Spring and Daylight Savings Time

So many issues I planned to write about: the earthquake and tsunami in Japan, the Mid-East rebellions, my half-finished poems, information I promised to send out, the outline for a presentation . . . all waiting to be completed.  Today, however, would not allow for those obligations.

Outdoors, in our back yard, Katie stalked squirrels all afternoon, never getting one within chasing distance.  Overhead, birds of all sorts were singing their late afternoon, early spring hymns.  The neighborhood rustled with sounds of yard work, dogs being walked while other dogs barked at them, a few cars moving down the streets.  No cats were visible but they lurked in hidden spots.  Squirrels polished off the birdseed in the feeder.

Finally, Katie and I sat on the top step of the long wooden stairway leading to our lower lot, watching everything.  Two crows flew by chasing the hawk away, "Out! Out!"  they screamed at the predator.  The beautiful-winged bird moved at its own speed and will, not to be completely under the thumb of the black birds and their raucous warning. The warmth of the late afternoon, the brightness, the almost spring, the beginning flowers on tree and bush . . . these lured me outside, denied my attempts to do something useful.

Tomorrow comes soon enough.  Today is sufficient.

Children

Today I think of children, and find this comment by Benedictine Sister Joan Chittister: from The Monastic Way  -- a daily word for each month.  The reference to this quote is the portrait “Head of a Girl” by Paula Modersohn-Becker. This is her word for Wednesday, February 16, 2011:

“All over the country, all over the world, children are being bought and sold, beaten and killed, abandoned and – worse, perhaps – simply ignored by the very people they depend on for food and care and love and security.  We love to think of children as “innocent.”  But, I thought, as I looked at Modersohn-Becker’s “Head of a Girl,” are children really innocent – meaning unknowing of evil – or are they simply the silent bearers of the sins adults commit against them?  And at what cost – to us as a society – as well as to them?”

In researching for my book Rachel's Children: Surviving the Second World War  (on Amazon)  I now find in Sister Joan's comment a truth that is proven by what happens to children during a time of war.  Not  only during wartime, however, but under all kinds of circumstances, as listed in her comment for today.  I have to wonder what it is we could be thinking of, when we take our future and cripple it emotionally and physically by the actions we are guilty of committing against children.  Even though most of us would never consider behaving in such ways towards children, we are complicit indirectly when we simply sigh and shake our corporate head over such sins.  We accommodate the brutal behavior if we fail to speak out, to draw attention to, and advocate for a change in our common humanity. 

None of us came into this world as full-blown adults.   Along the way we too were wounded in some way, seen or unseen.  Do we avoid advocacy for the children of this world and this time because it would remind us of our own vulnerability in our growing years?  Or do we make judgments that reflect the sense that because we have come through that storm others can as well?  How do we heal our own wounds, or do they simply exist in the shadows of our psyches unattended?

The portrait referred to is a haunting reminder of our own lost innocence, and serves as a reflection of who we are today.  Look it up and define what happens to you as you study this portrait of a young girl who represents more than one child.  What is the secret behind her eyes?

Where's My Birth Certificate?

There are some political figures who are championing tighter standards for a presidential candidate, which include the presentation of the original birth certificate in the list of qualifications for President.  Well, that really stunned me.  I'm not planning to run for President in 2012, but who knows what opportunities might arise further down the candidate road?  And here I am, without my original birth certificate!

In case you are wondering what happened to it, here is the story:  when I applied for my first passport as I prepared to join my new husband in Germany, my mother handed me the original form.  I was born in an Army hospital near Denver, Colorado, and the obstetrician's signature is on the paper -- a friend and colleague of my father the Army pathologist.  It was a treasured piece of family history.  Thinking the Passport Office would later return the form to me along with my new passport, my mother had me include it with the other information I submitted.  Alas . . . that's the last I saw of that certificate!  I wrote the Office once asking about it but was told there was no way to research their files for it -- too involved and not enough staff available for such.  I did send for a copy from Adams County, CO but it was not a replica of the original, simply a typed version with the same information.

This concerns me a great deal.  What if this requirement of displaying an original birth certificate goes into effect legally?  That will definitely prevent me from running in any future presidential election.  And although my mother held no political ambitions, had such a requirement been in effect during her day, she would have been unable to produce any kind of birth certificate.  The courthouse in Nelson County, VA where her records were filed burned down, and all the records were lost.  She had nothing but her name in a family bible to prove her existence.

I suppose it would be possible in this age to prove that neither my mother nor I ever existed.  Without that original birth certificate we have no way of proving that we were actually born, not to mention born again.  Whoever reads this blog may be forced to decide if I am real, or simply the reader's imagination.  You will have to come to your own conclusions about that. 

A Winter Day (written earlier but posted now)

In this season of winter, of quiet landscapes except for squirrels and birds at the feeders, I have a gift.  It is called Time.

            So I read poetry from the collection of books not opened until now.  I listen to the music saved for such an opportunity, soft and reflective.  And I write.

The grief of the tragic shootings in Tucson rises inside and I feel a melancholy sorrow for not only the victims of the deranged man with a deadly gun, but for the times we live in. I do not know this time, the climate of our society.  I don’t recognize the vitriol spewing from radios and television.  I feel a certain guilt for the safety that surrounds me, although it could suddenly be torn apart by unexpected danger. 

We live in our fears.  Some are real, but most are not – simply products of our imaginations, or as in the case of the man in Tucson, the product of madness.

When times such as now confront us with their brutal reality, only the poem can come to our aid by expressing what we cannot otherwise say.  We can speak no longer in prose:

The day brings its light to the world

This world

This world of glory and sadness

Of rejoicing and regrets

Of grace and fear

Of hope and darkness

Now we have no words

No way to offer the sound

Of peace, music of a better time

How dare we offer solace

To those whose grief is unappeased

Yet how dare we not make the attempt

For we are on this small speck

In the unimaginable universe

Together in our vulnerable

And fearful existence

Hold us you out there

Hold us in your strength

That moves undaunted

Into the time we have left

Sharing the Season

When the winter holiday season rolls around each year, with it come the complaints about taking Christ out of Christmas, and sneering at the use of the phrase "Happy Holidays" in place of "Merry Christmas."  Some rigid Christians believe this season is strictly for Christians to celebrate.

What is ignored is the fact that this time of year was observed as a special season long before the Year One, and by those who lived far away from Palestine.  Christians adopted the time as fitting to commemorate the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ, in order to re-order the purpose of this particular season by building upon a familiar practice which preceded that time.  Nothing in our Christian scriptures designates a particular season for that birth.  We cannot pinpoint the exact time of Jesus' birth.  Instead, we used a season observed by those who welcomed the Winter Solstice.  In time, those in far northern territories, whose people had also greeted the return of the sun's light to those dark winter places, were included in the merger of celebrations.  We now have "Yuletide" events, the Yule logs in our fireplaces, and other symbols of light, which have been borrowed from those early times and other beliefs.  We are not diminished by observances of seasons different from those of Christians, even when they fall within similar calendars. 

Thus there is no reason we cannot share this Christmas Yuletide Season with others who are not Christians.  We have borrowed a sacred time from the dark histories of others in order to experience the coming of a New Light into the world, one whom Christians recognize as Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God, the Savior, and many other designations.  The commercialization of the seasonal holidays cannot take away the significance of this time for those who follow the Christ.  Let those who choose the greeting of Happy Holidays do so without judgment from us.  We are not harmed nor do we lose anything by such a practice.  This time of year is observed by Christians, pagans, atheists, and those of other faiths for various reasons. And to all, we can greet each one of our neighbors appropriately.  Merry Christmas -- Happy Holidays -- Joyous New Year!

Christmas Season . . . Here Again

Seasons have qualities of stability.  Although they change during a year they remain consistent in their particular meanings.  Autumn signals the end of the Summer season and a time for mellowing and feeling new energies, even as leaves turn colors and fall from trees.  Crisp air for the northern hemisphere is the trademark.  Football and baseball reign over the sports season.  Spring and summer too have their particular characters that delight and deepen our appreciation of what our environment has to offer.  Everything returning to life, the earth warming again, slowly turning from gentle breezes and new blooms to the heat of summer and ocean waves or lakes to enjoy. 

There is one more Season, however, smack in the midst of winter that is one all to itself -- the holiday season that for many is the Christmas Season.  It is a time for hope, for promise, for love of neighbors throughout the world and the longing for peace.  It is preceded by a time of holy waiting that Christians name as Advent.  A waiting time before the birthtime of Jesus the Christ.  How many books, poems, songs, sermons have been created to prepare us for that time each year!  I read this meaningful statement today by John Buchanan, pastor of Fourth Presbyterian Church in Chicago and Editor/Publisher of The Christian Century about this season:  "Christmas tells us that here is one who cares about us and comes to be with us.  The simple story means that in this vast and mysterious universe, in this sometimes frightening world, we are not ever alone." 

Comforting words indeed, but also challenging words.  They mean that in spite of all that might deter us from keeping on with life, there is One who tugs at our spirits, beckoning us to stay on our journeys.  We can't curl up and crawl into a corner somewhere.  So much is at stake still to be accomplished.  So we listen to the words told every year about something so mysterious we call it a miracle, the coming of the Prince of Peace into a world at war somewhere.  If only we could hear it.  The songs, the stories, the quiet gatherings, are what encourage us to keep going.  The Season is a brief one.  The challenge is to honor it past the time of carols and candles and bells and live as if we were always in a holy season of Christmas.  

Along the Way . . .

The Dao de Jing offers wisdom on many fronts, and one of the wisdom sayings I encountered yesterday has given me points to reflect.  The Dao says in effect that a good traveler is aware and open to what happens along the way, and is not focused solely on the destination.  This is my expression of that truth.  It is certainly true for me.

I began to think of all the journeys in my life: schooling, graduations, courtships, marriage, motherhood, careers, trips here and abroad . . .  It reveals the truth of that Dao wisdom:  every event, every endeavor and journey I have made is memorable in major part because of what happened along the way. 

For example, on one of my trips to China, my flight was canceled on the connecting flight to Los Angeles because of engine problems.  As a result, I was a day late getting to Shanghai and needed to join up with my group in Huangshan, a well-known mountain in Anhui Province (a locale of Pearl Buck's trilogy beginning with The Good Earth).  It was a difficult and anxiety-ridden trip, fortunately under the supervision of a fine travel agency.  The last leg of that journey was by train from Shanghai to Huangshan where two young tour staff members drove me up the mountain to join the group at a hotel there, in the middle of the night.

What made the trip memorable was who shared the train compartment with me: Mr.Chen.  He was employed by the Chinese government as a real-estate developer (later to begin the resort at the foot of Huangshan Mountain) and a member of the People's Consultative Congress for Anhui Province. His son was a graduate student in engineering in the United States.  The result was a series of visits with the Chen family in Taiping over several years of my travels to China, and a continuing friendship with his son and additionally his wife which lasts even today.  My entire response to the wonderful country of China has been hugely affected by that "chance" meeting with Mr. Chen because of a canceled flight out of Cincinnati!

There are many such adventures and delights and challenges at every point in my life's journey, teaching me that it is not the destination that must be focused upon solely.  The process, the journey, has made all experiences necessary, whether they have been difficult or enjoyable.  As the Dao affirms, to remain open to each moment of this journey through life is what creates who one is.  Destinations are vitally important, but the path taken to reach them is incredibly valuable.