Peaceful Days

Tuesday, March 14, 2016, was a great day!  Oh, I didn’t do anything special. I wasn’t on some romantic adventure or wandering off to exotic faraway places.  I wasn’t hang gliding or zip lining or skydiving.  Tuesday was quiet, but it was still a great day.

I woke up around 9:00 am.  That is sleeping late for me.  I used to wake up around seven every morning.  But for the last six months, I had been working early morning hours.  My workday starts at 4 am.  So, staying in bed until 9:00 is a luxury.  I stretched, stumbled out of bed, and quickly dressed.  I left my room and walked through the quiet house.  By now, my sister-in-law, Mary, was gone for the day.  My brother, Tony, was already hard at work.  Over the past few weeks, Tony has been diligently working in the backyard every day.  He has been clearing away all of the brush and saplings that have collected and overgrown the fence line.  A few days ago, I asked Tony why he was cutting all of the young trees away.  He responded that there were too many of them.  As I listened to him explain the situation to me, I was suddenly fascinated with the strength and determination inherent in all forces of nature.  Tony told me that he didn’t plant any of the trees.  The saplings were from acorns that had been blown by the wind or were dropped by the numerous squirrels running throughout the yard.  The acorns had taken hold and grown roots deep into the soil which caused areas of the ground to buckle and cave.

“And look at this, Jamie,” Tony exclaimed as he pointed to several of the trees that were growing near the chain link fence.  The trees were growing so full and strong that their trunks had grown around the fence; the saplings had made the metal a part of their overall existence.  Metal had become embedded and absorbed by the wood.  As the trees grew, they had started lifting the fence with the steel poles up out of the ground.  Tony and Mary were concerned about the gaps at the bottom of the fence that were growing big enough for their three little dogs to slide through.  I was amazed when Tony showed me this phenomenon.  I guess nothing is stronger than every living thing’s natural inherent force to live, grow, and thrive.

I was amazed by the sight but still expressed some regret.  “It is too bad, though, that the trees can’t just grow free.  It’s sad that you have to cut them down.”

“Yeah,” Tony laughed, “now where are all of the little fairies going to live?”

I should have never told my brother that I believe in all magical and mystical things.  I didn’t mean it quite that literally but he is forever teasing me now about fairies, pixies, and unicorns running through the backyard.

Now, Tuesday morning, I smiled as I stood by the back door and watched Tony working so hard to clear away the yard.  I have always hated yard work.  I don’t like working under the hot sun or the feel of pulling weeds out of the ground.  But now, thinking about the information Tony shared with me, I slipped on my shoes and walked out the back door.  Before long, I was working side by side with my brother clearing away all of the brush that could create a dangerous fire hazard.  As we worked together, Tony and I shared stories, laughed, and teased.  As I worked, I watched the three little dogs running around the yard and digging up holes.  Every now and then, I would drop my gardening tools and chase them around in our own crazy, made up version of tag.  The dogs didn’t always play fair, but that’s okay; it was only a game.  The laughter and the playing made the work fun and enjoyable, and to my surprise, I suddenly found that I enjoyed yard work.  I loved the feel of the damp soil in my hands and the solid ground beneath my feet.  I loved working with the gardening tools and felt as if I was sculpting a more peaceful, danger -free environment.  I loved being outside and breathing the fresh air and for once I didn’t mind at all feeling the sun beating against my skin.

Tony and I worked together on the yard for several hours and had cleared away one small section before finally coming to a stop.  I felt flushed with the excitement of hard work and accomplishment.

After cleaning up and putting away the equipment, Tony and I grabbed a quick lunch together before he cleaned up and left for his job.  In a peaceful frame of mind, I spent the rest of the day, cleaning and organizing, writing, and pampering the dogs, who continued to demand my attention.  Once again, the dogs cuddled with me as we heard a bit of lazy thunder rolling around outside.  A few cool raindrops hit the house and front porch.  Little Starburst especially seemed anxious about the weather.  While the other two dogs began to relax on their own, Starburst stayed right with me.  She sat by my chair as I worked on the computer and refused to leave my side.  I didn’t mind.  I love bonding with the dogs and I’m always happy when they feel the need for my company.

Starburst was having an additional problem though.  I noticed it when she finally got up and walked across the hardwood floor in the family room

“Starburst, what’s going on?”  I asked her as if I really believed she would answer me.  “You sound like your tap dancing.”  Seriously, as she walked across the floor there was a continuous tap, tap, tap sound.  I easily picked her small furry body up into my arms and looked at her paws.  She had been out digging a small hole in the backyard earlier that morning and a tiny stone had gotten tangled up in the long hair around her right paw.  I tried desperately to snatch the stone away from her, but she continually jerked away from me.  Finally, I just cradled Starburst on my lap as I worked at the computer and waited for my sister-in-law to come home.  Together, Mary and I cut the stone away from Starburst’s paw and, once more, the dog was quietly trooping around the house.  I smiled as I watched her run and play with the other dogs.  It really felt good to take care of another living creature even in a very small way.

After a pleasant conversation with Mary and working on my latest writing project, I finally settled down into bed.  It had been such a pleasant day.  I didn’t do anything special.  I didn’t leave the house.  But I could not ignore the sense of peace and contentment that filled me.  And maybe that’s what counting blessings is really all about.  It’s enjoying those peaceful quiet moments in life.  It’s the ability to sit patiently and feel fulfilled.  I don’t always have days like this.  Many times, I am impatient for something to happen!  But now, I need to remember in my most anxious moments, that true contentment comes from the inside.  The ability to find bliss in quiet moments is a great gift.  I will probably never find happiness outside myself if I am not at peace first.  Just allowing life to happen without any preconceived notions is when I am always the happiest.

I fell into a contented sleep that night with my favorite Bible quote (Psalm 46:10) running through my head:

Be still and know that I am God (King James Bible)

Cease striving and know that I am God (New American Standard Bible)

Be still…something I rarely am but something I need to do more in my life.  I look forward to more quiet and happy days.  Be still… quiet days are filled with deep meaning and endless blessings …

 

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First Snowfall

Last summer, when I was making plans to return to Kansas, there was one thing that caused some anxiety for me.  It was the reason I had originally left the Midwest and the reason I had stayed away for over twenty years.  I have hated winter ever since I was a small child.  I never liked playing in the snow, catching flakes on my tongue, building snowmen, riding sleds, or having snowball fights.  I have faced many challenges on my own, but I still whine like a spoiled child whenever I am cold.

I have a fear of falling on the snow and ice, so I tend to walk with very tiny steps and my toes pointed directly to the middle whenever I have to go outside.  My mother noticed my little baby steps one time and laughed at me.  “Jamie, what are you doing?” she asked in surprise.  “You’ll be okay.  Just walk normally.  The way you actually pigeon walk on the ice is what makes you fall.”  I did not take her advice, however.  I still continue to walk in tiny little toe pinching steps across the snow.

I think my problem with winter began when I was just five-years-old.  My mother did not have a driver’s license, so my maternal grandmother always took me to my kindergarten class which started at noon every weekday.  One morning, Kansas City, Kansas, experienced a record-breaking snowstorm, which left over two feet of snow on the ground.  My father had taken my two older sisters to school on his way to work that morning.  As snow started to rain down out of the gray, wet sky, Mom was left at home with my baby brother, Tony, and me.  My grandmother called to say she would not be taken me to school that day.  She refused to drive in the snow.  Yay!  A snow day for me….no!

For some unknown reason, my mother was determined that I was going to school that afternoon.  She dressed me in a pair of red tights, a plaid red dress, a white sweater, big white plastic snow boots, and a small blue jacket.  She bundled Tony up in his little, puffy, blue snowsuit.  Then, with baby Tony in her arms and gripping me by the hand, Mom left the house.  She was determined she was going to walk me all the way up to school.

I was absolutely miserable!  I cried and begged and whined for Mom to take me back home as we walked the three miles to Stony Point North Elementary School.  The snow was so deep that it came to the middle of my tiny thighs.  I remember gripping Mom’s hand as I raised my foot almost up to my chest every time I needed to take a step forward.  I would put my foot back down on the icy surface and plunge into two feet of snow.  Every step was a challenge.  I was chilled to the very depths of my being as snow filled my boots and froze my feet and legs.  Twice, I lost my balance and fell face forward into the snow.  Mom would just yank me back up again by my hand and sigh wearily as she saw the snow encrusting my nose and mouth.

As Mom struggled to keep me moving forward, the challenge was made worse by my baby brother, who kicked and screamed and pounded his tiny fists.  He was fascinated with the snow and wanted to dive head first into the clean, white powder.  Mom struggled to keep me standing and Tony securely tucked into her arms as we made our way to the school.

I don’t know how my mother handled it all, but we made it to the school just fifteen minutes past twelve.  I had arrived in class with a red, runny nose and cold, soaking wet feet.  I don’t know how my mother was able to get me all the way to school and then make the long, wet, cold walk home. She never complained or talked about it again.  It was just something she did and a choice she made as a mother.

I did not have to walk home.  I was eternally grateful that my father had left work early to pick my sisters and me up from school.  I am grateful to my parents for the sacrifices they made for me…and, yet…I still hate winter!  This fact spun around and around in my head endlessly as I returned to my childhood home in Kansas.

At the beginning of November, I began to prepare for the upcoming winter.  I bought coats, sweaters, gloves, boots, ice scrapers, defrosters…I had been living in the desert of sunny Southern California for the past eleven years.  I didn’t even own a single pair of warm wool stockings!  I felt completely unprepared and at the mercy of a harsh cold winter season.  Throughout the months of November and December, I held my breath and waited for the snowstorms, freezing rain, sleet, and hail to begin.

November and December weather, though, was surprisingly warm, calm, and mild, except for a 5-day storm over the Thanksgiving weekend that was more rain than ice or snow.  I prayed that the weather would stay tame throughout the holidays.  Just let me get to Christmas, I prayed.

And it happened, my prayer was answered.  Friday, December 25, 2015, was dry, warm, and beautiful with a high of 46 degrees.  The first snow and ice storm didn’t occur until the following Monday, December 27, 2015.  I was a little apprehensive as I listened to the news reports about the approaching storm. The storm would start late Sunday evening and continue all day on Monday.   It would first produce rain which would later turn into freezing rain and sleet until a heavy snowfall closed out Monday evening.

I awoke Monday morning around 9 am to see the storm already in progress.  Light freezing rain was falling from the leaden sky.  “It’s not bad yet,” my brother, Tony, observed.  He has lived in Kansas all of his life, so I decided to accept his word for it.  Around eleven am, he stated, “Let’s go out for a while.  Let’s go to lunch before it can get really bad.”

Over big bowls of hot soup and salty chips at the local Chili’s, Tony, my sister-in-law, Mary, my nephew, Logan, and I laughed and teased and bonded as we told stories of our childhoods. It was an extremely pleasant, enjoyable lunch that made all four of us feel warm and safe even as the storm continued to rage outside.

The only confrontation came when Tony noticed the way I was pigeon walking and toe hopping across the frozen parking lot.  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.  “Why can’t you walk right?”

Mary quickly stuck up for me.  “She hasn’t been in snow for years,” she said.  “She’s not used to it.  That’s why she’s walking funny.”  I nodded at Mary as she gripped my arm and pigeon walked with me across the snow and ice.

The weather had gotten much worse as we left the restaurant.  The sleet was now stinging our skin and pinging off the tops of the cars.  Large snowflakes were beginning to drift in the air.  “We better get home now,” Tony advised and I wasn’t going to argue with him.  I quickly pigeon walked to the car and climbed into the backseat.

That afternoon, when we were warm and safe back home again, Mary called me over to the back door.  “Come here but be very quiet.  I want to show you something.”  Mary was looking out of the large full-length window of one of the French doors that lead to the backyard.  Through the glass, Mary pointed at the large, beautiful, fir tree only five feet away from the porch.  She whispered, “Look.  Do you see them?  There are blue jays trying to find shelter from the sleet in that tree!  Look to the inside of the tree and you will see them.”

I looked where Mary directed and laughed.  Five beautiful blue jays were jumping from limb to limb as they searched for a warm, dry place to stay warm.  As the sleet and snow continued to fall, the backyard was suddenly coming to life.  Squirrels raced up and down the trees as they scurried around looking for food.  Birds flew from tree to tree.  Mary and I sat together for a while as we watched the animals running around the backyard.  Mary’s face glowed with delight and wonder as she watched all of the critters still preparing for the rest of the winter.

I realized then that winter did not have to be a cold, lifeless, hard season.  This day was a perfect example of what winter should be.  I had a great moment bonding with my family.  I had watched adorable little creatures preparing for the cold.  I had felt the peacefulness of watching large white snowflakes tumbling to the ground.

I think I could grow to love winter….

…As soon as I perfect my pigeon walking technique!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Frog Prince

I usually got off work around 10:30 pm. Most nights, as I walked through the courtyard to my apartment, I would see a big bullfrog sitting out by the pool, soaking up the moonlight. I usually am squeamish around any kind of slimy, hopping, crawling thing. I think the bullfrog was a little wary of me, too. Every time I would approach, he would frantically hop away trying to avoid me. He would take long leaps back into the garden and hide within the foliage. This little game between the two of us went on for a few weeks. It was always the same until March of 2010. In that month, I lost my mother to complications of colon cancer.

The death of my mother left a big void in my life. She had been my confidant, traveling companion, and best friend. I really missed her. The loneliness was intense after she passed. I spent the next couple of days just listlessly going to work and returning home to the lonely apartment my mother and I had shared.

In August of 2009, my mother had moved from Kansas to California to live with me. We spent the time we had together traveling throughout California and the southwest. We were together for just nine months before I lost her. After her death, I didn’t feel like traveling or going anywhere. I spent long days just going to work and coming back home.

A few days after losing my mother, I returned home from another long work day. I got out of my car, walked up the sidewalk from the parking lot, and turned the corner into the courtyard. There again, sitting by the pool, was the bullfrog. I just ignored it at first and started walking towards my apartment. I was positive the frog would move as I approached. But something strange happened this night. Instead of hopping away, the frog actually turned and looked right at me. I stopped for a moment and just stared back. I decided to just keep walking forward. The frog was sure to get nervous and jump away from me. But he didn’t. instead the frog just sat patiently by the pool and waited for me to come nearer. When I walked by the frog, he suddenly turned and started moving in the direction I was walking towards my apartment. He hopped along with every step I took. He stayed right by my side and I had to laugh that he stopped when I stopped and moved when I moved. He stayed with me right to the steps of my second floor apartment. I stepped up the first step and the little frog hopped up beside me. This is as far as he would go, however. He stayed on the first step as I continued on up to the second level. His large black eyes followed me all the way up the stairs. Once I made it to the top, I glanced back down over the balcony railing and watched as the frog turned in my direction. He stared up at me and gently chirped, serenading me with a beautiful natural song.

After a few minutes, I went inside my apartment. However, every time I glanced outside, my frog was still there, still sitting on the first step and staring up at my apartment. And suddenly, I realized I had laughed for the first time since my mother had passed. I went to bed that night feeling hopeful and safe with my frog prince sitting down at the bottom of the steps. I never saw the frog again after that night, but I continued to wonder about the experience. Was this frog a sign from Mom or the angels? Could this frog have been my prince, my knight in shining armor? Should I have kissed him and found out? I don’t know. I didn’t try. I just had the enjoyment of knowing, even after the loss of my mom, that I was safe and protected and loved in God’s great universe.