A place to land

One of my favorite stories in the bible recounts the story of Noah. Many days he spent with his family and a huge menagerie of diverse animal pairs, tossed to and fro in a mighty ark on an angry sea. With little to no land yet in sight, he started releasing birds week by week, hoping for a sign that life had returned to the earth. Week by week, the birds did not bring the sign he was so eagerly looking for. Finally, a dove was released and brought back a bit of olive leaf. Now, to Noah, this was a familiar and well loved leaf...a leaf that meant home. The ability to resume the life of a farmer, to harvest the olives and make the oil that was crucial to survival as he remembered it. When life gets challenging, and all that is familiar is taken away, one longs for signs of home. Sifting through fire's ashes or flood's watery waste, looking for that ring or photo or favorite toy. A bit of normal let back in to calm the frightened soul. I am that dove, flying over unknown lands, searching for a sign of home. I am Noah, longing for a life that is back to normal, where the phone doesn't ring scheduling doctor appointments and relaying news of worrisome results. We are looking for a bit of olive tree, green and alive, promising a harvest of good fruit. Guide us, Lord, in this search, and show us a place to land that is safe.

Flour and Oil

My husband and I have had lots of medical upheavals in the past four years. Last week, while driving myself to the doctor, I had a little talk with God. It went something like this..."What is faith for if it doesn't change anything?" I am a little ashamed to admit this, but after 4 years, with no end in sight, one gets burned out on the whole pray for a miracle scene. Anyway, this conversation was one sided and sounded very Job-like until a bible story told in the Old Testament popped into my head. In this story, one of God's prophets, Elijah, is hungry and he is told by God to go to a widow and ask her for something to eat. There had been a famine for some time, and the widow told Elijah that she only had a enough flour and oil left to make a little cake for herself and her son, and then they would die. He told her to make a cake for him first, and, in faith, she did. When she went to make cakes for herself and her son, there was still enough flour and oil to do that. And there was just enough, every single day, to feed the three of them until the famine was over. I do not need big faith for something big to happen. I only need faith for enough flour and oil to make my daily bread. Over time, this faith is what sustains and feeds the soul, mends the heart, nourishes our spirit. We can always find enough.

Gratitude

My friend Deb gave me a book about gratitude several years ago. I read it and thought I had it figured out. Having a grateful attitude makes one feel better, live a richer life, be happier, have more friends, etc. It is easy to talk about and, in a superficial sense, it is easy to do. I am grateful for my family, my faith, my friends, my job, my bank account. I am grateful that I live in the USA, that there is an open Kroger Store 5 minutes from my front door, that I have health insurance. See how easy that was? It becomes harder when the gratitude grinds against life's hard edges. I am grateful that the doctor found my husband's cancer while it was still small, I am grateful that I only had to cut my hours at work by one day instead of five so I could keep my job and get chemo every other week, I am grateful that my 10 year old car starts every morning. The words and thoughts form and can become dry in the mouth before being spoken, and instead of gratitude, bitterness can take it's place. Gratitude wins the day when it is nurtured and offered to God, lifting the hard edges to the light and seeing the sun gleam and sparkle off them. Turning it this way and that, gratitude takes what is hard and turns it to hope.

Falling in Love

I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to miss the laugh, the kiss, the snuggle. I wanted to stay somewhat aloof and strong, guarding my heart against tears and loneliness. But love sneaked in, wiggling little arms and legs, into the guarded parts. Green eyes, curly red hair, the barest hint of summer freckles across the childish nose, she planted herself firmly in the center of my heart, taking up every empty space and breaking every promise I made myself. Little shoes and socks litter the floor, milky puddles on the table and sticky fingers on the couch. It doesn't matter, she is here with me. She is brave and strong, endearing and funny. She carries all the hope for the future in her little fingers. She mimics our actions and words, taking our presence into tomorrow, even if our physical bodies do not go with her. She will speak for us when our voices are silent, she will work for us when our hands are still.  She will carry our love into a big world and we will live it together. There will be tears in the end, but falling in love is really the best ice cream there is.

Around the Bend

My husband's family and some of my family live on the East Coast. We have traveled the Pennsylvania Turnpike more times than I can count, through good weather and bad, winter and summer, on Thanksgiving Day and Christmas. The way is so familiar that we can name the tunnels, Kittatiny, Allegheny, Blue, Tuscarora. We know where the better rest stops are, when to get off for gas, how much longer until we get there. Although the way is long, the prize at the end is worth the trip. Hugs from nieces and nephews, a kiss from my mother, Capriotti's subs, fresh seafood. Sometimes, the trip is made to celebrate a holiday or wedding. Sometimes to grieve at a funeral. Over the years the road has improved some, the restaurants have changed, or closed. But the trip itself still holds the same power, when, after hours of driving tedium, the exit appears. Just around a bend in the road, the long awaited green sign with huge letters appears, pointing the way to almost there. Our hearts lift, the last hour flies by, and we are in the arms of those we love. That is how it always is, we keep looking for that bend, when the hard becomes easy and the long way ends in joy.

Nana

My dad's mother we called Nana. She was a wonderful grandmother. She fed us peach ice cream and oranges cut in half with sugar heavily sprinkled on each side. She whispered to each one of us, privately, that we were her favorite grandchild. When we were older, she would slip us $20 bills, or her Bloomingdales credit card, when we went to visit her in New York City. She accepted us, supported us, encouraged us, and expected us to live up to her high opinions of us. I chose my college in Brooklyn mainly because that would put me very near her. I went to visit her one day, my freshman year, and she fell while I was in her apartment. I picked her up and noticed how thin and light she was. She died a few days later, in her sleep, and I was distraught. Now I am Nana to my granddaughter. I wanted to be Nana so that I could give Collette what my grandmother gave me. Not just sugary sweet oranges cut in half, but the feeling that I was special. The confidence of knowing that someone full of age and wisdom knew that I was talented, lovable, beautiful. The desire to live up to her expections that I would find my way to becoming who I was meant to be. She is part of me, and I am glad to give that to you, Collette.