Over Winter?

We are so over winter. At least that’s what I am hearing from almost everyone I know, and plenty of people I don’t. People are tired of the cold, the gray, the wet, and in my little neck of the woods, the snow that just keeps coming.

But what if winter isn’t done with us yet?

It’s been a long winter.

What, I wonder, is preparing to grow?

What, I wonder, needs a little more time in order to be ready to flourish?

What, I wonder, will show itself, if we are willing to wait but a little longer?

Whatever it is, I’ll bet it’s worth the wait.

1-2-3

For two days in a row she found herself sitting at a red light. When it turned green, before putting her foot on the gas to pull out into the intersection, she counted to three.

1-2-3

On each of those two occasions another motorist, in an SUV, ran a red light and sped through the intersection, barely missing her. Had my best friend of more than 45 years pulled out before counting to three, the results could have been terrible. Or worse.

It was her dad who taught her to always count to three after the light turned green and before pulling into the intersection. He knew that while green might mean go, there was wisdom in waiting. To allow a sliver of time in which to more fully assess the situation before pulling ahead.

Life is full of green lights. What was not a possibility until now suddenly is, and we are given the green light. When it does, there is wisdom in waiting, just long enough to allow a sliver of time in which to more fully assess the situation before pulling ahead.

1-2-3

(With gratitude to Phil Patterson for teaching her to count to three, and to Kristine Patterson for always counting.)

Photo by Davis Sanchez from Pexels

Plowing It Under

We are in the middle of a major landscaping project, including the installation of a sprinkler system and the addition of actual real grass for the lawn. Last week the landscaping crew arrived and got to work. The very first step was to completely till the soil. Using a powerful rototiller, all of the existing grass, if you could even call it that, was plowed under, and two huge truckloads of compost were added to enrich the soil. Sprinkler pipe has been laid, and soon new grass seed will go in.

What we’ve lived with wasn’t working. It was an eyesore, provided little protection against a wildfire should one breakout, and the health of what little grass we had declined more every year. There was no way of getting something different, something new, something better, without plowing under the old and starting over with something new.

Currently, however, it’s nothing but a mess. A dry, dirty, dusty mess, and other than the promise of something better to come, there is nothing beautiful about it now. In fact, it’s downright ugly. But if all goes as planned, come next spring, we just might have a beautiful healthy new lawn.

It is hard to see anything these days without drawing a parallel to the state of the world, starting with our own country. Metaphors for how we got here, where we need to go, and how to get there abound. Our new lawn project is no exception.

What we’ve lived with as a country isn’t working and hasn’t been working for a long time. It is an eyesore, provides little protection for those who really need it, and the health of what we do have is declining more every year. Our only hope is to do the hard work of plowing under the old, enriching the soil beneath our feet, sowing the seeds of liberty and justice—for all—and then diligently tending what we’ve planted.

To grow our country into something beautiful and worthy of respect will require individual and collective work, and it will be a mess. A dry, dirty, dusty mess, and other than the promise of something better to come, there will be nothing beautiful about it for now. In fact, it will probably be downright ugly. But come sometime in the future, maybe, just maybe, we can grow something beautiful and healthy together.

The Parking Space

You know those people who always find a parking space right when and where they need it?? I know. Right?!

I’m one of them.

When we first got married I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why Tom always took the first parking spot he found, even if it was in the last space in the last row in the last outskirts of the parking lot. Not that this approach is all bad. It assures us of a spot, gives us a little more exercise, and is usually closer to the exit when it’s time to leave.

However.

It didn’t occur to him that a better spot would show up, and being the easy, laidback guy that I love, he was good with that. I wasn’t. It didn’t occur to me that a better spot wouldn’t show up. Case in point. Last Saturday we had to head in to Hood River to pick up food from the caterer for an event later that day. Weekends in our bustling little tourist mecca start to heat up this time of year, and parking spaces can be hard to come by. Unless you’re me. About a half an hour before it was time to pick up the food, we were sitting in a shady spot having a little lunch and Tom mentioned that it might be virtually impossible to find a parking spot near, much less in front of Boda’s Kitchen on a busy Saturday, especially since they are located in the heart of downtown. He would drop me off and then drive around the block while I ran in to pick things up.

First of all, this would make things challenging as there were going to be multiple large trays to bring out. And second of all, after 25 years together, let’s have a little more faith here.

Heading up the hill we could see Boda’s, and the parking spaces in front were taken. He looked a tiny bit smug.

Oh ye of little faith.

Just as we drove over the cross street before Boda’s, the car smack-dab in front of the entrance pulled out, and just like that, we slid in, I retrieved our order, and in short order, we were on our way.

This kind of thing has happened more times than I can count, and I’m not quite sure what it means, except maybe the faith that we will have what we need when and where we need it.

As we pulled out of the parking space I tried not to act too smug, because we all know what cometh before a fall.

No Regrets

We’re just back from what will likely be our last snowshoe excursion for the year. Temperatures are rising, the snow is melting, and the conditions that have made it possible to head out every morning for the past couple of weeks are fast disappearing. While I’ll miss the daily treks out across the snow, I won’t miss the regret I’d feel had I missed the chance to head out when I had it.

Snowshoeing out my back door was but one opportunity not to be missed, and it is my sense that we are surrounded by possibilities large and small waiting for us to take advantage of them. Whether the chance to repair a relationship, have a conversation, embark on an adventure, learn to play the piano, connect with a friend, capture a photo, or strap on some snowshoes and head out the door, the chance to do it is now.

Regret is a tough one, and it usually follows a missed opportunity.

Let’s not miss it.

Lift Your Gaze

This morning as I was working out, a memory from years ago showed up. Not long after we were married, Tom and I took our four young daughters back east to visit his family in New Jersey. While there we also spent a couple of days in New York City, cramming in as many touristy things as we could manage, including visits to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the Natural History Museum, pizza in Little Italy, the Hard Rock Cafe, Phantom of the Opera, Tavern on the Green, and a trip to the Empire State Building. It was this last experience that popped into my head this morning.

We were on the outdoor observation deck on the 86th floor, and one of my daughters was standing next to me, intently peering through a coin operated telescope out across the urban landscape. “Is that it?” she wondered aloud. “That’s all? That’s Central Park?” Following her gaze, I saw she was focused on a small square of green space, probably a small city park or school playground.

I urged her to lift her gaze just a skosh, and when she did, that magnificent 843 acre park came rushing into view. It was an amazing moment to watch her young face turn from disappointment to wonder, and I’m grateful to have been there to witness it. It would have been so easy to miss.

That moment was then, and is now, a reminder to lift our gaze. To let go of our fixation on the small view, making room for wonder and space for possibility.

Image: german.fansshare.com