When you grow up

Paddling upstream in a canoe, with a high school friend
reviewing our lives with each other -
being both old friends and strangers at the same time
because of the long spaces where we lose touch.
Connected over the years by the shared experiences of our youth.
Good times, yes, perhaps crazy times?

It got me thinking about who I have become
since then and how I got here.
And what it must look like from the perspective of someone else.
Someone who knew me and then didn't and now does again.
Taking pause at where we are now.

Remember how, when we were little, people would always
ask us what we wanted to be when we grew up?

Nobody asks me that question anymore,
apparently because I am grown up. (That still surprises me.)
The gray hair moves me past the question
to a new place beyond.
But if I did get asked that question now
I would answer differently.

Present. Content with what I have.
Faithful. Trustworthy. Connected.
Those are the things I want to be.

We turn the canoe around at a bend in the river
and head downstream,
moving so much faster this direction.
Laughing at how bad I am at steering us on a straight course.
(There's the metaphor perhaps.)

Now, looking back on the day I realize,
I can (and should) rejoice at who I am and where I am headed.

As should we all.

Childhood Traditions

- Haywards Bay, Okoboji


Remember walking from the cottage
to the marshy place with all the frogs?
Over there, a circle of bricks, a raised flower bed,
maybe a foot off the ground.
Near where the sidewalk starts and stops
like an unfinished project.

See it?

It must have once held flowers,
but I don't remember that part.
What I do know is that when we were young
it was impossible to pass by
without walking around the circumference,
at least once, often more.

Barefoot. Arms extended for balance.
Sometimes chasing each other
in a spontaneous game of tag.
...

Walking around the circle now,
seeing with the eyes of an adult,
finally beginning to understand
the rare beauty of our childhood.
Recognizing the sacredness of this place.
Noticing this moment, now.

The pendulum swings from being the child
to seeing through older eyes.
(Hello grandma. It's taken years of living
but now I'm beginning to understand.)
Both experiences are worthy.

Today it is my sister and I.
Arms outstretched,
seeking balance.
Enjoying the moment just because it is.

A spontaneous game of life.

I almost missed it

I have an image of my dad
standing in the kitchen
(this was several years ago).

I was busy, perhaps doing dishes,
I don't remember that part
and it's not important.

He was standing in a small patch of sunlight
in the middle of the kitchen,
his face slightly uplifted, eyes closed.
He was smiling.

My movements around him
did not seem to interfere with his experience.

Eventually, he opened his eyes,
smiled bigger, nodded, and said
"God."

Although he couldn't explain,
here's what I think.
God's spirit resonated within him and he noticed.
He was still and open to it, willing to receive.

I got the dishes done.
At the time, i thought I was
being the productive one.
Took me this long to find the truth.

We were both standing on sacred ground,
but only one of us noticed.

Filling in the spaces

I can never resist
singing the Joe Scruggs version of
"This Little Piggy"when giving my mother-in-law
(what a funny name for someone you love)
a foot massage, tugging her toes,
one by one until the last little piggy.

The same song I sang to
my babies, a long time ago.
I wonder if she sang a similar
song to her children, an even longer time ago?

Remembering is harder these days.
Sometimes when we talk
it's like she gives me the dots,
little glimpses of her past,
and I have to draw the lines between.

The end result might not be an
accurate rendering of her life.

But here's the thing -
it's still a beautiful picture.

A moment can be enough

There is a place where I like to pause
on my evening walks.
A moss-covered mound that always
beckons me to stop.
So I do.

Tonight, responding to the invitation,
I lift my hands to the sky,
following the tree trunks pointing to the clouds,
and sing a line from a song
breaking the stillness around me.

"Create in me a clean heart, oh god"
I pause before continuing
and in that pause I'm gifted with a response -
two hoots from an owl. And again.
Close by, but I can't see it.

"Renew a steadfast spirit within me"
Another pause, another hoot,
this time from the other direction.
The branches of the western hemlock
and Douglas fir are all I see.

"To my prayers you've always given heed"
Finally I see one of the owls, but only
because it takes off from its perch in the canopy
and heads to its companion.

There, I see both of them briefly.
Only for a moment.
But when you are paying attention,
a moment can be enough.
If you are gentle and careful,
it becomes a gift.

A gift I can share with you
through this rough attempt at a poem.
So I do.

Bleeding hearts & forest fairies

Today after work, I took my worries
and my two dogs
out back behind our house.

I crossed two creeks
and climbed through the woods
past the imaginary line
that defines our five acres.

The stinging nettle and salmonberry
had gotten a jump on the weather.
Made me wonder if the peace
I was looking for could be found
in the thorns and brambles.

-------

Leaning against an alder
at the edge of the pond,
smooth bark against my back,
I noticed that I sat down
on a clump of bleeding hearts.
Trampled into the ground,
yet still beautiful somehow.
A lesson there if I'm willing to learn.

Sitting with my face toward the sun,
eyes closed, breathing deeply.
Listening to the stillness.
There, I found myself
closer to the peace I was seeking.
But not quite.


------

Walking back along the trail,
with the light fading,
a rickety wooden table catches my eye.
"Tea for Two" is the name we have
given this place.
For my young neighbor Willow, it is magical --
where forest fairies leave trinkets
and treasures for her to find.

A small glass vase sits on the table,
it was empty when I walked by earlier,
Now it is filled with woodland flowers.

A kindness left for me to find
exactly when I needed it most.

Yes, go

When he had gone a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John in a boat, preparing their nets. Without delay, he called them, and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men and followed him.    Mark 1: 19-20


This familiar story has always bothered me.
They left their father in the boat. They left their father.
And I know, from the verses that follow, that they left for a very long time.
A lifetime in fact.

I want the back story.

Had Zebedee prepared them, throughout their lives, to follow?
Had he prepared them for this very moment?
Did James and John have any idea what they were committing to?
An afternoon outing? An overnight adventure?
Did Zebedee know what he was losing, and at the same time gaining?

Did they look at their father for reassurance when Jesus called to them?
Did he nod and say, "yes, go"?

Part of Zebedee must have not wanted them to leave.
And part of him must have rejoiced that they went.
I understand this feeling.

I wonder, did I nod and say "yes, go"?
I hope so.