it was snowing when we woke up this morning. huge white flakes. gorgeous. it’s april 2 so that isn’t so unusual in wisconsin, but we all have spring knocking at our hearts – waiting for it to happen. we walked in it…heavy snow boots, down jackets, earmuffs, gloves…it was cold…we were exhilarated. much of the snow was melting as we walked, the intermittent weak sun warm enough to melt it, just as the grey clouds made more snow swirl around us. we talked about waiting.
living with an artist and being an artist can be a challenge. we both feel the time of fallow needed to generate creativity. we get frustrated in that fallow. we rest in that fallow. we are held in the grace of it. and hold vigil for the spring.
his newest paintings are part of a new series. i stand in front of his easel and marvel. the series is called “held in grace”. we hold each other in grace. (well, most of the time.) others hold us in grace. our universe holds us in grace. God holds us in grace. the freedom to be (in our case, human) grows in grace and green sprouts push through the fallow, becoming exquisite expressions – be they tulips or amazing paintings or pieces of music that make us cry or a dance we share in the kitchen.
we are waiting. and in each wait-full moment i am grateful. for the white flakes, the green sprouts, the fallow that makes me yearning-crazy and the ordinary extraordinary moments that i know exist because i can feel them. because i am lucky enough to be alive. because i am lucky enough to be held in grace.
ever since the evening we were guests in the synagogue the word ‘kavanah’ has been haunting me. the rabbi used this word several times. i’m not one who always remembers new words in other languages – that must be a product of my age lol – but this one stayed with me. much like the way ‘bashert’ (a person’s soulmate; the person who will complete another perfectly) wrapped itself around my memory after helen told us about it, this hebrew word did the same. (not to mention that it sounds beautiful to your ears and feels good to say (try it.)) in looking it up i read that it refers to one’s intention, direction of the heart, the ability to refrain from distraction, to stay in that moment…”directing the mind to the meaning of words uttered or acts performed.” that sounds a lot like presence to me. intentional presence in a moment, whether that moment is acting on something or speaking something or quietly praying something. i read that there is an 11th century moral philosopher bahya ibn pakudah who has been quoted, “prayer without kavanah is like a body without a soul.”
we’ve been taking long walks. through the woods, along the lake, traipsing through meadows filled with a combination of snow and ice and mud. he calls me a ‘scavenger’…each hike i come back with something found – feathers, a branch, rocks, seed pods that have dried on the vine. they remind me of the hike…so grateful…the stepping from one moment to the next. on these hikes, i am so aware of the fact that these moments are the only things we are sure of. one at a time. we revel in the air, the sun on our faces, our hands in each other’s, the sound of our boots breaking through snow and ice. we ponder on our own thoughts as we walk, and we talk about our ponderings. we are aware of the newness of life that will happen soon – when the sun warms the earth enough, when the rains nurture the seed, when the wind gently encourages new life, when the elements intend.
relationship offers us this chance too – intention – to be warm, to nurture, to encourage, to intend – love. we can think we are about goodness, but we must intend goodness. for goodness, we have to choose goodness. in the moment. without distraction. joan wrote, in an amazing poem she penned for our wedding, of the restorative power of life, even in the midst of chaos and what looks like destruction, an amazing intention of our universe to bring life. always Life.
in each of our precious moments we have this chance, i realize, once again. always once again. i wonder how many lessons we get in our lives to learn this. i believe that it is repeated over and over, for, as humans, we forget. we get lost. we are the body, sometimes without the soul. we are the words without the meaning. we are the forest, yearning for spring, instead of reveling in winter. we are the seed pods, wishing we were still the flowers, instead of drinking in the possibility of new seed. we are prayer without kavanah.
i was surprised the first time i walked into the bathroom and my toothbrush already had toothpaste on it. it was one of those moments – you know, the kind where you get a little mushy (who, me?) and think “wow, that was so sweet of him!” it’s just a little thing, but in the overall scheme of life, it’s those little things that really matter. the big stuff will always pop up, lurk, threaten to overwhelm us, but the little things comfort us, reassure us, heal us.
the girl was home for just a bit. i was sooo excited to see her. i thought of huge things we could (maybe) do, places we could (maybe) go, even though i knew that there really wasn’t even time; she had commitments that would make any of those things impossible. still, a mom can dream. instead, it was the moments at the kitchen table laughing and doing a crossword puzzle that really counted. it was the girl holding on to the pen we were using, refusing to relinquish it to me, filling in all the boxes and just being herself -the amazing daughter i recognize- fiercely independent (see previous post) – that made my heart so filled, so grateful.
my big sister sat on the bed with me and we talked about the big day ahead of us. i was tired and she gently told me to put my head on her shoulder and rest. i can’t remember a sweeter moment i have spent with her in recent days. no shopping spree, mutual pedicure appointment, shared meal, anything, could have been better. i am, still, so grateful for that moment.
the hot chics (aka chics caliente) shared the reading aloud of ‘the blessing of the hands’. they have been there with me for three decades. three decades of time spans many changes, much turmoil, much bliss. in this reading aloud moment, the tears fell freely and the hugs were full of new life, new hope.
these are the miracles of life. the times we need for the rest of the times. it is a miracle sometimes that we even notice the miracles. we stand in grace all the time and don’t see it for the warbled un-grace we grant ourselves.
i stood in the balcony and looked down at the church (which right now, thanks to frank, is stunningly beautiful in its white-light holiday splendor) and remembered a day not too long ago. it hasn’t even been two months since i walked down that aisle into the future. i remember looking around at all the people there to witness these moments and then looking ahead to the man at the end of the aisle. the one who puts toothpaste on my toothbrush. the one who is infinitely tender, who loves to hold hands, who chooses to slow dance in the front yard in the middle of raking, who brings coffee to my pillowside, who reads aloud with me, who chops dinner ingredients alongside me, who makes me madder than anyone i’ve ever met, who makes me weep when i catch his eye, who is “my favorite pain in the ass” (a little sign we bought on our honeymoon). when i wrote this song i didn’t realize he would walk with it down the aisle into us. a miracle of life.
you wonder what the universe has in store for you. you think that you know. you think you have it covered. you think you have control of it, of timing. and when it isn’t playing out how you think, you rail against it, wondering why it isn’t working the way you thought/wanted/worked for. but the universe seems to have a way of connecting the dots, allowing these tiny little miracles to happen, forming the big picture…making the grace bubble around you bigger and bigger and bigger.
until now. when i realize that maybe all the things that happened before -the joys, the pains, the mistakes, the accomplishments, the huge things, the littlest things – add up to now. one of my beloved nieces sent me something on our wedding day. it read, “sometimes when things are falling apart, they may actually be falling into place.” wow. true. my other beloved niece sends me unicorns and rainbows and bubbles and reminds me all the time of the magic all around us at every moment. those miracles. showing up again.
about a decade ago i set a goal for myself. one of many, this one may seem a tad obscure, maybe even not-worthy. but it was a huge one for me and represented many layers. my goal? it was –
to not wear waterproof mascara.
i just really wanted to reach the point to be able to wear regular mascara – be it revlon or maybelline or loreal – any brand really – just not waterproof.
i had a lot of reasons to wear waterproof mascara, not the least of which was to avoid having those dreaded mascara lines down my face and blackened eyes from – yes – tears. weeping does that. crying does it worse. and sobbing? well, let’s not even go there. that adds botox to my face without adding botox to my face. some people look great when they cry. you know, soft and emotional without the ‘geezhaveyoubeencryingforhours?’ look.
i had good reasons to wear waterproof mascara…the reasons i was weeping…my brother had died, a dear friend had lost a cancer battle, my marriage fell apart, my daughter headed off to college, followed in a few years by my son, menopause was wreaking havoc on me, my body and my emotions, dreams i thought would happen didn’t, my daddy died (no more “goodnight brat” phone calls), i had to put my business on hold, my sweet momma was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer, my sweet momma died….the list is not unlike anyone else’s, but i was taking these mascara challenges hard. really hard. my heart was breaking.
and then? then came a gift. a road trip, of sorts. and a partner who was willing to be on this new road trip with me. someone who was there – no matter what. willing and able and committed to sticking through all the stuff of relationship. it wasn’t a relationship on hold or with parameters or promises not met or one with rules or balance sheets. it was a relationship building on realness. building on who i really was and who he really was. and goodness knows, like all of us, we both had things about who we really were that needed some work. waterproof mascara would have been helpful along the way as we built together. geeeeeeez. but somewhere along the way, i had given it up and bought REAL mascara. the kind that dribbles down your face with tears or out in the rain. i had graduated! (or so i thought.)
and then, as i was shopping for our wedding(!), in the middle of the target makeup aisle, it occurred to me that, perhaps, i needed some waterproof mascara. because as i was walked up the aisle, one month ago today, in my blue jeans and frye boots, i knew i was going to cry. these tears would be different. and these tears would be the same. and these tears would make regular mascara drain down my cheeks. and, oh my, that wouldn’t be good in pictures.
but these tears were worth it. from the back of the church, my children were directly in front of me, leading the way down the aisle, lighting the candles, lighting my way. i waited for my turn to walk. and the tears came. i silently gave thanks for maybellinerocketvolumeexpresswaterproof. i silently gave thanks for the many family members, friends from afar and right-here friends filling the sanctuary. i silently gave thanks for the girl and the boy, beautiful, striding together down the aisle. i silently gave thanks for our dear dear friend at my side, walking me down the aisle when my dad and my brother couldn’t. i silently gave thanks for the amazing man waiting for me at the end of the aisle with his blue jeans and frye boots on. and i silently gave thanks to the universe for this gift. because, what i have learned is that the reasons for waterproof mascara IS where it’s at. anything worth anything is worth the tears – be they of joy or of sadness, be they jig-dancing or floor-hugging, be they of love found or loss of love. bring it on, tearducts. i’m ready. and i’m grateful.
my new goal? as much waterproof mascara as one life can muster.
seed pods that have dried on the vine. they remind me of the hike…so grateful…the stepping from one moment to the next. on these hikes, i am so aware of the fact that these moments are the only things we are sure of. one at a time. we revel in the air, the sun on our faces, our hands in each other’s, the sound of our boots breaking through snow and ice. we ponder on our own thoughts as we walk, and we talk about our ponderings. we are aware of the newness of life that will happen soon – when the sun warms the earth enough, when the rains nurture the seed, when the wind gently encourages new life, when the elements intend.
reverse threading 