Giddy-Up

the nets - mcvl at  night the mary margaretGiddy-Up

Yesterday I felt the sad creep up
Mixed with confusion
Draped around my soul
I swallowed my tears, the hurt in my inside
Places, deep and dark
Pushed them down
With all my might

And all the while I wrestled
Joy was creeping up and in
Waiting to soothe me with her balm
It was the words of a sister friend
And news waiting to rock me gentle
Balm on gaping throbbing
Places

And faith restored in me
In eyes that met
Mine
In love standing on the dock
Reminding me of love
That overcomes
Screamed the breeze
That brought the joy
That raised me up again

And I recalled the moments giddy
Cheered me up
A flash of scattered happy
At small and wondrous things
And I recall the look of kids at work
Hanging over sides of boats
Beside a mender of the nets

So I raise mine
In hopes of catching giddy joy
Even while I stand graveside today at two
Especially there
Remembering that life will always
Bring me joy
If I raise my net high, in the breeze when it blows hard
When it comes gentle
Always
While I raise my net
Untangling sadness from the threads
Breathing deep of sweet forgiveness

And reminding and remembering
The days of giddy-up
Are here
When I stand beside the grave
At two o’clock today

You Could Always Just Say Thank You

thank you peachSometime during the growing up years, in the South,  where I was raised and am raising mine ,we learned something about the transactions of words. And the early lessons get buried  the deepest if the soil is rich and the heart is receptive and the love is fertile. We feel shy and unworthy in our youth when words of encouragement or of the complimentary variety are showered on our heads. But we were told. Just say thank you. And isn’t even that difficult sometimes. It means we hear, we receive, we acknowledge that we caught the bouquet of gracious words.  We  now hold them, bear them, own. them. Grasping them even in our fragile souls. Thank you is the acknowledgement we at least hear and receive.

But we know it is much deeper and more complicated than that. It is a holy and sacred transaction.

And then there is the saying them ourselves. Two words. Unfurled from our tongues, released from our lips. Remembering to. Meaning to. Wanting to. Sending them out to others. Often. Authentically.

Yesterday we met some lively young women. And it was our privilege to pile them on our boat. We headed out to the secluded beaches of this Lowcountry coastline and basked in the glory that was the beauty of one summer day. The Patient one was at the helm and like all good captains he cared well for his charges. They delighted in every small detail of the day. Every shell they found, every glance at the horizon, nothing was lost on their porous souls. The day poured into them and they reflected back the joy in their countenance. Smiles of  delight from those a generation below us are contagious. And we remember to sing a song of wonder too.  At the end of the day, they turned, one in particular, and said thank you to their captain. For the day, for the adventure, for the journey. And that gray haired man,he lit up.  And he beamed a  boyish grin. One that gratitude and gratefulness can birth.

One of my favorite poets is John Blase of “The Beautiful Due” blog. A recent poem of his written forFather’s Dayspeaks to saying Thank You. In his straight forward and profound style of poetry, I found his words tucked  brilliantly into the gentle  lines of this poem. He  amplifies  the power of saying this to men. No  doubt it is important  to shower genuine, authentic gratitude on those who pour into our lives. But maybe I need to re-think the frequency of these words leaving my lips to my husband, among others.

This morning I turned to him and said quite simply, thank you for all you do to take care of us. It changed me. It changed him. Gratitude always changes us. The air in the room softened. The mood lightened. That Monday mood where everything wants to feel oppressive and needy and urgent, if we allow it. It felt kinder and gentler.

Thank you says we are blessed. Thank you says I love you. Thank you says your efforts are not in vein. They are appreciated. And they are beautiful.

We prayed on this Monday. And we thanked God.

And I am reminded how much I take for granted. How many times I have missed the lessons of my childhood. You could always just say thank you. 

We sat on the porch last night. Our souls rocking to the lapping of the Intercoastal Waterway, under the super moon, hair and skin kissed by  salted sea. We are molded by the gifts. And the discussion turns to how much manners matter to people. Small cultural nuances, like respect and gratitude, standing at the proper time for young men, saying thank you, helping others. We have heard these lessons all our lives. And the South won’t let up, in some small pockets. In our homes we are bearing down on good manners. Because respect and gratitude and a servant’s heart fall into the laps of appreciative adults. And sow good things.

God, please remind me to hear these lessons too. The ones we are trying to teach. Of saying with my lips what I feel in my heart. Of pouring out to others,  helping and serving. Of getting outside of myself and seeing and hearing a need in another. Of responding in love. Of living a life which reflects how grateful I am to be YOURS. To know you

And because I want you to know, Lord hear my thank you this summer Monday in the middle of June. Remind me to speak a vertical thank you always and to extend a horizontal thank you often. In love, in sincerity. Wanting nothing in return. A transaction of a pure heart. A grateful heart. A heart that knows you.

I want to always say thank you.  Not out of rote duty or empty cultural mores, not flowing from cliched patterns of speech or lessons of my youth.

I want to grow a thank you spirit in my home and in my very soul.

And then watch the changes that will occur in me and in the lives around me. Vertical, horizontal words of grateful praise.

Make my life a hymn of praise, in all the moments that are gratefully mine.

Joining Laura at The Wellspring and Michelle at Michelle de Rusha dot com and Jen for SDG

The Narrowing

dolphin duo show offsWe discuss the newlyweds in Spain. Their picture has just popped up on Instagram. I confess now this is something I could really long for. I might even really want to do this, go there. They are sitting under a shade tree, white linen table spread like a banquet with olives and wine and cheese and the cured meats. And they are smiling relaxed newly married bliss-filled smiles.

We are riding down the salty creek in our little boat when we stop to visit with friends sitting up on the top deck of their house boat. They are breathing in salt and watching the old lady dolphin swim, rising up above the surface now and then, she smiles at them. And they exhale the stress of their long work week in a thriving restaurant business. Owners never seem to sleep. I tell her “I hope you have a wonderful sunset tonight”. And her response is Elizabeth, you know, I really don’t care. Her cup is full with all that is there. There is nothing lacking in her dusk date with her husband.

And they tell us they are celebrating ten years of being in business with a really big trip. They are going to Scotland for three weeks. I exhale, ah Scotland.  And remember my two trips there. Lovely, they were. Good memories I have. And it creeps up again, this hazy desirous emotion and longing. Should I stay or should I go. In my inner parts, into my day dreams. Into my internal wish list.

There is a well-aged and well-tended friendship in my life. I believe I tell her everything. She has the enormous responsibility of listening to me spill it out, beat it to death, and wallow in it. My stuff. I confess, I complain, I confess some more. I doubt. I dream. And I drop off all my innermost parts at her feet. I am safe with her.

And in her wisdom she reminds me that no matter what we do or where we go we always have fun, in the simple. She reminds me of this truth. We have discovered the journey into extracting maximum joy from some of life’s most simple activities. We are four. We are two couples who though we have had our passports stamped a time or two, are happiest now in the execution of a simple plan. One of discovering that life explodes with God beauty in the trips down the African Creek, the one right here in the Lowcountry of South Carolina. And life is beautiful when we pack a sandwich, even bologna, or especially bologna, and kayak out to the wooden cross on the shore of the Waterway.

He came up to me yesterday with the heart of a child. Laid out all of the shells he was collecting on the kitchen table. They were all so shiny. There is a scientific term for the shimmer and sheen, the particular sparkle and shine. But the child in him just saw the shiny. And he pulled out a light and shined it on the splendor and everything glistened in this moment of ordinary.

And then he brings me his two special ones. He is not a mid-Fifties adult, he is a child, wide-eyed discoverer of beauty.

These he says, these are my special ones. Please don’t move them. He has found extraordinary beauty in these two found objects. Because they are imperfect. They are perfect. Barnacles and a  combination of shells have been molded together by the sea  to make a hybrid of beauty. And this is all we will ever need.  This sacred simple.For we are learning to go into the land of discovery of the God simple. The natural wonder of the unexplored. Exploring what is under our sandy toes and sun-burned noses.

We cut the motor on our favorite part of the creek and it seems that all we can see is green lush marshgrass, oystershells and sky. There is so much sky. Have I forgotten how large that canopy of unending sky is.  How could I forget the shades of blues so life-giving even on a cloudy day. And water. We are surrounded by water, sky, and wonder. And then the pod of frisky dolphin show up and we are all children. Each one of us in our human pod of four, is a child filled with a spirit of  fresh discovery.

And we are narrowing. And we are traveling. And we are home.

Oswald Chambers writes:

“If you ask for things from life instead of from God, ‘you ask amiss’; that is, you ask out of your desire for self-fulfillment. The more you fulfill yourself the less you will seek God.”…seek, and you will find…” Get to work-narrow your focus and interests to this one thing.”

Our conversation, the one with my friend Harriet,  turns to Him and any desire we have to “go and do”. It is our term for living. Unless He plans the trip, we decide we don’t really want to go after all. Because traveling on the outskirts of His will, is less than each time. And isn’t seeking Him as children the better way. And isn’t seeing His world as children, with the impressionable spirit of a discovering child the most tender way.

Our conversation, the one with my husband, turns to an older couple who are no longer walking out this earthly life. He reminds me of their routine. He says do you remember how they would get into their boat every night and ride out to see the dolphin play in the surf.  And they died not long after that.

I wrap my mind around age and living simply and death and heaven on earth, the glory in the sacred daily wonders.

And realize that there is beauty in the narrowing, in the simplifying.

We are soaking in the wonders of our Sunday, a day that we marked as family day and prayed would be the beginning of the best summer of our lives. This house we are renting to “test drive” this new town, to see if it likes us and  if the feeling is mutual, has a wonderfully small kitchen. We are bumping into each other preparing our summer supper. And my husband yells, Look, Come See This is Classic.  When he calls out wonder and beauty I have learned to listen, to stop and look. He means business when he sees moments of grandeur.

I walk to the glass front door and see the neighbor’s chickens are out running around  her neighbor’s yard. And we laugh at the sight of chickens out of place. And the variety of the brood, there seems to be one of each. The silkies might be my favorite. And we laugh some more and find surprise in the spontaneous wonder of chickens running around the green lush lawn of a neighbor who carefully maintains a beautiful yard. She just happens to be out of town this night.

And who needs wine and cheese in Spain after this. This most perfect day.

Of ordinary. Of extraordinary.

The vision is wide in the narrowing.

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Joining Laura at The Wellspring for her Playdates  and Jen for SDG and Emily and Jennifer

Perhaps

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Perhaps it is the jasmine
The lightening flash of long lean rabbit in the garden where the labyrinth winds for prayer
Or maybe it’s the baring of our flesh
Release of layers, fleece and sweater, flannels,
Covering for a dark and weary soul.

Perhaps it is the dip of toes and body in the sea
Or maybe it’s the sharp knife blade
Cutting deep into the red of berries ripe and ready
Sweet dripping over beds of salad greens.

Perhaps it is your skin turned tan, brown as a berry, momma used to say,
Touched by the sun of  longer days
Or maybe it’s just the way we breathe, finally and fully,
Filling lungs full of just mowed grass, sweet green air.

And perhaps it’s on the way out,
When really she just arrived.
Teasing us with what is fragile
Precious worth a long deep sip, of what she carries  in on beams of moon.

I pick the purple hydranga, her mix of lavenders and greens,
Place it in the window where the light illuminates her glory.
And think

Perhaps this Spring will be my favorite one of all, the best of fifty three.

And secrets are for keeping, but some
Should also be shared.

There was something in this one
That  wrapped me in her fingers, held me tight and close
Before the sweet release toward Summer
Captured all of my senses, held them gently hostage
Then, kissed me softly on my cheek before the sad goodbye.

The hand of Spring has held me.

Perhaps, that is all I know.

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Joining Tweetspeak Poetry for Wordcandy. Photo Credit: Tina Howard

And Sandra Heska King for Still Saturday