"Every Animal is God's Pet"

We are thankful for and blessed by the animals in our lives. We share the house with three cats; Buddy is becoming a true farm dog, roaming outdoors (to the limits of his invisible fence…). And there are the horse, the goats, the chickens, the bees. 

We are responsible for their care and feeding. They need hooves trimmed, feed mixed, mite treatment, daily feeding. But we are also responsible for a relationship with them: snuggling on the couch, playing frisbee in the yard, feeding horse treats, talking to the goats and the chickens and even the bees. It is a precious connection. As we care for them, so they care for us. 

On Sunday, the minister asked the children what they were thankful for, and one said animals. And my great-niece then observed that “every animal is God’s pet.” In God's kingdom, every animal is loved and cared for, every animal is precious in God’s eyes, every animal is a holy creature, a beautiful part of creation. Amen, Hattie B!

 

Thoughts on Election Day

We voted last week, early voting, curbside. The poll workers were pleasant and personable, helpful. The early voting site was not ideal for them – an ancient school gym with no heat, no place to plug in a coffee pot, no microwave to heat food. But they were there, doing an important job for democracy. 

 Many others are voting today, and I am so glad. The news reports that turnout is heavy, both in person and by mail. It is important. I want people to vote, even those who will choose candidates other than those I chose. I want people to vote, and I want all votes to be counted – no matter how long it takes. 

 My father was born in 1918 and lived to be 98. He saw incredible changes in the world. It is astonishing to me that during his lifetime women were granted the right to vote. In the last year of his life, a woman was the nominee for President of the US, and he voted in that election… 

Today, I made an Election Cake. This is a yeasted cake, really more of a sweetened bread, with dried fruit and nuts. It has roots in Connecticut, my former home. Baking it today somehow connects me to the early, early days of this democracy. I wonder if those who made the cake in 1771 worried about the turnout; I wonder if they worried about voter suppression; I wonder if they worried about election deniers; I wonder if they worried about the future of their nation.

The cake is delicious. I shared a big piece with our neighbor. And maybe I will eat some more in the hours and days to come as we await the returns.

Election Cake

 

Doing Unto Others

Many years ago, I was invited to a friend's home for Thanksgiving dinner. One of the other guests was a woman who was affected by dementia. I remember that we were all in the kitchen as my friend made the finishing touches to our meal: stirring the gravy, popping the rolls in the oven, dishing up the cranberry sauce. I’m sure we were all pitching in. It was the kind of happy chaos that precedes a fancy meal. Ruth was sitting quieting at the table, watching, not speaking, a little frown on her face. My friend took a stick of butter and a butter dish and set it before her, asking her to prepare the butter for us. Ruth’s face cleared, and this woman who had made thousands of meals for her family got right to work. It took her a long time to unwrap the butter and get it on the dish, but no one was in a hurry, she was content, and we were all helping get the meal ready. 

I’ve mentioned this event to my friend, and she doesn’t remember any of it. For her, that kindness was nothing special, just her way of including everyone. For her, it was second nature. She doesn’t remember it, but I’ve never forgotten it. I hope that I might respond the same way. And I hope that someone might put a stick of butter in front of me some day. 

“Inasmuch as you did it to the least of these, you did it to me…”. (Matthew 25:40)

 

The Noise of Politics, by Walter Brueggemann

We watch as the jets fly in                                                               

     with the power people and

     the money people,

     the suits, the budgets, the billions.

 

We wonder about monetary policy
     because we are among the haves,
and about generosity
     because we care about the have-nots.

 

By slower modes we notice
   Lazarus and the poor arriving from Africa,
   and the beggars from Central Europe, and
   the throng of environmentalists
   with their vision of butterflies and oil
   of flowers and tanks
   of growing things and killing fields.

 

We wonder about peace and war,
     about ecology and development,
     about hope and entitlement.

 

We listen beyond jeering protesters and
     soaring jets and
   faintly we hear the mumbling of the crucified one,
   something about
     feeding the hungry
     and giving drink to the thirsty,
     about clothing the naked,
     and noticing the prisoners,
     more about the least and about holiness among them.

We are moved by the mumbles of the gospel,
   even while we are tenured in our privilege.

 

We are half ready to join the choir of hope,
half afraid things might change,
     and in a third half of our faith turning to you,
     and your outpouring love
     that works justice and
     that binds us each and all to one another.

 

So we pray amidst jeering protesters
     and soaring jets.
   Come by here and make new,
     even at some risk to our entitlements.

 

Walter Brueggemann. Prayers for a Privileged People (Nashville: Abingdon, 2008), pp. 21-22.

Sunrise at Holden Beach

I went to the beach to sew with a group of folks I had never met. A wonderful woman from Virginia hosts a quilting retreat each year near my home, and I signed up last fall. All year I have looked forward to this week. The people were so nice, the food delicious, the sewing soothing. And the scenery was lovely – magnificent sunrises, full moon shining down, ocean waves. 

And then I took a tumble on some unlit stairs in the dark and shattered my patella…. So I came home early to rest up for surgery next week. My sister is waiting on me hand and foot (hand and knee?), and I am not in much pain at this point. And the wonderful women in my sewing room took such good care of me there and have sent me get-well wishes and pillow for propping up my leg. 

It is a little miraculous that people I did not know a week ago are now dear friends! I will see them again next year, if not before on a fabric-shopping excursion. And next time – no stairs in the dark!

 

Anniversary....

Twenty years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was the beginning of a long journey into a foreign land, a place with its own language, customs, dress, behaviors, and residents. I became a kind of dual citizen, I suppose, with one foot in the time and place before cancer and one in the aftermath. In these decades, I have grown stronger, kinder, gentler, and much more aware of my own frailties. I remember someone saying once in those early days that I was “brave.” I felt nothing like that, but I was carried, I know, by the love and prayers of others. I had lived a good life in those years before cancer, productive, helpful, useful, involved in good and important things, I like to think. But I had also taken on a lot that was not always life-giving. 

One of the great gifts of cancer for me was a reckoning of time. I knew in a different way that my time is limited; and I knew that I wanted to make the most of it. So I let some things go. I made new priorities. I reordered how I spent my precious time. Over the years, some of the superfluous crept back in, some of the busy-work, some of the things that seemed to separate me from God. In this anniversary year, I am again reassessing what it is I need to do. I am leaving behind some things that were good and right for a time, but not forever. I am taking up new work that seems a true calling. I am living as though each day is a gift – and of course, it is, but we often lose sight of that. So I am cooking for my family, taking up new work as a court-appointed special advocate for children, preaching and pastoring, gardening, sewing, and giving thanks every day for being alive. 

I will not die an unlived life. 

I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. 

I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, 

to make me less afraid, more accessible, 

to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. 

I choose to risk my significance; 

to live so that which came to me as a seed goes to the next as a blossom 

and that which came to me as a blossom, goes on as fruit.

                                                                                                        Dawna Markova

 

March 20!

Spring sunrise at the farm

Today is the first day of spring and it is my birthday. According my own long-ago views, I am old! But I don’t feel old, and when I look in the mirror, I don’t see an old lady looking back. “Old” has become so much, well, older than it used to be. 

Twenty years ago, if I had allowed myself to think about it, I probably couldn’t have imagined living to this age. The cancer diagnosis then was followed by another, a dozen years later. Two rounds of cancer, with chemo and surgery and all the rest, shifted my focus from the long view to the here-and-now. I had known in my head that I wouldn’t live forever, but then my heart learned it. It sounds trite, but the lesson of the heart is to make every day count, to do the things that make for peace, to live in love – with those around me, with the world, with God. Some days that is easier to do than other days, but it is always worth trying. 

Spring and a birthday – two good causes for celebrating a new season!

 

Grocery Shopping....

March 13, 2020, was a Friday – Friday the thirteenth. We had a study group at church on hymnody. Mama and I went and after it was over, I needed a few things at the grocery store. I don’t remember what anymore, but I didn’t want to go all the way to my usual store, so we went to the one near church, an IGA. I got want I needed – whatever it was – and we went home. And that was the last time I shopped in a grocery store. I have not gone into a grocery store to buy food in two years. 

Everything came to a grinding halt that weekend. We still had in-person worship but we cancelled our church luncheon for March 15. (A family size pan of lasagna was in my freezer for a long time.) ven on the 13th, I had posted signs on the doors for folks to keep their distance from each other. Soon after, we were no longer worshipping in person, and that would go on for a very long time. 

In these past two years, I have mastered the art of on-line grocery shopping. I make my lists, send them in, and drive up for curb-side. It is convenient (for me), and allows me to shop around from home. I’ve gotten to know the folks who pick my groceries. And they are good! I’ve made a few mistakes – ending up once with four pounds of radishes and a bag of frozen French fries so big it lasted for six months. But what a blessing for me. I have not had to go into the store; I have not worried about getting sick there; I have been able to pay for and pick up our food. 

I give thanks regularly for those who make this possible – the ones who shop my orders and bring them to my car; the stores that pivoted overnight to do this; the truck drivers delivering toilet paper and spinach. And I wonder if I will ever go back to a weekly trip to the grocery store, with my written list in hand. I wonder if I will ever just run in for one or two things. I wonder if things will ever be the way they were “before.”

 

Cheers.....

Sometimes I get a song stuck in my head – an earworm. Often it is a hymn, and usually one that I don’t even especially like. The song that has stayed with me lately, though, is the theme song to Cheers, a TV show that hasn’t aired in almost 30 years. This is the opening bit: 

Making your way in the world today 

Takes everything you've got 

Taking a break from all your worries 

Sure would help a lot 

Wouldn't you like to get away? 

I don’t know why the song came to me, but isn’t it the right theme song for now? Lots of folks would like to get away – away on vacation, away for a worry-free night out, away from bills and masks and stress. And: 

Sometimes you want to go 

Where everybody knows your name 

And they're always glad you came 

You want to be where you can see 

Our troubles are all the same 

You want to be where everybody knows your name 

The fictional bar Cheers was that place for a small group. And church has been like that for some folks – a place where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came. A deep sense of being known and (still) welcomed is a precious thing. It is the essence, I think, of the love of God. 

Our Cheers and our churches are flawed institutions. We don’t always want to know those who come, especially the ones who challenge us, who differ from us. We don’t always welcome those who need it the most. But in the world today, where it takes everything we’ve got to keep on with the keeping on, we need each other. 

Unlike the song, these days our troubles are not all the same: The people I know are not fleeing a war or fighting for their lives. But maybe, deep down, we all long to be known, to be loved, to be welcomed into the holy embrace of God.

Making our way in the world today takes everything we've got.  Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.

Anniversary

Five years ago today, I locked the door of my little house in Connecticut, got in my car, and drove to North Carolina – came home. It was a long trip, both that day and the whole journey of my life. I have traveled far from the farm in the South. I have learned a lot, seen a lot, grown a lot. But somehow through all of it, this farm, this place, has always been home. I always knew I would come back when I retired. And I knew it would be different from my growing up because I am different. 

In these five years, I have raised chickens, kept bees, pastored two churches, become a Master Gardener, remodeled a farmhouse, cooked more than 2000 meals, made three quilts, and learned anew the precious love of family. I have learned to sleep past 4:30.  I have doctored a horse, fed the goats, and kissed a dog goodbye.  These have been good and holy days.  And here’s to more sweet days and years to come!

 

A Snowy Day

It is snowing, and it is lovely – fat flakes floating down, covering the grass, transforming the common, beautifying the world outside my windows. For my family, here in the South on a Saturday, this is a treat. We will be indoors except for feeding the animals, staying warm by the fire, waiting for reports from kids who will manage, somehow, to go sledding. But for my friends and former neighbors in New England, this storm is a different story. There, they have dangerous cold, heavy snow, strong winds. And there are many who cannot stay home: snow plow drivers, police officers, fire fighters, health care workers, and more. 

How you interpret an event often depends on where you sit. For those who can sit inside, a snow storm is wonderful.  It is a delight for those who rarely experience it and get to choose whether to stay in or go out and play. But that same snow can be a trial and a danger to others. I give thanks today for all who brave the elements to protect and care for others. I grieve for those who are unhoused. I rejoice for the children who will bundle up and play outside. And I know that I have the privilege of being warm and well-fed, staying inside, watching the flakes fly.

And next week, the forecast is for temps in the 70s.....

 

The Girls Are Back!

My chickens all had a hard molt in the late fall. They completely stopped laying in mid-October – not one single egg. I fed them dehydrated worms as a source of high protein and lots of good snacks. And their feathers grew as they ate the extras. And still they did not lay any eggs. All through November – no eggs. All through December – no eggs. But in January, they have returned to giving me eggs! In the lower right nesting box they have been leaving one, two, or three eggs every day. We are once again eating deviled eggs for lunch and omelets for supper.  The hens are fat and fluffy, their feathers filled out again.  My girls are back at work.  And all is right with the world -- at least in this tiny corner!

 

January Storm

Tiny icicles hang from the broad, bright green magnolia leaves. There is a sheen of ice on the outdoor surfaces. It is cold. Folks here were hoping for snow and there might have been a few flakes in the wee hours. But mostly this storm is rain for us, cold, soaking rain. As the temps creep up, the ice begins to melt. It is a rainy Sunday, gray and dreary.

 

Confusion

 

It is January. It is supposed to be – if not cold – then at least cool. But we have had many days with temps above 70, even some 80 degree days. The dandelions have popped up in the yard; the forsythia is starting to bloom. Today it is 55 and sunny, and the bees are out and about, foraging, some of them coming back to the hive with loaded pollen baskets. The queen is probably starting to lay. They will all need food, so they will eat up their stored honey. And if this goes on, they will not survive what passes for winter these days. So I am feeding them sugar and hoping they make it. They are so confused. We are all confused….

Perspective

J's sunset (posted with her permission)

My sister has joined me in painting with watercolors. It is an activity that is challenging and comforting, freeing and frustrating. There is some technique that we practice but mostly we experiment with various combinations of water and paint. A few days ago, we painted a sunrise, a morning sky with pale sun and purple and pink clouds. Her colors were vibrant and lively, but she was critical of her work, thinking that it did not look “right,” that it was not like the picture we were using for our guide. And then she turned her paper upside down and it was a sunset instead. And it was perfect! 

And it makes me think that sometimes when I am dissatisfied with something, when I think things are not quite right, I just need to turn them upside down and change my perspective...

 

Detour

The main route from our farm to “town” is closed for road work, so yesterday when I went to a doctor’s appointment, I had a detour. That way around has soaring bridges over the river, and it winds through wide stands of pine trees. The dome of the sky was pearlescent blue, melting into pink along the horizon. The sun was just beginning to rise. It was so beautiful – one of those moments that makes you catch your breath. I had the radio on, listening to the morning news. There were stories about tragic deaths, violent dictators, hatred acted out in streets and governments sickness and poverty and despair. So much of the news was evil and ugly, and yet I had detoured into the midst of goodness and beauty. What a contrast ... and a whispered commandment to seek beauty, to live in the light, to overcome evil with goodness (Romans 12:21).

Pine trees at sunrise near Wilmington --
not quite what I saw, but I was driving and did not take a photo!