Tend and Keep

My daughter is running, skirt and hair flying, arms pumping, bursting in the door to proclaim the good news: Mom! A zucchini! I follow her outside, unable to resist her joy. She picks up a stick and gently, reverently, moves the giant leaves aside to point at her discovery. There it is: a smooth, green, baby zucchini, beautiful and full of potential, quietly astonishing. We admire together, and share the delight of noticing this good fruit.

A savage storm blew through and left the cottonwood tree upside down, uprooted, and now it lies in a tangled heap. Our minds cannot comprehend the scale of this loss,  how it can happen - something so strong, sturdy and lovely is now simply - gone? This object of contemplation, perch for innumerable birds and critters -     those that make it a home and       those just passing through, companion for morning coffee and       Sunday afternoon strolls,     landmark and compass, And now - gone? The storm of cancer blew through and left its own devastation, lives turned upside down, now lying in a tangled heap. Our minds cannot comprehend the scale of the loss, how it can happen - someone so beautiful, kind and open-hearted is now simply - gone? This wife, mother, daughter, and  friend to so many -     who loved shared laugher and     the warmth of family, of home, companion for midmorning tea and ...

Today, I looked outside and saw a sparrow perched in its dignified little way on the leafy branch of a river birch that I had planted in the marshy, wetland soil of our pasture a few years ago. And the feeling that sprung up inside me I can only describe as this: Shalom. The peace of the delicate bird finding rest, the health, the thriving of the tree, planted in just the right spot, the wholeness of the cyclical pattern of well-being, the rightness, and beauty, and harmony on display, the pride that I was somehow part of it all; bringing healing instead of destruction, restoration instead of ruin, a glimpse of flourishing, of how things should be: Shalom.

Sometime in the 1990s, I was in grade school and was volunteering with my mom to help serve the food at a benefit concert. There was rain, so we were lugging boxes and coolers and coffee makers into a backup location, a recreation center in the neighboring town. As we walked through the doors, both my mom and I stopped short at what we saw: men, grown men , playing basketball, in the middle of the day. I stood there, gaping, until my mom whispered at me to stop staring and keep moving. Looking back, now I know that these men were almost certainly white-collar workers who met to play sports over their lunch breaks, and there's really nothing too unusual about that, but the concept of this was so foreign to my life at the time that I could not make sense of what I was seeing. In my world, working men were sweaty, hungry, and tired at lunchtime, and they were happy to get a break to sit down and eat. After lunch, they might stretch out and take a "10-minute snooze," as my da...

My hands are swollen,  skin stretched and flushed, full of pain. I rest them in my lap, just for a moment, close my eyes, and breathe. A child's voice breaks in: Mom, can I hold your hand? I breathe in, out. Yes.  My offered hand is not worth much else,  at the moment, but it is taken gently by two smaller ones, held like a precious gift.  Suddenly a kiss lands on my palm, unexpected and lovely. A blessing, A reminder that I can hold and carry: the small, sad offering is still worth giving, like loaves and fishes, multiplied. All that is needed is yes .

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.