Journey

This is a piece I wrote many years ago about the interaction in a seminar I attended.  It reminded me of the blog process, so I print it here. 

Waters flow from many hillsides

They come down slowly or quickly

They come down above or below the surface

They are reaching out for their origins or for their futures

They are aware only that their destinations reach downward



One by one they join others

Each brings its own character

And characteristics are blended together

To form new waters



These flow together in power

They carry parts of each world they pass with them on the journey

The waters darken as they speed onward

They are no longer water only

They are metal and clay, bark and branch

The whole world becomes involved in the rush.



When the destiny is reached, the pace slows

The color fades

The sediment settles

The waters are one.



Slowly the sun catches minute drops and pulls them to the sky.

From there they drop, fiercely or softly to the earth to begin the journey again.

The letting go

When you were an infant, I fed, dressed, warmed, cleaned and comforted.  I worried, dreamed and laughed as you grew mentally, socially and physically.  I had so much control over your life: so much responsibility.

When you became a toddler, you struggled to apply all the amazing things you were learning.  I struggled to keep you, the house, and others from being harmed in the process.  Much of my effort and time was spent in a struggle to maintain control over your actions at home and in public as you struggled for independent discovery.  It was a new type of responsibility that taxed my mind, emotions and body.

When you started school, you discovered that your parents weren’t the only ones who were in control.  We weren’t the only ones who knew.  Suddenly, I found myself in a new area of responsibility.  My concerns were for how you looked, how your work was completed, how you interacted and were accepted by your peers.  It was often frightening to know I wasn’t in complete control.  In fact, I had responsibility for something I often had no control over.

Becoming a teen is similar to becoming a toddler!  You were learning so much and trying to see where your new ideas and skills fit in your world.  Irrationally you struggled to control your own world.  I struggled again to keep you from harming yourself and others.  While the emotional, mental drain was present, this new responsibility came with a very precarious amount of control.  You were like a 2 year old with hormones and, later, a car!

The transition from teen to young adult is curious.  I think it is unique to the individual, but very similar in parenting. Parents must maintain a home and standards while letting go of the controls.  They must counsel without bossing.  They must require accountability while allowing for the inexperience of the novice.  They must encourage without encouraging license.  They must give and demand respect.  While the heart still holds all the events of child rearing, they find themselves without control or responsibility and their hearts break while they burst with pride.

When we finally succeed, when the goal of independent achievement is reached, a new level of relationship is also established.  Parents must be ready to accept that these new products of our effort no longer crave our means, our management or our advice.  We hope they desire our friendship and must be satisfied with the times when they do.  Otherwise, we may enter again into a new and inappropriate quest for control.  Wounded words may be spoken that only drive the person away.  Even if a level of guilt is established that causes the offspring to establish greater interaction, it will wear like sand in the shoe and create a callous or a sore: neither of which was our goal. 

So here we stand: ready to find our life a solitary thing again, full circle from the naïve young adults ready to enter their own cycle of life.  It is the moment of giving up and giving over.  It is the moment we must trust what we have done in our living and believe that the God we tried to follow will lead those we once led.  It is an act of faith to say “You are God.  You are love.  You rule in the affairs of men.  My children are now men.”

Eulogy

This is a piece written a couple of years ago. 

Some recent events brought it to mind. 

The picture is a copy of a water color I completed at the same time as the writing.

There are places in our lives which, like people in our lives encourage, comfort, inspire and entertain us.  They are dependable, yet invigorating.  They are stable, yet surprising.  Like friends, we learn their ways and characteristics through time and experience.

One such place was the Lake Fort Smith spillway.

Lovers have both initiated and renewed their vows of love on its ledges.  Giggling children have dipped their toes in its inviting coolness.  Would be philosophers have contemplated the mysteries of existence while listening to the voices in its trees and waters.

In the gentle fall, I have known its colorful, reflective quiet; in the stark winter: raging, explosions of power.  In the spring it was like an expectant young mother preparing for birth and its stable patience under girded the noisy, playful crowds of summer.

In its demise, there is the comfort that places remain to which we can go for encouragement, inspiration and entertainment and there are new acquaintances awaiting us.  But the beauty lost, the dignity of its existence, the effect it has had on my life and the sweet, hilarious collection of memories require this eulogy.

Timing

   I said I wanted to walk on water.  I remember standing in the darkness surrounded by warm night air.  Life was difficult just then.  I looked out across the still, quiet pool and said “I want to walk on water.”

   There were many Bible stories that captured the imagination of my childhood, but that was always one of my favorites.  There was Peter seeing something out there and then, realizing it was Jesus, he said “Okay, if it’s really you, ask me to come out there with you.”  Well, Jesus said “Come on” and there Peter went without really thinking about what he was doing and then he got slapped with a wave and went down.

  That night, I stood there in the presence of my own thoughts and inside I heard “Come on.” 

   My foot reached out toward the water, then I stopped.  There was no reason not to try.  The clothing I was wearing would not suffer from being wet if I were to sink and I’m a very good swimmer.  No harm in trying.  If I succeeded, it would be the greatest boost to my faith, a boost I really needed.  If I could do that, I could do anything. 

   I thought about Peter.  How many steps did he take before the impossibility took over in his mind?  If I failed, it would be a blow to my confidence and my faith.  It would forever limit my trying impossible things.  I stood between two choices of thought at that moment.  I don’t know how much time I spent in that pull of the will before I turned and quietly walked back up to my apartment.  Life was difficult.  Maybe I had little faith, but I needed all that I had for my reality.

   I have seen many unexplainables in my life.  I’ve lived through want and plenty, pain and glory, fear and triumph.  When my dad died, a friend gave me a book titled “Walking on Water.”  I looked at the title and smiled.  It held significance without the reading.  I don’t remember the reading of it that summer.  My dad and I were close and I struggled with the memories of his passing. 

   A couple years later, when I felt I was loosing sight of myself and my purpose, I read the book.  It’s a great book by a great author about being creative.  I loved every word of it.  “Walking of water” took on a representative character.  I’ve grown and matured since that night by the pool behind my apartment.

   Yet recently I heard myself say “I want to walk on water” and I immediately cringed.  I know my faith will be tested without inviting the test.  I know there are real opportunities to exercise faith and see the miraculous.  In my spirit, I recognized that my desire was to be ready for the command when it comes. 

   As a young child, I never questioned the feasibility of walking on water.  It was so simple.  Jesus walked on water and then Peter walked on water.  I really never considered walking on water.  When my eldest daughter was a toddler, I went with her to a lake.  There was a stone dock sticking off the end of an earth and stone dam.  It wasn’t a very deep lake, but deep enough for a swim.  This was before I knew about swimmies.  Kids just got in and an adult held them until they were ready to turn loose a little.

I sat my daughter on the dock and stepped slightly back and said “Come to mommy,” or something similar.  She had played the jump off game before, so it didn’t take her long to get into this one.  Before long, she was backing up and running to jump in and have mommy pull her up just before her head was covered.

  After a good while of playing in the water with her, tired I sat her up on the bank and said.  “Go to daddy.”  She looked at her dad and turned to go to his beckoning hands.  As I started to swim away, I caught a glimpse of my running child and reversed my swim as quickly as possible.  Breathless, I reached her just in time to pull her up from a deep dive, coughing and sputtering, but bright eyed.  The water out of her nose and mouth, she laughed and giggled.  She was unaware that safety is sometimes a matter of timing.

  In my recent reply to life, I think there is a knowledge that everything has a time and season.  It may not be time to walk on water yet.  I may not know what walking on water consists of now.  Yet there will be a time when my Father says “Come on…” and I will have already settled the issue.  I hope it’s more fun this time!

Entry for July 20, 2006

On Monday, I began a prayer vigil.  Since that time, I've been bombarded with stuff.  Hard stuff. 

Tuesday morning, I read a verse that said "If you do not stand firm in your faith, you will not stand at all."  I had no idea how rough this week would be, so I smiled and read it again.  As my eyes scanned the words, my heart said "Pay attention."

I'm no great person.  I've only done marginal things in my life.  One of my students became an architect, one became a university professor and one hanged himself with his bedsheet in an Arkansas prison.  Of course, I've taught many many more kids than that, but that kind of puts it in perspective.

I've sold a few pieces of art, published a few poems and short stories and written some unpublished music.  I've worked as a pack and load crew member, cleaned storage space, waited tables and manned an all night desk at a truck stop.  I've also worked as a photographer, reporter, ad service camera operator and a public school teacher.  Now I teach privately, produce a little bit of artwork, and remodel and garden around home.

Why God would call me to a prayer vigil is a mystery, but I know He did.  So I began.  Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday mornings I rose early and lay my petitions before my God.  During the day, during the work, I tried to remember to pray instead of griping.  In the evening I prayed.  The fall out began sometime on Wednesday.  Cancer 1.  Cancer 2.  Friend with a devastated life and broken marriage.  War in the family.  Misunderstood, disassociated.  What's going on here?

After my latest rant, the verse returned.  "If you do not stand firm in your faith, you will not stand at all."  Slowly recognition and condemnation that I did not see it sooner, flooded me.  Not a crippling condemnation, but a What Was I Thinking? or Why Wasn't I Thinking?  repremand. 

I will not stop this vigil.  It scares me, true, but if there is nothing to fear, there is no need for that kind of faith.  Faith is exhibited in a lions den, or a furnace, or a kangaroo court, or perhaps on a cross.  All I know is that I was instructed to pray.  Now I have much to pray about. 

Grace, Peace.

Sparkly Clean

Well there it is!  After about a week of working and studying, I finally called my pool people and asked them about the algae.  I learned that you can’t vacuum live algae because it’s too small to be caught in the filter.  It seems I knew that before, but there it is.  Now a couple of weeks later I have gorgeous sparkly water again and a clean pool to boot.  I like sparkly water.  Counting my toes on the bottom of the deep end seems imperative to me.  Not seeing debris or stains is equally important.

I’ve recently housed my mother for a couple of weeks, and the water was clean chemically but it didn’t sparkle.  My mom told me stories about how she learned to swim in a canal –muddy and cold.  And when the kids jumped in on the 4^th of July I was reminded that they swim in the lake and it is no where as clean as that.  By the 4^th, the green was gone, but the murkiness was not.  They laughed and squealed and acted like it was clean but I couldn’t see anything but a shadowy foot at the bottom of the pool.  The diving games wrinkled my nose, but not theirs.   Now a week and a half later, my water sparkles, but the company and laughter have gone.

So, today I bought a new water toy.  It was a volleyball net – sort of – with a ball and some fabric discs that float on the surface. The net sported a nylon section in the middle with a hold to throw things through or for small children to swim through if the whole assembly was put in upside down.  I put it together and took it out to the pool.  After cleaning the last few spots of algae stain off the corners of the bottom and sides, I tried to play with my new toy.  It was quite the effort.  The thing sailed like a catamaran.  Every small gust moved it quickly about the surface of the pool.  Not a good scenario for volleyball.  I laughed a little and chased it around for a time.  That got old quick.

I decided to try bungeeing it to the pool side.  One slip of a bungee told me that was not a good idea.  Especially if I ever do have company again.  It’s not nice to be wounded that badly in water volleyball.  I went to look for more or longer bungees.  Explaining my dilemma to my husband we bounced it around in our conversation and finally after too much fun came up with a solution.  It grew from one thing and the next until it looked like a workable plan.  Using nylon cord and Christmas light clips that attach to a gutter, I rigged a usable, safe tether that left the toy intact and held it in place.  A few dips and throws and I was convinced this was a good thing to have, but not very satisfying from the sport-of-it aspect. 

My husband came to the shed about 15 feet from the pool to find something and I told him he should come try it.  He got what he needed and left me feeling a second childhood neglect.  I tried a couple more variations on the whole game and then to my surprise, he actually joined me.  An hour later, we emerged amid laughter and evaluations.  Cool, tired and feeling verified we jumped back into adulthood and all those jobs we know we can only do on a weekend. 

I mended a large yard umbrella damaged in a storm, carried old vegetation out to the mulch pile at the top of the hill,  helped with some work on the sunroom remodel that should have been finished months ago and isn’t and collected the stuff to make fresh salsa. 

Yet, as I work, there’s a knowledge that out in the yard waits an awesome getaway of dreamy exuberance.  The water’s silky and warm and sparkly clean. 

Entry for July 13, 2006

My genetic code stated “big hair.”  The only time I really had fashionable hair was during the afro and windblown look eras.  Most of the time this is of little concern to me.  Frankly, Scarlett . . .

This spring I discovered itty bitty clips.  Teeny little clips that you can barely open with grown-up hands.  I twisted and clipped.  No I didn’t see it in a fashion book, but it kept the stuff out of my mouth while working in the garden or on the masonry. 

Eventually I became brave and wore the things in public.  I had looked in the mirror a few times after placing them and while it didn’t make me look like Jennifer or Angelina, nothing would.  My grandmother looked like Yenta from Fiddler and people have always equated me with her side of the family.  I’m much taller and so not as cute.  Back to my debut.

I wore them to an art forum and receive positive reviews, so I decided I keep my hair out of my mouth at church too.  I’ve never concluded if the response was positive or not.  Judge for yourself.

Oh, that looks so much better.

Gee Donna that’s a lot more attractive.

I mean, it takes years off your visual appearance.

You should wear your hair this way all the time, it looks so . . . neat.

I walked away from that saying to myself “Oh gee, thanks – I think.”  What happened to “She reminds me of . . .oh you know that movie star.”?  Life happened.  The genetic code is not age appropriate.  Then I asked my self, “Do I care?  Have I ever really?  No one likes an ambiguous comment, but does it matter?

I acted self-conscious for about a week.  Then decided to wear my hair big and curly and down when I want to.  I still keep the clippies.  They keep it out of my mouth.  Thanks Gramma.

Entry for July 06, 2006

The waxing gibbous moon reflects off the water, riding ripples out from our movement.  The cool air contrasts sharply with the warmth of the water carressing my body.  It seems so strange to be here: mother and daughter  floating on foam noodles in the pool with the darkness set in about us.  I've turned on the lights and pump and the waterfall is singing and whispering beside us as we talk about everything and nothing.  We have so little in common.  We hold so much in union.  There is so much I wish we could say, so much I wish she wouldn't.

Stars twinkling in the expanse above us have replaced the flesh and ceruleum sky from a short while ago.  A pair of bats swoop overhead to begin their evening consumption of mosquitos; they see us and flutter away as we laugh and talk.  The fireflies, busy among the trees on the hill above us, provide a moment of conversation.  Then somehow we're back on that subject again.  My mind is saying "Stop!"  My mouth is saying nothing and I close the ears of my mind. 

I loose one of my noodles and it sails into the air.  The other follows.  We laugh and begin discussing the construction of the wisteria covered trellis over my lower pond.  The wind is picking up and my nose and forhead are cold.  I mention leaving the pool, but make no effort.  She returns the favor.

I still my movements so as not to disturb the envelope of warmth about me.  Her mind returns to the old paths and my heart wishes she could savor the moment without those words and thoughts.  Saddened I start for the ladder and she comes in behind me abandoning her floatation to climb out of the water into the frosty air.   We rush, giggling like children,  toward the house.  I wish it had been as sweet as it sounds.  I think, why can't I just ask her to stop or tell her how her words undo our time together.  

She tells me how much fun she's had and I know the reason why.  Someday I'll be the mother in a similar scenario.  I pray for grace for us both.

Entry for July 05, 2006

It's funny how little things affect my life.  I came to this 360 page today feeling okay about my self and then there it is: 3 friends. 

From this point, I have two trains of thought that emerge.  I can't say what controls which thought emerges but here is how the two form.

(1)Wow, I have 3 friends.  If I write a blog, they will read it and maybe be inspired or reply or maybe I'll just touch and be touched.  I could e-mail any one of these three friends and know that within a short time she/he will have read it and know that I'm alive and thinking of her/him.   I've recently met people who did not have three friends or e-mail or a 360 page.  I am indeed blessed to have 3 friends.

(2)Gosh, I have 3 friends.  There are only 3 people who will see or care what I write or say.  (----) has 12 friends and even (-----) has 4 friends.  What's wrong with me?  How have I failed that I only have 3 friends? -Only 3.  Sigh. 

I'll not tell you which I was today.  But I 've concluded that a blog isn't a blog until you post it.  And a friend is still a friend if they aren't on your 360 list. 

Peace, Grace.