It was fun. Each dance was preceded by instructions so everyone could learn. It provided a good example that even if everyone is given the same opportunity, results would vary. Some folk after the briefest of instructions glided along like Fred Astaire, instinctively knowing when to twist, twirl and turn. Most enjoy it after a few practice runs. I get most of he moves but the turns elude me. I love dancing. Watching dozens of dances swaying in unison is like looking at fields of daffodils dancing in the wind; sheer poetry in motion. I took my two left feet home early after adding to my bucket list: Learn to dance before arthritis comes to stay.



I picked up my brother from work and as Captain D was still opened, I had a meal there for the first time ever. We waited for our meal but were gratified to know that although we had ordered different menus, our food was freshly cooked. My grilled fish was delicious, fried okra crisp and corn on the cob tender. My brother enjoyed his fixed meal too. So we went home replete and refreshed and ready for the weekend.

This morning, Philip came for David to visit Leon. David invited me but I thought that brothers benefit with time alone. Besides, I was offered a trip to a nursery along many miles of winding farm roads. I really did take note when the sign said 10mph. Nevertheless, the trip was perfect. Clear sunny skies, cushioned flooring and a village of greenhouses with plants: annuals and perennials, common and exotic, some just for ground cover, others decorative bushes.

This year, I’ve splurged on scented rose bushes. The great news is that I can keep the roses in their pots if they are watered and fed. I hope this works. Of course, I couldn’t resist some other plants too like a peppermint flower that smells like mint but mainly I selected those with varying shades of blue to purple. I can hardly wait to compose the different hues and textures into interesting and vibrant displays.

But I did wait because my brother who is recovering from brain surgery wanted to borrow my car like old times. He drove to the shops and bought what he wanted, another landmark on the road to recovery.

The beauty of this day reflects the beauty of my life. Being in good health, doing the things I love and knowing that the sick in my family are being healed is beauty created by the Hand of God. This beauty creates praise and makes my heart sing. It echoes in my spirit that someone who is special to me can even give beauty for ashes. To-morrow, in Church I will celebrate this.

Resting for the Sabbath

Friday evening and the heat of the day has past. I am in a woolen sweater as I was attending a course and froze for two days. This morning, I decided that I would be warm and the sun came out. I stopped at a Nitro lake to eat ice-cream and inhale the serenity of water kissing green tipped edge of land. The lushness of the trees hiding the hills made my brother, David think of home. I agreed with him as an afterthought. Switzerland came to mind as I recalled a lunch of bread and cheese by a lake there, an hour’s train ride from the Alps. We were hungry and the pleasure of eating was recalled by the children years later.
I’ve seen so many places that reminded me of different parts of the world but not in a bored, disinterested way. On the contrary, I seem to reconnect and to recall their similarities with joy. It’s as if the world is saying wherever you are I’ll show you beauty. Although I still enjoy finding picturesque places, I’m convinced that wherever I am, there will always be a spot to make me gasp in awe or remembrance. David commented on the sun lightening the trees which seemed almost yellow under the glare. I asked him if he painted as he has an eye for beauty. “No”, he said “I get the dimensions all wrong” and then proceeded to inform me about different artistic styles. “I love art”, he said in explanation but I can’t do it”.
Once again, someone close to me has surprised me by revealing another aspect of themselves. No wonder my concept of God is always in revision. There is always more than what I see or can understand. Although, intellectually, I know this to be true, my reality is usually based on just what I can experience.
This Saturday has been a complete day of rest so I can face tomorrow energized to worship a God who loves me and often surprises me. I can hardly wait to praise Him for all I know Him to be. I also want to thank Him for bringing a complex, loyal, loving, multi-dimensional person in my life. My mother and I love each other but I adore her courage, her quirkiness, her Ps31 approach. Tomorrow, I will celebrate her personality that has colored my life in starting ways.

Preparing for the Sabbath

Tomorrow is the Sabbath for me and for many Christians. For millions, it is today. For many hundreds of millions, it was on Friday. Even within Christendom, some theologians are not convinced that the first day of the week should be a day of rest. After all, even God rested from His labors. Why should we rest before ours?
As I am not a theologian, I celebrate the Lord’s Day on Sunday because of tradition. I feel that it is essential for human beings to have a day of rest, a day without commitments, a day where the only clock is the rhythm of our bodies as it tells us when to eat or sleep. A day should be dedicated to feeding the spirit that is often tired and bruised. Undoubtedly, praising God comforts the soul and uplifts the spirit. Yet, many times, I’ve been so weary that I long to be still as the eternal truths in the hymns caress my soul.
Unfortunately, many of our churches do not offer quiet moments of reflection or meditative songs during which we can catch my breath. Sometimes, the tempo is as frenetic as the routine of the week just past and adds to the sensory overload of our lives.

Lauren Winner in the Mudhouse Sabbath challenged the way I approached my Sabbath. Ever since, I have tried to use Saturday as a day of preparation for worship by structuring my Sabbath Eve so that Saturday evening comes with a sense of accomplishment. When I free myself from the busyness, I can approach church services with a rested spirit so I can give my energy to worship. Then it seems that I’m less mindful of the noise and more of my spiritual receptors are opened.

Today, I attended a Conference at the Huntington Civic Center but selected a class on folk dancing and another on Be choosy, keep moving for the afternoon period. The exercise from both classes elevated my mood. By 4p.m. I was home and the early trip this morning through the fog-laden streets of Huntington no longer mattered. Much more important, as it is an issue for thankfulness, is the fact that I stopped to ask for directions at the building just before the Civic Center and found easy parking. I was unable to use my GPS as I could not find the connector pin but I also found a new, better way to another destination.

On returning home, my brother and I searched the car to find the tiny pin. He found it and gave the car an overdue cleaning in the process. Good days are made up of small achievements. Sometimes, they are marked by helping hands. When a day is crammed with both, I am really blessed.

So I approach the Sabbath tomorrow with thankfulness, determined to bring my praise and thanksgiving to the Lord of the Sabbath.

Easter

The concerns of yesterday evaporated before midnight so Easter morn broke without added anxieties. Church was crowded but it was so good to see my mother in Church having made the long trip from St Louis. The combined choir sang beautifully, the little angels of praise singing the words with gusto and wonder. It is as if they truly realized the meaning of the words. As the melody from the harmonious voices hit the ceiling, I thought of the kettle boiled dry because I had forgotten to switch it off. The boiling kettle nagged me more insistently as the service went on. I stayed because I did not want to draw attention but I was thrilled that I did for my mother in her late eighties who suffers with Alzheimer’s spoke coherently and movingly for about two minutes testifying to the goodness of God. What a lady
After the service, someone wanted to take a photo of my mom, niece and sisters or so I thought. It turned out to be a family picture instead of women from four generations. I did not do a good job of hiding my impatience and disappointment.
Eventually I went home. I did not expect the kettle to b e off. Well better safe than sorry but I would save a thirty-mile journey. I would have been able to linger after the service.

Fortunately, arriving at my brother’s house made up for the wasted journey. All my family in West Virginia was their and my sister-in law catered for about thirty of us. Sitting on the dock of their riverside home with full stomachs a most agreeable way to spend a spring. We seized the moment to recharge our batteries and renew relationships.

Later back at my house, we had another opportunity to continue family bonding. It was amusing to watch my brother asleep lying on my mom bringing to mind pictures of our childhood. Parents so often underestimate their role yet manage to give children the security to last a life –time that however old they are, a mother's hug or bed provides comfort and security.

Thirty Ninth Day: Hope wins by a nose

My spirit feels so rested when I have a day at home with no appointments or deadlines except to cook for visitors in the evening. I woke up, dressed in indoor slacks, did most of the little tasks that get left when you are away from home over twelve hours a day, This is going to be my routine for the foreseeable future so I am busy with to do lists to ensure that my appointments are kept next week.

Since 2.p.m o’clock I’ve been expecting my mother, two of my sisters and two nephews. I was not at all worried when they did not arrive three hours ago but now the meal is ready and I have time to be apprehensive.
To add to my uneasiness, my brother who has been making a remarkable recovery is at the hospital after experiencing unexplained pain. Happiness is so fragile. A word, a fall, a sudden movement, a forgotten task can change the world forever,
Tonight, I have all the ingredients for celebration. I hope that I’ll be able do that in this infrequent get-together of family from three States but if I can’t then I will count my many blessings and know that God who has been with me on this special journey will not disappear

Earlier in the day, my goddaughter phoned me so that I can wish her a happy birthday. She is forty-one years old with a great deal of maturity. For most of her life, we lost touch so I was a very absent godmother. Last year, I met her mother who re-united us. Since then we have been maintained contact but I had long forgotten her birthday. So I was delighted that she called. She is obviously giving me a second chance to be in her life and I intend to take it.
So, despite the uncertainties of this day, I cling to hope. The Resurrected Lord, whose victory we’ll be celebrating tomorrow is the incarnation of hope in my situation. Because He lives, I can face tomorrow, despite my fears.