Tend and Keep

My son was putting up an impressive fight about having to go outside and help his dad with chores instead of his preferred activity, reading a book.  The fresh air will be good for you, I said. You might learn something, I said. You get to hang out with your dad, I said. And then, finally: GET OUT THERE. THIS IS LIFE. LIFE IS WORK, AND YOU NEED TO FIND A WAY TO ENJOY IT. Maybe a bit dramatic, I'll concede, but I stand by it. So much of life is simply hard work, and it doesn't have to be seen as pointless drudgery, a necessary evil to get through so that we can enjoy the results of our labor. Too often, when we start a project, all that we are envisioning is the outcome, and we forget to account for the work that will happen along the way. I plant a garden in the spring, dreaming of a delicious home-grown tomato but forgetting about the hours of weeding. I assign a project to my students, thinking of them presenting all they have learned, not accounting for all the guidance that...

Yesterday, I went to the sale barn in order to watch the weekly sheep and goat auction. I have some goats to sell, and I wanted to get all the paperwork filled out and also do some reconnaissance on the backing-up-a-trailer logistics in advance of the real deal. My mom, ever supportive, came along to show me the ropes. It was early in the morning, and the farmers who were selling listened intently to the auctioneer, noting prices and weights in their small pocket notebooks. We watched several rounds of sheep come through and get sold in rapid succession, prices all good, farmers nodding along, until suddenly my mom sighed.  "It's a shame," she said, "that they run them through so quickly. At least let us admire them for a while! All that hard work and care, gone just like that!" At first, I smiled at her sentimentality. But then, as often happens when children consider their parent's words, I started to realize that... she's right. The farmers sitting in...

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.

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...

While reading this week, I came across an ancient Latin phrase that called to me: otium sanctum.  Translated as "holy leisure," this phrase seeks to encapsulate a balanced life centered in peace, in which all daily work is done with an openness to and acknowledgement of the presence of God. Sounds nice, doesn't it? My kids have taken to writing a daily newspaper, wherein each family member gets their own column, updating on the goings-on and status of our household. My most recent update opened with, "We think mom is stressed," followed by what I sincerely hope was an ill-judged, hyperbolic attempt at humor, "LIVES AT RISK!" Yet, I admit that they were probably on to something. I write this from my office, which currently looks like chaos in physical form, with piles of scribbled lists peeking out from under papers to be graded, various textbooks open to pages that were important at one time for some reason, and numerous half-empty drink containers. Th...

If I had to write a three-point sermon about why August is wonderful, it would go like this: sunflowers, swimming, sweet corn.  In August, especially the beginning, summer feels like it will last forever; we all get complacent and think that fall will never come... ... but then, I spot the first aster blooms and a sprinkling of yellow leaves on the cottonwood tree, and responsibilities that were tiny on the horizon suddenly loom larger and then are here. The garden becomes a neglected jungle as we adjust to new priorities, and our dog gives us sad eyes as we pack up each morning for a day away from home. Time is regimented into strict daily and weekly rhythms instead of the day-by-day flow we had enjoyed. The transition is not easy. We are tired. In the spring, our life seems to explode outwards as the weather warms. We spend more time outside and pick up projects that we had left behind or dreamed of all winter. During the summer, we roam and explore and work and play in an even w...

I paused in my battle with the weeds, stood up slowly, and critically surveyed the jungle that my vegetable garden has become over the last few weeks, and had the thought that all gardeners have at some point in the year: Is it worth it? I mean, I could just go to the store and buy food instead of attempting to grow it, and I almost certainly wouldn't be out much, money-wise...  and I wouldn't have sweat dripping off my nose as I practically stand on my head while searching for ripe tomatoes, trying to get to them before the chickens do. Is it worth it? In economics, worth = benefit - cost . So the question I was really asking, standing in the garden, is this: is the benefit of growing my own tomatoes greater than the cost? If we are considering factors beyond monetary value, and I think that is a good thing to do, then we can list many things in the benefit column of this equation, including, of course, the superior taste and quality of a home-grown tomato compared to one boug...

The garden is a great place for life lessons: delayed gratification, stick-to-it-iveness, hard work. Gardeners are, by nature, future-minded: thinking ahead to the next week, the next season, the next years, believing that hard work now will yield fruit and beauty in the future. Sometimes it is hard to pause and take stock, to look around and appreciate everything that's been accomplished and how far you've come. Instead, we make mental to-do lists of undone tasks and notes about what to do better next time. But, we all know how important it is to celebrate milestones, to appreciate work well done, to say "congratulations" to others or even to yourself.  Sometimes life, like work in the garden, just keeps rolling along into the next season without a natural stopping point to mark a transition. When you are working hard - at life or in the garden - perhaps pulling weeds down a row of tiny seedlings, and maybe everything starts to get caked in dirt and sweat runs down i...

On my to-do list for today is the aspirational task... "write something."  So here I am. It's a busy time in academia, the sprint to the finish line at the end of the spring semester.  There are tests to write, tests to grade, daily assignments to brainstorm and final projects to draft and explain and guide students through. There are advising meetings, where students are thinking ahead to next semester and next year and the rest of life, asking big and small questions that deserve answers. My own kids are racing around outside after school and tracking mud through the house and resisting bedtimes because IT'S STILL LIGHT OUT, MOM! At a conference for women in engineering I was lucky to attend recently, there were so many successful women talking about their careers and work and climbing that ladder. There was a time for questions at the end of each talk, and every single time, some form of the age-old question was asked... What does your work/life balance look like? ...

Here is something I want to remember: having babies and toddlers is hard. (Duh, I know.) But, I am on the tail end of those years, and I have noticed that sometimes, it seems as though others have forgotten the reality of life while parenting little ones. So, let me go down memory lane... The most difficult things, for me, were the constancy  and the unpredictability of needs. Something as simple as taking a shower had to be planned, so that someone else could take over for a few minutes. Tasks that were started early in the day might stay undone indefinitely, because of the rise of more pressing items. Children require constant attention; if left unattended for even a minute, they might put something dangerous in their mouths, fall down the stairs, or lash out and hit their siblings. Everything is interrupted: conversations with other adults, reading a book, household tasks, sleep.  Well, you might be thinking, what about naptime? What about the evenings or early mornings? Su...

Kitten and Chickens. These White Leghorn chickens are surprisingly delightful. Hello, mama goat. One of the babies.