Peripheral Ponderings

 

 

 

 

 

He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.     Psalm 91

We toured the Blue Grotto near Capri when we were in Italy in 2015, though we risked seasickness as our little boat tossed and rocked in the waves.  Passengers had to duck down so the boat could enter into the cave’s small opening.  Once inside, the light rippling and shimmering on the waves mixed a palette of  colour that was almost electric blue.  It felt other-worldly.

It’s why we vacation away from our everyday surroundings, to experience this thrill, this discovery of awesome places.

You don’t have to go that far, of course.   There’s hideaways tucked all around us,  a window framed by the thick cover of trees, or a secret tunnel under the road.

When our children were small, one of their favourite places to hang out  was the large willow tree at the end of our driveway.  Sometimes whole birthday parties of kids would perch on its branches.  The long tresses of its branches were a perfect cover from any prying adult eyes.

In Psalm 91, the psalmist writes that God is his secret place, a shelter, a place to hide from trouble.  God’s presence was a sanctuary always available to him.  As it is for us.

God’s spirit has a light and beauty that refreshes us, gives us safety, comfort, and renewal.  Sometimes when the pace of life gets to be too much, when work or relationships get snarly, we are in danger of forgetting who we really are.  Jesus tells his followers to come away with him to a quiet, secluded place, to leave our cramped attitudes, to be awakened to a holy dimension and a deeper perspective.

My parents had this Dutch proverb prominently displayed in their home:

“Werken om te leven, niet leven om te werken”

It means “work to live, not live to work.”   It was a necessary reminder because on a farm the work was never done.

When we were young, my father worked for a dairy, delivering milk by horse and buggy.  For us kids, this meant his arrival home in the early afternoon, a bonus in those days when fathers worked long hours. We, of course, usually weren’t awake when he got up for work around 4:30 in the morning.

After we moved out to the country, everything changed, because on a farm the work is endless.  Not only that, it was often urgent and time-specific. The hay had to come in when the sun shined. The livestock had to be fed.    Summertime was always busy.   There was no swimming at Holiday Park on a summer afternoon until chores were finished – usually well after the hottest part of the day.  The crops had to be harvested, and I well remember the rattling of the old corn elevator on a cold November day, the cobs dropping from its height to slowly fill up the corn cribs.

Over the years, I have had ample opportunity to observe the ways people work.  I learned that hurry is counter-productive, wastes energy and actually increases risk of accidents.  I learned to go the distance – when the strawberries were ripe, it meant not quitting until the rows were picked through, though there were straw marks indented on your knees.

I learned to do the hardest job on my list first.  Pick my essay topic long before the deadline to collect the serendipities that will help write it.  Make repairs early before they cause more problems.  Dot my i’s, cross my  t’s,  proofread my work.

Step back to look at the big picture, work smarter, not harder.    Accept help, delegate responsibilities because it’s better when others can take ownership, share the burden and the credit for success.

Do the next right thing.  Or do the next thing right.   “Anything worth doing, is worth doing well!”

Now that I have been retired for a number of years, the to-do list is nowhere as long as it used to be.   I have time to sit down and ponder which task to take up next.   Increasingly, I need the skill to learn how to do nothing, because that is also truly difficult.   My self-worth no longer depends on being productive.  There is satisfaction in just the being, the uniqueness of each relationship, the beauty I’d somehow missed in the headlong rush of busier times.

I am happy about the things I have been able to accomplish, the things made, team work and participation.  But in the long run,  they are only part of the equation.   Because we work to live, not live to work.

 

Love is . . .
A newborn’s cry
A twinkle in the eye
The joy of being alive
Expansive as the sky.

Love is . . .
Laughing, sometimes crying
The pain of someone’s dying
Bright petals of flowers
Long, leisurely hours.

Love is . . .
The music of a song
Trying to get along
The freshness of the dawn
The fiery setting of the sun.

Love is . . .
Always learning something new
About the lover who is close to you
Worlds within worlds yet to discover
My parents, sister and brother.

Love is . . .
Watching our children grow
So much to learn, so much to know.
Feeling again in their potentiality
The surge, the pulse, of life to be.

Trudy Prins

After some trial and error, I published my first episode on podbean.com.  Many thanks to the local library’s Gale course instructor for patient instruction!

To hear a reading of this poem, copy and paste the link below into your browser.  

https://www.podbean.com/ew/pb-yjvqn-1277e37

 

 

 

 

 

Come see my roses climbing,
Said my love one summer’s day,
The breezes are softly caressing
Their crimson petals along the way.

Nestled and twined round trellis high
Beauty that takes my breath away!
How fleetingly petals bloom and die,
The moment lost if I do not stay.

 

It’s early summer and the world is astoundingly beautiful, the explosion of colour a laughing joy after the dormancy of a long winter and cool spring.   We who live in northern climates have learned to stop and appreciate all that nature has to offer in this short window of time.  There’s a gladness in just being with resurrected life.

The rose theme seems not to be limited to our gardens.  Within a couple of days, we encountered four people named Rose, in various contexts.  Like a bouquet of Roses.  If you pay attention, life is full of odd coincidences, and I’ve learned to just enjoy them.

Perhaps the Master Gardener calls us to take a moment, and enjoy all of His creation, including human beings.  We are not so much set apart from the rest of nature as we are embedded in it.  We, too, revel in the warmth and light of the sun.   When we respond, we are the beloved to the lover, beauty enhances all our senses and makes us fully and achingly alive.  Whether we are walking in a garden or being part of our community, sometimes it’s all so poignant that it hurts.

The rose’s thorn reminds us that these fleeting treasures can’t be held in grasping hands, or taken for granted.  They can only be cherished when we let them be, grateful that we share this moment.

 

 

On Father’s Day we remember each one
Of our loving fathers; well knowing
That all the work that they have done
Was so important for our growing.

It is an awesome responsibility to protect and guide young lives, to help create the solid nurturing home that becomes a lifetime foundation.   Children watch parents during formative years, when memories lay their most enduring tracks.  Teachable moments are generally not rehearsed ones.

Since it’s Father’s Day this Sunday, it seems fitting to pause and reflect a little about fathers.    It’s not only about the fathers who parented us, but also the ones who parented our children, and who are now parenting our grandchildren.

For my Dad, fathering meant coaching a novice bike-rider in a Dominion grocery store parking lot after hours.  It meant sweating at the back of an auditorium as I participated in a public speaking contest at school.   It meant allaying our fears and somehow making each one of us feel unique.  We used to love Sundays, because that day Dad had some free time to spend with us.   The Sabbath made it possible to slow the pace, to appreciate family and nature during afternoon walks or drives.

My father was not much of a detail man, but he generally could charm people into buying into his dreams with their sweat equity.   He had a knack for making people feel good about helping him.  As a side benefit, his family learned a healthy wariness of being wheedled into grand schemes.

As he grew older, my father’s generally positive outlook on life began to fray a little. Troubles, big and small, got tiresome after a while. After undergoing neck surgery when he was in his 80s, his mobility was limited. He needed physiotherapy, but it was difficult for him to connect incremental effort to the big picture.  Given a small jigsaw puzzle to hep improve his manual dexterity, he jokingly felt that this was a “waste of my valuable time.”

I also so much appreciate the fathering and quiet support my husband provided for our family. The gardens in which he loves to work produce beautiful blooms around our home. He has a can-do attitude that is willing to work out challenges.  He is the reliable companion who attended countless church services, every family visit or event, who could always be counted on to chauffeur. His calm and steady driving generally set a good example.  All three of our children  got their driver’s license on their first attempts (more than we can say for ourselves).

Dads often get traditional gifts for their special days. Things like ties, which accumulate over time. So, I thought I’d take a photo of his personal  collection, 24 ties in all.  The gift of a tie, of course, could never convey enough gratitude:  children know when they are loved, and love is given in return.

And to our son and son-in-laws, still in the middle of parenting young children,  I wish them strength and kindness and perseverance as they lovingly raise the ones entrusted to them.

Blest be the tie that binds – 24 hours a day.