JANUARY 29, THE YEAR IN REVIEW

I went to church today.  There in the shadow of our stained-glass Christ window and before the altar and font, there was no escape:  there's been too much horror lately.  We Americans are awash in blood and gore.  On New Year's Day 5 people were injured in a drive-by shooting at a Subway in my hometown of Durham, NC and I didn't even notice.  We've become inured to all but the sickest and most violent crimes. 

Wikipedia lists 92 shot dead already in the most ordinary places in America:  at a Circle K, in neighborhoods, at a dance studio, in homes, at apartment complexes, on the sidewalk, in cars, on farms, outside restaurants, in malls . . . .  For those not directly touched, it feels like just a matter of time.

Somehow, we went a month without a school shooting.  That must have been last month.  Who can keep track?   How many weeks has it been since the University of Idaho stabbings by a criminology graduate student?  These 4 deaths will be a TV movie one of these days, like the features about Michael Peterson who ran for mayor of our town and then pushed his wife down their staircase and killed her.  The murder scene is not 10 minutes from my home.  After 8 years in prison, he was set free by a local judge on a technicality. 

On top of shootings, there's police violence.  Today we prayed for the community and family of Tyre Nichols of Memphis, his death by fist and boot of the police.  Five against one.  Like George Floyd, he died crying for his Mama.  The officers were more animal than human.  I think of the coyotes in our woods killing their prey at night.  The video shows blood-thirsty men. 

I am embarrassed to have no solutions at all.  With nothing to offer, should I even be writing?  We are all appalled, all sickened.  We run for cover, physically and emotionally.  

I began this post thinking about how quickly January has passed.  January is to the year like morning is to the day.  It's the month we pull back the covers, stretch, look forward and rise and shine.  I thought about how we love the short days and long nights.  How even as we tuck in, January is more shivery than sluggish. It's a what-do-I-want-the-year-to-be kind of month.  But I quickly thought how banal it would be to rhapsodize over winter.  Snow, twinkling stars, even Christ himself--nothing will bring these lives back.  Wrongful death is an evil, resurrection a distant comfort. 

What can we do?  Perhaps it's cathartic just to face the evil of the day.  Perhaps that is a prerequisite to change.  Perhaps there is some value to truth-telling.  We know that God works through us.  We know that only in God are all things possible.  We know that we each have gifts to give at every level, in every home and community to make the world a better place.  Let us continue to think and pray about this.  So many are capable.  Let us pray that we make our country safter for us all, that we become more humane, more caring, that help comes from every source, every mountain, every valley.  That we bring wisdom to what is killing us.  Let us act.  Yes God, please.  AMEN 

FACING GREAT LOSS

 

Have you noticed that abundance and lack are the same?  The same circumstances that could feel mean at one moment, overflow with richness at others.  Even, strangely, the greatest of losses can feed abundance.  Losing a son--born January 28 many years ago-- to cancer, I was desolate.  All who lose a child are.  Once when driving to the hospital, I saw a young man jog in front of my slowed car.  "Why is he healthy and my son not?" my tortured mind asked.    

But when I stood at the gurney after breath had ceased, I felt how blessed it was to have had this wonderful boy for 33 years.  From the moment of his diagnosis, the blessing of his life outweighed the loss of his life.  Never would I have traded having him to avoid the pain of losing him.   

And don't you feel the same about your great losses?  Not that heartbreak doesn't overwhelm. There's no healthy way to skip grief.  The stronger the love, the greater the suffering.  We don't want to forget.  But love is stronger than death.  That we know.  It is also, if not as often said, stronger than grief.  So that we, mostly and in good time, feel the abundant blessing rather than the stabbing loss.  

I wonder how it's possible to feel rich when we look at life's ledger.  Not to minimize our hardships, but we often do.  Even after losing someone, we can feel rich that they were in our life.  It would be a strange thankyou to let a death turn us bitter and resentful.  Like turning up our nose at growing older, failing to appreciate the gift of years as they accumulate.   

It seems like gratitude unlocks life's fulness.  It can turn any meal into a feast.  Gratitude turns what we have into enough.  Confusion becomes clarity.   We accept the reality of human limitations, and the reality of death.  And then, miracle of all, we accept the reality of resurrection.    

Thank you, Lord, for the gift of your Son, who after 33 years of life endured death and after 3 days was resurrected.   And in that way, we know that you understand our grief and grant us reprieve.   AMEN 

  

ACCEPTANCE ILLUMINATES REALITY

Acceptance is surrendering to what is:  our circumstances, our feelings, our problems. Before we can change anything, we have to recognize that this is the way life is right now.  Sometimes (often?) this recognition comes with tears.  Some things I have had to accept followed days of crying, then starting over, crying and accepting again. The best part about surrendering to reality is that it calms our breath.  If we can breathe, we can think; if we can think, we can change things, even if only ourselves.  When we admit to what is, tension lifts. There is nothing good to which acceptance is not prerequisite.  

Example (you will have your own):  My mother's cancer returned.  She decided not to live with or die from the treatment, but from whatever took her first, even if it was the cancer.  As soon as she accepted the truth about her prognosis, I could hear the long sigh of her soul.  She softened, as did my father, the man who completed her for 63 married years.  The tension left the room.  The family knew what to do. 

Healing can't begin until we accept what is.  This is true for all that needs the cathartic process of change.  I must accept the past, the present, people I love whom I cannot help, my own limitations as well as my strengths and the many losses that accumulate during a long life.  With none of these should we struggle.  If there are to be roadblocks, let them not be set by us.  Isaiah 43:18 says, "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past." 

We might add, "Accept the former things.  Take the actions that acceptance dictates.  Then do not dwell on the past."  Help others change if we can.  Help ourselves change without question. Maybe because the evidence was clear, or because my intuition led the way, but when I have accepted indisputable facts--seen clearly what I am up against--only than have I known what to do next.  And . . . not a conclusion, just a fact I am sometimes slow to see . . . God has always been by my side.  This is true for us all.  

                                In peace, Nina Naomi

AWAKE AT NIGHT

 

"The clocks tick less loud in the sun."

2 a.m. 

Here I sit with my journal and pen,

Surrounded by dark in a circle of light,

A ticking clock the only sound.

What a metaphor this late at night

To be awake and hear time passing.

So seldom this happens, 

A ticking clock for the marking of time.

But tonight it's clear,  

The surrounding dark, with no day near.

The comforting dark and ominous clock.

It may not be good

To hear your present become your past

One tick at a time. 

Better when birds are tuneful, deer awake, distractions circling.

Instead, this hush, broken by metronome, less than a second.

The hands of the clock pushing time backwards.

Watch them advance.

Further and further, till so much lies behind,

Almost naught left ahead.

It's all beyond now, the tocks have all ticked.

Before my ears the days have passed,

Yet the clock keeps on ticking. 

Is it healthy to sit in this spot of light listening?

To study the old tyrant, time?  

I'll go back to bed and wait for the morn. 

You do the same.  

The clocks tick less loud in the sun.

"TELL ALL THE TRUTH BUT TELL IT SLANT--"

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), Amherst, MA

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant -

Success in Circuit lies

Too bright for our infirm Delight

The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased

With explanation kind

The Truth must dazzle gradually

Or every man be blind -

                Emily Dickinson

There are truths in my life that I need to tell slant even to myself. Maybe in your life too.  The poem itself is telling us something slant, isn't it?  Not telling us outright that not every truth can we bear frontally.  A kindness to ourselves and others.  Some truths we back away from, the recognition too hard.  Not the good truths: not "I am loved," or "I am understood." But the ones we need know only because they are just that:  true.  And too harmful if left disguised. Truths that are important to our souls.

Dickinson isn't counseling denial, no, just circuitry.  Which I am doing as I write now, not naming facts, not giving examples.  We each know what truths of ours can blind, ourselves or another. We share when we can, temper when we must.  And we remember:     

"Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth."

1 Corinthians 13:6

WINTER KEEPING

Winter is a time for silent thoughts and hushed prayers. It is meant for hibernation. Even if you (like I) live where the weather is mild, don't rush. Take quiet care. Relax your mind and body. 

  
Winter is meant for contemplation. Not to do but to undo. Let the pot cook the supper; let the leaves protect the shoots; let the halo moon light the night and the chill air clear the sight.  

As the wilderness tucks in, so should we.

Midwinter doldrums can't survive the Peace on Earth that comes at Christmastide and stays for the year. Winter blues disappear when we embrace the annual rhythm of doing less and being more. 

So welcome the pause, love the long nights, fill your heart not your calendar. Bathe the children, light the candles, climb from a fragrant hot tub into the softest of bedclothes. Settle all under magic duvets where our body temperatures never dip below 98.6ᐤ. This is winter keeping.  

The riot of Spring will come soon enough.   

   
Nina Naomi

 

DEEP INTO THE DARKNESS OF WINTER

The heavens proclaim the Glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands.  Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge. There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard.  Psalm 19:1

Bogue Sound, NC

A girl raised in the Midwest with no ocean near.

So happy, here, to see sun on water, gently wavering.

Stars in the morning not just at night, more fluid and just as bright.

Sun rising in the east as it does, 

Laying a sparkling path on its road from narrow shore to vast horizon,

A perfect triangle at sea.

The pale moon sets further west, 

Wisp of a moon doing its own evaporating act

Still high in the sky.  

Turtle doves sit side-by-side on the wire, but one has lost its mate.

Soon chased from the pair without remorse, wings whistling.  

Some mornings the sun pushes its way through the cloudy canopy,

Some days an easy ride.

Last night I saw the very same orb drop into the sea at 5:11 to the minute,

Leaving ribbons red and gold across the span of water meeting sky, 

Deep into the darkness of winter.

How do we deserve these miracles? 

                                                       Nina Naomi

THE FIRST 28 TINY PLEASURES OF THE NEW YEAR

Six years ago, when I began Diary of a Mindful Nature Lover, I wanted to choose 52 Tiny Pleasures, one for each week of the coming year, sort of as intentions.  As it turned out, I recorded only about 20 tiny pleasures and then later 10 more. Looking back, as we do this time of year, I find that I have done almost all of them and that some have become everyday gifts. I feel good about this.  

So, I'm trying again. This time I'm going to try to reach 52 and make more good things a way of life.  It's so wonderful to begin a new year with confidence. 

So, here is the beginning of a "could-do" list of hopes for this year (with more to come later), for all of us:

1.  Enjoy alone time.

Making Footprints

2.  Volunteer.  Give money or time. Leave the comfort zone behind.

3.  Take an overnight trip, someplace not too far.                                                            

4.  Take a day trip. Seek out a new view.  Picnic, hike, take photos.  

                               

      Blue Ridge Mountains

                                       

5.  Be a spectator.  Go to a sporting event, band concert, local playhouse. Admire the talent it takes to achieve success.  Have fun. 

6.  Pick a room or corner in your home.  Rearrange.  Edit.  Make beautiful.                                                      

7.  Plan a vacation. Maybe an historic site.                                                                                    

8.  Cook a simple meal for friends.  Serve them.  Provide an occasion for good conversation.

Pasta and Scallops 

9.  Visit a craft shop or farmer's market and buy something small but lovely, for yourself or someone else. Or make something instead.                                                                                                       

 Market, Beaufort, NC

10. Swim. Stretch. Bike. Continue Yoga.  Move. Help your body age well.

11. Make the most of memories. Reminisce, share, scrapbook, preserve.  Have fun with photos.

12.  Vary the daily routine, see different neighborhoods, check out the downtown growth, shop somewhere different.  Start conversations along the way, make friendly comments, engage people. 

13.  Brighten a room.  Buy new pillows, throws or towels.  Add art.  Don't spend much money.  Think comfort.  

14.  Listen carefully when someone speaks.  Give full attention. Nothing is more rewarding.  

15. Go to a bakery, tea shoppe, coffee or wine bar. Skip the laptop.  Go alone and be open to chatting.  Or go with someone.  Do both.                                                                                    

Neighborhood Grill

16.  Visit the library. Read good books.  Skip the daily news. 

17.  Light candles, set out soaps, bring home cut flowers.  Make a fragrant home.

                                                                     

Farmer's Market, Durham, NC

18.  Listen to music; for me, while I'm cooking.  Even more important, while I'm cleaning.  

19.  Don't begrudge.  What we decide to give, give freely.  There are ways that waiting time--in line, in traffic, at an office, at the bedside--can become time for something entirely good.  

20.  Create something.  Journal more.  Finish the knitting project.  Make candles and give them away.  Collage, paint, build, bake, clear land, cook.  Creating is never a waste.  

21.  Enjoy new movies, new books, new friends.

22.  Place a bouquet of fresh flowers on the table, from the grocery store, garden, roadside or farmer's market.  Give a second bouquet to a friend or a church member or anyone who needs a sign of caring.

23.  Enjoy old movies, old books, old friends.  Watching an old movie with old friends--now that Tiny Pleasure reaches perfection.   

24.  Keep stacks of books to read from a second-hand store.  Everyone in Durham takes their used books to the Rescue Mission re-store.  In a university town that's a lot of donations.  I can keep a couple of shelves filled with anticipated hours of pleasure for pennies.  

 
25.  Sign up for a class--yoga, pottery, sailing, writing, painting, astronomy, the   choices are endless.  Just signing up is a tiny pleasure.  Or maybe it's a big step. A cooking class is one of my dreams.  

26.  Read or write poetry.  

27.  Keep a commonplace book.  This is an old English art that some today have turned into scrapbooking. The British Museum has a collection beginning in the sixteenth century. Mine is a simple affair of cut and paste. The poet John Milton published his.  Imagine seeing the ordinary insights and interests of the author of Paradise Lost!  

28.  Turn inward.  Journal, think, meditate, walk.  Maybe the best way is to be outdoors.  Here's a quote from the man known as the Father of the National Parks: 

"I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till 

sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in."

John Muir (1838-1914)

 

 

WINTER BOLD AND BEAUTIFUL

A winter day is more dramatic than any pleasure spring can bring.  Spring is never wild and windswept.  Summer has no rocky peaks.  Fall is bruised in reds and yellows, but waves don't crash, nor waters swell,

No, give us winter days with branches bare and deeper views.  Icy fronds and trees unrobed, creeks that rise to meet the lashing rain.  Then when the thermometer falls, an ermine coat of snow overs meadow, rock and field pristine and wild. 

The beauty of winter is thrilling, and unexpected.  Nothing fragile but the crunchy thin layer of ice; we can hear the world beneath.  No soft edges here, no lilacs, bowing tulips or summer grasses. No carpet thick with leaves.

Instead, we find birds that over-winter: the purple finch, the woodpecker drilling the leafless Dogwood and fully dressed holly.  A tableau sinister, some might say with midwinter shivers as wind and water whirl.  Some might say the day is gray as stone and just as hard, needing a fresh spring breeze (which I like too) or summer's heat or autumn's cool reprieve.

But here's the thing:  there's wonder in winter, and color too. Red berries of holly and blue of cedar.  Shiny green leaves of the holly and yew. Wet moss like a jewel.  Red-leafed nandinas dripping vermilion.  Long-leaf pinecones and Sugar Pine. The glitter of ice on the highest of branches where mistletoe rests.

There are badgers and foxes, hedgehogs and squirrels.  Deer in their heavy coats forage for food.  Owls out at dusk carry dinner in their talons while hawks sit on fences alert.  Geese overhead noisily seek a pond to roost; what could be safer? 

So no, midwinter is not to be hurried or survived.  It's too unrestrained and exhilarating for that.  It is to be savored like every season, every moment of every day. The long shadows of the brief winter sun are a signal that one winter day is closing, and its counterpart will begin.  We can light our fires, pour our drinks, stir our pots, embrace our loved ones and settle in for the sounds of the winter night.  Oh my.