Tend and Keep

I carry tomato seedlings up the stairs, their first steps out of the basement, the womb where where all their needs were met:  soil, water, light all given in sufficient measure. I place them gently in a protected place,  where the sun and wind are not too harsh. This is it: the hardening off. It is time. I hover, sipping coffee in my chair nearby, watching them struggle in the breeze, and feel sorry for the young plants. They need to be prepared, I tell myself sternly. They need to be able to survive in the Real World. The winds will break their stems, and the bugs will devour their fruit, and the sun will scald their leaves, and the rain will smash them into pulp if they are not strong. I do them no favors with my softness, my safeguarding. It is time for them to become harder, more resilient, able to overcome adversity. I am sad. I am proud. It is, as they say, tough love.

Last week, there was a sign on the side of the road vaguely announcing imminent construction work. We soon learned what the sign indicated: the bridge we travel every day was going to be closed for many months.  Suddenly, the rivers that separate here from  there  seemed to rear up and reclaim their rightful place as topographic barriers, unforgiving terrain that needed to be considered carefully as we, pioneer-like, plotted out the least inhibiting place to cross. As I drew a new squiggly-line commute, I found that I was investigating local maps in a different light, asking questions like: where exactly do those two rivers meet? And, what does that mean for the watershed of this area, including the creek that runs by my house? I then wondered how the land use changes as the topography changes, and I was led to investigate many environmental connections that I am sorry to say I had not given a good amount of consideration before this imposed inconvenience. I find this s...

So often, the most pertinent questions come in a child's voice. This morning, on the way to school, I heard from the back seat, "Mom, when will it not be January anymore?" When, indeed. This has been the Januariest of Januaries for me. I feel that I've stumbled into the new year and then, instead of recovering, fell flat on my face. The month is (finally?) almost gone and the Christmas tree is still the centerpiece of the living room. I've been sick since the holiday, coughing and sniffling and doing the bare minimum to keep functioning. What day is it? I have a vague idea. What's happening tomorrow? Uh, let me think... I have a nagging feeling of being just a bit behind on everything, that there are things I'm forgetting, and of barely staying afloat. I have said more than a few times - when will I catch up?  How can I get on top of things? I just need to find my stride! What I am really desiring can probably be narrowed down to two things, in the end: pr...

Whenever I am preparing to host a gathering at our home, the same pattern likes to repeat itself: Weeks before, I make a list, mentally or on paper, of things that I would like to have done before the party. Floors swept, food prepped, new candles to light, bathrooms cleaned, get that cupboard repainted or the fridge cleaned out. But inevitably, as the time for the event approaches, there comes a pivotal moment, one in which I realize that I will not get everything checked off that list before the appointed time. I start to prioritize, jettisoning those tasks which do not pertain to comfort and good food... and sometimes even those items get simplified. And then, when the day comes and the guests start to arrive, I am swept up in conversation and laughter... And I realize that really, all that matters is that we stand with arms open in greeting, happy to see one another. The other items from the list, even though they may be important and lovely, are superfluous.  So too with Chris...

Every Advent season, I dutifully scatter stacks of devotionals and poetry around our house with great intentions of picking them up for daily reflection. And, while those books do get read intermittently, sooner or later, somewhere between making gingerbread and stuffing stockings, I invariably find myself drawn to re-read one of my very favorite stories... The Lord of the Rings . I read these books almost every year while sitting within the glow of the Christmas tree, neglecting other pressing tasks in order to follow two hobbits on a quest to save Middle Earth. Why am I so drawn to that particular story at this time of year? Well, part of it is that I am tired, and it is comforting to sink into a familiar story. Mostly, though, it's simply because humans love stories; it is written into the way we are created. And, in that beautiful, immersive story, I find truth: human, cosmic, and beautiful truths, all of which work to deepen and enlighten my connection to God's story of re...

My eyes are  still adjusting to the new seasonal reality, to landscapes that were first leached of color and then stripped of coverings. It seems just a tad bit indecent, really -  I look outside and am startled to see the brash shape of the land and trees, like someone has taken off all their clothes unexpectedly. Whoa, what's going on here?  and Do I really need to see all that? We 've put away the garden hoses and gotten out all the hats and mittens. The wind whistles through the back door, the warmth of the oven is welcome, and we light candles at dinnertime against the dark outside. The tea kettle rarely gets a break as we try to keep our chins up against the reality of a cold front moving in. And now, here comes a holiday that nudges us to fight back against the melancholy that grey days and early darkness can bring: Thanksgiving. We think of family, of good food, of gathering together and celebrating. Soon, relatives and friends will come through the door laden wit...