No matter

Joey at The Getty Villa, CA. senk 2013

Even on a day when the sky exudes monotonous-gray, there seems to be a poignant light pressing on the clouds. If the sheet were just a little thinner, perhaps the backlight would radiate its golden glow more ardently. Instead, the brightness seems to slither through the clouds, emitting a radiance akin to snow on the ground. With this wintry sight clearly in view from every window of the house, I sit cozy and warm near the Jotul, whose belly burns and churns an orange glow that reflects upon the floor. My newborn sleeps, save the occasional soft grunt or lip-smack sound that indicate an early cue for hunger. My other sons are helping Daddy stack mimosa wood - the start of clearing trees, whose roots are beginning to invade the septic system. And as we each are in our respective places, fulfilling roles we have to play, I consider those of my dear friends, too.

Henri Nouwen introduces "Discernment: Reading the Signs of Daily Life" with a compelling thought, wrapped in the book's first pages: "The unity of life among us is even deeper and stronger than the diversity between us" (2013:xxvi). In life, we are so apt to notice the differences we have with others that we often forget to truly look at the heart, instead. Our biases and prejudices overpower our spiritual sensitivities - and we keep ourselves at arm's distance (or much more). Do you ever feel this way, friend? Do you catch yourself pushing away rather than cozying up to others?

As an introvert, whose past pulsates with painful experiences, I often let my distrust of others (especially those closest to me) keep me from opening up. I'm afraid of the unkind words, the bitter actions, and the clear ways in which others have made it known how I constantly fail them. And yet, I know the truth of what Henri Nouwen speaks and I yearn to grab onto that beautiful unity of life far more than that wedge of diversity. Do you yearn for that, too? For the confidence to focus on the freedom that faith gives? And in that freedom, finding the ability to trust, to smile, to hope, to live, again.

Perhaps you'll tuck this reminder in your heart, in your mind's eye, or post it to a mirror. Perhaps you'll read it and forget it until a moment percolates the thought back into your mind. Perhaps it will change the way you look at the next person you meet. And today will smatter that smile back across your face, where its presence reminds whomever you meet about "the unity of life among us."

A bright sun

Autumn's watermark.  senk 2013

Ephemeral dreams of sunlight's spray on autumn blossoms invade my mind today. Here, in a vale between mountain ridges, wet snow slushes to the ground, leaving tufts of withered-golden field grass and charcoal-gray tree trunks to break up the white blanket. I know the bright sun will bring warmer days, filled with opportunities for the hiking and gardening I love. But, on days like this, it's hard to realize.

Do you ever feel like this, friend? For me, my challenge is a year on a newborn's schedule: breastfeeding every 2-3 hours, learning what calms my little Gratian when he's fussy, and meeting the needs of my other young sons at the same time. There is such joy in a newborn, but such exhausting work, too.

Today marks two weeks with Gratian. And, I find myself thanking God for His help after each feeding session, after each fussy spell (whether it's Ezra or Gratian), et cetera. What moment by moment trial are you facing, friend? Are you a mother of young children, too? Perhaps your trial is more internal as you face loneliness or depression? Perhaps your trial is dealing with the unkindness of a loved one or a pain-filled past experience?

Whatever your day holds amidst the weather you are facing, know that time is transitional. And, as each day passes, you'll find new strength and hope, too.

Looming schedules

senk 2014

In American society, we tend to view due dates as if we're paying bills. The larger medical practice often projects a specific date that looms in our minds in anticipation of our newborn, until it turns into stressful frantic when the date passes. And yet, not even 5% of births actually occur on the due date!

Inductions, c-sections, and interventions often occur unnecessarily because of the anxiety over nature's perfect timing. At the first sign of strong contractions, we often expect labor to have begun before more certain signs emerge. In doing so, we send ourselves into a spiral of uncertainty that needs a calming reminder that everything is okay. Pregnancy is not an illness, it's a blessing - and it's a blessing that confronts our scheduled plans with a jovial laugh. There are times when intervention is necessary, but for low-risk pregnancies, it really is best for mommy and baby to be patient and let God's timing work along a range, rather than a precise date.

Do you help with this, friend? Are you a source of positive encouragement or negative stress on a mommy-to-be? No matter who God places in your life today (whether a pregnant mommy, an unknown face, or even the remotest of friends), consider how your words and actions (or lack thereof) can come across to that other God-loved person.

We let specifications, schedules, and expectations rule our lives in ways that are unhealthy. Dare to be different and challenge those standards with a new one: stopping, savoring the smile of another human being, or actually taking time to help paint a smile where it's needed.

Shadowed heart

Shadowed heart.  senk 2013

Perception sometimes spurs inaccurate portrayals in our minds. They're persuaded by experience, nurture, and nature. The hardest pursuit is clarity in perception, especially when we grasp at an explanation that seems to shift under the weight of our words. But, when we turn to a vivid illustration, we often find illusions, instead.

Meandering through woods in nature, I'm always amazed by the dazzling sunlight that illuminates something I did not expect. Perhaps it's the shimmer of refracted light in a soft drizzle or the sharp twitter of a merry bird made more poignant by a day when rays like spotlights break through the wintry clouds or the play of shadow forming signs of love upon the waxy sheen of still-lingering leaves. Do you marvel at such splendor, friend? Or do you allow perception to negate the joy hallowing such moments?

Sometimes, we are so busy and so individually-focused that we forget the ways God connects our moments with those of others and with those of the world around us. Dare to let perception be influenced by a more positive approach - and may our smiles and words or actions of kindness far outweigh the doubts that formulate criticism in our lives.

As dear as your own

Okra blossom.  senk 2013

I love okra!  It's fun to pick off thin, towering stalks.  Sliced, oiled, salted, and roasted, buttery and browned okra rounds vanish more quickly in my home than Venetian honey cookies - which is saying something! And the blossoms lull your second glance when you pass through the garden.

Now, okra stalks are browned and withered. Joey and Ezra helped me gather dried pods we save for seeds in hopes of okra next year. And the only vibrant green veggie still soaking up sun and rain vines on fence trellises: sugar snap peas. I love sugar snap peas!

Isn't the variety of life wonderful, friend? Each season brings savory delights for all the senses (of course, I'm favoring taste buds in this post). Here, in the Shenandoah Valley, strawberries and black raspberries just seem to taste better when I pluck them off plants in Spring; apples and pumpkins spice up Autumn for me. As a child, I wasn't as adventurous to try unknown foods. Now, I delight to sample the great wealth God has stored in a vast array of foods.  

Are you adventurous in the realm of the culinary, too? Do you delight in the variety God puts in the other senses, too? Or do stereotypes and biases bound your way and keep you on one side? Take a moment, friend, to consider a vegetable or fruit you've never tried before and learn to appreciate it for what it is. Maybe you'll find that applicable to the people you meet today, too, as well as the valued opinions others hold as dear as your own.

Driving along

Driving along Valley Pike - a thoroughfare over the years for Iroquois, German immigrants, and now a menagerie of Americans wanting to avoid Interstate 81 while still getting to their destination as quickly as possible - I met two fascinating creatures. One is rare to see in comparison with the other, which plagues roads daily...

Evening light angled into the Shenandoah Valley, spilled into the meandering North Fork, and hiked up Massanutten Mountain. Even in that waning light, I could savor autumn's craft as it lured the true color from tree leaves on either side of the road. As the speed limit dropped, I began slowing - to the chagrin of the car behind me. The rearview mirror revealed the tailgater, her quick smear of lipstick as she, too, glanced away from the wheel. Slowing down, I could still feel an imagined push from her direction, as if she were trying to use The Force to change the speed of my car. Or was I trying to use The Force to push her away from my car?

The passing lane was ending. With caterwauling wheel, her car catapulted past mine just moments before a large black bear perambulated across the route right in front of me. The timing was impeccable! If I had not slowed down, I would not have been able to stop with a tailgater behind me.

Have you ever been in that situation, friend? People are in such a hurry today - myself included. Instead of slowing down and enjoying the journey, we're focused on the destinations in our lives: checking off our to-do list, filling our calendars with too many activities, taking on one more responsibility. It is nearly impossible to rest and when we do, it's not the rest our bodies need. Instead of heeding limits, we push ourselves up to them and beyond. 

In an Anthropocene society, limits are meant to be breeched. A speed limit, for us, is not the maximum, but the minimum we should go. But, is this sort of thinking really helpful to ourselves and to others? What if we stopped skewing our perspectives of the speed limit and saw it not as a frustrating limit on what we can do, but rather as a reminder to travel carefully and take time to savor the journey as much as the destination? May God encourage you to slow down and savor the blessings in your life today, too.

To Sleep or Not to Sleep?

The stars are twinkling - reminding me of the cavernous room in which I once bathed in a Turkish bath.  Myriad stars were cut in the domed ceiling and I felt catapulted - by the steam, by the apply-scent, by the days of a foreign illness - into an empyreal realm. Some of the fellow travelers in the room began singing, which - instead of bouncing awkwardly off the bare walls - somehow projected into an almost holy chant. I imagined the centuries of bathers that came to this room and felt as if I was soaking up a bit of that history. It was surprisingly soothing.

And so, too, the stars and the wrap of night. But, I still cannot sleep. With the verge of ten weeks until baby's arrival, I'm finding myself more and more awake when the crickets crone and an occasional dog barks, when the cold creeps in and blackness presses on the windows. Usually my insomnia is self-inflicted. In college, I would just fall into bed around 3 or 3:30 a.m, having spent hours in the ceramics workshop savoring the glistening spin of the wheel or the smooth slice of tools as I carved a clay creation. At a summer archaeological field school, I would dance wildly across the grassy expanse near the excavation - listening to music through a headset and imagining the life lived in a Woodland or Mississippian Native American settlement, where waddle and daub abounded - all in careful cover of night.

It was only 5 years ago, really, that the problem of sleeping became an issue. It was self-inflicted, but not really. My newborn's sustenance demanded it. Every mother that has pumped breastmilk knows the best time to gather milk is after a good sleep - so, 2 a.m. and 3 a.m, every night for 12 months, I dutifully dragged myself out of bed to harvest milk. It was hellacious. But, it plumped up my poor-nurser and made him thrive. I still remember waking up in 2009 from a full night's rest in a friend's New York apartment and crying because I had slept through the night. Tears of joy; tears of pain.

Ezra was a gourmand. I still had to awaken at night to feed him, but only for a while. He enjoyed night-time sleeping as much as he enjoyed the creamiest part of milk, so that discombobulating haze that often accompanies periods without sleep only lasted a few months - not a year. Now, my body prepares itself for next year's encroaching transition.

Do you ever experience that question, friend: "To sleep or not to sleep?" Perhaps pressing issues tap at your mental synapses or an anxiety or illness draws you from a fitful slumber? Perhaps someone for whom you are caring requires nightly checks or a beloved pet necessitates a nightly parade? Perhaps creativity bemuses and ensnares you?

You're not alone. Consider the Liturgy of the Hours. Consider the Earth's slow sip of sun each day. Somewhere in the world, the wave of prayer is covering us. So, take a moment and help that wave to sparkle, even if it's in starlight. You may find yourself wrapped in a soothing sleep sooner than you know - one cast by a loving God.