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.

The Drift of Autumn - a Prose Reflection

I never realize it is time for autumn when reaching August's end.  Yet leaves begin to turn, and there is . . . something . . in the air I can't define, the hidden cue that signals change.  I grow reflective, nostalgic even, and as October comes in its chill splendor of leaf and shadow, sad.  Thoughts of what I have not yet accomplished crowd in and I struggle to keep up with time.  So much to read, so much to write.  So many yearnings to be with family, with friends, with new acquaintances.  The past has a strength that surpasses my own, and finally I give in and do nothing one day but sit and reflect, sit and remember, sit and write.  The season has won me over.  The trees of change have called to me irrevocably.  I drink the filtered light in my thirst for what it is that eludes me. I have become as one with those elements of earth that change yet run a fixed course by an unseen schedule.  Now I reach new energies, new creative outlets, mixing new with old to become Now.

Autumn Energy

After the summer days that called for laid-back do-nothing hours, this cooler weather that has entered our area calls me to DO SOMETHING.   As a matter of fact, I worked all summer revising and correcting my book manuscript, and now delight in seeing the finished, published product from All Things That Matter Press.  Rachel's Children: Surviving the Second World War has been a 3-year undertaking, begun out of a compelling sense of describing what happens to children during wartime.  The horrors of WWII disoriented the children caught up in that devastating time, and I felt it necessary to honor the experience as it affected children both in the midst of war and those on the perimeters.

Now that work is accomplished I move on to writing about the animals who have been rescued from their own horrors of abuse and neglect, finding new life with those who love and care for them.  The rescue organizations in our area do a magnificent job in spite of being overwhelmed by the needs of those who have suffered.   Cruelty is a common evil and works its terror upon us all, whether we walk with two or four legs.  We all inhabit the same creation and must share the consequences of cruelty as well as the beauty of compassionate care.

In the midst of this transition from one book to the next, autumn has come through the door of the seasons.  It brings with cooler temperatures the energy that has been dormant all during the high and dry heat of summer in this area.  I'm writing poems, carving wood pictures, beginning another book.  Autumn is good.

With October comes my need to share once more the beautiful poem by Robert Nathan.  If he had written no other poem than this, it would have been enough:

                                         Now Blue October

                     Now blue October, smoky in the sun,
                     Must end the long, sweet summer of the heart.
                     The last brief visit of the birds is done;
                     They sing the autumn songs before they part.
                     Listen, how lovely -- there's the thrush we heard
                     When June was small with roses, and the bending
                     Blossom of branches covered nest and bird,
                     Singing the summer in, summer unending --
                     Give me your hand once more before the night;
                     See how the meadows darken with the frost,
                     How fades the green that was the summer's light.
                     Beauty is only altered, never lost,
                     And love, before the cold November rain,
                     Will make its summer in the heart again.

The Morality of Deception

This morning our dog got loose from her harness during our morning walk. After several attempts to grab her before she got to busier streets, I reversed my strategy and started walking back toward our house. Katie, a Beagle-Jack Russell, is often craftier than I, so I wondered if this time I could trick her into coming home. She absolutely avoids any attempt to get hold of her -- it's a game she loves to play.

Her smile of joy and discovery at her freedom from leash and harness was obvious. But as I headed home, she bounded back too, keeping just enough distance from me as to escape any grabs I made for her collar. When we reached our house, I headed for the back yard, leaving the wooden gate open. She stopped in the neighbor's yard, watching me. And here's when I began the real deceptions: I went through a litany of names of her favorite people and dog friends among our family, as if I saw them in the back yard, greeting them in a very loud voice. Finally curiosity and excitement got the upper hand and she ran into the yard while I tried to shut the gate before she realized the underhanded ploy. Close, but successful.

I tried to make the best of it for her as she kept looking for all those wonderful people and dog friends. Explaining that they must not be here after all, I praised her extensively for coming home, and we went in where I fixed her breakfast. That was tricky, because the back door was still locked and I had to go out the gate again to the front door, but I was successful. The last time I looked at her, she still seemed a bit miffed at my trick . . .

So was the act of deception immoral, or was I enacting the deceit in order to bring about a greater good? The jury of one, Katie, has not let me know at this point, but because our four-legged companions are more forgiving than we two-leggeds can be, I'm betting on her letting me off the hook this time.