most silently

Good morning.
  
Sigh.


Another deep sigh...


The sun is shining, yes- I see it. 
 The bright-glow moon out last night- will I convey where it found me?
  No...


I hear the guineas
knee deep in cold-white,frozen fluffy powder- still calling, still alive.  The one leader always taking the first treacherous risks/steps so that the others might follow.  Ah, yes- I see that too. 


In time, I get it.


I see where someone plowed our drive as we were a bit unable for awhile.  All the hopeless moments I spent seething, wondering "where is the kindness, where are the friends, the others, the..." just like me, they take a bit to catch on maybe.  And then- there they were...helping; silently sweetly anonymously- lending a hand.
And we worry about so much, his job.  Our savings.  But we wonder too, more than worry- we wonder.


About:
 The folks back home who struggle too, who lose too- their sure footing because someone hurt them in word or deed, right when they most needed assurance, a gentle strong kindness to see them through....
And then we see this morning, in the form of green carnations and bowed heads came griefs shared, sorrows carried for a time so the family who lost more than any of them can ever say, at least, at least they know that many have risen so that they do not have to. For now- the hearts of mankind are thawed, open, beating one tick at a time together, as the black limo passes.


  A kind act in snow removal, or a tiny, green tinged petal of a flower that lands at one's window at least, at least!  I can finally see what my eyes have painfully adjusted to- love bears all.


When others reveal to the one's who are suffering an out and out down-in-the-dirt-too raw empathy- that is compassion; the necessary ingredient in healing.  Without it, scars form over wounds that will not heal.  


And so it is at this time of year, the darkest days soon revealing more light- I pray for you and I pray for me, that we may find within ourselves deep wells of compassion. 
 And if you think it is not within you, I pray you think again- for even the most lowly among us have it there in that invisible dimension although no one ever knows this until it is shared.


 That's how it works and many, many times- most silently.  No words are necessary- green carnations, a bowed head, tears,sobs, a hand upon a shoulder, a nod of understanding, a squeeze of fingers... 
  A freshly plowed drive, by a black truck that no one seems to know who it's owner is.... 

Peace to you and yours.  And snow bright joy...take care-

a little flame

One week ago today, my son's house burnt down.  Every thing lost.  I had the option to fly out to Illinois immediately, to swoop in as I am apt to do- just for support, just to hug him and let him know I was there ready to take charge.  My eldest daughter Emma reasoned that it would be better if I stayed the course here, come home on my scheduled trip later and use the money I would have spent on the ticket- to purchase some things that Mathew might need in the long and short run.  I wired her the money and she replaced his cell phone, activated it, called me on it so I'd have the number.  Hopefully now his friends can call him, and Mathew and I have certainly burnt up the wires a time or two since he can communicate again.

It has been a difficult test for him, for me.  Thankfully he was not home when an electrical short began to burn all that he had acquired in his almost twenty one years.  And thankful too, for the outpouring of love and kindness sent his way by the local folks there in Williamsville.  Mathew was the first to arrive at what use to be his home.  He could do nothing more than save the dogs and watch it burn.

"It is what it is."  His thoughts on watching it, knowing there was nothing he could do but stand there as it slowly unfolded, the fire and flames.

I have tried to put myself in his shoes, have tried to see with his eyes, feel with his heart.  I cannot.  I can only imagine what it might feel like to lose things one holds dear by no act of your own, but by a natural force.  He's been through too much for such a young man, and yet- it is what it is.  He shows signs of sadness of course...but also- such courage.  Such stand-upedness, take it on the chin and keep standing.  I hate with all my heart, these occurrences.  I pray his spirit remains intact.  I strongly disagree silently- the things that have been said to him, that he relays, that I have read...it breaks my heart and perhaps his too, when people think with their head too much in times like these.  When they say-

"God opens a window when he closes a door...."
"God has a plan...."

I do not disagree with the sentiment, but if only one might stand there in his shoes, realize that right now- it just might feel more like a kick in the teeth or lower extremities.  See, when you're standing in an elevated place, what purpose does it serve to look down from that safe distance and offer a head shot instead of a heart thought?!

This young man has been baptized by fire all his life- his character rich, his spirit iron clad.  But that doesn't make him or anyone else in a position of great vulnerability any more able to perceive the unfolding lessons that may come from disaster.  It'll take time for him to come around to faith again, little by little- he'll get there.
God may move in mysterious ways, but in times of great suffering- it truly makes little sense to interpret the signs for one who has been momentarily blindsided.  And that's my lesson in all of this.  I cannot know the inside workings of someone's heart, the low down demons praying on their last frazzled nerve.  I have to learn to acknowledge first the burden before I can offer any kind of pardon.

In ending, Mathew is doing well with the circumstances.  He has good friends, a loving family, a job and youth on his side.  He's alive.  He has still such wonders to discover, some that just may come from the ashes, maybe when the smoke clears his level of empathy, a boundless compassion may arise for others deeply, sincerely from the low down places he has found himself in.   And found in himself, a complete and unwavering faith...I do not wish that for him.  What a terrific burden, to look at the despair in someone else's sadness, to sink into the depths in order to raise someone back up. Everything within me says please, not that.  Just let him be, let him grow- safe and in sunshine.  But that's not how it works, is it?  Life is so unfair and so fair.  What doesn't kill us, kicks us.  What doesn't heal us, hurts us.  The only thing left standing, left smoldering- is a little flame.  My hope for him, for all of us- no matter what life throws at us, it never diminishes our fire.  Mathew Martin Earl Fowler amazes me...that little spark within him just keeps glowing and glowing.  I don't see how, I don't know why- but it is so.

Mathew walking through the fog

we already are

"It is what it is"

I have been keeping a running journal, farm news, poetry and pictorial life essay going for three years.  There were times I'd just as soon every one would quit looking at me, through me or even to me and then there were times when I found through the keyboard- a clarity that I would have never stopped to reflect upon had I not tapped it out.
Two hundred and seventy four times I have come on here and laid bare a story.  Does it matter to the universe that I do this, write a blog?
  Yes, in a way I think it does.  There have been times when my heart went out to you, when it reached out in order that someone might say- "there there now..."  When it beat excitedly with news about leaves or sprouts, sunrises- moons, mice and men, children and dogs...   Sometimes my heart was breaking, could you hear that too?  True calling is nothing but a toll, a ringing...it has made a difference to me in that as I was changing, growing- hell, going to seed!  I chimed in...that's all.  This blog is the clear sound of my own music, the thing I was made to play.  I'm a little off key at times, a little flat, sometimes shrill- still it is my song you are hearing, the chord I was meant to strike as only I could.
See...I think that we all have a note to play, a chord that can be struck or strummed by no one else but us.  When we become that instrument, it is only then that we can truly sense the true rhythm of this world, of each other, of every thing.
But what do I know really?  I'm just a hayseed, and truly- I'm quite happy simply being a part of it all.  I'm glad I have my place here, though I would definitely share it if someone had the need to join the chorus...when you get right down to it, we all do have that need.   To be a part of it.   Thing is- we already are.  But we all too often silence our own joy, our own belonging when we silence our stories, our songs, our parts...

Just my two cents, thanks for listening.

Take care-


(Two hundred and seventy four dollars will be distributed to my son, his father and a local charity in honor of the anniversary of True Calling.)