CHRISTMAS 2023

 

  Christmas 2023

This is the day a Savior was born.

This is the day God came to earth.

This is the day that the churches in Bethlehem

Silenced the bells that ring out Jesus' birth.

For darkness covers Jerusalem,

The memory of horror as fresh as the blood

That seeps from the rubble in Gaza.

"Where is the justice when vengeance is all?"

Says the newborn awake in the hay.

"Did my Father not say that vengeance is His?"

Says the newborn awake in the hay. 

"Who will help me bring peace to this earth?  

If I will sacrifice all, will that be enough?" 

Says the newborn awake in the hay. 

Today the angels are raising their voices as they try to be heard on high.

Try to be heard above wailing and bombing and the noisy demise of hunter and prey. 

Eyes open, breath still as souls leave the bodies not ready to die.

This is not new we are sorry to say--

Lives lost on the battlefield, refugees pawns 

In a game of hunger and thirst that they didn't start, 

Well, I believe in original sin, don't you? 

The sin that the baby awake in the hay,

On a Friday that isn't that far away

Gives His life to atone for, rampant today. 

Today is the day that we say Merry Christmas and hold onto the ones that we love.

We say, "I forgive you.  Do you forgive me?"

We say, "Let's start over.  Let's work harder.  

Let's do more, be more, give more. 

Let's pray without ceasing for peace on this earth, in my heart and yours. 

Everywhere we go let us listen for the angels no matter how tired their voices, how tired our own.

Maybe not Merry, maybe not Bright, but Christmas is here.

Let us Rejoice.

Nina Naomi, Christmas Day 2023

THIS WAS ANOTHER DIFFICULT WEEK

"Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

These words were read in my church for the Third Sunday in Advent.  Sitting in the pew, I wondered how we could possibly give thanks for the past week, for any of the recent weeks really.  

This was the week the Israeli soldiers killed three men held hostage by Hamas; they came out shirtless, defenseless, waving a white flag.  The soldiers--trigger happy and disregarding the rules of war--shot them dead.  Unbelievable anguish is an Israeli response.  Questioning the devaluing of unarmed civilian life is an additional world response.  

This was the week that we learned further details of the bestiality of Hamas' rape of Jewish women.  This was the week that the deaths of Gazans reached 20,000, 70% of whom are women and children. This was the week that President Zelenskyy of Ukraine went home empty-handed after meeting with Congress seeking aid to repel Russian aggressors. This was the week . . . well, I could go on and so could you.  

And this doesn't touch our personal griefs and challenges.  Worries about children, parents, jobs, health.  Some of us are up against the wall and overwhelmed. Some of us are in hospice. For some, bad news follows bad news.  Rejoice always. Really? 

But looking closer, yes, I can pray without ceasing.  These are the times we do pray without ceasing.  The more need, the more prayer.  The more grief, the more prayer.  The more helplessness, the more prayer.  

And looking again more closely, we are told to give thanks in all circumstances.  Not for the evil in the world, no, never for that.  But in the face of evil, we are thankful that we are not alone.  That the Lord is with us. That His is the power and the glory.  That God will always help, save, comfort and defend us. 

God's plan is not for us to suffer, to die untimely, to be taken hostage.  We give thanks in spite of evil.  

What comes to mind is the hymn "When peace like a river."  Horatio Spafford wrote it in 1873 after his four daughters drowned crossing the Atlantic.  The first stanza ends, "Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to know / It is well, it is well, with my soul."  If the will of God in Christ Jesus for us is to "rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances," this path is not so unrealistic as it first seems.  If we follow it, with God's help, I believe that with the hymnist we will say, "It is well, it is well, with my soul."    Thanks be to God.  AMEN 

 

FINDING GRACE AT ANY AGE--HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

bella GRACE

A place of inspiration:  bella GRACE magazine has an article this issue where readers tell what they like about their age.  Uplifting and insightful, something good for all of us.  What could be a better holiday present than to find contentment in our own skin, to cherish our age and see its benefits?  I hope you like this sampling.

Franz Kafka

• Almost every reader looks at age as a blessing, a gift denied to many.  One says, "I truly believe with each year I learn more about myself and love myself even more than the last."
• The fear-of-missing-out has shifted.  We don't fear missing out on late-night adventures.  We want to catch each moment that unfolds during the day: "The tomatoes on the vine in the sunlight; that feeling just before the sun sets.  It's a different type of noticing than when [we were] younger."
• About to be 25, one reader says that it's a great time to make mistakes, to mess up and learn from it.
• We care more about the quality of friendships.  We love deeper and with more maturity. 
• A 29-year-old used to try to like what her friends did.  Now she takes pride in being "the girl who likes gardening, slow living, and being surrounded by nature."
• On the cusp of 70, a woman begins to study cloud formations, moon phases, and the night sky; to identify birds; to notice the changing light of the seasons.  She says, "It's never too late to find your place in this magical world." 
• One reader sheds her multitasking lifestyle. 
• Another writes, "Most of my wants are gone.  I no longer walk into a store and desire more stuff." 
• We treat our bodies with more respect.  
• As the decades add up, we don't see them as ominous, as the dark clouds of old age.  We see them as opportunities to lean into our passions.  We are not afraid of the future, however long or brief. 
• Most find that with age comes reflection and insight.  We understand ourselves and our choices better.  We don't take blessings for granted.  
• One woman says, "I am pro-age. . . . Growing older is a privilege I intend to enjoy." 
• Over and over:  "What's not to like about being 38?"  "about being 55?"  "about being 73?"  We feel content with our age and serene.  
• A few say, "I feel blessed to get older each year.  My parents never got to be this age."  
• Someone with depression and anxiety says, "I am pushing myself to do better without hurting myself."  She is 24 and strong.  
• Someone over 80 says, "I'm ready to go but not homesick for heaven." 
• Someone who wanted to be like her grandmother, now is. 
• Everyone who is standing on the far side of cancer finds wonder each morning, every day a gift to unwrap, gentleness and kindness toward self and others.  One says, "Cancer taught me courage."  
• Another, "Now my alone time is my favorite time." 
• Or "My Baba lived with contentment, peace and deep faith.  Now I am Baba."
• Or "The world is your oyster during that little window between raising one generation and awaiting the next."  
• Many like the freedom of having more money that age brings, when it does.  
• Giving oneself permission to slow down is a theme.  So is making or leaving the world a better place.  
• "I'm very happy at 70."  "I'm a fabulous 50."  "I love being 61."  " I feel like my awkward stage is behind me."  "I'm in my 30s right now and feel and act braver than ever before."  "I turned 70 and my life has never been richer."  "At 45 I feel like I am just getting started." 
• "Age gives me the opportunity to pursue life."  "I'm embracing every life lesson."  

Each of these resonates with me.  Each is its own Christmas gift, to feel whole or fabulous or happy or content or brave.  Each of these persons sees who they are and is thankful.  May you and I be thankful too.  In peace, Nina Naomi

Duke Chapel

•  

THE NIGHT IS MORE ALIVE

"I often think that the night is more alive

And more richly colored than the day."

--Vincent Van Gogh

Right now, we have more night than day and I love it.  Maybe you do too.  Even the darker mornings are good.  I plug in the fairy lights near the entry way and up the stairs, then the tree, then my tea kettle, then the dog wants tending and the sun is still lying low between the trees.  Maybe I even light the fire that I laid the day before, and a cinnamon candle, or pine or vanilla.  I'm in a wool cardigan over favorite pajamas. 

Maybe your December morning is more hectic than mine with a workday ahead, children tumbling around or an excitable pet rather than a peacefully graying Maltipoo.  When I worked full time, my paralegal and I might leave for a day of travel in the dark.  We'd finish our work in a strange city and come outside to lights, busy sidewalks and, at this time of year, Christmas shoppers and window decorations.  The early evening was welcoming no matter where we were.  I hope you feel like this.  For many of us long nights, colder weather and Christmas go hand-in-hand.  We can tell just by looking around our neighborhoods, how creative people become with holiday lights, wreaths and sleighbells. 

My own mantle is as nice as I can make it, with greens foraged from the yard. The stars are crystalline when Mr. Wiggles goes out for his last break, the moon brighter, the sounds sharper.  Even the train trundling beyond the woods seems nearer.  With the house lights out that late, our eyes accustom to the dark and even the shadows look inviting.  I've added one of my mother's handmade quilts to our bed.  We've begun leaving our socks on under the covers for that extra warmth.  

There's a lot going on in the world that isn't good, a lot to shake our confidence in our fellow humans, a lot of needs for our energy and time.  But day-to-day, minute-to-minute, here in this very same world, we also prepare for Christmas by accepting the little gifts of red berries on holly trees, blue cedar cones, translucent mistletoe clusters and the winter sky.  We bake and ice and simmer and roast.  We plan and wrap and accept and issue invitations.  

It's a wonderful time of year.

Thank you, Lord, for another December when we celebrate your birth.  Give us hearts of compassion, strength of spirit, resilience and understanding.  Provide respite from politics in our country and war in others.  Help those who struggle for their very lives and those who grieve for lives now over.  Be with us in sorrow and joy and lift us with your blessings, whether they be sparse or abounding.  In Jesus' name we pray.  AMEN 

   

 

"THANKS" BY W. S. MERWIN

Today is Sunday.  I usually go to church, but today we did not.  My back kept me home.  The idea of hopping in the car in the cold, getting to early service on time, then up and down, sitting, standing and kneeling, wasn't a happy thought.  Staying in has been good. 

 
Sitting by the fire with a heating pad and cups of tea, I reread a poem that, although written nearly forty years ago, is timeless.  Well, good poetry is, isn't it.  "Thanks," by W. W. Merwin (1927-2019) is amazingly prescient of today, a day in which the Ukranians, the Israelis and Palestinians, we ourselves, and many others across the globe are suffering.  Suffering, yet want to give thanks and prepare for the Holy Days of whatever faith is ours.  

"Thanks" was published in 1988, but it could have been written yesterday. Merwin's depiction of gratitude goes far beyond the usual, but I suspect that we can identify with the need to broaden our thankfulness in in the midst of tragedy, violence and chaos.  We almost have to, if we're going to be thankful at all.

The poem begins with a word any speaker might say: "Listen . . . ."   The first stanza isn't too surprising.  As night falls and we look at the water, we give thanks (S1).  But after that, the details change, and thankfulness becomes more challenging.  The reality of our weaknesses and strengths are parsed.  

                 

Thanks
Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridge to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water looking out
in different directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you
in a culture up to its chin in shame
living in the stench it has chosen we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the back door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks that use us we are saying thank you
with the crooks in office with the rich and fashionable
unchanged we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us like the earth
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is 
(1988) 

The poem overlays realistic detail with the generosity of unconditional thanks, an old-fashioned praise poem of tribute or gratitude. But here we are grateful not only when running out to look at the sky with mouths full of food(S1), but also after funerals and hospital visits and muggings (S2). One of the most powerful lines is "in a culture up to its chin in shame / living in the stench it has chosen we are saying thank you." (S2) How did the poet foresee our dysfunctional government, the violence against Jews and Muslims both, the necessity for #Me Too and #Black Lives Matter, the war against trans children?  

In S3 he says that we remember beatings on stairs, the police at the door, and wars and say "thank you."  He writes, "[W] ith the crooks in office with the rich and fashionable / unchanged we go on saying thank you thank you."  With the forests being stripped and the earth covered in asphalt (S4) we say thank you.   

I don't think we are meant to feel foolish for saying thank you midst injustice--illness, muggings, political shame, environmental destruction.  Rather, it is in our nature to find the good and praise it.  Didn't we all just find gratitude in our hearts this Thanksgiving?  And will again during Advent and on Christmas.  We are thankful for those who heal us and for teachers, for surviving natural and human-caused catastrophes, for our soldiers, for those who visit us in our valleys, for hostages returned and prisoners freed, and finally for the burial of the very bodies we love.   That we find something for which to be thankful in these situations, I think is what the poem means. 

So, this Sunday was good.  Poetry, serious thoughts, a worthwhile way to spend a day. I hope you have days that feel that way too.  Best wishes, Nina Naomi







 

IT'S CHRISTMAS, LET IT GO

It's never too late to let something go, is it?  As we shop online and in stores and ponder all the complexities of the holidays, I'm thinking we'll have more lightness in our hearts if we let go of a few things.  Jettisoning some things is crucial to our well-being; some we ought to let go of are serious or self-defeating; some are plain useless and some just inconvenient.  But each takes a commitment to let go.  Here's my quick list of what I'd like to leave behind.  I bet our lists aren't that much different:

Fearing what the future holds

Spending excessive time looking at my phone

Desiring more things

Dwelling on the past

Rushing through life

Complaining

Ignoring my inner voice

Feeling entitled

Expecting the worst

Needing to control

Needing to be right

Being uncomfortable with not knowing

Believing I am too old

Not liking my body

Getting involved in gossip

Helplessness

Judging others

If I can get rid of just a few of these, it will be a HAPPY HOLIDAY for sure. 

 

GENTLE THINGS

 

GENTLE THINGS 

• the first and last light of the day
• the last turning leaves of the season
• a bone china teacup and saucer from an antique shop
• the safe and cozy energy of gathered friends
• waking gradually
• a clear sign that you're on the right path
• wonderful kitchen smells of food cooking
• shadows, on the wall, under the trees; deep rich shadows
• sunlight streaming, its warmth felt in your bones
• your lightly snoring (or purring) pet
• that special look from the one you love
• the beginning of your favorite season
• cozy clean sheets after a warm shower
• a tender clean body to hold
• entering a friend's home for a visit
• open windows, fresh air
• your favorite clothes for around the house, soft from washing
• cashmere sweaters and gloves
• looking at your past with a sympathetic eye
• [add more, and more . . . ]

Nina Naomi

WHERE BETHLEHEM LIES

 Have mercy on us Lord,

And hear our solemn prayer.

We come to hear your living word;

It saves us from despair. 

These are the words of the hymn we sang this Sunday.  As we sang, I hoped that God's Word would save us from despair.  There is much to despair of these days. 

For so long we've been thinking of the Ukranians.  We have no trouble sorting good from evil in that war.  Now we have something more complex.  People switch from anger to grief and back again.  There are no simple answers, maybe no realistic answers at all. As we await Advent and the countdown to Christ's birth, we cannot help but grieve.  Not only for the Israelis killed wantonly on Oct 7, but also for Gazan children killed randomly today. 

Bethlehem lies less than 10 miles south of the city of Jerusalem.  Jerusalem is only 62 miles from Gaza.  We will be singing carols about the little town of Bethlehem but the disconnect between Christ's birth there and the advanced warfare of today sickens the heart. Tensions between the Palestinians and Israel date back decades, but tensions is not the word to use anymore.  On October 7th over 1,200 Jews of all ages were butchered.  Over 240 were taken hostage.  Since that date over 11,000 Palestinians have been killed, most of them women and children.  The number grows daily.  Some premature babies who need medical care are surviving evacuation, some are not. What is left behind is rubble.  Pictures from Ukraine and from Gaza look the same. 

I am not an ethicist or a historian, but I expect they have no more or better answers than the rest of us.  "Thoughts and prayers" has become a platitude.  Politicians use it after mass shootings as the rest of us wait for the next one.   

With the Holy Land a war zone, I wonder if anyone else feels like it will take extra effort this year to picture a baby born on a silent night in Bethlehem. 

One thing that we can hope for is that as the days march on to Christmas, the Lord will enter our minds and hearts and help us bear the sinful world in which we live. That has happened before.  We've had wars before.  We can ask the Almighty to be with the innocents--in their death shrouds, in hiding or held hostage, or digging through the wreckage--whether they pray to God, Jehovah or Allah. Mired in the world, we have often been lifted up to find gratitude and praise.  

I don't know what to expect.  But let us hope together for God's mercy and his Word to save us from despair.  

Old Mission Santa Ines, CA 1804
A Place to Pray

WHAT IS THE PAST FOR YOU?

Here is a question I came across:  

Is the past an asset or a liability for you?

This definitely got me thinking.  Why?  Because our past never leaves us.  It informs our present more than anything else.  How we were raised, whether we felt loved, what experiences we survived, of what we are proud and of what ashamed.  A long list.  Our past lasts all the way up to this morning.   

And another reason:  we are part of the past of others.  Is our contribution to their life an asset or liability?  I've never exactly thought of it that way before. 

In general, I'd say my childhood is a plus.  We were truly last-century middle class.  Went to public schools, owned a falling-down-well-loved house, lived payday to payday--all the cliches.  My dad started college the year I did; he worked all day and went to class at night.  My mom taught school.  They both loved me till the day they died.

I could have begun differently, however.  I could admit that for a time my dad drank too much and all that entails; that as a newlywed with two babies, not realizing what my mom was dealing with, I was too hard on her.  A different picture, including my own insensitivity. But I seldom think of it that way.  It's all in how we construe things, isn't it?  

A colleague was mistreated as a child.  Then she became a professor and a feminist and a help to many.  Would she have achieved so much without the drive to overcome her past?  If someone grew up without enough to eat and became an advocate for the poor because of that, was their impoverished past an asset? Someone else I know was raised in a loving home with nothing lacking.  This person has now overcome an addiction that began early on.  Might a life of privilege have fostered a sense of entitlement that contributed to these failures?  Or are they unrelated?  Is the past asset or liability?  I think this person would say asset, that the past provided the character to overcome the addiction. 

Or perhaps most of us would say both, times that lead to despair and times that produce strength.  We know that traumatic pasts can give rise to post-traumatic growth--positive psychological changes that result from highly challenging situations. The most dreaded losses, for example, can inform an appreciation for life.  Personal growth is in fact common after overcoming hard situations. People who have been tested are wonderful people.    

An asset is something valuable, not necessarily a synonym for good.  A liability is a disadvantage, not necessarily a synonym for something bad. A moneyed past, for instance, can be an asset or a liability.  Combine these thoughts with the gift of forgiveness for great wrongs as a path toward peace.  Not condonation, but a decision to forego revenge.  There's no eye-for-an-eye in forgiveness.  Certainly, my mother forgave my father the years he drank.  He lived to 94 and was sober the last 45 years of his life.   We should forgive sins (even our own).  I have, and I hope to have been forgiven in return.  

Each of us is a part of many people's pasts.  Children, neighbors, friends, even strangers.  I would like to bring value to each life that I touch, although I am certain that I have not. A smile or kind world or compliment, simple eye contact, can make a morning better.  A harsh word or ignoring someone can affect their mood and even self-esteem.  In a parking lot incident, an angry driver called me a name.  It took a deep breath to remind myself that the driver had the problem, not me.  But for that moment I felt diminished.  This ugly event is now part of my past.  Can I make it an asset somehow?  

These are observations.  I don't have a moral or conclusion or advice.  Often our thoughts, like life, cannot be tied into a bow.  Nothing wrong with that.  

                                                                   Nina Naomi

   

 

EVERYDAY SAYINGS AND THOUGHTS

An Everyday Wonder

 Just a Few Everyday Sayings, Ideas and Thoughts

Taking care of yourself doesn't mean me first, it means me too.

There's a sunrise and a sunset every single day.  They're absolutely free.  Don't miss so many of them. 

A quiet nook and a book--good for the mind, body, heart and spirit.

Fire warms us, feeds us, illuminates us and bewitches us.  Fire doesn't just set the mood.  Fire is the mood. 

Let your children see you slow down, because when they grow up, they'll know how to slow down too. 

A tiny red-capped mushroom spent all night pushing its way up through the leaf litter to surprise me this morning.  I bet the blue berry-like seed cones on the red cedar tree are meant to please me too.   Finding joy in little things is not crazy.  

A key to slow living is not to think about what has to be done next.  Ahh . . . 

Care of the soul never ends.

We don't need to find meaning in everything. 

Don't mistake knowledge for wisdom.  One helps you make a living.  The other helps you make a life. 

The ordinary acts we practice at home every day are more important to the soul than their simplicity might suggest. 

To have real conversations with people, to be open in speaking and hearing, involves courage and risk. 

Dawn is a good time to remember who you are. 

The Sacred Space, Summerland, CA

"GLIMMERS ARE THE OPPOSITE OF TRIGGERS," bella GRACE Field Guide

 

Crafting at night

Look, here are some writing prompts I found.  I think they're great.  See what you think.

• "Glimmers are the opposite of triggers; they're small moments that never fail to spark joy in our hearts.  What are your glimmers?" ( bella GRACE  Field Guide)   This one is special to me because I do have triggers.  Maybe we all do, or most of us, of different strengths.   A brief one came my way yesterday when a place that holds bad memories was mentioned.  I crossed my fingers--my own little trigger-management reminder--and went on.  But I never thought about glimmers as their opposite.  I'm going to look for mine and try to call them up when I need a bit of happiness.  Maybe a glimmer can punch an ugly trigger in the nose!  I'm feeling pretty hopeful about this idea.

• "The 'Sunday Scaries' is a feeling most people deal with.  You feel dread for the week ahead and all its tasks . . . ." (also bella GRACE Field Guide)  I definitely remember this dread from my early practice of law--all I still needed to learn to face the week as a new lawyer.  The only way around was to work on Sundays--the best solution for me (maybe) but certainly not for everyone.   The writing prompt is, "What are all the good things that come with the start of a new week?"  Why didn't I think of that then?  A new week is like a new day, a fresh start.  Maybe we need to face the same old obstacles, but it's a chance to face them in a new way.  Answer the prompt yourself.  See if it helps. 

• At the end of the day, what was one perfect moment from today?  The day I saw this prompt was a day my younger grandson called and wanted to really talk.  He had taken a bus trip with a friend and they went to a museum.  I won't see him till Christmas, but each phone call--and there are more than I had hoped for--qualifies.   Earlier this week we got an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner from our daughter-in-law--another day, another perfect moment.  I bet you have many too.  But it's nice to recognize them and name them.   Kind of like money in the bank.

• What are the little things that add more to your life?  I think one point of this prompt is that once you think of these little things, then seek them out and do them more often.  Your list will be as long as mine, so I'll just list a few:  blogging, an afternoon nap, a new tea flavor. 

• Why might we send a handwritten letter of note?  This prompt makes me nostalgic.  I could only think of a couple of reasons, the main one being someone might want something lovely and personal from us to keep.  I know that I enjoy rereading letters and cards from my mom.  I love to see her beautiful Courgette font handwriting.  Children of her generation practiced their letters in cursive.  Wouldn't we like to create something for the future?  I'd like to give and receive something that shows care.  We could think of it this way:  children love cards for their birthdays, Halloween, Christmas.  What child wants an email?  We can, for the moment, be like children. 

• It you could spend your life as someone else, who would it be and why?   What's so reassuring about this prompt is that most if not all of us wouldn't want to be someone else at all.  Even with our troubles, we'd rather keep our own than borrow new or unknown ones.  So once we answer, "I wouldn't want to spend my life as anyone but me," the interesting part is why.  All the reasons.  Maybe "I love my family, I wouldn't want a different spouse, I wouldn't really want to be famous."  We begin thinking about what we would lose as someone else rather than what we might gain.   

• And lastly, again from bella GRACE, certain activities feel like a balm to the soul.  Everyday worries lift and you stay completely in the moment.  "What activities soothe your soul?"  I put being at the beach as #1.  I've noticed that I sing or hum as a walk by the water. Then #2 working in my yard, and #3 collage journaling.  But there are more.   Working on a list of good things is always healthy, it just has to be.  

Santa Barbara Harbor

                                                                                                        From Nina Naomi

COZY TIME

Hendry's Beach, Santa Barbara, CA

It's actually time to start being cozy.  We can't do this every day, but when we can, here's how:

Stop whatever you're doing in time to check the sunset.  The trees (or buildings) might obscure its descent, but nothing can stop those colors--reds, oranges, purples, blues--from flooding the sky.  Stare as long as you can.

Then, just a few minutes later, feel the cool air, check for the outlines of a moon and decide to stay in for the night.

Begin the evening with hot cider or any favorite drink and add favorite music.

Light a super aromatic candle or two.

Move on to pancakes for supper, real maple syrup, real butter, real easy.  Or everyone's favorite breakfast for dinner. Or everyone's favorite leftover casserole. Cook's choice.

Share your day, really listen, everyone gets affirmed.  Or think about your day, call a friend and share, or send a text that shows concern.

Enjoy a little TV snuggled under a blanket.

 Mesa View at Night, Santa Barbara

Tuck in whoever needs it then run a bath, take off the day's grime, perfume the water, get out your big puffy towel or robe and softest sleepwear.

Look at the moon again before bed, find it wherever it is, behind the trees, high in the sky; enjoy the dark, listen for the night sounds.

Maybe crack the window for the night, read a little, snuggle, nestle, hold onto your sleep-mate or spread out in your clean bed, alone and content.

PRAISE?

 

Lilac Field, Cliffside Santa Barbara CA

I've been thinking about the words we Christians use.  Other religions use them too.  Praise is one.  It is in hymns, liturgies, everywhere.  Perhaps my mind is on praise because of the wonders of the season.  I love the transition from overheated summer to clear-headed fall, from browning leaves of late August to autumn leaves of red and gold, from stifling air to a blowsy breeze.  Fall brings no negatives, not mosquitoes, not humidity, nothing I can think of today as I work by an open door with pansies, mums and red-orange nandinas in view.  My beans and kielbasa are in the pot and Basmati rice is simmering. My plum cake is on the counter.  This day is perfect. 

The Bible says, "Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God the sacrifice of praise."  Hebrews 13:15-16.  As I read this, I note the word sacrifice.  Not all my days are like today.  Perhaps yours isn't perfect at all.  Sometimes sacrifices are forced upon us.  Many times.  We lose a pet, a job, a parent, a spouse, a child.  Or we are stripped of our agency and independence by poverty, war, accident, illness or age. Some days we may feel like our lives are nothing but sacrifice. 

A religious writer asked the question, "How can we offer praise when everything we had and hoped for lies slain at our feet."  How can the Ukranians?  How can the Israelis or Palestinians?  How can the families of another round of ordinary people--this time in Maine--killed by the endless supply of shooters in America?  How has Christianity, or any religion, survived the history of a world marked by wars and marred by those who protect guns over people?

Christian writer Melissa Nussbaum says one way to praise in the face of all things bad (my words) is to remember that praise is not applause (her words). Applause is a way to show approval and appreciation for a mountaintop high.  Our five-year-old spread her arms and spun in circles the first time she saw the ocean. When all is great, we stand up and applaud.  

But in grown-up life, when and where is everything great?  So if we continually offer our praise, as the writer of Hebrews instructs, the offer must be spiritually sacrificial.  We are not extolling our valleys of darkness; we are praising the One who accompanies us through them.  Biblically, sacrifice means to give to the Lord what He requires.  A burnt offering; a lamb; our very selves.  When we do that in the face of all that is wrong in the world, it surely is sacrificial praise.  And what is returned to us?  Somehow when we praise God in all situations we receive joy, peace, love and faith in return.  Praise keeps us in His presence, and we cannot be in God's presence without feeling the peace of God that passes all understanding. 

I should stop writing here because I've butted up against the inexplicable.  But something more:  an inexplicable Truth.  

                                                                       In peace, Nina Naomi

THIS MIGHT BE THE BEST TIME OF YEAR

What's your favorite way to greet autumn? When a bit of chill in the morning or evening means pulling on a sweatshirt, when the air is lighter, crisper, and the sun sets earlier.  When one deep delicious breath lets you know that summer is past.  

I see if the nursery has mums yet; that's my first autumn treat to myself.  Mums and pansies and some left-over snap dragons to fill in where the summer annuals and creeping Jenny are withering.  Some of the new mums will winter over and bloom twice, some will last for seasons and some never look as good as the day I buy them.  All good.  I set a few pumpkins by the mums.  Not all orange jack-o-lanterns like when we were kids, but cream and striped and green with warts too.  

Next, I forage for tablescapes.  Branches of red leaves from Dogwood; as the weeks pass, yellow maple leaves; some acorns, bits of moss and a few blooms from the mums gather up nicely.  In the yard, I keep the leaves off the moss; it doesn't like a blanket.  And blow the leaves off my woodland trails so I don't lose them to the forest. 

Don't you love the predictability of October?  Green turns to deep red, auburn, gold and finally, once on the ground, to brown and new mulch. The colors are as welcome as those of Spring. I rake only the few that the wind piles near the house.  Those I put by the armful into the firepit for an afternoon of that wonderful crackle of leaves curling in the flames. When the leaves are gone, pinecones and kindling with a log or two continue the warming blaze. Now that's a heavenly smell, chary woodsmoke as the evening cools, under strings of outdoor lights drinking hot cider or wine. 

I feel like I'm describing something picture worthy but actually it's just a stained concrete patio with woods up the hill and loved furniture in groupings.  By Fall, rust shows through everything I repainted in the spring, odd tables and chairs and lawn ornaments, whatever a third or fourth coat of paint will salvage for another season. The shine on the copper firepit is long gone too.  Stacks of cleared brush and fallen branches lie about and caste their ragged shadows. 

Many people love Fall best.  Right now, I'm feeling like I do.  The movement from Spring to the heat of Summer hasn't nearly the charm as the transition to autumn, at least not in North Carolina. Summer is sticky and sweaty and heavy; we live mostly in air conditioning or in front of fans or in the water.  But now . . . new beginnings, perfect for walks and runs and biking. Stars shine brighter when the nights are cool. Plants stand straighter too with a chill in the air and the mist of a light rain.  

We grilled bone-in porkchops tonight on our little kettle grill.  With roasted new potatoes and sweet peppers in red, orange and yellow, it was an easy supper. Fall is too short, every year.  But let's appreciate every little thing it has to offer.      Nina Naomi 

   

  

 

SEASON OF MISTS, LAMENTATION AND HOPE

There's something about the change of seasons that is hopeful.  The heat of late summer has lifted.  Doors and windows stay open waiting for the evening chill.  No matter what is happening--and there's enough happening today for lamentations to pierce the Heavens--Autumn still comes.  For this we must be grateful. Our human sinfulness has not, so far please God, prevented summer, fall, winter or spring.  The world keeps revolving.  And here we are, in another October.

So easily this season gives rise to poetry.  In 1902, in "Autumn Day," Rainer Marie Rilke wrote, "Lord: it is time.  The summer was immense. / Lay your shadows upon the Sundial, / and in the meadows let the wind go free."  This speaks to me.  I have a sundial in my side yard that marks a death.  I have a meadow where the wind goes free. Then the last stanza, "Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore. / Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time."   A melancholy premonition that we must ready for what comes next, we and the birds and chipmunks and all who fly south, burrow or grow winter coats for warmth. 

The last lines tell a truth about war too. Here is where our lamentations lie. Palestinian citizens are being slaughtered in return for the slaughter of Israelis by Hamas. Children for children.  An eye for an eye.  Ukrainians are still suffering to defend their homeland and young Russians are being sent to kill or be killed. As fall turns to winter, "whoever has no house now will not build one anymore." 

Even earlier, in 1820 John Keats called autumn, "Season of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness," using sensuous imagery to describe its fleeting abundance. And isn't abundance always fleeting?  Robert Frost wrote, "Nothing gold can stay."  How briefly are the dogwoods red and the maples yellow?  Their radiance falls to the ground and turns to mulch.

How is any of this hopeful, we might wonder, if we have not changed since Robert Burns wrote in 1784 that "Man's inhumanity to man / makes countless thousands mourn."  How can hope live amongst historical rivalries and political chaos? Why do we find it in the turning of the earth?  

maybe each new season reminds us that the earth abides. Maybe we relish that something is predictable.  Something there is from which no one need run. 

I fear the sentimentality of this thought, I who am not being slaughtered or evacuated.  But surely moments of hope are good things.  Surely, we need not be ashamed to appreciate fat mounded mums in russet and yellow or smiling pansy faces in purple and white. The colors of fall are exuberant for a reason.  This October they might make one hope that death and destruction will not have the final say. 

They might remind us that while we cannot be complacent or resigned, nor should we be without hope.

For as it is written, "Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever.  The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises.  The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, ever returning on its course.  All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full."  Ecclesiastes 1:4

                                                    Nina Naomi

 

THE DAY DESERVES A POEM

This day deserves a poem.

The goldfinch at the feeder, the purple finch nearby,

Flutter and song, some drink from the fountain

Gurgling, breeze and traffic as methodical as rain.

So clear and fresh a day, I look through the live oak out my window

Down to red tile, white stucco spread from west to east.

Later we drive up the mountain.

If you walk up this path, you can see the islands and the water, we are told 

And so we do, and come upon them, or just the outline on the horizon.

The shadowed islands across the Channel

And the sea, far away and down below.

This night deserves a poem.

From Arroyo Burro beach with tar sand and cavorting dogs

We line the cliff-backed rocks

To watch the setting sun, a sudden dip of gold into the sea.

The twilit sky gives way as lighted by the moon the watchers leave 

And beaches close (but do not sleep) till daylight comes.

But for the traffic, louder as the day unwarms, 

The sounds of mourning doves, of finches and their friends, quiet until daylight when their songs anew begin.

The live oak silhouetted out my window as I write,

While city lights fill the breadth of sight beneath the hills of Santa Ynez

And the sea not so far just out of view.