tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88389667268348918072024-03-16T00:08:02.478-07:00Gather the Piecesreflections from everyday experiences and encountersJacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.comBlogger374125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-50614707313126874192022-02-28T03:00:00.005-08:002022-02-28T03:00:00.182-08:00But It's Only a Car<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJu3iZFLMdNp4hNVTwuLJj7mxXXyWGkR9iytzjYOkRqAEnI46NSAZ10ih7U-BksbOdCc1yVOC79oP3k0jLEF60sB19tHnYyyQRYFjXeGb0LNvb8aS2Hpd6gmsy9HNhBzjgZj4weRPBwFY/s1805/IMG_1620.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1805" data-original-width="1354" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJu3iZFLMdNp4hNVTwuLJj7mxXXyWGkR9iytzjYOkRqAEnI46NSAZ10ih7U-BksbOdCc1yVOC79oP3k0jLEF60sB19tHnYyyQRYFjXeGb0LNvb8aS2Hpd6gmsy9HNhBzjgZj4weRPBwFY/w300-h400/IMG_1620.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span id="docs-internal-guid-96d9f4ca-7fff-95ca-91e9-de7960f56643"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“But it’s only a car,” my husband said.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reminding me the three-year lease</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Would be ending in a few weeks.</span></p></span></span><span id="docs-internal-guid-125850a4-7fff-b86a-2252-410c6747de9e"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I would stall as long as possible,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Make excuses for not responding to</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Trade-in inquiries by email from the young salesman</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Who sold me the car. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I like my car. I don’t want a new one.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I pleaded to my husband.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s leased, we have to turn it in!” he replied,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Frustrated with my inability to consider the car as only a vehicle,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A means of transportation </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And not a place of containment.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9xm-ap0LBUWVm8eKGDJBXMsEyMu0R0V_fcW6JnsT5vlFcb-4cjR3iVUu-iBzH65OURqdPomtHLSA7RmMV2kE0dGfli7HNOfKKTBAbb33foLE87OS7Mse1TNWygBDtsEXxF6-6uLFffMM/s1842/IMG_1622OnlyACar.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1382" data-original-width="1842" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9xm-ap0LBUWVm8eKGDJBXMsEyMu0R0V_fcW6JnsT5vlFcb-4cjR3iVUu-iBzH65OURqdPomtHLSA7RmMV2kE0dGfli7HNOfKKTBAbb33foLE87OS7Mse1TNWygBDtsEXxF6-6uLFffMM/w400-h300/IMG_1622OnlyACar.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The car is my friend, my companion,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Always present when people are not.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ready to hold when intense emotions</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Overcome. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My car is not like my favorite twenty-year old sweater,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Missing two buttons, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Strands of yarn</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Worming out of a few holes at the elbow,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tucked away on a shelf in my closet,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I can pull it out and wear when I need comfort</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Companionship, consistency, familiarity.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My car won’t fit in the attic or</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the shelf next to my ragged sweater.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The lease ends tomorrow.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My trusted, ever available source</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of comfort</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Will go to the dealer to fulfill a</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Legal commitment.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I should have written a note to the next driver. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiBl692w7WvVvyLoqt851emx5rtt2uv9TV-FhXruiW7rLxqpZbUSnl0vk2SvKXlTT1Oqwfo31-jFlUfv3jdx0KYo5rtSF9J-7ev6baecpbQQmn5v-jTr7JVaa1j4dvtN4mz2qyvrMU4bo/s1903/IMG_1621OnlyACar.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1427" data-original-width="1903" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiBl692w7WvVvyLoqt851emx5rtt2uv9TV-FhXruiW7rLxqpZbUSnl0vk2SvKXlTT1Oqwfo31-jFlUfv3jdx0KYo5rtSF9J-7ev6baecpbQQmn5v-jTr7JVaa1j4dvtN4mz2qyvrMU4bo/w400-h300/IMG_1621OnlyACar.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Am I the only one who understands the value</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of a well-formed piece of metal</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To hold a struggling heart?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Forced to face the reality of what must come,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Each day I have emptied contents</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From my trunk, glove compartment, and passenger seats.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stacks of masks looped around the gear shift.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tablet of paper and pencil in the passenger seat</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ready for thoughts as they surface.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Canvases from my canceled art show resting in the back seat</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stayed in the car, not ready to go home.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My gym bag behind the driver’s seat,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stuffed with towels, shampoo, and hairdryer,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Waiting for the Y to re-open.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My family jokes my car is my second home.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My personal effects will be in a grocery bag</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I go to the counter to hand over the keys,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But part of my heart will remain in the piece of metal,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Locked behind the doors</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Buckled into the seat</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That carried me for three years.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">_______________</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #666666; white-space: normal;">{A special note for Jacquie Reed's faithful readers.... Jacquie enjoyed writing as a way to express her insights and share her creativity but also as a way to more deeply connect with the people she held dear. Thank you for sharing your thoughts about the topics in her posts and interacting with her ideas and art while she was living. This post was written and scheduled by Jacquie in the weeks before her unexpected death on November 5, 2021. Her remaining posts will publish every two weeks from now through the end of February 2022. Please feel free to respond with your memories of Jacquie in the comments. May the words she left behind minister to you as you grieve her passing and remember her life. You can find her obituary <a href="https://www.randallroberts.com/obituary/Jacquie-Reed" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">here</a>.}</span></span></p><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px; white-space: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474030196985172714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-66446160312826608432022-02-14T03:00:00.008-08:002022-02-14T03:00:00.194-08:00Communion in the Vineyard<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8L-hOuGaP7OXmzZMeP0_mxQ_HdHEfehYjyjT6-Y5BDEgPF1s3Whvp_I8k2MkFBBJzxYg9Tdx4eLCbjQ9IN4zBscXwOA7qPBvfAALnqgOELCkJfXnMHMufZejunaBZCbm1aMz-dfNJ2y8/s640/IMG_5886.jpg" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8L-hOuGaP7OXmzZMeP0_mxQ_HdHEfehYjyjT6-Y5BDEgPF1s3Whvp_I8k2MkFBBJzxYg9Tdx4eLCbjQ9IN4zBscXwOA7qPBvfAALnqgOELCkJfXnMHMufZejunaBZCbm1aMz-dfNJ2y8/w400-h300/IMG_5886.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">The rows of grapes for wine were overabundant, the local U-pick farm email said. They were now available for the public. Each year, I go to pick strawberries at the same farm. I try to go early in the morning when there are few people, because picking strawberries is a time of worship for me. Even if it rains the night before, the straw on the ground, abundantly packed between rows, absorbs the water, keeping puddles or mud at bay. I like the quiet and being able to kneel down to grab clusters of bright red strawberries waiting on the plants. But my afternoon with the grapes in early August would be different. </span></p><div style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">With no clouds to block the sun, the air was beastly hot. With no breeze blowing, the humidity hung heavily in the air. Dripping with sweat, I planned to pick quickly and then leave.<br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This would be different. I eagerly drove to the farm not knowing what to expect. <br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The farm’s winery is a few years old, and I had walked through the rows before. I had picked leaves from each of the three varieties of grapes, red, black, and concord, to make dye for fabric, but this would be my first time harvesting the grapes themselves. <br /><br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Would the grapes be easy to reach? How many bunches would I be allowed to pick? What kinds of grapes are good both for wine and for fresh eating? Lots of questions followed me along the narrow, two-lane road through the Indiana countryside.<br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Easing my car into the nearly empty gravel parking lot, I entered the little store on the grounds, where visitors pay for fresh-picked strawberries and purchase vegetables, homemade jams and jellies, pies, ice cream, and fudge.<br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m here to pick grapes,” I said to the young lady working at the counter. She smiled, handing me a large woven basket and a pair of yellow-handled scissors.<br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinm2701NmcLbKnJCT2UDRh3cJYkAiZzFQllfGBOQ_YUHm9iC0vQBmoQOYGk1qfyJHez_50nZNZH09CEyJDW_wNQjUwqhVHO9eUObTub_sTAgPuByiiz4bdG_yjnxJzwCa0GWe6DWBC6go/s640/IMG_5889.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinm2701NmcLbKnJCT2UDRh3cJYkAiZzFQllfGBOQ_YUHm9iC0vQBmoQOYGk1qfyJHez_50nZNZH09CEyJDW_wNQjUwqhVHO9eUObTub_sTAgPuByiiz4bdG_yjnxJzwCa0GWe6DWBC6go/w400-h300/IMG_5889.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>“Our red grapes are outside the door,” she said, pointing to a post identifying the row. “Pick as many bunches as you want. The sweetest grapes are deep red so look for those. If you see green grapes, they aren’t ripe.”<br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eagerly, I went out the door into the humid summer air. I lifted a thin net covering the vines and ducked underneath. The leaves were plentiful and hid the grapes clustered in the middle of the row.<br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Unlike strawberries, that sat in the sun waiting to be picked, grapes are a little more elusive. To find them, I had to separate the leaves to reveal clusters buried in the middle of the plant. The grapes were at eye-level. I could stand and move up and down the row, poking my hands through the vines, searching through the dense leaves. <br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Putting my basket on the ground freed my hands to cut the small bunches of grapes that were ripe and ready to eat. When I chose a cluster of grapes, the vine was difficult to cut. I wished for sharper scissors. I held the cluster in one hand and made repeated attempts to finally cut the grapes from the vine. I expected the grapes to be larger. The grapes’ surface was smooth and came in varying shades of purple and red. I filled my basket a quarter full and decided that was enough. After all, I didn’t know how the grapes tasted and I didn’t want to throw them away after I got home if I didn’t like them.<br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ducking out from under the netting, I stood up with my basket under my arm and walked toward the store ready to pay. When I arrived at the concrete porch of the farm store, I put my basket on a picnic table, so I could take a picture of my grape harvest in the basket with the scissors. </span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU1Pvwv840g0zj0014ae-Ld8O2oD1taFWEL-2BVwHKR9EdtpD_IwBQQDNJ1j2Mf0iGjKT6FH81xVGajI5RkYf7ogpBIwkBXFKCarMbGT-Ruup93MRdU51hmWGyrKofXskjdDrws84opAI/s640/IMG_5883.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU1Pvwv840g0zj0014ae-Ld8O2oD1taFWEL-2BVwHKR9EdtpD_IwBQQDNJ1j2Mf0iGjKT6FH81xVGajI5RkYf7ogpBIwkBXFKCarMbGT-Ruup93MRdU51hmWGyrKofXskjdDrws84opAI/s320/IMG_5883.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pausing to get my phone ready, I felt God’s presence catch me by surprise. I paused and savored this moment. I inhaled God’s presence. I didn’t want to move. I stood still, grounded in God. I was oblivious to anything else, immersed in this unexpected moment of God finding me. <br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After I paid and began driving home, I remembered Jesus’ words from John 15:5 – “I am the vine and you are the branches. Whoever remains in me, and I in him, will bear much fruit, for you can do nothing without me.” <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zpboEc14ck19s-3-36MEuFsClAWM-S6tiKh0hKqQuQN6Sr62MYwouhL_2ZIjBFJskMxulrcaG-ZMn8pb6MateP-PsSUxU-_UCnwNprDBv_kC_8jbUdFc8ou4uES3pZJ48AAkdhqFh04/s640/IMG_5884.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zpboEc14ck19s-3-36MEuFsClAWM-S6tiKh0hKqQuQN6Sr62MYwouhL_2ZIjBFJskMxulrcaG-ZMn8pb6MateP-PsSUxU-_UCnwNprDBv_kC_8jbUdFc8ou4uES3pZJ48AAkdhqFh04/s320/IMG_5884.jpg" width="240" /></a></div></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had experienced these words during my time in the vineyard.<br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These words of Jesus came alive in me in a way I had not experienced. I thought I was going to pick grapes and I encountered the Living Word. Picking grapes was not only a new activity, it also provided a new encounter with God. <br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I touched the vine...I touched Jesus.<br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I parted the leaves to gather grapes...I felt Jesus.<br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jesus is in me...I am in Jesus.<br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My time in the vineyard was like communion. When I participate in communion at church, it is a time of renewal. When I drove home from the farm with a bunch of grapes, I felt refreshed and energized with the peace of God’s presence. <br /></span> <br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bearing fruit has always been a focus in my life as I try to spread God’s love as I go. Recently, though, I’ve been learning to pause more in God’s presence as I did on the porch of the farm store. Much like parting the leaves among the grape vines, I’m waiting to see the fruit that will emerge from my time abiding with God.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><span><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb9E0vcbodnkFh8URIJAduBL713sHU-g4KzEWqHwsJikM9k0jlbixlIxX_fbUD2WbJDhkzqd7rGBSr8DjOKVx8CXZaNZstH-nZMSfRdMX-FP8F8OAWtVSH84U_Lo33Z_t4VybAqt7vDjM/s640/IMG_5890.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb9E0vcbodnkFh8URIJAduBL713sHU-g4KzEWqHwsJikM9k0jlbixlIxX_fbUD2WbJDhkzqd7rGBSr8DjOKVx8CXZaNZstH-nZMSfRdMX-FP8F8OAWtVSH84U_Lo33Z_t4VybAqt7vDjM/s320/IMG_5890.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">_______________</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #666666; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">{A special note for Jacquie Reed's faithful readers.... Jacquie enjoyed writing as a way to express her insights and share her creativity but also as a way to more deeply connect with the people she held dear. Thank you for sharing your thoughts about the topics in her posts and interacting with her ideas and art while she was living. This post was written and scheduled by Jacquie in the weeks before her unexpected death on November 5, 2021. Her remaining posts will publish every two weeks from now through the end of February 2022. Please feel free to respond with your memories of Jacquie in the comments. May the words she left behind minister to you as you grieve her passing and remember her life. You can find her obituary <a href="https://www.randallroberts.com/obituary/Jacquie-Reed" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">here</a>.}</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #666666; font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-1a7be037-7fff-8b1c-6090-ace0e62934b2"></span>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474030196985172714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-66026438171291631442022-01-31T03:00:00.008-08:002022-01-31T03:00:00.208-08:00 Art is Where You See It: Cloud Sculptures, Airport Carpet, and How My Senses Came Alive During the Pandemic<p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhNcrsuyunEXk-PAZU44lP3hbm1wjMK_um4Ozirg7lAq7rVUFZrQh9l1XqrM1nU-bSCH-qQUcZpuzTfyMezsUuE4ohUX2fgRJqHR-EluE_atfTw9XyoD2m9bucXE18809BvQFKQ-ebfo/s640/IMG_0322airplanewindowwatercolor.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhNcrsuyunEXk-PAZU44lP3hbm1wjMK_um4Ozirg7lAq7rVUFZrQh9l1XqrM1nU-bSCH-qQUcZpuzTfyMezsUuE4ohUX2fgRJqHR-EluE_atfTw9XyoD2m9bucXE18809BvQFKQ-ebfo/w400-h300/IMG_0322airplanewindowwatercolor.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Nineteen months into the pandemic, although I was excited to travel to meet our first grandchild and see family, I was anxious since Covid numbers were still not under control and many were refusing to get vaccinated. I don’t like to fly in the first place, and the long delays we had in busy, crowded airports were frightening.</span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-af9177ec-7fff-88f1-f44d-aeb62a10f0fb"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My flight began with watching the raindrops collect on the airplane window, opening my imagination to new ways to perceive the clouds, airplane windows, the landscape, and even the carpet of an airline waiting room. After the poem about the raindrops, another poem came along unexpectedly from my other observations.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Flying for five hours along with a five hour layover in Denver, I had ample “studio time” to write, draw, and paint my awakening thoughts. I always travel with art supplies, two sets of watercolors, a few brushes and pens that are water soluble. Moving along in the air after being cooped up for so many months, I noticed how much more developed my awareness was than when I last traveled in November 2019. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I saw art where I had not noticed it before. I began to think that perhaps there were some gains over the covid lockdown, even though the losses seemed overwhelming. During the pandemic, I had kept my creative growth as a priority, continuing sessions with my writing coach, which deepened my ability to express experiences from my everyday encounters. Even though many parts of my life were in lockdown, my creativity and relationship with God were thriving. Now as I emerged from my quiet pandemic patterns to travel again, my senses felt like curious young children. They were new and ready to receive. The ordinary looked extraordinary. Art seemed to be everywhere.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This second poem of my travels that day captures my experience in flying almost 2,300 miles from Indianapolis to Denver to Portland. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Five hours in the air,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The airplane window and clouds</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Had more surprises for me that day</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Relieving my anxiety at 35,000 feet.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">An empty window seat</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Allowing an unobstructed view</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of the flat farmscape from my Midwest home to</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Columbia River and the Three Sisters,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Trio of snow-capped mountains</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the Pacific Northwest.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reaching for familiarity in the sky</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From a bulging carry-on bag,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I retrieved my sketch pad,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Box of watercolors,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Paint brush, small plastic container.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I drew what I saw out the window</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And wrote on my sketchpad.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I believe the clouds are sculptures</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the sky,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Art seen from above.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A surprise gallery</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Already framed</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By window’s rim</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">35,000 feet above earth,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Companionship for the long trip,”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitMYWcwPrq-Vp8puaYuXcuDbaonkoRiwB5Jc6NBNHrH9JqcjaAI49wWKuJxvya5GZRvsYkCLxFXOiahwomHUEhaRRfgIgWigQurlauTcUfMdfKL9IzknqcbMTUCL4JVlq6DuwuNBbcb2o/s640/IMG_5353airplanewindowclouds.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitMYWcwPrq-Vp8puaYuXcuDbaonkoRiwB5Jc6NBNHrH9JqcjaAI49wWKuJxvya5GZRvsYkCLxFXOiahwomHUEhaRRfgIgWigQurlauTcUfMdfKL9IzknqcbMTUCL4JVlq6DuwuNBbcb2o/w300-h400/IMG_5353airplanewindowclouds.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Landing with relief in the Denver airport over two hours later, I began the five-hour vigil until the final departure to Portland. Getting lunch, reorganizing my carry-on bag, watching people, and noting my environment, I had plenty to keep me engaged.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I observed the pattern of the carpet on the airport floor, the same one I remembered from the last time I flew. This time however, I drew the simple lines and wrote underneath my sketch, “I believe art is where you see it…even on an airport carpet.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whether my senses were on increased alert from traveler’s anxiety or my deprivation from being mostly alone over the past year and a half, or whether my creative practices over those long months had helped me see with more clarity now, this improved perception added fullness and meaning to my trip. I came home with poems swirling in my head, lined up like the airplanes waiting to take off in the three airports I visited. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had a visual record of what I experienced in the air and in the airports, vibrant colors and shapes and fresh insights adding excitement to my trip. The things I saw opened me up to new observations, pleasant memories from the past, and ways to illustrate my feelings of the present moment.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The highlight of my trip was meeting our first grandchild and spending meaningful time with our daughter and son-in-law. But the bonus for me was seeing how my creativity had grown during the pandemic lockdown, springing up into art, poems, and writing I could never have predicted.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">[See the <a href="https://jacquiereed.blogspot.com/2021/09/the-airplane-window-and-kindness-of.html">companion post</a> to this one shared last week!]</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">_______________</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.554; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #666666; white-space: normal;">{A special note for Jacquie Reed's faithful readers.... Jacquie enjoyed writing as a way to express her insights and share her creativity but also as a way to more deeply connect with the people she held dear. Thank you for sharing your thoughts about the topics in her posts and interacting with her ideas and art while she was living. This post was written and scheduled by Jacquie in the weeks before her unexpected death on November 5, 2021. Her remaining posts will publish every two weeks from now through the end of February 2022. Please feel free to respond with your memories of Jacquie in the comments. May the words she left behind minister to you as you grieve her passing and remember her life. You can find her obituary <a href="https://www.randallroberts.com/obituary/Jacquie-Reed" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">here</a>.} </span></span></p><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px; white-space: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474030196985172714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-22833217912163397262022-01-24T03:00:00.005-08:002022-01-24T03:00:00.180-08:00 The Airplane Window and the Kindness of a Stranger Long Ago<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9sTsjvSbt52gdrwvM3NQvxfwDnaiP_vgG3YSwO50Wiqf3v-HMYB46odRuUwQo0JGqvxDq2hpE6TcGBKyZplsIdrMk42eypf7mOL130pzrv6NYeT_Bjoq8keen6DPdT6Mom6n3P4nt7c/s640/IMG_0319rainonairplanewindow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9sTsjvSbt52gdrwvM3NQvxfwDnaiP_vgG3YSwO50Wiqf3v-HMYB46odRuUwQo0JGqvxDq2hpE6TcGBKyZplsIdrMk42eypf7mOL130pzrv6NYeT_Bjoq8keen6DPdT6Mom6n3P4nt7c/w400-h300/IMG_0319rainonairplanewindow.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Settling into my seat on the plane going to Denver last May, I noticed drops of water on the window. A quiet rain was falling. Eventually the drops started to roll down the glass, in clusters and individually, creating a puddle at the bottom.</span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-d970e902-7fff-98c9-6e1b-05406d51c532"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I held this image throughout the trip. A few weeks after my return, I wrote a poem about how the raindrops on the window reflected my heart. The drops of water were like my tears that wanted to flow but had trouble forming after nineteen months of pandemic disappointment that kept me from traveling to see my daughter, her husband, and my brand new grandson.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Watching the drops reminded me of a poem I liked in a book I received from my father’s colleague on my sixth birthday, “Now We Are Six,” by A. A. Milne. I never met the colleague or knew why the person decided to buy me a book or how the person knew it was my birthday. My father didn’t tell me the person’s name nor did I have the opportunity to write a thank you note. Receiving the book was a mystery, but a welcome one. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Now We Are Six” is a collection of poems written by Milne, famous for his Winnie the Pooh stories. One of my favorite poems, “Waiting at the Window,” described a little boy watching two raindrops race down the window pane in his living room. He named the drops John and James and even chose which one he wanted to get to the bottom first. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That day as I waited on the tarmac to leave, watching the raindrops go down the window took me back to the only book I owned as a child, and to that favorite raindrop poem, all from the kindness of a stranger.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Landing in my seat with relief, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After a harrowing trip through TSA check-in</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Masked, vaccinated, anxious</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After 19 months of not seeing my daughter</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or meeting my first grandchild,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I looked at the airplane window</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dotted with drops of water</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From a gently falling rain.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Suddenly the drops </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Raced down the window</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A horizontal row </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Moving at various paces</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Collecting in a puddle at the bottom of the curved window.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Since I could not cry</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After a pile of pandemic disappointment.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rain on the window was crying for me.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Objects and things we see</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Can reflect our inner self.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thank you window for providing a canvas</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of emotional expression and relief,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A frame to contain the raindrops</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And illustrate my tears.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">[See the <a href="https://jacquiereed.blogspot.com/2021/09/art-is-where-you-see-it-cloud.html">companion post</a> to this one next week!]</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">_______________</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; white-space: normal;">{A special note for Jacquie Reed's faithful readers.... Jacquie enjoyed writing as a way to express her insights and share her creativity but also as a way to more deeply connect with the people she held dear. Thank you for sharing your thoughts about the topics in her posts and interacting with her ideas and art while she was living. This post was written and scheduled by Jacquie in the weeks before her unexpected death on November 5, 2021. Her remaining posts will publish every two weeks from now through the end of February 2022. Please feel free to respond with your memories of Jacquie in the comments. May the words she left behind minister to you as you grieve her passing and remember her life. You can find her obituary <a href="https://www.randallroberts.com/obituary/Jacquie-Reed" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">here</a>.}</span></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px; white-space: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474030196985172714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-70599312990044991892022-01-10T03:00:00.002-08:002022-01-10T03:00:00.160-08:00Dinner at the Big Tree: A Poem<span id="docs-internal-guid-9831932a-7fff-2cde-130a-09742de2caee" style="font-family: arial;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfoiXexpk7DD8Ghd5VCCVeKY3c6FG5GxJv-9Yn47FDiQ3Ydw-7typHQFcbyEMxKYdw9eXIiEQo0-P0zBybbpr0RKboDLktfiRfx8GNMDW7dM8BE1JwhfrvjSIJAQJY_vn4sJ2SWqmHsp4/s640/IMG_5588.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfoiXexpk7DD8Ghd5VCCVeKY3c6FG5GxJv-9Yn47FDiQ3Ydw-7typHQFcbyEMxKYdw9eXIiEQo0-P0zBybbpr0RKboDLktfiRfx8GNMDW7dM8BE1JwhfrvjSIJAQJY_vn4sJ2SWqmHsp4/w300-h400/IMG_5588.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /></span><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-a333aefb-7fff-fde8-792e-f6721e0c8fff" style="font-family: arial;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You come each day at dusk,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Silently appearing </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">End-of-the-day friends. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Under a bumpy-barked maple tree, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grown from a stick in the ground. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Twenty-five years later </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thick trunk, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Voluminous branches and leaves.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Backing into a crevice in the tree </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Claiming your space</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Place of security</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Panoramic view of the yard</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">No surprises during dinner</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Free to munch and crunch</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Clicking teeth like typewriter keys</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kernels of corn and sunflower seeds</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Spill over from the squirrel feeder</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Creatures on tiny feet bob around </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A small platform</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Chewing fast, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anticipating the arrival of a car, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or children playing, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Startling, interrupting </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mealtime pleasure. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I watch, quiet and still, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From my table on the porch.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Furry companions with pink ears</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And white, round tails,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I witness your dinner, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While I rest, satisfied from mine. </span></p><div><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">_______________</span></div></div></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="white-space: normal;">{A special note for Jacquie Reed's faithful readers.... Jacquie enjoyed writing as a way to express her insights and share her creativity but also as a way to more deeply connect with the people she held dear. Thank you for sharing your thoughts about the topics in her posts and interacting with her ideas and art while she was living. This post was written and scheduled by Jacquie in the weeks before her unexpected death on November 5, 2021. Her remaining posts will publish every two weeks from now through the end of February 2022. Please feel free to respond with your memories of Jacquie in the comments. May the words she left behind minister to you as you grieve her passing and remember her life. You can find her obituary </span><a href="https://www.randallroberts.com/obituary/Jacquie-Reed" style="white-space: normal;" target="_blank">here</a><span style="white-space: normal;">.}</span></span></div>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474030196985172714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-13265667900064858812021-12-06T03:00:00.009-08:002021-12-06T03:00:00.193-08:00A Bouquet of Kindness<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7A1PSljx57t-R6y8b0Id11hTKaaGZjGUfAbyyXnvLXYyESg-9WU-1P4RfdGufQymXiiHo5hw8v-Fk0X5Bm3LgO7ekQjRIu6fsJoK5OqYSrjp47vJ87-k9tQcUfvknLFkvT_BU4qVf0w/s640/IMG_5323kindnessflowers.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7A1PSljx57t-R6y8b0Id11hTKaaGZjGUfAbyyXnvLXYyESg-9WU-1P4RfdGufQymXiiHo5hw8v-Fk0X5Bm3LgO7ekQjRIu6fsJoK5OqYSrjp47vJ87-k9tQcUfvknLFkvT_BU4qVf0w/w400-h300/IMG_5323kindnessflowers.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />“Fresh flowers on the kitchen table?!! Who gave us flowers?“ I asked as I rushed through the garage door into the kitchen carrying two bags filled with items for the trip we’d be taking in two days.</span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-c059c4eb-7fff-9422-7aa3-54af5e667bf9" style="font-family: arial;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The bouquet of pale pink roses and purple accent flowers waited on the table wrapped in plastic with a pouch of flower food rubber-banded around the stems. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You know Kathy, the pharmacy tech,” Mike said as he stood at the sink peeling an apple. “I went to get my glaucoma drops and she gave me the bouquet.” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kathy had told Mike about her mother’s death last year. Today, on her mother’s birthday, she wanted to do something special to honor her memory. When she saw Mike come in for his prescription, Kathy felt moved to buy the bouquet of flowers to say ‘thank you,’ for the nice things Mike and I have done for the pharmacy staff.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For the past several years, Mike and I have written cards to each member of the pharmacy team during the week of Thanksgiving. We enclose a gift card to Starbucks as a way to express our gratitude for the efficient way they prepare our medications, and for their friendliness each time we come in.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Back in April I dropped off a prescription and was told to expect a day or two delay. The pharmacist explained that these days, the first two hours the store is open, the staff is busy giving Covid shots and can’t begin to fill scripts until after 11:00 am, putting them two hours behind in their regular work.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I could hear the exhaustion in the pharmacist’s voice. I could see the fatigue in the dark circles under her eyes. With all of the frustrations of the past year, dispensing medicine, never closing the department, and now with the task of giving covid shots added to their job description, these people were overworked and concerned about not getting their orders filled promptly for customers.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wanted them to know their efforts were appreciated. Before leaving the store, I purchased a packet of six thank you cards, enough for each person in the department. I stopped by Starbucks and got six gift cards. Dropping off my bundle of care the next day, I was delighted to add some cheer to their busy schedule. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People who work in these roles usually deal with complaints, late orders, conveying insurance denials of payment to customers, and other unpleasant tasks. I didn’t expect them to remember our small gesture, but our simple notes of gratitude left an impression.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now, seeing the flowers of gratitude Kathy had sent to us, I had a fresh idea. Over the past few years, I have learned how to dye fabric from natural ingredients. I sorted through the bouquet and cut the blossoms. I dropped them into a pot of boiling water and waited a few minutes for the dye to appear. I poured the dye through a strainer to remove any traces of flower petals or leaves. I folded some specially-treated fabric in the dye and let it sit for two hours. I removed the fabric and let it dry, then cut squares to make a small nine-patch quilt. I wanted to say how much I appreciated the bouquet, and to give Kathy a tangible reminder of her kindness to us on her mother’s birthday. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB_c1SeWklxAtoVz7mVGwR3wplkNsp9vNQ6Okec3wIW4BdUT-0KtICehxEoRNoj7xlcdHovdHKlEm6Qjn_KDC1IWvBVXcBtKaV_ZTnTG9fGGfrF13VtYSMKwb1pWiz8_h7IlkIwW27co4/s640/IMG_5500kindnessquilt.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB_c1SeWklxAtoVz7mVGwR3wplkNsp9vNQ6Okec3wIW4BdUT-0KtICehxEoRNoj7xlcdHovdHKlEm6Qjn_KDC1IWvBVXcBtKaV_ZTnTG9fGGfrF13VtYSMKwb1pWiz8_h7IlkIwW27co4/w300-h400/IMG_5500kindnessquilt.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />When I finished making the small quilt, I wrapped it in white tissue paper, wrote a note explaining what I did to the flowers, and put it in a small bag.Taking the bag to the grocery store a few days later, I was happy to see Kathy working. The pharmacy was busy but she took a moment to greet me. </span><p></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I made something to thank you for the flowers.” She looked surprised as I handed her the bag.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She walked away from the counter, tucking my bag in her purse resting on a shelf, needing to get pick-up requests from those in the line behind me. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have seen Kathy several times since. I don’t know her well, but what I do know of her, I know through kindness. She hasn’t said anything about what I gave her, but maybe some gifts are meant to be received in silence. The energy of kindness, thoughtfulness, and gratitude conveyed in tangible ways like cards, flowers, and a small quilt carry what the giver intends. No response necessary. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>_______________<br /><br />{A special note for Jacquie Reed's faithful readers.... Jacquie enjoyed writing as a way to express her insights and share her creativity but also as a way to more deeply connect with the people she held dear. Thank you for sharing your thoughts about the topics in her posts and interacting with her ideas and art while she was living. This post was written and scheduled by Jacquie in the weeks before her unexpected death on November 5, 2021. Her remaining posts will publish every two weeks from now through the end of February 2022. Please feel free to respond with your memories of Jacquie in the comments. May the words she left behind minister to you as you grieve her passing and remember her life. You can find her obituary <a href="https://www.randallroberts.com/obituary/Jacquie-Reed" target="_blank">here</a>.}<br /></span><br /><br />Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474030196985172714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-80646150528252969852021-11-08T02:30:00.002-08:002021-11-23T13:47:33.984-08:00Reframing a Disappointment in the Art Gallery<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg02kNGEIGzKKiK4VMNdUf9eTeSE7_qk9Yr17Xm3rS2wbC1r_8onoxTTYX8-_Lmv9VBq0id8XcUjgAksE2W0AzlckN4xeRJRRLGGeluLNCYCV5X4zm1OyJCdU-38IcSBcj1-_-MCq9O_k4/s640/IMG_5057DisappointmentGallery.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg02kNGEIGzKKiK4VMNdUf9eTeSE7_qk9Yr17Xm3rS2wbC1r_8onoxTTYX8-_Lmv9VBq0id8XcUjgAksE2W0AzlckN4xeRJRRLGGeluLNCYCV5X4zm1OyJCdU-38IcSBcj1-_-MCq9O_k4/w480-h640/IMG_5057DisappointmentGallery.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">{A special note for Jacquie Reed's faithful readers.... Jacquie enjoyed writing as a way to express her insights and share her creativity but also as a way to more deeply connect with the people she held dear. Thank you for sharing your thoughts about the topics in her posts and interacting with her ideas and art while she was living. This post was written and scheduled by Jacquie in the weeks before her unexpected death on November 5, 2021. Her remaining posts will publish every two weeks from now through the end of February 2022. Please feel free to respond with your memories of Jacquie in the comments. May the words she left behind minister to you as you grieve her passing and remember her life. You can find her obituary <a href="https://www.randallroberts.com/obituary/Jacquie-Reed" target="_blank">here</a>.}</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;">_______________</span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Opening my email in early January 2020, the subject line, “Artist of the Month for April”, caught my attention. I responded quickly at the opportunity to have my art once again featured in the second floor gallery of the church I attend. Immediately, I began to organize the pieces I wanted to take as well as setting aside time to finish a few new projects. <br /></span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-60b4123d-7fff-88b1-b067-ec7e1323e871"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not quite two months later in mid-March, the pandemic closed the church. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That was the first of a pile of disappointments the coming year would bring. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Online worship was difficult for me. After the first month, I found my attention waning. I sat on the couch to watch the sermon but for the other parts of the service, I was content to listen while I baked in the kitchen or worked on a small piece of quilting. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I missed feeling the energy of people coming together to sing and praise God and hear God’s word proclaimed. Through this strange absence, I realized more than ever the importance of place. The gifts of sitting in a sanctuary, looking at stained glass windows lining the walls, lighting a candle after the service, noting the art at the entrance, all these things helped frame and open my heart to receive God. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In February 2021, I received another email, with “Artist of the Month for March/April “ in the subject line. These words were the first expression of hope that somehow things were getting back to normal. My reply was quick as I again assessed what I could bring to the gallery, thankful I had used the past year to finish projects and explore new interests. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few days before the church opened, I hauled my collection of art in bags and boxes to the gallery. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Walking up the stairs, I was surprised when I felt tears come. I am not one to cry easily. My heart felt relief as the anxiety of the past year was slowly ebbing. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sorting the framed pieces of art on a large table in the middle of the gallery, I noticed the bare, burnt orange walls and the black chains suspended from the ceiling waiting to hold frames. Silence surrounded me while I worked to arrange my work in a place I was still getting used to after being away for a year. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wondered who would come to the gallery in the coming days. Would wearing a mask or fear of catching the virus keep people away? Although the vaccine had been available since January, many were wary of receiving this protection. Would the unvaccinated stay home to protect others? </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All of these thoughts went through my head as I placed each picture at the end of the chain. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although my art has been featured in many public galleries, I am especially honored when I am the artist of the month at my church. What I create comes from God, and completing art is a way for me to pray. Bringing my art to church is a way to thank God for God’s goodness and provision to express what comes from my heart. Almost like putting an offering on the altar, this act helps me show my appreciation for the way God has enabled me to express in art what I find difficult to put into words. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the past when I was artist of the month, I provided light refreshments for a reception after the second service. A large sign on the first floor, bulletin, and screen notices invited people to the second floor. I discovered however, reopening a church in the middle of a pandemic greatly altered publicity for the art show. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The primary focus of communications was understandably directed to the wellness of people returning to church. Health and safety information had greater visibility. Signs scattered throughout the building reminded attendees to wear a mask, keep a safe distance from others, use hand sanitizer, and exit quickly when the service ended. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At first I was disturbed that no one knew about the newly refreshed artist of the month gallery. I always looked forward to watching people interact and respond to what I have made. Seeing fingers point to particular parts of framed pieces always makes me want to get into their minds and learn what they are thinking. I wonder what has caught their eye? How has what I made connected to something in their life or illustrated an idea or challenge they might have needed some form to express? What have I given them to take away from their interaction with my art? </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With no publicity for the gallery, these treasured encounters were not possible. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My concern led me to contact the church staff member responsible for the art show. She explained how the use of screen notices was currently limited to essential information. No paper bulletins were being printed in order to minimize hand contact. Although the coordinator of the gallery had tried to get the usual publicity, she was not successful. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqZhEiSdN971_vgXqY7fptd0Kc_X0L6-QtGyP5AyTMvcSWwCTVrl4_bZQhGJJaleaFQouWTqQPqutpmlLoUaockE4z_owtHImwJLMKS03RX_KGfVagm5iyuWSxdmaS3YGRzv6w09ZXRU/s640/IMG_5060DisappointmentGallery.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqZhEiSdN971_vgXqY7fptd0Kc_X0L6-QtGyP5AyTMvcSWwCTVrl4_bZQhGJJaleaFQouWTqQPqutpmlLoUaockE4z_owtHImwJLMKS03RX_KGfVagm5iyuWSxdmaS3YGRzv6w09ZXRU/w480-h640/IMG_5060DisappointmentGallery.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I was disappointed. </span></p></span><p></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As the weeks progressed with no publicity Sunday after Sunday, my disappointment only grew. What good did it do to have my art on display when there was no one there to see it. I missed out on the fun of talking to those who came by, answering occasional questions, and receiving their appreciation for my work. Art is meant to be shared. Without people there to respond to the work, it was almost like having icing removed from a birthday cake . </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With emotions piling up, I realized I needed to step back and reflect on the meaning of being artist of the month, set aside my ego, and consider that my art might not be interacting with people, but with God during the time on the church gallery walls. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I began to imagine how my art heard the music and messages of seven Sunday services including the joy of Easter; the mourning of funerals in the sanctuary; celebrations of weddings long delayed; silent prayers from those who came individually during the week to sit with God in an empty sanctuary; and the music from the organist and choir practicing each week.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The work that I brought had received all of the holiness of what happened on Sundays and throughout each week. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I picked up my art at the end of April, each piece seemed to feel a little weightier, filled with God’s presence. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The past year and a half have necessitated many shifts in normal routines of daily living as well as special events. In your challenges, how have you re-framed your perspective and seen your disappointments in a new way?</span></p><br /></span></div></div>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474030196985172714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-17415763742022618992021-10-25T03:00:00.001-07:002021-10-25T03:00:00.210-07:00Containment [Word 9: The First 100 Words]<p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkHQeg4ot-5nZ3k1b6C88i30WOhDOU352JJiumj1MWD5_zszbrZnivdqoMoeTJ3lDiEnvrq2bvR1zLBT84C-0uq5oy9YrJlwXApzGqgWzEliYHXbcOaqT1hFDNvXcYDnXXkcwQjr44SI/s640/IMG_8992containment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkHQeg4ot-5nZ3k1b6C88i30WOhDOU352JJiumj1MWD5_zszbrZnivdqoMoeTJ3lDiEnvrq2bvR1zLBT84C-0uq5oy9YrJlwXApzGqgWzEliYHXbcOaqT1hFDNvXcYDnXXkcwQjr44SI/w400-h300/IMG_8992containment.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Word 9 – Containment</span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-2f49e47f-7fff-80d0-fbb6-96d427898792"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Container – a space with a capacity to hold and be filled.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Containment – the action of keeping something harmful under control or within limits; an aspect of resilience; the capacity to manage internally troubling thoughts, feelings, and behaviors in response to stress.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Containment – the energetic space between a client and counselor; the atmosphere of the therapeutic relationship that conveys a sense of safety, allowing the client to safely move comfortably through emotions.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">__________</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just looking at the listing of definitions for /containment/ illustrates the depth of meaning this word holds in psychology and everyday life.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When Sharon gave me the word /containment/, I went with the first definition, making a quick trip to a local Container Store, a place filled with creative ways to hold or store any type of item. I roamed the large store one Saturday afternoon going up and down rows of plastic tubs of all sizes and colors, noting glass jars, trying to decide what fit the word “container” best. I ended up choosing a jar with a metal lid.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I arrived home, I filled the jar with hearts that I had cut from paper using my exacto knife a few months ago. Each heart had a circle carved out of the middle, a picture of how my heart felt. I envisioned those who grew up in nurturing homes had full hearts without a hole.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I took the hearts and loosely stitched across the circle inside the heart, leaving space for further growth and attachment. I figured since I was indeed making progress along the path of wellness, I could make the heart resemble a more complete picture. I put all of these hearts in the jar to contain the healing that had happened. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On a whim, I decided to Google, “psychological meaning of the word containment,” not expecting anything to appear. Instantly, many articles surfaced and my definition of the word expanded in new and amazing ways.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Containment in a therapy setting refers to the energetic space between the counselor and client and is a powerful influence affecting growth and wellness, as well as reception of all that occurs in life or in the counseling session.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9UaXMQ27x0ez7kxMW7tv4Np-veCH0Zcf-dlZZwQcdfQSUueV0N-Rk0Q6sCf0UrDAlUwr-0hFxmzpOqEWiCKBfv8jqiSGnuygs5zwlMInIS68cip5J1_LyRj6an67I85S5bx6UXLPiGDc/s640/IMG_8990ontainment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9UaXMQ27x0ez7kxMW7tv4Np-veCH0Zcf-dlZZwQcdfQSUueV0N-Rk0Q6sCf0UrDAlUwr-0hFxmzpOqEWiCKBfv8jqiSGnuygs5zwlMInIS68cip5J1_LyRj6an67I85S5bx6UXLPiGDc/w400-h300/IMG_8990ontainment.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p>Many times in counseling situations, strong emotions can emerge as life events are explored. “Scraping the bottom of the pot” so to speak, a term Sharon often used with me, gets to the core history and meaning of many personal topics. These emotions can be difficult to manage or contain. </span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">During sessions, strong feelings of anger, being adrift, abandonment, rejection and other difficult emotions often surfaced. The energy of these emotions filled my body, like someone was pouring a hot carafe of each emotion into a hole at the top of my head. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Often, with the weight of emotion from our sessions, walking out the door of Sharon’s office was physically difficult. However, I knew if I could reach my car, one of my favorite places of containment, I could sit within the security of the vehicle and feel enveloped or contained until I could take enough deep breaths to restore my grounding and balance, and anchoring in the present. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Once I delved into the idea of containment, I noticed places around me offering a visual of what containment looked like. For example, one afternoon I was walking the Monon trail, going across a bridge over a small creek leading into the White River. I noticed how the banks of the creek were containers for the water, giving boundaries to the flow, and letting the water carve a path eventually leading to the river. Pausing when I crossed the bridge over the creek and looking at the banks, I enjoyed the visual sense of containment.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Soon, I began to see my hands as a place of containment. My hands are like the banks of a river on either side of me to give containment, right and left, present, holding, especially when the lid slips off the pot and my emotions overflow. Like the banks of the creek hold the water in its boundaries, my hands help hold back the flood of emotion that may come in the counseling session.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLq0KX1MGzy0JnqNtOlHd7tSLl7Isc_2ONWnmZayhPe3H7yp4pqNwk7Ns0O7RU8RQZ9UzzwKnUxh8kSRM-m-cDreHaGebZg19TNjbBho-jrEYumo04jFSisc3gRnbzPuWqYClZRnUBhPk/s640/IMG_8999containment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLq0KX1MGzy0JnqNtOlHd7tSLl7Isc_2ONWnmZayhPe3H7yp4pqNwk7Ns0O7RU8RQZ9UzzwKnUxh8kSRM-m-cDreHaGebZg19TNjbBho-jrEYumo04jFSisc3gRnbzPuWqYClZRnUBhPk/w400-h300/IMG_8999containment.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> <p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">An online article in Somatic Therapy, “The Power of Containment” by Gwen McHale (August 4, 2016) explains further: “Those dealing with intense emotions need enough containment to provide banks to the river of our expression so we can stay in relationship to our experience and ourselves, and not get washed away in the suffering. Our ability to find containment for ourselves is learned in the very early days of life. Containment is offered by a parent as the young child needs another person to hold them, to be present to them, and to provide a safe space within which they can feel their feelings and know themselves. When needs for holding and containment are not met in these early days, there can be breaches in containment. Some of the resulting characteristics include, being easily overwhelmed, underlying fear or anxiety, feeling unable to cope, difficulty forming relationships, insecure attachment styles, and lack of a clear sense of self.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p>Unfortunately, I demonstrated all of these impairments! I have to work hard on a continual basis to provide myself helpful containment when I get overwhelmed. <p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p>A few of my practices of containment include sitting in my car, an enclosed space where I can be alone and take a lot of deep breaths. I also have a small basket in my office where I can put flowers, leaves, letters I receive, a new pencil, or any item that has meaning for me. This visual container with treasured items helps me feel a sense of being contained. Often, I take a pencil and draw a row of straight lines within the confines of a sheet of paper. Other times, I draw four connected lines to create a square. I picture myself in the middle, full of emotion. Having the square around myself offers a visual representation of containment and brings peace in the moment. <p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The need for containment doesn’t always come from an emotionally deprived background. All people deal with emotions. Some emotions are strong and can get out of control. Learning how to manage them is essential for living a peaceful and productive life. Consider a few “containers” you can call upon quickly when you feel the need for containment. Making a list will help your awareness. </span></p>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-68232011331489385572021-10-19T13:29:00.001-07:002021-10-19T13:29:20.953-07:00The Toddler Table Waits<span id="docs-internal-guid-57984f96-7fff-c0c4-62ec-bdb2021d6c4d"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8WbLI3mEJ2LIJwSheb4xTXh61ZzYnYl0xLcfOX-SRXzaXraL_1lqe7lZeb217eAO_1RgHj-bEVsR0EmbOTll_8M9BLG5LrVAfsRENu4-xme4i3366A_G3NEi4P2BOfRd1JbSJmsyYUY/s640/IMG_6109ToddlerTable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8WbLI3mEJ2LIJwSheb4xTXh61ZzYnYl0xLcfOX-SRXzaXraL_1lqe7lZeb217eAO_1RgHj-bEVsR0EmbOTll_8M9BLG5LrVAfsRENu4-xme4i3366A_G3NEi4P2BOfRd1JbSJmsyYUY/w300-h400/IMG_6109ToddlerTable.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /><br />On my porch,</span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A toddler table waits,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">White painted wood,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Two chairs with a heart carved into the back. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My neighbor walked the table down the sidewalk </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To my house,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A refurbished discard from her sister</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whose children were too old</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To squeeze into the small chairs under the short table,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This place where art and learning</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Come together</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I handed her the check, thanking her,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Excitement in my voice.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Carrying it inside,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next step in getting ready</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For my fifteen-month old grandson’s first visit</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To my house.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I pictured my little one</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At the table</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Working puzzles,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Coloring, looking at books </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eating a snack. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But the Delta variant. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Increasing numbers.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A visit postponed</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To steer clear of </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Long layovers in large busy airports.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cross-country travel is too much of a risk. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The tiny chairs and table in my dining room remain empty.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sadness enters my space and takes a seat,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Canceling excitement and joy.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had visions of the little one busy at the table.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSuHaXSvBAFT5Ijh6LTjeo71RXV_ABBmEqK9_Lq7J8K4ld5aw_00IxmZv8E0rphXFH4hyUOYd-l5RH5dHqC3B-pSuZpRpO-WGgBiLdhnTBdpg6OZ4ZQYsqYxNivRQR_ZmzFS0FnsviVI/s640/IMG_6094ToddlerTable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSuHaXSvBAFT5Ijh6LTjeo71RXV_ABBmEqK9_Lq7J8K4ld5aw_00IxmZv8E0rphXFH4hyUOYd-l5RH5dHqC3B-pSuZpRpO-WGgBiLdhnTBdpg6OZ4ZQYsqYxNivRQR_ZmzFS0FnsviVI/s320/IMG_6094ToddlerTable.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Watching him with crayons and markers in hand,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Random scribbles on paper</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To make a remembrance of the visit.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Working puzzles his mother and aunt played with</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When they were just as small.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eating oranges and crackers, grinning with each bite,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A snack for energy, fuel for more fun at the table.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My visions stay visions for now.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The family will come sometime </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A date not yet known or planned.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Airline tickets valid for a year...are waiting.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Table and chairs...are waiting.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Crayons, markers, paper and puzzles in the cupboard...are waiting.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My arms...are waiting </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.5539999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 8pt 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For a reunion of love with these dear ones far away.</span></p><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474030196985172714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-56867554832564222212021-10-11T03:00:00.001-07:002021-10-11T03:00:00.308-07:00Flawed [Word 4: The First 100 Words]<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4i5MBYbQqZ68GBP0roqjaUcvOdEGJcEqzVwvQB-WioJkVkq2uk0ZKHiaH5MDNl_5F4pBixnsy_sycmQoVDkmU2H7fxy2bATExi1hb7N2KaTUMLoEiDig8NiMmrCRR-FtyyoKYn-B4TE/s640/IMG_8773flawedartschoolphotos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4i5MBYbQqZ68GBP0roqjaUcvOdEGJcEqzVwvQB-WioJkVkq2uk0ZKHiaH5MDNl_5F4pBixnsy_sycmQoVDkmU2H7fxy2bATExi1hb7N2KaTUMLoEiDig8NiMmrCRR-FtyyoKYn-B4TE/w400-h300/IMG_8773flawedartschoolphotos.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Word 4 – Flawed</span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-feb3bc9d-7fff-6fa9-6ad8-58c7a6df8ec2"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>/flawed/ – blemished, damaged or imperfect in some way; having a weakness in character; broken, torn or damaged</i></span></p><i><br /></i><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Words I associated with /flawed/: compassion, value, hope, hold</i></span></p><div><span><br /></span></div><br /><span></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">__________________</p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Your word this week is ‘flawed,’ Sharon said, reaching under the couch in her office and handing me a canvas. Right away, I noticed a small rip in the canvas in the right hand corner.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Look, Sharon, the canvas is torn. Did you see the tear when you bought the canvas or did something make the hole after you arrived home?” I asked.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Knowing my perfectionistic personality,” Sharon laughed, “I would not have purchased this if I’d seen the hole in it!” By accident the canvas seemed just right for the word of the week.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I smiled and carried the flawed canvas out her office door. In my mind, I carried the word /flawed/. Already, it was triggering unpleasant feelings of my past.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I began to brainstorm what I might do with the flawed canvas, I thought: </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although the hole is tiny, the canvas has value.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have compassion for the canvas even though it’s not perfect.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can make something beautiful. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maybe the hole is for light to come through. As John 1:5 says, ‘The light shines in the darkness and the light was not overcome.’</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The canvas is me. I am flawed. I have compassion for the canvas and for myself.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can paint the canvas black and leave the hole for light.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can cover the canvas with pictures of myself and make it a sign of John 1:5 and hope.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Along with these ideas, I also remembered a few lines in Leonard Cohen’s song,</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ring the bells that can still ring</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Forget your perfect offering</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is a crack in everything</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That’s how the light gets in.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The word /flawed/ took me deep into my past. Growing up, I never felt like I fit in with my classmates, partly because I wasn’t allowed to make my own choices and be the person I wanted to be. I wasn’t able to pick out the shoes I wanted to wear in elementary school. Each year, my parents purchased a pair of Buster Brown leather shoes for me to wear. They were durable and lasted for the entire school year. They were ugly. No one else in the school wore ugly, brown leather shoes.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My parents also limited my experiences. I felt stifled, not allowed to explore topics that interested me. I wanted to embroider, do crafts, and read a variety of books, all of which were inaccessible to me.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was 14 years old when I finally had my hair cut professionally. My mother always cut my hair in a bob and it looked terrible. My friends had shoulder-length hair and I wanted to let my hair grow out like theirs. My mother purchased or made the five outfits I rotated to wear to school each week. I had no choices in what I wore or how my hair was styled.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The word /flawed/ accurately described my internal and external state, reinforced by continued neglect. I felt awkward and uneasy when I interacted with friends at school. I was uncomfortable speaking to boys. Unable to explore the things that interested me or make choices to keep myself looking stylish, I felt I must be imperfect or damaged in some way. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Along with all of this, my brother was treated very differently. He chose his clothes and hairstyle, was encouraged to attend enrichment programs, received awards for science projects, played on the high school tennis team, and had a wide circle of friends. These things reinforced my feelings of inadequacy. If only I could have these same opportunities, I thought, I too could forge ahead with self-confidence.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How did I eventually choose to illustrate the word /flawed/? I began by gathering a few black and white school pictures of myself in elementary school and junior high, making xerox copies of each one. I removed the border of the picture, and then cut the picture into triangular pieces. In the shapes, my eyes were disconnected from the rest of my face. My chin and nose were cut diagonally.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDztYNekcC1mID9uncoBTcIsXo7n5KKX_8G5FFeNAMsBonIOVhQxYvoOa-e54ZqJW7SLSRdU4d4pEgp1jnfsdtHtAOeTTgH7OZc4mb9ocz5ubKJkM9B6-_l1nDuEcxSWW30BMBIRbEatw/s640/IMG_8771flawedartschoolphotos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDztYNekcC1mID9uncoBTcIsXo7n5KKX_8G5FFeNAMsBonIOVhQxYvoOa-e54ZqJW7SLSRdU4d4pEgp1jnfsdtHtAOeTTgH7OZc4mb9ocz5ubKJkM9B6-_l1nDuEcxSWW30BMBIRbEatw/w400-h300/IMG_8771flawedartschoolphotos.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p>I arranged all of the pieces on the canvas like a collage. The canvas looked like a mis-matched puzzle, none of the pieces going together. The arrangement of these fragments reflected the scattered state of my mind during the years represented.</span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By hand, I sewed all of the photo fragments onto the canvas. Sewing on canvas was much more difficult than sewing on fabric. The canvas was thick. Pulling the needle through required a lot of strength. It took two hours for me to sew everything together.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I finished, I looked at the canvas. The sad, angry, and disappointed feelings I experienced long ago emerged. I took a deep breath.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I suddenly remembered the hole in the canvas, now covered with remnants of my school pictures. Thinking about how even a tiny hole can let light through also helped me remember how I was aware of God’s presence during those terrible years of childhood. I knew the comforting presence of God in my heart when I prayed at home and at my school desk. At the time, I didn’t think about the possibility of God removing me from my home or putting me with another family where I could flourish. I just knew the reality of God’s sustaining presence.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wrote John 1:5 at the bottom of the canvas. Although my knowledge of the nature of God was not broad in childhood, I did know God was bringing comfort, giving me a blanket of love that no one else seemed to provide.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Illustrating a bleak time in my life on an 8 x 10 canvas helped me discover and express old feelings. Looking at the disheveled pictures reminded me how broken I felt emotionally and socially, yet aware at the same time of how God was giving me daily strength to persevere.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The canvas with a rip was the perfect thing to illustrate /flawed/. My childhood was indeed flawed, and the flaw allowed the light of God to come through.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-38457282250063416262021-09-27T03:30:00.002-07:002021-09-27T03:30:00.170-07:00Reunited<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9IlLsKNGLhuurRQ9MI28e5TZQptfcJ3k-jwb3zKBrW3vAVYFCdZN6JtF0rExUo9cjbVuO2-XAQEwJV2xQJ1jsxqY6WrXzi3gK9ZQHDUtYJyTkc8d0oE6Jsc-2js2NNGAiVgxAE8fyMNs/s640/TeapotIMG_5469.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9IlLsKNGLhuurRQ9MI28e5TZQptfcJ3k-jwb3zKBrW3vAVYFCdZN6JtF0rExUo9cjbVuO2-XAQEwJV2xQJ1jsxqY6WrXzi3gK9ZQHDUtYJyTkc8d0oE6Jsc-2js2NNGAiVgxAE8fyMNs/w400-h300/TeapotIMG_5469.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-080384e6-7fff-b1cc-b310-9cc0f641973e"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We met at the cemetery </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She stood over the grave of her twins</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Who died at twenty three weeks.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Blustery December winds</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whipping at her heavy coat</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Blowing against her tan felt hat</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Vacant, sunken eyes, lips frozen in a line,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tears rolling down her thin cheeks, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like icicles at the end of her chin.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A gray casket </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Surrounded by loving grandparents,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Aunts, uncles, cousins</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Carrying carnations for the burial.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The father holding their two-year-old son, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A big brother hardly comprehending the meaning of </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A tiny box, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">An open hole, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People crying,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Two siblings lost. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I stood by watching</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With compassion</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Holding my carnations in hand.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Later, I wrote my sympathies </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And offered to give her a ride </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To a support group </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For parents who have lost babies.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She had hoped for a house full of children.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Slowly driving over snow-covered roads,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sliding occasionally on a patch of ice joined with packed snow </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like two pieces of fabric sewn together.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the car, we got acquainted. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She talked, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I listened.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A fellow quilter,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">An instant bond </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Over our friendship with fabric.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The weeks and months passed </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I brought occasional meals, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Playing with her toddler to give her time alone,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Watching her skilled hands make complex-patterned quilts,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Standing with her at the cemetery a year later </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With two bunches of flowers, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Honoring the coming and going </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of these two children born in November,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The week before Thanksgiving.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Slowly she emerged, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Still crying inside, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Smiling on the outside for those around her.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One day she asked me over for tea.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She served me with a porcelain teapot, a wedding gift, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Covered with butterflies and a yellow butterfly handle.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Delicate cups with </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A painted lady bug inside.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our friendship extended beyond quilted fabric to wedding china </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And entered our hearts.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One day over the butterfly teapot,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She told me they were moving.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Heartbroken, trying to contain my tears,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not wanting to ruin the joy of her husband’s promotion,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or her excitement for new adventures.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We said good-bye a few weeks later</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And kept in touch, always ending our emails with,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“My dearest friend.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Three years later, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After many cards, letters, and emails,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She wrote to say they were moving again,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Back to the area where I met her,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Back to the children left behind, but always</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Carried in her heart.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last week we were reunited,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The butterfly teapot and ladybug cup</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">waited on the kitchen table.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We laughed, I cried.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Joy in being back together,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sharing her excitement of creating new quilting patterns, a new website, a new business,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All from things learned in her time away from here.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Two hearts who met on the saddest of days</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pieced together in wind and snow</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That December morning.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bound with love over time.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Witnessed and warmed</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">with the butterfly teapot and ladybug cup. </span></p><div><span><br /></span></div><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85umUDzbpH7trE463GM2-vM3bC22ydUeV5AtmQJbb6m9JY2TAOaPwiwRNcneqGTaDAbd4mpDqrTQOL1J5Y7CjdSDRoTAT5z2_Z-u5m_s7b5HHtIX1aQ8JWJQIzlZosZ0tpGXdMTy4neY/s2016/TeacupIMG_5470.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85umUDzbpH7trE463GM2-vM3bC22ydUeV5AtmQJbb6m9JY2TAOaPwiwRNcneqGTaDAbd4mpDqrTQOL1J5Y7CjdSDRoTAT5z2_Z-u5m_s7b5HHtIX1aQ8JWJQIzlZosZ0tpGXdMTy4neY/s320/TeacupIMG_5470.jpg" /></a></div><br />Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-65630609768670008632021-09-13T03:00:00.001-07:002021-09-13T03:00:00.190-07:00The Sustaining Presence and Power of Rituals<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDx_uexLOWBunzEy4JSWGG_2OZv33W-3SC_u67Lb9Q-SxzZ5z6csKbnMUT6g6dDNI560PLtTWe7DJuyyvsZAx4TVYrjV3J6v8SUMV24jhP6aToabUPK0_6JW2NMMuhyBTS4REa8cyu28/s640/RitualsIMG_5659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDx_uexLOWBunzEy4JSWGG_2OZv33W-3SC_u67Lb9Q-SxzZ5z6csKbnMUT6g6dDNI560PLtTWe7DJuyyvsZAx4TVYrjV3J6v8SUMV24jhP6aToabUPK0_6JW2NMMuhyBTS4REa8cyu28/w400-h300/RitualsIMG_5659.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s all about the ritual,” my oldest daughter, Sarah, said about stopping at the same place for coffee on her way to work each day. Both of my daughters, Anna, in Oregon, and Sarah, in Indianapolis, enjoy a camaraderie and familiarity with the baristas who take their orders. The ritual of getting coffee carves structure, order, meaning, and connection to begin their work day. </span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-dcb0b693-7fff-b272-cd2e-bbe6bfa2b170"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rituals, a practice each day, or at a particular time, or with certain people, or at a favorite place, can be a source of comfort or stability in an unpredictable world.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rituals can help as we navigate through a rough patch in life. It is helpful to have rituals already in place before tough times, grounding us and offering a familiar pattern to hold onto in a time of change. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Recently, I asked several friends to describe rituals meaningful to them.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Laney considered, “What makes a ritual? Is a ritual a habit or a routine?” While sorting out the difference, she commented about her method of getting herself ready to go, “Sock, shoe, sock, shoe. Every day first thing in the morning from home. Three days out of seven from the pool. What is so interesting about this is that I only recently learned for most people it’s sock, sock, shoe, shoe! But this is not a ritual. There is no deliberate meaning in this. It’s a habit!” She concluded that a ritual involves sincerity, deep emotion, meaning, thought, and often a connection to God. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjguCVQzs9o2CNAnYZyrZaVJq_Rr2I7syXEc3AIgdRW8moiLZlS6kLlJGj8oZ3ZfAY9WGnkogMFUKQtspeJmZsUI0OiY6317k6KCf-3MKzETm_eIsHOge-D362cnWvVSLl4DSI8m6IXddA/s640/RitualsIMG_5663.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjguCVQzs9o2CNAnYZyrZaVJq_Rr2I7syXEc3AIgdRW8moiLZlS6kLlJGj8oZ3ZfAY9WGnkogMFUKQtspeJmZsUI0OiY6317k6KCf-3MKzETm_eIsHOge-D362cnWvVSLl4DSI8m6IXddA/s320/RitualsIMG_5663.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Many others follow my daughters’ example of getting coffee to start the day, while also connecting with God. Fran said, “I drink my morning coffee while I spend time in devotion and with my prayer list.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://charitysingletoncraig.com" target="_blank">Charity </a>also combined drinking coffee with morning prayer. And she has a daily ritual of reading devotions to her mother who lives in an assisted living facility. She ends the day with compline, a series of prayers and readings for nighttime. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nan described the meaning of her morning tea. “I drink tea daily. I am always seated and doing something pleasurable, such as visiting with Abba (her term of endearment for God) during prayer time or having a chat with a dear friend. Tea brings me joy, calm, comfort, and warm memories of having tea with my dad as a little girl. Ask my husband and he would say that for me, tea is a code word for chocolate! They go so well together!”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I found my morning ritual of prayer and readings sustaining during the past year of lockdown and isolation. I was grounding myself in God each day, even though I was experiencing many abrupt endings and changes. I was grateful to have my decades-long practice in place as an anchor during the challenging year.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lynne commented, “After breakfast, I always have a long stretch. I stretch my arms up to God and thank him for the new day.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Laney added, “Prayers at the end of the day bring memories of the past along with gratitude. Thanks given to God for the day at bedtime. Acknowledging the abundance, the blessings as someone who grew up with outdoor plumbing! Understanding nothing material ‘belongs’ to us. Gratitude for life itself and health. Yes, there is meaning in this. There is ritual.” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFvZs1uEd4iwl6-gLNfnFgk79zxXniwAjPDNPNSVr3AorkSRQVD_fssoWWE5R0HGPZat6e76Wk-UmhXOjZDVqFXYgD_dgfdXawF-is3qNVlbh_Pcr7riG_abxRxJUgYgdXgoEuJ1P7HE/s640/RitualsIMG_5662.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFvZs1uEd4iwl6-gLNfnFgk79zxXniwAjPDNPNSVr3AorkSRQVD_fssoWWE5R0HGPZat6e76Wk-UmhXOjZDVqFXYgD_dgfdXawF-is3qNVlbh_Pcr7riG_abxRxJUgYgdXgoEuJ1P7HE/s320/RitualsIMG_5662.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Adding meaning to things we do everyday can transform these tasks to rituals. My friend, and writing coach, <a href="http://darcywiley.com" target="_blank">Darcy Wiley</a>, described her care of an amaryllis plant in her kitchen. “I’ve been watching over this amaryllis since it was a bulb barely peeking up from the soil. My supervisor gave it to me and the only instructions on the enclosed card were to keep the soil moist. That’s in my skill set. Every day or two as I baptized the dirt with a trickle of water, I spoke a prayer for a friend in need. It has been a centering practice, helping me be mindful of the people I care about while basking in the truth that God is mindful of all of us. Every day for six weeks, as I put water into the soil of the flower pot, this specimen was on its way to flowering with lush red blooms. What was hidden in the bulb, stems, and buds was going to be revealed in a matter of time under the right conditions, a partnership of God’s creative design and my participation in the simple practice of watering.” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Several other friends’ routines involved connecting with family. Annette shared, “During our morning drive to school, we read scripture and pray for our day. When the weather is good, our family ends the day with a campfire, and we just hang out together.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Leslie added, “Early morning coffee with my husband is a time to talk about the day and the previous day. It’s our way of getting centered as a couple and as parents.” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “My Thursday night date night with my husband helps us focus on our relationship and has helped us get through difficult times. This time has made us stronger although we have missed these moments during the pandemic,” mentioned Julie. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I, too, have developed rituals for staying connected with my family. When my daughters moved out west in 2008, I wanted to find a simple way to stay in touch. Every morning, I began sending each daughter a short text, “Good morning, love. Thinking of you,” along with a couple of heart emojis. Hearing from them a few hours later because of the change in time zones, gave me assurance they were ok and ready to begin a new day. When I went to bed, I would send another text, “Good night, love. Hope your day went well,” along with more emojis. Again, with the time difference, their “Good night, love” response greeted me each morning. I have continued to send “Good morning” and “Good night, love” texts through all these years. It’s a way to bookend our days in loving thought. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmkeTxtyKvkKLSf7kT_y4K1xhNy2tVfup00JpcpA5bK5MJm2GvFr2PAZRENE-v2x5ka90LT_B5On9nd9AJJaoZWLm7rz24MxV-ffPJxLP67HwoEklM4HdCPQz-mm6eIq-M4mpLcDNmq4/s640/RitualsIMG_5661.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmkeTxtyKvkKLSf7kT_y4K1xhNy2tVfup00JpcpA5bK5MJm2GvFr2PAZRENE-v2x5ka90LT_B5On9nd9AJJaoZWLm7rz24MxV-ffPJxLP67HwoEklM4HdCPQz-mm6eIq-M4mpLcDNmq4/s320/RitualsIMG_5661.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “One more to consider,” Laney added, “because it’s always done with sincerity and often deep emotion: writing to those I learn are injured, ill, or struggling in some other way. Notes on pretty cards selected with care for the recipient I consider ritual because I put so much into thinking them through before I write and in choosing a card that fits. Yep, for me this too is ritual.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even reading the weekly paper can become a meaningful ritual. I look forward each Sunday to receiving the New York Times newspaper, which takes me all week to read. When I was ten and eleven, I saved for months to purchase the New York Times. I recall stopping after church at a general store in a small town near Pittsburgh with two quarters in my pocket. I dreamed of being a reporter for the Times when I grew up, able to contribute to someone else’s reading pleasure. Now, each week when I go through the many sections reading about current events and other topics, I think back to when I was young, smelling the newsprint, carrying the heavy newspaper to the car, and holding it on my lap for the drive home. I know I’ll always need to have a physical copy of the newspaper since I dislike reading on a screen. On Sunday night, I start with my favorite sections, Sunday Styles, the Business section, and then Opinion and Review, flipping the pages and savoring the words and content. Then, I go back each day of the week and pick up sections I haven’t read, or re-read articles I read earlier in the week about interesting and varied topics. I finish with Metropolitan Diary, another favorite, stretching out my anticipation as I wait to immerse myself in the vignettes printed there. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnal1MyL3JbtMmaQKhwb57FSWYZwC8NAPoulCQa-6ROWvdvdnqhhQQF6n3VVTnyqahIxP4XXV9FXKyWsVX2lcPya1uAyDVlkUw5NUER8ToJjN0p8bqSJqJJT8awwFQPhxfXgy_AHa4bWk/s640/RitualsIMG_5660.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnal1MyL3JbtMmaQKhwb57FSWYZwC8NAPoulCQa-6ROWvdvdnqhhQQF6n3VVTnyqahIxP4XXV9FXKyWsVX2lcPya1uAyDVlkUw5NUER8ToJjN0p8bqSJqJJT8awwFQPhxfXgy_AHa4bWk/s320/RitualsIMG_5660.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Finally, <a href="http://annkroeker.com" target="_blank">Ann Kroeker</a>, my first writing coach, offered these thoughts about the difficulty of setting rituals and how rituals can change over time: </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Routines and rituals are wonderful for our creative efforts and our spiritual life, but I’ve also seen how disappointed writers can be when they can’t follow through with the ritual or routine - they feel they can’t write a single word if they are not in their special place. And that’s limiting and a danger of depending too heavily on the ritual.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I recently traveled in an RV to South Carolina to visit my mom. If I had known how much of my life would be lived on-the-go, I would have developed more mobile and flexible rituals, because it’s hard to develop and maintain consistent rituals that are built around a room, furniture, or special space.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even if I did manage to stay put in my home, though, rituals keep changing as we ourselves evolve and grow. This seems tied to one’s season in life: after a significant life shift, a ritual may no longer be needed. For example, if when my kids were young I launched a personal ritual of reading, writing or praying during their nap time, that faded when the children no longer nap and certainly when they are grown adults living on their own!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In brief, I think it’s smart to make rituals that serve you and your creative pursuits, but consider designing rituals that are easy to pack up and move with you through life. And hold some rituals loosely, knowing life is unpredictable. Don’t worry too much. If you outgrow a ritual, it’s kind of fun to invent a new one!”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whether it be daily coffee, prayer, stretching, gratitude, watering plants, texting, campfires, writing letters, or reading the newspaper, rituals are simple but meaningful activities that make our day more pleasurable and purposeful. I hope the examples here will inspire you with new ideas to start rituals of your own. One simple way to begin is to make a list of everyday activities, and consider how those actions and interactions can be formed into meaningful rituals. Rituals help us feel a sense of power and intention in our daily life . </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-35700622451264137672021-08-30T03:00:00.000-07:002021-08-30T03:00:00.186-07:00Meadow: A Place for Delight, Expectation, Wonder, Discovery, and Curiosity [Word 48: The First 100 Words]<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZMMCi5dC4N6Jrap5LNO7rA81HhlK7yAEuC4-v9VHUYeL6OOLqIIZtPC06tlnGpuWZ-mvTHE-W5T9elQMFLzzWqCBx8stMpp_z4-WN9NRm-ojYJHEj3NIKW346tMbZkVs00BAUJGG1MhQ/s640/MeadowIMG_5653.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZMMCi5dC4N6Jrap5LNO7rA81HhlK7yAEuC4-v9VHUYeL6OOLqIIZtPC06tlnGpuWZ-mvTHE-W5T9elQMFLzzWqCBx8stMpp_z4-WN9NRm-ojYJHEj3NIKW346tMbZkVs00BAUJGG1MhQ/w300-h400/MeadowIMG_5653.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span id="docs-internal-guid-a17cb087-7fff-69fb-3c91-a305fead9ac8"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Meadow – word 48</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Meadow - </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">a grassland used for hay; low ground near a river; green range field.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Words associated with meadow – </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">openness, explore, space</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">__________</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As with most of the words Sharon gave me, I hadn’t anticipated what /meadow/ would come to mean over the next several months. When I heard the word /meadow/, I immediately thought of a pasture where cows and sheep graze.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At first I was perplexed about where I would find a meadow in my suburban area. Then I remembered the twenty minute drive I take each June to the strawberry patch, traveling on a narrow road surrounded by countryside.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reaching the country road, only three or four minutes from my house, I followed this path and realized I was surrounded by meadows. I chose one and looked for a place to stop. Nearby, I found a church and pulled my car into the parking lot.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Exploring new places brings me delight, expectation, wonder, discovery, and curiosity. I didn’t know what to expect here. What would I find? Should I have worn my boots? Rainy days preceding my trip had saturated the earth, making mud and puddles prevalent in my yard. Today was a hot day in mid-July, but I wondered if the area might still be muddy. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Approaching the meadow, I felt its openness. The field was filled only with nature, not cluttered with buildings or houses or sheds. I felt my heart and mind expand in this open area. I took a deep breath, inhaling the energy and spaciousness the meadow provided.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sky seemed to blend with the flowers and tall grass. Nothing obstructed the wide topography. Walking over the bumpy terrain, I encountered blooming wildflowers interspersed with plants dried out after the previous summer.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> A few small butterflies were exploring the meadow with me. They were like my pauses to take in the view. Each one stopped to rest on a flower or plant for a few seconds before moving on to the next perch. These tiny, pale yellow butterflies were light and free, gracefully skipping over the tops of plants and flowers.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grasshoppers jumped along the way like popcorn popping. Their spontaneity refreshed my senses. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the middle of the meadow, I came to a narrow creek filled with water. I watched the water flow, moving slowly, carving an identity in the bank as it moved. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Needing to move on in my day, I reluctantly left the meadow. But I left with a sense of freedom from spending time in a wide open space. I felt renewed life from the beauty and discovery. I could hardly wait to come back for another visit.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the days ahead, I discovered three more meadows close to my house. I began a habit of walking there. Going to the meadow is like going on a retreat. When I need to expand my mind and emotions, or when I feel stressed and need to calm myself, I go to the meadow, and almost instantly I feel my heart opening and my body relaxing. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVwtHPRJvGWKNQLbyswHeO262m05DQ1SJhoRQctjQrLMuXX82UDYLQDxER_m_Bqi7Qpifz4HvSId2ckgfqMzZEZAZZvJHq6a0lrZSdkgaoYaeMOLag_I5aPXr4l0ejJEtl23cTfePvVYc/s640/MeadowIMG_5658.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVwtHPRJvGWKNQLbyswHeO262m05DQ1SJhoRQctjQrLMuXX82UDYLQDxER_m_Bqi7Qpifz4HvSId2ckgfqMzZEZAZZvJHq6a0lrZSdkgaoYaeMOLag_I5aPXr4l0ejJEtl23cTfePvVYc/w400-h300/MeadowIMG_5658.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p>The meadow has become a place of grounding and anchoring, a constant in my life, always ready and waiting for my exploration. </span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After the emergence of COVID, the meadow became a place of refuge, quiet, and respite from pandemic loss and anxiety. When I was feeling sad or lonely or had a feeling of being adrift or aimless, a trip to the meadow brought me back to the present and redirected my thoughts. Grasshoppers, butterflies, and bees were my new companions when most humans were out of reach. At times I felt like I was in a florist shop with the abundance of daisies and other orange, yellow, and purple wildflowers. I began a habit of picking meadow flowers and assembling bouquets as a souvenir of each visit</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I returned to Sharon’s office the week after my meadow assignment, I showed her the bouquets of dried flowers and plants I had arranged. We talked about what the experience had meant. I told her how the word /meadow/ opened a whole new world for me, a new environment to explore, one that naturally spoke to my heart and soul. She suggested the next time I went, I could make a meadow mobile using the things I found there.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next time I went to the meadow I drew pictures of each thing I saw, from dried plants to flowers to grasshoppers to butterflies. Then, I cut pieces of straw from the meadow and used them like a dowel rod, tied the pictures to the straw, and created a dangling art piece to remind me of my time in the meadow.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Another time, one chilly November day I went to the meadow and wrote a short poem:</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Cold wind combing my hair,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kissing my cheeks</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wrapping my heart</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like a mother swaddling her newborn</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With a homemade quilt.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On Christmas Eve, I was feeling particularly sad at having to watch church online. The church I attend had been closed for six months. I had never missed Christmas Eve service and felt unsettled at missing this tradition that was such an important part of the holiday season. Our family celebration of opening presents took place on Zoom and did not capture the excitement I usually felt as my loved ones opened the presents I had picked out for them. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Late on Christmas afternoon, I decided to walk to the meadow. Despite the 12 degree temperature, I was delighted to find bright red heart-shaped leaves dangling on dried stems, a few strands of green grass, and patches of snow against a backdrop of dried brown plants. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even on a disappointing Christmas day, the meadow offered beauty, a gift to my aching heart. Now, my heart was so full that I came home and drew a picture of the holiday scene from the meadow.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like all of the words given to me, /meadow/ has become woven into my habits and thoughts. My awareness and enjoyment of these patches of land bring year-round refreshment, renewal, and rest. As I walk over the uneven ground and observe what is growing now as well as the remnants of what was growing in past seasons, the meadow seems to have in it whatever I need. </span></p><br /><span id="docs-internal-guid-db5a8c5c-7fff-8c9a-742c-ad59baa894df"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p></span>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-46496578952987797752021-08-16T03:00:00.004-07:002021-08-16T03:00:00.196-07:00 A Balloon for Jesus’ Tomb: Good Friday in the Kroger Parking Lot<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NMXPXGMfYd5vRgvKLKAh5eWEHnWq4Oc85WEXIHin5jgewtQGLqaVaBvU-VzXOVINVJRiEuafQT2jvlLoV9MDTrSGeqiO0RDqtoqMtZZFsFC3GuGEr_Ffsk6U_pmcz6bmRv_LvNCmm50/s640/KrogerBalloonsIMG_5227.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NMXPXGMfYd5vRgvKLKAh5eWEHnWq4Oc85WEXIHin5jgewtQGLqaVaBvU-VzXOVINVJRiEuafQT2jvlLoV9MDTrSGeqiO0RDqtoqMtZZFsFC3GuGEr_Ffsk6U_pmcz6bmRv_LvNCmm50/w400-h300/KrogerBalloonsIMG_5227.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-2d16f5dd-7fff-c919-c053-f27d6cf48c02"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My throat had been sore for a week, my glands swollen. I was exhausted. Because of a disruption in communication at my doctor’s office there was a two-day delay in getting medication.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tired from the drains of multiple communications with my doctor’s office, and confused about what was happening in my body and the things my practitioner wanted to do to help, I drove to Kroger to pick up my medication.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It has been my practice over the past year to use the drive-through. That day, I saw a sign on the tube saying the drive-through was broken. With frustration, I drove to the parking lot and found an empty spot. I had been in the store only a few times since receiving my second vaccine.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was late in the afternoon on Good Friday and I found the parking lot packed with cars. I dreaded going inside with so many other people.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Getting out of my car, I noticed a woman in the first handicapped space closest to the store, struggling to fit multiple plastic bags filled with balloons into the back of her car. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I walked over and said, “Do you need some help?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She looked at me and I could see relief in her eyes above her mask. It’s amazing how much can be conveyed with only the eyes.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes, I would. Thank you”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I will hold the balloons while you put the trunk up.” I said, “Someone is going to have a lot of fun with these.” I could see through the plastic the many colors of the balloons.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The woman looked at me and I could see a change in her eyes. They were sad and teary. I wondered what I had said to upset her.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I am taking the balloons to the cemetery to decorate my brother’s grave. Last November, on Friday the 13th, he died suddenly of a heart attack. He was 49. Today, another Friday, is his birthday.“ Her eyes smiled as she talked about him. “We were very close. I had a feeling something was wrong that day. I called my mother and went over to his house and found him on the floor. He was already gone.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I paused for a minute to take in what she told me. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I have heard of people taking balloons to the graves of those they love. I will think about you the rest of the day as you go and remember your brother. “ I visualized her walking over the grass and placing the balloons next to a granite tombstone. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I appreciate that,” she replied as she went on her way. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I walked into Kroger and walked right up to the counter without anyone else around. Going back to my car, I was thinking about Good Friday, the day Jesus died. He was surrounded by his mother and the disciples who could do nothing to save him. Jesus was fulfilling the scripture, dying for our sins. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Talking to the woman in the parking lot made Good Friday more real to me. I don’t know if she realized it was Good Friday, but as I was thinking about her, I was also remembering Jesus who died on the same day that she was visiting her brother’s grave.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t have a grave where I can take balloons to celebrate Jesus’ life, and what life in Jesus has offered to me. But maybe stopping and helping her, showing kindness and love to a stranger, is one way I can honor Jesus. Perhaps any type of kindness shown in the spirit of God’s love can be like offering a balloon at Jesus tomb. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-38308846824749153332021-08-02T03:00:00.000-07:002021-08-02T03:00:00.189-07:00The First One Hundred Words<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgynou9boO-8QgKpmPcwdwTBtqCy766WHcUT0LugaDjHsqVF2CTrH2L-BOTV-zUaE4gSkkUdyYGtRqikhrgGIMCDXKgTVuqK_Gow11kGfm2W2WBuGMM6Dq04WhSH4EgyFHNLzKn2745Q/s640/FirstWordsArtIMG_4804.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgynou9boO-8QgKpmPcwdwTBtqCy766WHcUT0LugaDjHsqVF2CTrH2L-BOTV-zUaE4gSkkUdyYGtRqikhrgGIMCDXKgTVuqK_Gow11kGfm2W2WBuGMM6Dq04WhSH4EgyFHNLzKn2745Q/w400-h300/FirstWordsArtIMG_4804.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Here’s a project for your weekend, “ Sharon said one day at the end of our counseling session. </span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-85fd6a71-7fff-6142-1687-c2a085c69482"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She walked to the couch where I was sitting at one end and reached under the opposite side, pulling out a stack of 8x10 canvases. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Using one canvas each week, I want you to make art related to the words I give you. Bring the canvas when you return next week. We’ll talk about the art you make and your thought process behind it. Your first word is /time/.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sharon knew I liked art and writing. I had expressed frustration, disappointment and confusion to her that all of my creative avenues, writing and art had gone dry over the past couple of years. We explored possible causes and came up with no answers. The loss of these important parts of myself was like living without hands. My hands seemed bound, unable to bring forth any new images, words, or writing. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I took the empty canvas, the word /time/ and walked out the door. I hadn’t done anything creative in two years. I was not used to making art, had never created on a canvas, and only had four days to put something together. As I went down the three flights of stairs in the church where the counseling center was located, I began to think about what I would make. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The first word and canvas Sharon gave me was on August 22, 2019. So far, Sharon has given me over 100 words. In those days, I often left her office crying, out of touch with reality, locked in the past, barely able to stumble out of her room. Carrying a canvas gave me something tangible to hold as I walked out the door and back into everyday life. In those chaotic times, I felt a new clarity and sense of direction with Sharon's assignment to make a piece of art guided by a single word. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I discovered each week that Sharon's ritual of giving me a word stretched my brain in new directions. I explored nouns, verbs and adjectives in the context of creating art. Working with the word and canvas from Thursday to Monday gave me something to think about other than distress from the past. The word often increased my awareness of surroundings or generated a new idea. Staying present to the word and exploring what the word might say to me was sustaining in hard times. The word became a companion and counselor “walking beside me” as I went through my days. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had complete freedom, no constraints or specific instructions to confine my imagination. Over time, exploring each word and creating art reactivated my writing and began a series of new art projects. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg__D55gDwttY_MhvZ-_oR2baqJHJLPIk6-zUXiKdgJEHzt2PWpcUYdxIYPYk3FnVRA3WDnB7r2AZ68EqZ5T685F4NO2sLlYASeZRDurHciH2-yWXZtjj0EyrFrW4WhZFKnmbEE9JoHmXM/s640/FirstWordsArtIMG_4802.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg__D55gDwttY_MhvZ-_oR2baqJHJLPIk6-zUXiKdgJEHzt2PWpcUYdxIYPYk3FnVRA3WDnB7r2AZ68EqZ5T685F4NO2sLlYASeZRDurHciH2-yWXZtjj0EyrFrW4WhZFKnmbEE9JoHmXM/w400-h300/FirstWordsArtIMG_4802.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First, I wrote down the word, the number, and the date. Then, I went to dictionary.com and found the word’s meaning. Most of the time I had an idea what the word meant, but reading the multiple definitions expanded my thoughts and offered direction. I used the formal definition as a springboard to generate ideas. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some words had a psychological definition which helped me understand the difficulties through which I was working or gave me strategies in my interactions with people, which were often challenging and confusing. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eventually Sharon ran out of canvases, so she invited me to create something using whatever resources I had at home. Fortunately I had a lot of tablets of art paper which formed the basis of many projects. I also used twigs from the backyard, acrylic paint, cardboard, fabric, my X-acto knife, and salt dough. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I reached the 100th word, I was reminded of the children’s picture book 100 First Words for Toddlers. The book contains photographs of 100 objects familiar to a toddler or preschooler. These words form the beginning of their understanding and communication in the world. Naming and discussing each word and finding the word in the house and surroundings can add meaning to a child’s life and assist in language development. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The first 100 words Sharon gave me helped me enter my next stage of development. I began to emerge from a past shadowed with deficiencies, lack of enriching and healthy experiences, and a sheltered and narrow environment. Each word was like a beam of light, opening new thoughts, making me more aware of my surroundings as if I were carrying the word in a backpack as I explored the world around me. Just like the children’s book, 100 First Words, the first 100 words Sharon gave me provided a guide as I emerged a new person. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlxEMIhKobYqi_gGBnYsIU7GU4rbl6Dv0a2QfOlxbytbVPsVXvG7-Ey-1JFpsmQK9OtnB2w6j20k0LaR-FLll5j95YyJpFCdS2z3wfYL7JTx8JTnak4ZunsFlUJxm_myvYSsjTvO0hGg/s640/FirstWordsArtIMG_4798.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlxEMIhKobYqi_gGBnYsIU7GU4rbl6Dv0a2QfOlxbytbVPsVXvG7-Ey-1JFpsmQK9OtnB2w6j20k0LaR-FLll5j95YyJpFCdS2z3wfYL7JTx8JTnak4ZunsFlUJxm_myvYSsjTvO0hGg/w400-h300/FirstWordsArtIMG_4798.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What did I make for that very first word, /time/? I listed words associated with /time/ such as order, restore, seasons, discovery, rhythm, grounding, growth, naming, and stability. On the canvas, I started with what I knew best – fabric and sewing. I found four pieces of soft fabric in pastel colors, cut the fabric into 2” x 2” squares and arranged them in a pattern over the canvas. Using a strong needle and thick quilting fabric, I sewed the fabric to the canvas. Maneuvering my hands over the wood frame and sewing through the thick canvas required skill, strength, and dexterity I had not used before. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It felt good to be back in the process of creation. Thinking about how I could interpret /time/ on an 8x10 canvas gave me a good challenge, a stretch of my imagination, and a sense of wonder and expectation – all of which I had missed so much. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Working on the first canvas brought me out of my emotional work, helping me realize there is more to life than dealing with the unpleasant residue of my past. I felt lighter, more balanced, and optimistic about my future. When I returned to see Sharon the next Monday, she was as excited to see what I made as I was to show her. Explaining my process gave me new energy, empowering me to continue with the work ahead. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I carry each of the words with me wherever I go. They help me stay present and aware of what is happening within as well as what I see. For example, when I am driving, I look at the horizon and remember what Sharon and I said about /clouds/ and their shapes and gradations of color. Clouds are undependable. They are here and then they are gone. The clouds reminded me of how people would come and go in my life and how unsettling that was to me. The clouds helped me name my longing for consistency in my relationships. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sharon gave me the word /eyes/ long before everyone started to wear masks. Now after a year of seeing people with masks, I am amazed how much expression of emotion the eyes contain without seeing a person’s whole face. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I see a foot bridge, I think of the word /gap/ that Sharon gave me. I notice how the bridge connects the gap between one side and the other. When I feel emotionally disconnected, I mentally recreate a bridge in my mind, praying the strength of the image will pull together parts of myself that feel far away. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Each word has its own function even if a visible form of art didn’t emerge. One thing I like about working with a single word is that it doesn’t overwhelm me. Sometimes reading sayings, paragraphs, or articles that offer advice, can exhaust me. A single word is simple yet has enough energy in itself for me to go deeper in meaning, to explore, relate to my life, perhaps make an artful response, or just settle it in my soul for retrieval when needed. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the next few months, I plan to share the words Sharon gave me, along with my interpretation of each word and its integration into my life. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I invite you to join me and see what focusing on a single word can do for you.</span></p><ol style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Get a piece of paper or notebook, and make a list of five words that are important to you. </span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Look up the meaning and write down each one. Which meanings apply to where you are right now or what you are going through? </span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Write a sentence or two about the word and how you connect with it. </span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you can, create a drawing or piece of art related to the word. </span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ask God to add reflections to what you did. </span></p></li></ol><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here is a listing of the first 100 words:</span></p><ol style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Time</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Seasons</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fly</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://jacquiereed.blogspot.com/2021/07/flawed-word-4-first-100-words.html" target="_blank">Flawed</a></span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That happened</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anguish</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Egg</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Justice</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://jacquiereed.blogspot.com/2021/07/containment-word-9-first-100-words.html" target="_blank">Containment</a></span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Autumn</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Time</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bridge</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lost</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hooked</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Found</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sacrifice</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dance</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eyes</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Resolve</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Confidence</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sequence</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Acceptance</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">System</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pillow</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Iron</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wonder</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cream</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Altruism</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Witness</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sunrise</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Empowerment</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Light</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bulb</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nature’s</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nest</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Beam</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Circular</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Egress</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Branch</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jagged</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Love</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Consideration</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Relatability</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Absolute</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oak tree</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Water</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Derailed</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://jacquiereed.blogspot.com/2021/07/meadow-place-for-delight-expectation.html" target="_blank">Meadow</a></span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cloud</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wide-open</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Awakening</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Be, bee</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Integration</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wind blowing through</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Transformation</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Soulful</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bridge</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cloak</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Crackers</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Adaptation</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Understanding</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Recall</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Remembering</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cross</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Embrace</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Opening</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nature</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Blend</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Creation</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Listen</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Notice</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wave</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gap</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Disappointment</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sadness</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Window</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eye</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Transformation</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Holy</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sacred</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reach</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Addiction</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Conduct</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Saturation</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Vision</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Continuum</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Friendship</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reciprocation</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Flight</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Openness</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Invisible</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Resilient</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Connection</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Orange</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Surround</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wind</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Flight</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Expand</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Atmosphere</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Landscape</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Connection</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Blanket</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wonder</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Establishment</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Regulate</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fluid</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Window</span></p></li></ol><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br />Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-24015388851751972682021-07-19T03:30:00.001-07:002021-07-19T03:30:00.189-07:00Legacy of a Handwritten Letter<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg4u9RfveLQiRs4NvEhDLDflOzlVzaTWWPKiZohHHm5-4ghf0ljD0sYt_YqOYjWgtMS0UAqMFC87gzlSXZTTNiD66N_871MgN8DxHmdU-98cYH1_RFXi_ETyVJ5M-NifkZm-GLxo_gklE/s640/2SusanBayh1989.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="640" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg4u9RfveLQiRs4NvEhDLDflOzlVzaTWWPKiZohHHm5-4ghf0ljD0sYt_YqOYjWgtMS0UAqMFC87gzlSXZTTNiD66N_871MgN8DxHmdU-98cYH1_RFXi_ETyVJ5M-NifkZm-GLxo_gklE/w400-h299/2SusanBayh1989.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-58f2fc56-7fff-de51-35f0-c38289fb6374"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Mom, mom, guess what?” yelled Sarah running in the house after school one day.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was waiting for her in the kitchen, watching out the window for the bus to arrive.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What is it?” I asked, wondering why my usually quiet fifth grader was so excited.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Mrs. Bayh, the governor’s wife, is coming to a meeting of the </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just Say No Club</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Since I’m the co-captain, I get to introduce her!”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Wow, Sarah. That’s quite an honor.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I want to get started on my speech right away.” Sarah said, walking to the roll-top desk in the living room. “Mrs. Bayh is a lawyer. You know I want to be a lawyer too. I can’t wait to meet her.” Sarah gathered a few sheets of paper and a pencil. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just Say No</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> nationwide movement was introduced in the 1980’s to discourage children from engaging in illegal recreational drug use by offering various ways of saying “no.” The slogan was created and championed by First Lady, Nancy Reagan, during her husband’s presidency.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I checked on Sarah a few minutes later. She was bent over the desk, her hand moving quickly across the paper as she wrote her introduction. What an exciting time for a young child to meet the governor’s wife. Mrs. Bayh made children one of her highest priorities while she was First Lady. Attending a local Indianapolis school’s </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just Say No Club</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> was a way of supporting the popular movement.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mrs. Bayh came to Sarah’s school in April 1989. Sarah worked hard over the next few days, preparing her speech. The day before the visit, my husband Mike, our four-year-old Anna, and I gathered in the living room to listen to Sarah’s remarks. She read with expression and interest. We clapped when she finished.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Usually hard to awaken for school, Sarah bounded out of bed the next day and gobbled the bowl of oatmeal I prepared for her.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I hope the day goes fast!” she said as I brushed her hair, pulling it back and fastening with a barrette. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Today will be a memorable one for sure,” I said, “What an honor and inspiration to meet the First Lady of Indiana when you are only ten years old.” Gathering her backpack and lunch box, Sarah ran out the side door to catch the bus.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mike, Anna and I arrived at the school just in time to see Mrs. Bayh escorted into the cafeteria by security with Sarah right next to her. Sarah delivered her introduction with poise and enthusiasm. I cherish the picture I took of Mrs. Bayh smiling and looking at her while she talked.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Returning from school that afternoon, Sarah came in the side door, still excited about the day.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I want to write Mrs. Bayh a letter and tell her I want to be a lawyer just like her.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sarah grabbed a sheet of paper and pencil, and returned to the roll-top desk.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Watching Sarah write reminded me of when I was a twelve-year-old seventh grader in January 1961. John Kennedy was just inaugurated president. He and his wife brought new energy to the White House and were adored by the nation.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sharing the same first name with the new First Lady helped me feel a kinship to someone famous I would never meet. Walking home from school one day in late January, I decided to write the president a letter. I went to the desk in my bedroom, pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil, and began to write. I remember mentioning to the president that his wife and I shared the same name, and that I thought she was beautiful. I wished him good luck in his work, and signed my letter.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The White House address was well known, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I completed the envelope, found a stamp, and my letter was ready to go. I put it in the outside mailbox attached to our house. A few weeks later, I received a form letter saying the president had received my letter and thanked me, along with a stamped signature.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I continued the practice of writing letters to presidents and their wives. In July 1976, I wrote a letter to Betty Ford because of her response to a medical emergency in New York while she was attending a dinner celebrating the new American National Bicentennial Park in Israel. A rabbi at the event collapsed from a heart attack. Mrs. Ford went to the speaker’s microphone and led the audience in prayer.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mrs. Ford sent me a typed letter responding specifically to what I had written. She said,</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dear Mrs. Reed,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was deeply touched by your kind words regarding my prayer for Dr. Maurice Sage.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">During times of such tragedy, we can only turn to the Father of all for His blessing and strength, and I am heartened to know my words offered comfort to so many.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thank you for your thoughtfulness.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With warm regards,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sincerely,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Betty Ford</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mrs. Ford signed the letter, which I saved along with the article about her prayer which appeared in TIME Magazine.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In February 1977, I wrote a letter to Rosalynn Carter. I don’t remember my thoughts, but she replied with a form response.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thank you for your kind letter. I appreciate your support and friendship, and Jimmy joins me in sending our best wishes.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rosalynn Carter </span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Finally, I wrote to Jimmy Carter in January 1987, following his presidency. He replied with a typed letter and signature.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To Jacquie Reed:</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thank you for your recent letter. Your kind words and support mean a great deal to me.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With best wishes.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sincerely,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jimmy</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was thrilled to receive these four responses to my correspondence to presidential families. When Sarah wanted to write to Mrs. Bayh, I was pleased, thinking she was carrying on my legacy of writing to public servants.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgic5NAP4iwibuoE88WkdgbYllxhq2OnpTdz3TbKmC7smCfO0tJGrVgcQwWm_7ZaVSm6jzkxc3XUf3ZNmCBYxKmqG3HiHbx9xdZWVyrIqt2BoyoFiqOwUR-YHR3Ihjm5Xapn4YS6gqta9U/s640/1SusanBayh1989.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgic5NAP4iwibuoE88WkdgbYllxhq2OnpTdz3TbKmC7smCfO0tJGrVgcQwWm_7ZaVSm6jzkxc3XUf3ZNmCBYxKmqG3HiHbx9xdZWVyrIqt2BoyoFiqOwUR-YHR3Ihjm5Xapn4YS6gqta9U/w400-h300/1SusanBayh1989.jpg" width="400" /></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When she completed her letter, I did not go over it for spelling or grammar. I wanted Mrs. Bayh to read her thoughts as she expressed them. We put the letter in an envelope, got a stamp, addressed it, and out it went in the mail.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I hope Mrs. Bayh answers my letter, Sarah said, as we walked to the mailbox. “I know she is a busy person. But I met her, so maybe she will remember me and reply.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We smiled walking back to the house. I, too, hoped Mrs. Bayh would answer Sarah’s letter, but I knew better than to expect it.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few weeks later, I went to get the mail while Sarah was in school. In the pile of bills and advertisements, I saw a letter addressed to Sarah from the Governor’s office. I put the letter back in the mailbox so Sarah could enjoy the excitement of an answered letter.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When she came through the side door, I said, “Before you get your snack, would you get the mail?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Sure,” and off she went. I watched through the kitchen window. When she saw the letter from Mrs. Bayh, her mouth dropped. She slowly walked to the house, holding the envelope, looking at the front and back, savouring the moment of discovery and unexpected delight.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What did you find?” I asked.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Mrs. Bayh answered my letter. Do you believe that?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Let’s sit down at the kitchen table and open the letter. I wonder what she said!”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I wonder if she liked that I want to be a lawyer like her.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Carefully, Sarah opened the envelope and read these handwritten words.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">February 9, 1989</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dear Sara,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thank you for your kind letter. I would be pleased to answer your questions. I work as an attorney with Eli Lilly and Company, a large corporation on the south side of Indianapolis. I work exclusively in the federal regulatory area which means that my cases are only with the federal government.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In answer to your second questions – it is neat to be the Governor’s wife. I am blessed with a wonderful husband who takes care of me and because of my new position I am asked to go to exciting places and to do very interesting things and get great letters like yours!</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Good luck to you in your future – See you in court!</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Best regards,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Susan Bayh</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reading Mrs. Bayh’s kind and thoughtful response turned both of us into devoted fans of the First Lady. Sarah followed newspaper accounts of her activities in the state. I kept the letter because I thought one day Mrs. Bayh might be First Lady of the United States. The letter was also a continuation of the excitement Sarah experienced the day she met and introduced Mrs. Bayh.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few weeks ago, after swimming, I checked my phone and found a text message from Sarah. She told me Mrs. Bayh had died following a two year struggle with glioblastoma, a fatal and aggressive form of brain cancer. I wasn’t surprised that Sarah would be the one to tell me of Mrs. Bayh’s passing, knowing her admiration and keen interest in her since elementary school.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I returned home after hearing the news of Mrs. Bayh’s passing, I went to the scrapbook where I kept the photographs from the day of her visit to the school as well as the letter she wrote to Sarah. The letter was important when Sarah received it, but it took on even more meaning with Mrs. Bayh’s passing. Susan Bayh left a lasting imprint on the life of a young girl and her family years ago by taking time to write a letter. Now that she has died, the letter keeps giving and carries on her legacy of thoughtfulness, an example of how she took time to reflect and reply to a young child who admired her. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nowadays people usually write letters to public servants to complain, make a demand, express disagreement with policy, or give their thoughts on other matters. Writing to express admiration may be less frequent, but perhaps more important as the character of the individual is observed and honored. The personal attributes of Susan Bayh, Betty Ford, Jimmy Carter, and Rosalyn Carter impacted me. I prayed each of my letters, and Sarah’s, was a voice of encouragement and support amidst the challenges of leadership. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span></div></div><br /><br /> <p></p>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-35991603255756035682021-07-05T04:00:00.000-07:002021-07-05T04:00:00.190-07:00Acceptance of Paper<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9gHBn86Bk_QtowtcxjOQo7a4hOhEXulfXcZHa3bFDjxyWkUY1HmTfMqZK-K3BteP4OQcy8HaCobLsQM_v6oL4pouohk1SoTnpFSyX5KxLA2ft1XYA5df9srCS05S7bW_c4TWEAw7vo70/s640/acceptanceofpaper1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9gHBn86Bk_QtowtcxjOQo7a4hOhEXulfXcZHa3bFDjxyWkUY1HmTfMqZK-K3BteP4OQcy8HaCobLsQM_v6oL4pouohk1SoTnpFSyX5KxLA2ft1XYA5df9srCS05S7bW_c4TWEAw7vo70/w400-h300/acceptanceofpaper1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />“Mommy, mommy, I need more paper. The box is empty. I want to draw my idea,” my daughter, Sarah, said. <p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-65e042cd-7fff-7f8b-e139-d757a3db1512"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I turned around from the kitchen counter where I was making biscuits for dinner to see my three-year-old with an empty box usually filled with drawing paper. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, Sarah, my hands are sticky. Look at the dough hanging on my fingers. Hold on to your thought. I will be done quickly.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I finished kneading the dough, cut the biscuits, and put the baking sheet in the warm oven. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Taking the empty box, I went to the closet where we kept the paper. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What are you going to draw?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I have an idea, but I want you to be surprised,” she said taking the paper overflowing from the box to the table where her imagination came alive. She was happiest with a blank sheet of paper, markers, crayons, scissors, and tape. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her sister, Anna, who was born a few years later had the same interests. She, too, thrived, with paper and art supplies. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Back in the late seventies and eighties when I had my daughters, there were not many books about nurturing creativity in preschoolers . But I did read an article one day in the newspaper offering a few thoughts on art for young children. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The article said to encourage a child’s creativity, parents should give the child sheets of paper, not coloring books. The article continued, “A blank sheet of paper offers possibility and freedom to the young child. When commenting about your child’s artwork, remember to say, ‘Tell me about your picture,’ rather than naming or describing what you think your child made. Having the child tell about his or her work, gives him or her an opportunity to use descriptive language to accurately name what you see on paper.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These comments helped me as I wanted to respond to their artwork in a way that was encouraging and helpful. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I often brought a bag of paper and crayons with us to church, in the car on trips, and to keep the girls occupied during my hair appointments. I was grateful for my daughters’ endless ideas and imaginative thoughts. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Tell me about your picture, Anna. I see lots of blue and red,” I asked one day watching Anna so busy at the table. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I am drawing Dorothy and Toto, my favorite characters in the Wizard of Oz.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You do like Dorothy and Toto. I see Dorothy’s red shoes. Click, click and off she goes back home to Kansas,” I said, Anna laughing while I described her favorite scene. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Watching Sarah and Anna paint, draw, and cut paper brought delight to my heart. I could tell by their interest and the amount of time they spent at the little table, I was nurturing and encouraging a talent each possessed of creative expression on paper. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Art became one of their favorite classes when the children started school. Sarah eventually became an art teacher. Anna has used her creativity professionally as a marketing and media director at small businesses. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While I cherished the pictures Sarah and Anna made growing up, I never considered I would be interested in art as well. I did not like art in junior high. I do remember the sides of my notebook paper were always covered with lines, though. Some of the lines I made into boxes stacked from top to bottom. Junior high was a rough time for me, and without being aware, drawing lines somehow brought me comfort and relief from anxiety and tension. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXVtozq8LNNLOjrUq6eGu-OYhnzW2VF3jWM0M4DuyXGcsYjXoOCpg86OgiXQMVGwkuiyjqGcwviQuCIGJlxbYV3PbJzc7za21yReiSdyEFXaTck4Ef_8TS5NlTn8DKZ1twD0_n5O0bUg/s640/acceptanceofpaper2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXVtozq8LNNLOjrUq6eGu-OYhnzW2VF3jWM0M4DuyXGcsYjXoOCpg86OgiXQMVGwkuiyjqGcwviQuCIGJlxbYV3PbJzc7za21yReiSdyEFXaTck4Ef_8TS5NlTn8DKZ1twD0_n5O0bUg/s320/acceptanceofpaper2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />I earned a C in an introductory art class in college, but even so, art would eventually come to me later in life, and in an unusual way. </span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One day when I walked into my counselor’s office, I noticed an easel with a large tablet of drawing paper. She had told me a few weeks earlier that she wanted to add art to our work, but finding the large easel in the office that day was a big surprise. I looked at the blank tablet and remembered the hundreds of sheets of paper stored in closets in various parsonages in which my husband, daughters, and I lived. I recalled the joy I experienced watching my children create. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now I was facing a blank sheet of paper, too. I had no idea what to draw. I had no creative thoughts. I felt as blank as the page. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My counselor handed me a set of chalk pastels. When I pulled the teal pastel from the box, the dust scattered over my hand before I even used it. I didn’t know if I would like something that was so messy, but I was willing to try. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What do you want to draw?” Susan, my counselor asked. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I don’t know,” I replied. I was anxious being put on the spot to make something. Here I was in a counselor’s office working through a difficult past. I was not inspired to draw radiant suns or bright stars or houses or cars or animals or people or the many other imaginative items I saw my children make. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Why don’t you draw some lines.” Susan suggested. That seemed easy enough. I drew a few simple lines using the teal pastel. Then I reached into the box and pulled out an orange pastel, dragging it from the top to the bottom of the page, creating more vertical lines. In time, I used a green, then a blue pastel to add lines to span the width of the page. The lines were evenly spaced, the same length. I did nothing else but draw rows and rows of lines that first day. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With each row of lines, I felt my heart soften. There was something about drawing a single line that set me at ease. I began to feel more open and relaxed. I still didn’t have any ideas of what else to draw, but making lines was calming. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Susan, witnessing my entry into art, made few comments, but responded “yes” when I noted how the lines were grouped in evenly spaced rows. I didn’t plan the placing of the lines over the paper, but my hand had instinctively gone that way. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before I left my session, Susan asked me to name and date the picture. I labeled it, “Acceptance of Lines.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reflecting later on the use of pastels, the large sheet of empty paper and the name I gave the picture, I think I should have re-named the picture, “The Acceptance of Paper.” The paper was patient, ready to accept whatever I decided to put on – whether it was lines, an angry face, a beautiful flower, or scribbles. The paper received and held the color and pattern I put on it using the chalk pastels. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My experience with people told me that they weren’t as gracious as the paper. Many times we have experiences where we don’t feel accepted by someone, or free to be who we are and express what we are thinking.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The openness the paper provided was a starting place for me to build connections when human connections were painful. Working with the paper each session help me reach outside myself, hesitantly, at first, but gradually with more confidence and anticipation. The rows of evenly spaced lines, reflected my need for order as well. Working through trauma memories plunged me back into the chaotic home situation in which I grew up. My internal need for order while working through those moments, instinctively led me to drawing lines. I drew what I needed emotionally even though I wasn’t aware of what I needed. The paper was a place where I could grow and build experience to carry over into my dealings with people. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The order I felt from drawing lines helped me stay centered and present in my current life and relationships instead of being stuck in my difficult past. Through paper, color, and shapes, I became more attuned to myself and able to reach deeper into who God had designed me to be. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I always keep a piece of paper wherever I am...in my purse, in the front seat of the car, at my desk, or on my nightstand. Paper is always close by, ready to receive whatever lines or dots I need to help clear my head, release anxiety, and find order and containment.</span></p><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you ever doodle on blank paper as a way to relax?</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-40547669963800630622021-06-21T03:30:00.000-07:002021-06-21T03:30:00.230-07:00Baking Is a Spiritual Act<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><br /></span></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-XQmcieUfO5zqx8n2mjjV58tBls956xnFLYJDyKqfyNgWzby08JOWP5pz6SjWBknFtRkZFTZ_xDW5hjkOE2La9CbzuGuTEQZSXbwa8og9pdI6CZ4QywDYw9bw3FPtSdONG0YCv65cT4/s2048/bakingbiscuitsart.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-XQmcieUfO5zqx8n2mjjV58tBls956xnFLYJDyKqfyNgWzby08JOWP5pz6SjWBknFtRkZFTZ_xDW5hjkOE2La9CbzuGuTEQZSXbwa8og9pdI6CZ4QywDYw9bw3FPtSdONG0YCv65cT4/w225-h400/bakingbiscuitsart.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">(Scroll to the end of the post to print your copy of </span><span style="color: #cc0000;">Praying & Making Biscuits </span><span style="color: #cc0000;">including </span><span style="color: #cc0000;">my favorite recipe and a spiritual exercise!)</span></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="color: #cc0000;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I peered into the kitchen on the way to my bedroom. I watched my mother glide the rolling pin over a batch of sugar cookie dough. It was December and today was a baking day.. I enjoyed the smells in the kitchen. After baking the cookies, my mother would layer them with wax paper to be stored inside a five-pound coffee can. The cans, eighteen of them, would line the wooden shelf in the cold garage, waiting to be delivered to friends, neighbors, work colleagues, and teachers at the school my brother and I attended.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-c793960d-7fff-b8df-b26a-5eba34fb3200"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wanted to be part of it. I longed to enter my mother's world and learn how to bake the cookies everyone looked forward to receiving. I wanted to reach out to my mom so she would reach out to me, a longing that had been in my heart for many years. I yearned to learn family secrets that were delicious and comforting instead of those that were horrid and traumatic. By the time I turned twelve, I resigned myself to the reality that I was there only to witness experiences, but not to participate in them. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some of the cookies were simple to prepare, like snickerdoodles, others time-consuming to decorate such as holiday wreaths covered with green icing and small pieces of red citron for berries. My favorite were the chocolate balls. My mother also made peanut butter cookies dipped in chocolate and nuts as well as sugar cookies cut in various shapes - a tree, Santa’s face, a bell, a star, and an angel. My father stepped in to perfectly decorate each cookie using sprinkles, tiny silver candy balls, and coconut for Santa’s beard.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Aside from my father’s help with decorating the cookies, the kitchen was my mother’s domain. She kept everyone else out of the kitchen when she baked Christmas cookies or any type of cake or pastry. She kept her eyes on her work, mixing, rolling, setting the timer, putting the cookie sheet into the oven and taking it out. I knew my place. From previous rejections, too many to count, I learned that I wasn’t to bother her or even ask to be part of what she was doing.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I missed out on the opportunity to learn recipes for ethnic dishes and pastries from my mother’s Russian heritage as well as techniques to make the abundant number of cookies she baked at Christmas. But now I realize she too missed out on passing down these recipes and time spent bonding with me over cracking eggs, stirring, naming ingredients, and rolling out cookie dough. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As with so many repressed interests when I was growing up, I resolved to teach myself to bake when I got older. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shortly after I married, I learned to bake bread. For our wedding we received a set of nesting bowls, the largest a perfect size to hold a rising ball of dough. My mother didn’t bake bread, so I was carving out my own identity in the kitchen.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I quickly learned the preciseness of bread baking. Making sure the temperature of the milk was right, not so hot that it would kill the yeast or so cold that the yeast didn’t rise, was central to preparing the dough. I depended on a thermometer for those early years of baking, but in time, I was able to calculate the temperature by putting a half stick of butter in the milk and watching it melt. I knew when the melting butter formed a rectangular ring, the temperature was perfect. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I continued to bake our bread for many years after we were married. We welcomed the wonderful smell of the kitchen when the dough was baking. We enjoyed sinking our teeth into the crusty top and the soft middle. A slice of fresh bread right out of the oven with butter melting into the holes of the bread was the perfect treat.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At Mike’s first church appointment following seminary, a middle-aged couple invited us to dinner. They served biscuits with the meal. I never had a biscuit before and was intrigued with the circular bread. I asked lots of questions about baking biscuits.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Here is an old biscuit cutter and my recipe,” the hostess said as we left for home, “Let me know how your first batch turns out! I love baking biscuits.“ </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was touched by her kindness and desire to help me learn to bake something new. What a contrast to my mother, who didn’t want me anywhere near the kitchen.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I made biscuits, I held the sticky dough in my hands gauging carefully how much flour to add to make the dough smooth and easy to mold. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With the addition of a second child eleven years after we were married, I was too busy to make bread. I also worked part-time and had very few extra moments to bake.However, I could still bake biscuits regularly. They took less time, did not involve dough rising twice, and I could easily get them made with the assistance of a daughter.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I loved having my children in the kitchen helping me. With a child standing on a chair close by, we stirred and added ingredients, talking as we worked together. Baking cookies or biscuits or bread with my two daughters was a great way to teach language using descriptive words. Color, texture, mixing, rolling, and kneading. Learning the names of kitchen utensils like bowls, biscuit and cookie cutter, rolling pin, measuring cups, and spoons. Naming ingredients like flour, eggs, milk, and cooking oil. Action words like cracking the egg, stirring the butter, chopping the nuts, rolling the dough. These made each baking project a learning experience.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can still hear them dragging a chair across the kitchen floor to a spot next to me at the kitchen counter. Standing on the chair gave them a few extra inches to see what was going on in the bowl. I found each child relaxed as we prepared and rolled the dough. We talked about whatever was on their mind: school, friendships, being part of a group, after-school activities, special interests. Working together side-by-side created an intimacy and closeness for discussion. They were not witnesses, but meaningful participants in kitchen preparations. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every November, when Mike was pastor of Center United Methodist Church on the southside of Indianapolis, the church would hold an annual action at a chicken and noodle dinner. Once, I decided to auction a year of biscuits at the event, one batch a month. When it came time for the bidding several people were interested. I listened with excitement wondering how much my biscuits would bring. My donation eventually brought $30.00 to the top bidder, a retired couple.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Baking biscuits for the year was so much fun. I couldn’t believe someone would donate thirty dollars to the church for what I made in the kitchen. Each month I delivered the biscuits I was greeted with joy and gratitude.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You make the best homemade biscuits,” the couple said. “We like to cut the biscuit in half, put cheese in the middle and melt in the microwave. Sometimes we put honey on the biscuit. However, we eat them, we enjoy them so much. We are glad we won your donation.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every time I left their house after a delivery I felt gratified knowing I provided something they found meaningful. Their appreciation warmed my heart.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we lived in Vincennes, 1989-1996, my reputation for baking biscuits spread quickly as I shared batches with friends and neighbors for birthdays or as Christmas gifts. I could barter any favor from a friend, including childcare, as long as a batch of biscuits was involved.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Baking biscuits was woven into my daily routine just like brushing my teeth or washing my hair or swimming laps.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When Mike was assigned a church in Fishers, Indiana, I had no idea how my participation in programs and morning events at a local Catholic retreat center would deepen my faith and affect my biscuit baking. Moving to a larger city opened many opportunities for spiritual growth. My soul was thirsty to grow and deepen in God’s presence, but living in smaller towns, I had trouble finding resources to help with the spiritual growth I was seeking.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One day, I was exploring the different names listed in the Bible for Jesus, wanting to name my image of God’s Son - shepherd, morning star, counselor, etc. When I read “bread of life,” I paused. With my history of baking bread and biscuits, I was drawn to the image of Jesus as the bread of life. Taking the communion bread, I experienced Jesus tangibly. I never saw shepherds or the morning star, but I did bake biscuits, and bread was a familiar way for me to relate to Jesus.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thinking about Jesus as the ‘bread of life’ helped me experience baking biscuits in new ways.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before I started, I lit a candle, a reminder that God was with me, God’s presence filled my kitchen. I blessed my hands recognizing God is in my hands, in all parts of my body and my life. My hands were doing holy work. I put all of the ingredients on the table, ready to gather each one prayerfully to put in the bowl.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The simplicity of ingredients for biscuits – milk, flour, baking powder, and baking soda – reminded me that Jesus was a simple person, unencumbered by possessions or wealth. Jesus noted the power of small things: yeast, seeds, a pearl, and a mustard seed. I wanted to be more like Jesus. I thought about how I could simplify my life. Maybe I could eliminate a few magazines I was receiving. Did we really need a new couch? I was thankful my job made a new requirement for all employees to wear scrubs not street clothes. I could surely save money and effort by simplifying my wardrobe.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stirring the ingredients helped me to ponder how God was stirring my soul. What new thoughts surfaced about God? How was my prayer life changing? I realized that saying a lot of words before God could be superfluous, and quietly resting in God’s presence became a new way to pray. Where could I make connections in the body of Christ to spread God’s love?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I felt connected to the body of Christ while kneading the sticky dough, blending in more flour to make the dough smooth. In time my hands listened to the dough. I could feel how much flour the dough required without even looking. If I was giving the biscuits to someone, I prayed for that person or a circumstance they were facing. Love and prayer were kneaded into the dough. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While the biscuits baked I smelled the aroma coming from the oven. God was with me each step of the baking process. I was co-creating with God, preparing bread in the presence of the Bread of Life.. After nine minutes in the oven, the biscuit tops took on a golden hue. I rubbed margarine over the top of each one noting how baking biscuits is a tangible venture from creation in Genesis to the transformation of the resurrection.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While the biscuits cooled, I tore a piece of paper into the shape of a biscuit. Tearing rather than cutting represents the unpredictability, the uneven edges and unknowns in life. Sometimes I would write a sentence, prayer, reflection, or blessing expressing how I felt during my mini retreat making biscuits. When giving the biscuits to someone else, I would include the paper so they might sense holiness in this tangible expression of the body of Christ.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gathering the pans, bowls and measuring cups to wash, I thanked God for being with me, for speaking to me while I baked. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Inspired by my personal experience of God’s presence in the kitchen, I even put together a day-long retreat, “Praying with Bread,” which I presented to several church groups. I explored passages in the Bible mentioning bread. Participants drew around their hands on a piece of paper and thought about ways we used our hands in everyday life. We would discuss reflection questions for each topic, and after lunch, the group made a batch of biscuits, spending time in silence while the biscuits were baking in order to reflect on their experience that day. When the biscuits were done, each person shared what the day had meant personally. Each participant took home a couple of biscuits and reflection questions to conclude the time.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although it’s been a few years since I gave the retreat, baking biscuits is always a holy time for me. I continue the practice of lighting a candle and blessing my hands, pondering the stirrings of my heart with each step. If I am baking biscuits to give to someone I pray for them, kneading prayer and love into the dough.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One day, I sensed God leading me to express the joy I felt baking bread and biscuits. I got a sheet of white paper and two pens, the blue one for my right hand and the red one for my left hand. I started at the top of the paper and drew a sketch of myself wearing an apron with a bowl filled with rising dough resting on a table in front of me. A star on the apron bib represented Jesus as the morning star. I’ve learned that the morning star is the brightest one in the sky. Even though clouds may cover the light, I know that the morning star is still there, giving me the comfort of knowing Jesus is always with me. Combining the two names for Jesus, morning star and bread of life, in one drawing took me deeper into God’s presence. (See drawing at beginning of this post.)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I also sketched a bowl of rising dough and wrote a poem about feeling like a warm loaf of bread, expressing my need for comfort and containment. (See drawing below.)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I want to be</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The loaf of bread</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wrapped in cloth</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Warm and resting</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On a table</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By the fire.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was growing up, the kitchen was not a place where I was welcome. When I started cooking for myself, after finishing graduate school and starting my first job, I was an awkward and uncomfortable cook, relying on hot dogs and pre-prepared meals for dinner. However, after I got married, the kitchen became a place of exploration and creativity, putting ingredients together, following a recipe or venturing out on my own with self-made dishes. When I began to make bread, a whole new world opened. Can you imagine that learning about biscuits in the mid-70’s paved the way for my spiritual growth?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All work is holy work. Acknowledging the holiness of ordinary tasks keeps us aware and closely connected to God in our everyday life.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am reminded of Brother Lawrence, a 17th century Carmelite monk. Brother Lawrence was known for “the practice of the presence of God.” Assigned to work in the monastery kitchen, he peeled potatoes, prepared meals, mopped floors, scraped burned bowls, and all other tasks to keep the kitchen clean and functioning. Brother Lawrence said, “The most effective way for communicating with God is to simply do ordinary work with a pure love of God. Our actions should unite us with God when we are involved in our daily activities, just as our prayers unite us with him in our quiet devotions.” Brother Lawrence was equally prayerful cutting carrots in the kitchen as he was attending chapel services several times a day. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After reading about Brother Lawrence many years ago, I applied his practice of the presence of God to ironing Mike’s shirts, my blouses, and the cotton clothes the children wore. I did not like to iron, and approached the pile of clothes begrudgingly. However, praying for my family while I ironed brought God into an ordinary task, added my love to their garment, and helped me feel refreshed and renewed when I finished. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few years ago, I read an article in “O” magazine, March, 2004, “What They Did for Bliss.” Journalist Sara Davidson visited the Abbey of Regina Laudis in Bethlehem, Connecticut. There, nuns live on 450 acres of land where they grow their own food and make cheese. The religious community is unique because the forty women in the Benedictine order had attained success in the world before becoming nuns. A few of the nuns have been married with children. They pray in Latin, sing Gregorian chants eight times a day, and take vows of chastity and obedience. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">During the author’s visit, she helped in the cheese-making process. One of the sisters, Mother Mary Margaret Georgina explained, “The cheese, if created with love and tenderness, ‘will speak.’ Everything we make that goes out of here speaks. That’s one way contemplatives speak to the world.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sara spent several days at the abbey, following the sisters doing their work and participating in worship. Preparing to leave, she read a sign in her room asking guests to change their linens. She found the clean sheets in a cupboard and began yanking and tugging at the antique bed. Frustrated, trying to hurry and get the job done, she suddenly paused.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The nuns put love into the cheese, the flowers and fruit they grow, the animals they care for, the shawls they weave. Why not put love into the linens for the next guest who may arrive feeling shy, uncertain and expectant like me?” She slowed down and smoothed the pillows gently, and tenderly as Mother Margaret Georgina had suggested handling the cheese. She imagined the material would hold, even remember, the love she offered as she made the bed, silently welcoming the next guest.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we approach menial tasks with an awareness of God’s presence, love is transferred into all we do: ironing clothes, cooking, scrubbing pots and pans, making a bed, or kneading dough. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What elements of your daily life might have room for prayer? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How can you increase your awareness and welcome God, who is already present, into what you are doing?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was growing up, the kitchen felt like my mother’s domain, but it really was God’s domain. As the psalmist says, “The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it.” Through the years, whether baking biscuits with my daughters or alone with God there was a sense of community in the process: the community of God, and the ingredients in my hands as I worked the dough and prayed over church members and friends. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Print your copy of Praying & Making Biscuits </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">including my favorite recipe and a spiritual exercise.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIs_Mezyjjs5VepdXasACTD7oxUkZa8Sb4Ai32yRlOLl0U9gIjhzyHdrx4FCO28vWYJWeSagBaFISwA6GbZi0poH65hP8cmXmiQ42HluYHDE2JcVyEuZb5S0v2Mgx-ZjIvbKRLhHgHxIc/s2048/JacquieReedPrayingandMakingBiscuitsPrintable.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1583" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIs_Mezyjjs5VepdXasACTD7oxUkZa8Sb4Ai32yRlOLl0U9gIjhzyHdrx4FCO28vWYJWeSagBaFISwA6GbZi0poH65hP8cmXmiQ42HluYHDE2JcVyEuZb5S0v2Mgx-ZjIvbKRLhHgHxIc/w494-h640/JacquieReedPrayingandMakingBiscuitsPrintable.jpg" width="494" /></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Brother Lawrence quotes are taken from the book, “The Practice of the Presence of God.”</i></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><br /></span>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-69633764008659641772021-06-14T03:00:00.000-07:002021-06-14T03:00:00.188-07:00Goodbye Hug<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxRS2s-TQAVZ-lBZr4Ot9wSleM7d3d_DEM9lmBe3r8YrMrl_LkSqh6AHjt0Dp_3oQYyU6bchMICLTzNHYi0pHs1IWM5wm5WNj8V-xfKvCUZIh8-OOtDAuMLbse6Pdw5hknwQTr720N-4A/s640/IMG_5410GrandsonGrandmotherTreeMoss.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxRS2s-TQAVZ-lBZr4Ot9wSleM7d3d_DEM9lmBe3r8YrMrl_LkSqh6AHjt0Dp_3oQYyU6bchMICLTzNHYi0pHs1IWM5wm5WNj8V-xfKvCUZIh8-OOtDAuMLbse6Pdw5hknwQTr720N-4A/w300-h400/IMG_5410GrandsonGrandmotherTreeMoss.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-af15fc36-7fff-a69c-2a29-6abc5412d667"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">GOODBYE HUG</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Holding his sturdy, toddler body close to mine, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Long, chubby legs dangling, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yellow crocs, perfect first shoes to anchor</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wobbly steps. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Up to now I had seen his face only through a screen</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Longed to play and hug him with my own two arms</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Heard his voice through a cell phone speaker</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Poor substitute for being in the room with his baby talk</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now I breathe in his essence, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cheerful, pleasant, happy</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Constant smile, curiosity, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A ball of delight in my own two arms</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I watch him giggle, pouring water from red plastic cups, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bubbles surfacing, having fun in the bath.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eyes tracking a dog as it passes by,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Toddler opening his mouth to pant in response.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eating avocado with crackers, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bib catching occasional crumbs.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Outdoors together, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Feeling the texture of moss </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Covering the base of the tree in his front yard. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He is new to the world, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He is new to himself, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have a great dent into living. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We bond over a set of plastic farm animals from my suitcase </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Repeated choruses of “Old MacDonald had a farm,” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sending spasms of excitement from head to toe, arms waving. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Baby babbles add language to our play. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sobbing over his shoulder, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Saying good-bye </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To this sweet, new human, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Born in a pandemic.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He points to something in the sky, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bringing delight to a hard goodbye, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Too young to realize the meaning of farewell. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I give him a long squeeze,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hoping my hug will leave an imprint of his heart on mine, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sealed love between grandson and gramma, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Until we are together again. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span></div>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-21359451282325847442021-06-07T03:00:00.001-07:002021-06-07T03:00:00.189-07:00Stirring the Water: Swimming as Prayer<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6QVJboalocU4F2naG6NTvmJAoZo7kqIX5H4XUq9VUGFVtF3UVzgV7VJziV47zwZrvJmBxZwxYDMMHikxXuNuv_p5H4faWwAcWGMM6KIFloNACaEeg-NxotFf9z6zUHwFkSedu69FRU4/s640/swimming1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6QVJboalocU4F2naG6NTvmJAoZo7kqIX5H4XUq9VUGFVtF3UVzgV7VJziV47zwZrvJmBxZwxYDMMHikxXuNuv_p5H4faWwAcWGMM6KIFloNACaEeg-NxotFf9z6zUHwFkSedu69FRU4/w400-h300/swimming1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />There was no such thing as a neighborhood swimming pool when I was growing up in the 1950s in Columbus, Ohio. Families who were affluent joined a country club in a wealthy suburb on the west side of town and could swim whenever they wanted in the summer. The only place for a kid like me to swim was the inside pool at the downtown YMCA twenty-five minutes from my house. <p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-a1a42274-7fff-c76b-8fa5-7cb5cd695abd"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One year, the YMCA offered swimming lessons for girls participating in Brownie Scouts. Learning to swim seemed like a good idea, but I was apprehensive. Not only had I never seen a swimming pool, trying new things was overwhelming to me, a child whose world consisted of going to school, attending church, and playing around the house or in the backyard.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I didn’t even have a bathing suit of my own to bring. Fortunately, the Y provided towels and cotton suits in navy blue for all of us to wear. My suit didn’t fit, but there were no smaller sizes available. The straps hung loosely over my thin shoulders. I feared my suit would slip off in the water. I hid at the back of the line, embarrassed at my small frame in a suit that was too big.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The pool was bordered by a narrow tile deck that looked too close to the water for my safety. I scanned my eyes from the shallow end where the water was light aqua to the deep end where it became dark blue. A plastic divider stretched from side to side, separating the shallow from the deep. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My friend, Rachel, asked, “What’s that smell?” I wiped my runny nose with the edge of my towel. My eyes watered. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The teacher replied, “That’s chlorine. Chlorine kills any germs in the water and keeps the pool clean. Once you get swimming you won’t notice the smell anymore.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The friend in front of me slipped on the slick tiles around the edge of the pool. I pressed my feet into the ground with each step to keep myself steady. I followed the lead of the other children and found a spot on the edge of the pool. We began the class by kicking our legs in the water. I started slowly, but in a short time I was making big splashes like the others. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The teacher instructed us to get into the pool and jump up and down. I was the last one in. I gripped the side tightly. Because I was short, I couldn’t touch the bottom. The water was cold. Everyone else was laughing and splashing and making waves in the water. I wanted to go home.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I knew I needed to participate. With reluctance, still clinging to the side of the pool, I stretched my legs to the bottom, the surface of the water almost reaching my mouth. My first jumps were short, but gradually I gained confidence and began to make my own pattern of splashes and waves. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Soon, the teacher instructed us to take a deep breath, put our faces in the water, and blow bubbles. Once again, I let the other girls take the lead. Although I wasn’t afraid of the water, trying anything new required that I give myself a pep talk. In time, I put my face into the water. I felt the bubbles brush against my cheeks, tickling my face, making me laugh. Blowing bubbles was fun. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Right before the lesson ended, the teacher had us extend our arms from the side, blow bubbles, and kick our legs. We were beginning swimmers, learning the basics of what to do with our bodies while in the water.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pulling myself out of the water, the warm, stuffy air, was surprisingly cold against my wet body. I quickly wrapped a towel around my shivering shoulders, feeling water drip down my legs from the heavy cotton suit. We walked into the locker room, changed our clothes, dried our hair, and prepared to return home. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was glad to leave the pool. Although I was pleased with my efforts and ended up having a little fun, I needed some time to think about what I had learned and experienced. Even when I was seven, reflection was important. I needed time to recover from the stress of going to an unfamiliar place, meeting people I didn’t know, learning the procedures for swim class, and immersing myself in a container of water so much larger than my bathtub. Riding in the car on the way home, I realized how much I had accomplished in one short lesson. Each step of learning to swim came with hesitation, yet I had the courage to try anyway. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The remaining lessons taught us to coordinate our arms, legs, and breathing. I learned quickly and enjoyed the feel of the water over my back. The uncoordinated movements of my arms and legs soon became a smooth rhythm. I liked swimming!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The last day of class, we went to the deep end. Oh my, there was so much water. Would the water hold me? Would I sink? Would I disappear? The teacher reassured us swimming in the deep end was just like swimming in the shallow end. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Instead of jumping into the deep end and swimming across like the other girls, I slid carefully into the water. The other side seemed so far away, but when I took a quick glance to compare the width of the shallow end, I realized the distance was the same. I had swum the freestyle stroke across the shallow end many times over the past few days with success. Taking a deep breath, I pushed away from the side. My arms moved in a steady rhythm. I turned my head to get a breath when needed. I somehow made it across without swallowing any water. Although no one cheered or celebrated my accomplishment, I realized how far I had come in two short weeks. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was developing a connection with the water. I felt a sense of success there like no other experience or environment I had been in. I longed to come to the pool and swim every week. I felt there was more the water wanted to provide for me than just a place to exercise.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was at home in the pool. Enveloped by the water, I felt held and secure. Even though I was fearful at first, I enjoyed the freedom of movement the water allowed. I kicked my legs and swirled my arms over the water, making the water smooth, like icing a cake with a knife. When I let go of the pool’s edge I did jumping jacks in the water.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although opening my eyes underwater made them sting, I liked watching the bubbles circle around when my friends swam near. Whether I floated on my stomach or my back, the water held me. Being in the pool was a calm and safe experience, something I was missing at home., I wouldn’t have the chance to swim again until four years later when I was eleven years old. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was twelve, my family returned to Columbus, Ohio. Again, I would be absent from the water for a few years. At one point, a new housing addition built a swimming pool offering memberships to anyone in the area. My mother and her close friend chose to join. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The first afternoon we went to the pool I was so excited. I put on my new green suit. The straps on my shoulders criss-crossed in the back and fastened my suit securely with clear buttons. Unlike my first experience in the water at age 7, both this suit and the idea of swimming were now a good fit for me. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">During the ten minute drive, I thought about the strokes I knew the free-style and the breast stroke. From the front seat, my mother told me all children must be able to swim from one side of the pool to the other before having permission to use the diving board. In the back seat, I practiced moving my arms and turning my head to breathe. I remembered the strokes in the car, but what would happen in the water?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Arriving at the pool, I immediately joined the line of children waiting to pass the test. I didn’t want to waste any time sitting on the side. I was so confident, I jumped right in the pool when my name was called. The movements of the free-style returned like an old friend the minute I felt the water around my shoulders. I easily swam to the other side of the pool, my arms, legs, and breathing in perfect rhythm. I climbed out of the pool with a big grin. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You passed!” the life-guard said, And with that , I jumped right back in the water making a huge splash and celebrating this moment of personal triumph and success.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was in the pool for two hours. I swam from side to side and went off the diving board multiple times. I swam underwater, watching bubbles dance and swirl from other children who were learning to swim like I did years ago. I felt at home in the water. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I finally pulled myself from the water, I found my mother and her friend in a grassy area a few feet from the pool. The day was hot, there was no shade at the pool and I was thirsty. I grabbed my towel, explored the snack area, and got a drink of cold water from the water fountain.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the bulletin board, I noticed a sign advertising a life-saving class. In just two hours a night for one week I could become a certified life-guard. Although I wasn’t old enough yet, I decided to take the class the following summer when I was fifteen. Being a life-guard would allow me to earn money to buy clothes, but more importantly, I would have the opportunity to spend more time in the water and teach children how to swim. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I thought about the life-saving class long after the pool closed and school started. Even in the middle of winter with snow on the ground, I thought about being in the water and taking the class when summer came. I was so excited to finally find a place to develop my skills as a swimmer, but also to teach children how to swim and be responsible for the safety of others in the water..</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next summer, I took the class and became certified as a senior life-saver. I could life-guard, but I was most looking forward to the first week-long session of preschool swim classes. I got to the pool early on Monday morning and was paired with another guard, Ben. At 9:00 we met our group of four-year-olds.. Every child jumped into the waist-high water, bobbing up and down with excitement…except John. John sat crying at the side of the pool, fearful of the water, holding on to his mother who sat with him. I wondered what it must be like to have a mother who cared enough to sit close and talk through a child’s reluctance. I had not had a caring mother like that, but I </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">had </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">been coached by a caring swim instructor. I had not cried during my first time at the edge of the pool, but I had felt uncertainty and anxiety. I was drawn to this hesitant child. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ben, I want to work with John until he feels more comfortable.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Go ahead, “ replied Ben. “The other kids are doing just fine.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started talking with John, hoping to gain his trust. Each day, he returned to the pool, more confident. His mother was finally able to sit and relax at the picnic table close to the snack bar.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By Wednesday, John was putting his face in the water, joining the other children playing and splashing. All five children passed the beginning swimmer test on Friday, including John. Their coordination was a little out of rhythm, but they were off to a good start as they swam from one side of the shallow end of the pool to the other.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I was saying good-bye to the children and getting ready for the next class, John’s mother walked toward me. In her hand, she carried a plate covered in aluminum foil.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Thank you for helping John learn to swim,” she said as she handed it to me, “His father and I are so excited.” Surprised and not accustomed to affirmation, I thanked her and told her how much I had enjoyed working with John. I told her the story of how scared I was when I first learned to swim. I felt honored to help this little boy overcome his fear. I hoped in time he would come to enjoy swimming as much as I did. Watching John and his mother walk out of the pool gate laughing and holding hands made me smile. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I took a minute before the next class of the day to look under the foil. It was a plate filled with brownies. I smelled the chocolate and could hardly wait to eat one. Although I had heard of brownies, this would be my first time actually tasting one. And this was also the first time in my life I could remember someone expressing appreciation to me. I was almost sixteen. I grew up in a home unaccustomed to extending kindness. Holding the plate, I savored the grace of her gesture. I felt special. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I only taught swimming one summer. Life changed the next year. My mother went to work full-time and I had no way of getting to the pool. I was sad and disappointed. I yearned for the peace the water gave me. Unfortunately, many years passed before I would swim again. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Four months after my husband, Mike and I were married, I convinced him to start swimming laps at Duke University where he was a Divinity School student. I remembered how much fun I had swimming in the summer when I was a teenager teaching children and lifeguarding. Since none of the eleven high schools in Columbus had pools, my time in the water was limited to summer workouts at the neighborhood pool. Now, with Mike in school, we had free access to the university pool year-round. I was eager to get into a regular habit of swimming.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While Mike went to school full-time, I worked in a school for hearing impaired children. Every evening after dinner, Mike would study for a couple of hours and then at about 9:00 pm we would drive to the university pool and swim laps.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The first time we went, Mike mentioned his breathing was not well-coordinated with his arm movements. I gave him a few suggestions. He practiced holding on to the side of the pool, turning his head to breathe with his arm overhead. His timing improved, and he swallowed less water with each stroke. Gradually, he developed a smooth, coordinated rhythm eventually moving faster than me! We swam for almost an hour each night, returning home refreshed, ready for a snack and bedtime. We continued this routine until he graduated.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After Mike was assigned to a pastorate, I swam intermittently as pool availability was limited. One small town where Mike served two churches, had an outdoor pool open only in the summer. The next church was in a large town with a YMCA. We joined within a week of moving.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I swam half a mile the day I went into the hospital to deliver our first daughter. For the second daughter, I had to stop swimming two weeks before she came because I was in early labor. Otherwise, I have continued to spend at least five days a week swimming laps since January 1975.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Swimming began to take on a deeper meaning after I had children. I realized the forty minutes spent going back and forth from one side of the pool to the next offered peace and a quiet rhythm, which I lacked during the day. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In 1997, as memories of my childhood trauma surfaced, I found myself overwhelmed, out of control, grasping to find ways to cope. Water, a continuing thread in my life, was sustaining during these challenging years. I thought back to passages in the Bible where Jesus interacted with water. He walked on water, taught large groups of people next to rivers, baptized with water, and changed water into wine. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I especially connected with a story in John 5:1-5, describing the pool called Bethesda near the sheep gate in Jerusalem. Crowds of sick people gathered around the pool. Some old manuscripts add a few verses omitted from most Bibles. “The people were waiting for the water to move, because every now and then an angel of the Lord went down into the pool and stirred the water. The first sick person to go into the pool after the water was stirred was healed from whatever disease he or she had.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">”I read these verses over and over. When I went to the pool, just before I jumped in, I began stirring the water with my hands, inviting God to be part of my swim. I prayed I too would experience healing with each lap.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Swimming was a way to pray. While I swam, I felt carried, not pulled in by the mental and emotional events with which I was dealing. The time in the water raked away these concerns. In the water, I was immersed in God’s presence. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I swim, God often gives me a word, insight, or image, reminders of God’s presence. Both my muscles and my mind relax. I am grateful for what I encounter in the water, God and myself, growing in strength and confidence to persevere along a difficult path. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some days the water loosens emotions which have not been able to surface. Anger, frustration and sadness come out when I think about challenges in my life. The water is always open to receive whatever I bring. God hears the struggles of my heart with each stroke.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Occasionally, tears seep through my goggles blending with the water. I am grateful for the way I can truly be myself with God while I swim. I finish my laps feeling like I have talked to a good friend, and when I dry off on the deck, I feel better, cleansed, refreshed. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In time, I reached a place of wellness. The emotional challenges were overcome. God’s companionship in the water reminded me how well God knew my needs and cared for me. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am grateful for the swim lessons offered to me when I was a seven-year-old Brownie Scout. Even today, I follow the instructions my swim teacher gave me all those years ago, stretching my arm and leg muscles and feeling the bubbles tickling my cheeks when I breathe out into the water. I wasn’t as aware of God then as I am now, but I have a sense that God was right beside me carrying me along during those moments of apprehension and anxiety, teaching me to love the water and helping me to feel held and healed.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-56945207940136130352021-05-17T03:00:00.001-07:002021-05-17T03:00:00.198-07:00Natural-Dyed Fabric: A Story of Giving<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-_RIJZlVAnqsSueHwNmGvRSGsWDo2CjQKOnC0Ahy7DGqn9CaLzgURG55Fu8058Vs3WBRksglM38GqOqaDKIHwyl-TsZuAjTfDypmyzQHYrs8MaVkDCk5mkOpZFXZgfCyJM_i_22zDWM/s640/dyedfabricquilt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-_RIJZlVAnqsSueHwNmGvRSGsWDo2CjQKOnC0Ahy7DGqn9CaLzgURG55Fu8058Vs3WBRksglM38GqOqaDKIHwyl-TsZuAjTfDypmyzQHYrs8MaVkDCk5mkOpZFXZgfCyJM_i_22zDWM/w400-h300/dyedfabricquilt.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />A few years ago I started to dye my own fabric from flowers, tree bark, blueberries, black beans, walnut shells, dried leaves, and other items found in nature. <p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-275efaec-7fff-4a0c-9841-fd374b873a08"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The process of preparing fabric for dyeing is not difficult, but it takes time. I use 100% white cotton fabric, soaked for twelve hours in a mixture of soy milk and water. Then, I prepare a pot of water and boil the things I’ve found on my nature walks.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In early January, I collected pine cones during a walk in my neighborhood. I had no idea what to expect or if boiling pine cones would do anything at all. It was all an experiment to me, but I put four pine cones in boiling water and was surprised to see burgundy appear.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I put small pieces (8” x 8”) of the prepared cotton in a pan of dye, letting the fabric soak for about an hour. Removing the fabric, it air dries, then it’s ready to use. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The muted colors that come from dyeing items found in nature bring peace to my soul. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I also dry flowers, making paint by soaking the petals in a mixture of water and a pinch of baking soda. I can also use dye to paint fabric or paper. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPa_645jcZh9jaD7VY8oJFwneG2A7sBJwcVAeyFEz2t_bLb6cuT_ikxF5HAmXfdl0Zlo7bD2t3dLKrFSgSaybgfNd9YSrbaG4pirZIWeAHUFETpkJmi0ScgNVqnwynOLqedvhSGnrja0Q/s1051/dyedfabricquilt2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="1051" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPa_645jcZh9jaD7VY8oJFwneG2A7sBJwcVAeyFEz2t_bLb6cuT_ikxF5HAmXfdl0Zlo7bD2t3dLKrFSgSaybgfNd9YSrbaG4pirZIWeAHUFETpkJmi0ScgNVqnwynOLqedvhSGnrja0Q/s320/dyedfabricquilt2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I gather flowers or tree bark or pine cones or other items from nature I see their beauty. I notice colors, shapes, patterns and feel the texture. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dyeing fabric with natural color is a story of giving. I appreciate the beautiful flowers in my neighbor’s yard. When a particular flower’s season comes to an end and my neighbor shares the petals with me, I make natural dye or paint, and then transfer the color to fabric. In this process, the flower continues to give. The flower might be dried or seemingly “dead” but its beauty carries on in the color now soaked into the fabric. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span></span><span></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">[📸 The hand-pieced and quilted hexagon pattern in the photo is called “Flower Garden.” I dyed the fabric using items from nature like flowers, leaves, and bark, as well as fruit and vegetables. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The pale yellow center is from a bunch of fresh daffodils. The row around the center contains pink fabric from an avocado skin. The brown fabric is from a collection of items I found on a walk along the Monon Trail including a walnut shell, acorns, bark from a tree and dried leaves. The last row contains gray fabric from black beans and purple fabric from blueberries. The dye for the bright yellow binding comes from the skin of a yellow onion.]</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-58630765565206858112021-05-03T03:00:00.001-07:002021-05-03T03:00:00.523-07:00Working Through a Complicated Grief: Sympathy Cards and Papermaking<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtc6wYRHTMs_stSxYy47b3Z03-X1mOLPHE687ZPm53tZv8yJWWQ6aYWjwFm7KpIz_7vksKI3t8BYOyJM8AVTpmaO2ytF9SriOXT6IpTn3ZI9qPfiqw4yC10bAmestt8ToZp9XIz0kJaI/s640/sympathycardspapermaking3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 11pt; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtc6wYRHTMs_stSxYy47b3Z03-X1mOLPHE687ZPm53tZv8yJWWQ6aYWjwFm7KpIz_7vksKI3t8BYOyJM8AVTpmaO2ytF9SriOXT6IpTn3ZI9qPfiqw4yC10bAmestt8ToZp9XIz0kJaI/w400-h300/sympathycardspapermaking3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />99..100..101. I counted each sympathy card in the pile on the floor of my small home office, some opened, some still sealed. I received these cards from kind and thoughtful people after the passing of each of my parents four days apart in mid-January 2013. When the cards first started to arrive, I opened each one, freezing each time the card said something about happy memories or beloved father and mother. No one who wrote the cards was aware of the strained relationship I had with my parents.<p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-5d1f15e7-7fff-c3e9-67db-109c5c0ec683"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With their passing I was plunged into emotional turmoil, merely going through the motions of everyday life for many months. Kind remarks from people at their services and on cards made me confused, angry, and eventually numb. I wanted to grab these friends by the shoulders and tell them the truth. My parents, who were deeply admired by many and were mentors to countless teenagers and college students, had deprived me of love and care and hurt me, making me feel invisible and unsafe in my own home.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had no voice to tell the truth. I stood numbly shaking people’s hands and receiving hugs.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Verses on many sympathy cards imply loving relationships. I quit opening the cards toward the end of January because I couldn’t tolerate the words. Reading a card with a loving sentiment was like hammering a nail into the middle of my heart.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not knowing how to process what happened, I googled “How to Grieve Abusive Parents,” and found nothing helpful on the internet. I met with a friend at the church I attend who was often consulted on grief. He listened attentively to my story, only to say, “Your grief is complicated.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The counselor I was seeing at the time did not know how to help me. I realize grief has to be expressed with words and emotions out in the open in order to have something to work with in a professional setting. But I was like a frozen statue. I was looking for a special set of steps, unique to my situation, that I could walk through to find relief.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At any funeral home visitations I had ever attended, anyone I knew who had lost a mother or father was sad, crying, clinging to items the parent had owned, putting together scrapbooks of family photographs and recalling pleasant, happy moments together. I wanted nothing to do with any of my parents’ material items. I felt I had nothing positive to remember. My brother who describes his childhood as happy and loving willingly packed boxes from their apartment to take home with him.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By early June, six months after their passing, I found strength to open all of the sympathy cards. I finally realized the cards were not about my parents, but for me. The love expressed in handwritten notes was sincere and meant to bring comfort to a grieving daughter. Being able to receive love from well-meaning people who sent cards was a large hurdle for me to overcome along this unusual path of grief.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Interacting with the cards in creative ways helped me find peace. The people who sent the cards to express their sympathy had no idea they were providing me with material to work through the complicated grief I was experiencing.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First, my writing coach at the time introduced me to the concept of “found poems.” A found poem is created by taking words, phrases or sentences from books, magazines or other sources and putting them together in lines. I used my exacto knife and cut out phrases from the cards to which I could relate such as, “Jesus holds your hand,” or “God brings comfort.” I made several found poems using phrases taken from the cards. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here is one:</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Someone will keep your troubled heart,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Holding it close, with peace coming, during a difficult time.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Words are inadequate to express concern and sympathy</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When deepest comfort is needed for the heart.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jesus reminds us, “I give you my peace. Let not your heart be troubled.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB64446lHPznL26PF9V7fA0-LyWsA90bWWlR40bSQafDpjNYiB-dTyqHv794c7df-VN8l3mM1gUFRWU4yZaDpfsPsB0rLpsNOlH-UR65hyphenhyphenb-zQkAi1WvXQUudyk2xvAQasdd017rNV0SY/s640/sympathycardspapermaking2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB64446lHPznL26PF9V7fA0-LyWsA90bWWlR40bSQafDpjNYiB-dTyqHv794c7df-VN8l3mM1gUFRWU4yZaDpfsPsB0rLpsNOlH-UR65hyphenhyphenb-zQkAi1WvXQUudyk2xvAQasdd017rNV0SY/w400-h300/sympathycardspapermaking2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p>Next, I wrote thank you notes to the people who sent cards. I looked at illustrations on the front of the card, noting colors and designs. Opening the card, I read the verse or personal note and again looked for colors and objects. My thank you notes often made reference to the colors on the card and how a particular color affected me. For example, I wrote to one individual, “The blue border on your card brought me peace. I think of peace when I see the color blue.”</span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Occasionally, I made a comment on my relationship to the sender. “I remember the fun we had with your family going to the swimming pool when I was in seventh grade,” I wrote to my parent’s close friends in the neighborhood where I lived from sixth grade through college.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wrote twenty letters, but didn’t send them. I wasn’t sure about the appropriateness of sending a thank you note for a sympathy card. I concluded that the exercise was merely for me, a way to loosen feelings buried deep within, unexpressed feelings toward my parents who were now gone and couldn’t hurt me or anyone else anymore.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Over a year later, in April 2014, during my private art lesson, I mentioned the struggle I was having dealing with my parent’s passing, especially not having language to process my inner turmoil. I had no words, except the found poems I wrote from the sympathy cards, and those words weren’t fully mine.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My teacher, a kind and compassionate Seventh Day Adventist, asked, “Have you ever made paper?” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No,” I replied, but I trusted this young woman’s ideas and listened while she explained the simple, but time consuming task of making paper. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then she gently suggested, “Maybe when you are ready, you can tear the cards into small pieces and I can show you how to make paper from them.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I went home and looked at the cards still resting on the floor of my office. Some of the cards were intact, others sliced open by my exacto tool for found poems. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I gathered a few cards, sat on the floor and started tearing. My mind recalled the day when my brother called Friday morning, January 11, telling me my father died during the night from aspiration pneumonia. He had been hospitalized in early December, and by Christmas he joined my mother at the Columbus, Ohio nursing home where she had lived for two years.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My husband, Mike, and I left for Columbus on Monday afternoon. Wanting to minimize contact with my father even in death, I chose not to attend the visitation at the funeral home Monday evening. I didn’t know what to expect at a funeral for someone I didn’t like. I was so confused thinking I should be sad. Friends whose fathers died were sad. I didn’t know how I felt.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The service was the next morning at the Greek Orthodox Church. On the way to the church, Mike and I decided to stop by the nursing home where my mother was receiving extended care. When we got to the facility, I asked for a chaplain at the front desk. I needed spiritual support for what I was about to face.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Walking down the wide halls and around a few corners, I reviewed the nature of the relationship I shared with my parents. My childhood and adolescence were not happy. Trying to sort out the various emotions surfacing left me feeling numb and confused.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We last visited my mother in July when we had hoped to take her on a walk outside in her wheelchair. Unfortunately, long-standing dementia had made her unresponsive and we left disappointed.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As we entered her room before the funeral, she was thrashing from side to side in bed, very agitated. The nurse standing nearby said she would get medication to calm my mother.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The chaplain arrived and introduced himself. I sat next to my ninety-year-old mother’s bed. Her eyes were closed tightly. I put my hand on her shoulder, and spoke into her left ear, knowing hearing is the last sense to leave a dying person. I asked God for words to say to a woman who had not known how to show love to me and failed to protect me from harm.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I quietly talked to her, telling her it was ok to go, to be with her mother, her two sisters, brother, father, and husband. I tried to get into my mother’s grieving seven-year-old-heart from the loss of her mother to diphtheria, articulating what she never was able to put into words. Her grief had morphed and expressed itself in her actions as an abusive, controlling mother. I told her she would be able to see her mother and spend eternity with her. Her mother would give her as many hugs as she wanted, something she missed growing up. She and her mother would live together side by side forever.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When the nurse returned prepared to give my mother a shot, I told her to wait. During the time I spent talking, my mother’s body became calm and relaxed. God gave me the strength to show care to my mother during what would be the final hours of her life. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKfQoV1AUe1waA-0W6bbQRrHChAPTRFm0586A1wGTtY6I4JXDxJfVJtl-kcomkOE7mjVElkeDQkROb9IAZ5r5-8V0B-oaW3dAYp6p9LZ_x-c6GBTp1XHAwAtvNfFu2FbLFJIyT3hnYH8/s640/sympathycardspapermaking1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKfQoV1AUe1waA-0W6bbQRrHChAPTRFm0586A1wGTtY6I4JXDxJfVJtl-kcomkOE7mjVElkeDQkROb9IAZ5r5-8V0B-oaW3dAYp6p9LZ_x-c6GBTp1XHAwAtvNfFu2FbLFJIyT3hnYH8/w400-h300/sympathycardspapermaking1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I asked the chaplain to say a prayer before we left for my father’s funeral. When Mike and I walked out the door of my mother’s room, the chaplain, having seen how I had interacted with my mother, said,” You must have come from a loving family.” I wanted to tell him the truth, but I had no energy. We had to get to the church, and my mother’s nursing home room was not the place to explain my life story.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reflecting on his words as we got to our car, I realized how they had made my sadness worse. I felt he should have been more hesitant to make a quick assessment on the nature of a person’s relationship with a parent based on an end-of-life observation. I felt he should have kept his impressions to himself so I could grieve without more complications. But, as I reflected, I thought back on how quickly I had sometimes made mental assessments about people as I observed their interaction with siblings, parents, family members, and friends in various circumstances. Being married to a pastor had brought many opportunities for me to be around others in times of trial, perhaps more than the average person. I made a mental note to apply caution and restraint in the future, not to be hasty in my thoughts, never assuming family dynamics, and most importantly to keep my observations to myself.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Following my father’s funeral, a steady stream of people came to tell me how much he was loved by students and colleagues where he taught at a Big Ten School. When I could bear no more, I told Mike it was time to leave. On the way home, we stopped to give my mother the flag from my father’s casket, typically given to the surviving widow. She was as calm as when we left, her eyes closed tightly. I tucked the triangularly-folded flag under her stiff arm and described the military ceremony a few hours ago, kissed her forehead, and forced out the words, “I love you.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">About two hours into our trip home, my brother called to say my mother had died. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we got home, Mike went to the church for a few hours to work. We took care of some business on Wednesday and headed back to Columbus on Thursday. Two deaths and two funerals in four days. I was exhausted emotionally and physically.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sitting on the floor with a growing pile of tiny paper pieces on one side and a few last cards in front of me, I didn’t realize how quickly the cards took me back to those horrible seven days in mid-January. I didn’t feel as overwhelmed or angry as I did during the weeks following their funerals. Although I didn’t feel peace, maybe I was making progress going through the uncharted territory of complicated grief, by interacting with the cards.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I walked up the steps of my art teacher’s quaint house, holding my shoebox of torn sympathy cards, I was curious about our project. The artist greeted me at the door with a smile. “Are you ready to make paper?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I stepped into the living room and saw three tables, one for each stage. The first table had a large tub of warm water. “Dump the torn pieces into the tub. The paper has to soak and get soggy.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I stood next to the tub watching the paper gradually absorb the water. At the same time, I felt God softening my heart, a feeling I had not experienced for many months. I was like the paper, beginning a transformation.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Next, we dipped a sheet mold (window screen nailed to a wooden frame) into the tub of warm water, filling the mold with soaked paper. Finally, we used a rolling pin over the pieces, squeezing out as much water as we could. The pieces gradually blended into one sheet of new paper. We flipped the new paper from the screen to the third table covered with plastic to dry.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I made four sheets of paper. “When you come back next week you can take the paper home,” my art teacher explained.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As we were cleaning up, I noticed pieces of the sympathy cards still floating in the tub of warm water.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Can I take these leftover pieces home?” I asked my teacher, not wanting to leave any part of the cards behind. I had become quite attached to the cards. The companionship they had provided for over a year made them seem like a friend, walking beside me, holding me up as I stumbled along the endless days of confusion, anger, and unknowing.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Sure. Maybe you can figure out a way to use them.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I put the tiny, wet paper scraps on a cookie sheet that my art teacher loaned me. When I got home, I spread the pieces over the counter of the spare bathroom. After a week, I gathered the wrinkled, dried remains, arranging them on the floor of my office. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I trusted God to lead me to further exploration with the fragments in front of me. I spent time with the pieces each night, sifting them through my fingers, noting the ones with legible writing and signatures. I sorted them by color, and size. One night, I threaded a needle with white thread, and sewed the pieces together, making an X, a strong, basic embroidery stitch I remembered from long ago.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Each night I sewed more of the tiny pieces of paper. God guided the direction of the pattern. When I started, I never knew what would happen, how I would sew the pieces or what shape they would take. I worked on the pieces for about three weeks, and had a strong sense when it was time to stop. I looked at what I had made – something done completely with God’s guidance – a paper quilt.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sewing the pieces each day, moving the needle in and out of the dried, curled paper, slowly brought a sense of calm to my heart, reminding me how I felt God’s presence when I quilted. When I finished and looked at the rectangular shape, my heart finally experienced peace. The turmoil was gone, my body relaxed. I was in awe of God’s goodness and use of these cards and this craft to help me when no one else was able to reach the place of my deep wounding.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sympathy cards were transformed in many ways from the time they arrived at my home. Although I wasn’t aware at first, I was being transformed too. After initially feeling resistant to the cards, the colors had ministered to me. Then I ignored the words that weren’t helpful and cut out the ones that were helpful to make my own found poems. I had torn what remained into pieces and soaked them in water to make fresh paper. Then, I had sewn together most of the pieces that remained intact. About twenty small pieces remained after I finished making the paper quilt. I wanted to honor the remaining pieces so I buried them in the woods behind my house. They returned to the earth.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When my art teacher suggested making paper from the sympathy cards, I had no idea what would happen in the process. But transforming these well-intentioned words of love and kindness into something new brought me to a place of comfort and peace.</span></p><br />Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-13876437878686506812021-04-05T12:09:00.003-07:002021-04-05T12:09:00.222-07:00Out of Sorts - The Human Condition<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8sHBQOxaCKouiriT1_oF6gXpLhsu3w6P3bsEohfyoUg_AG0ornbN3zxk1J-irBcmJU581yLWOc3ZhKX5ZLGL1Cepx495lx-GezNDiXYBr9Ul1IZVDknqyphTWC6Nw_nJEcV6x33OO-R4/s640/piadaconversation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8sHBQOxaCKouiriT1_oF6gXpLhsu3w6P3bsEohfyoUg_AG0ornbN3zxk1J-irBcmJU581yLWOc3ZhKX5ZLGL1Cepx495lx-GezNDiXYBr9Ul1IZVDknqyphTWC6Nw_nJEcV6x33OO-R4/w300-h400/piadaconversation.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />His mask hid the expression on his face, but I could see his tired eyes as he took my order. The skin bowled underneath, the lids half-way covering his eyes. His arm made jerking movements as he scooped over the toppings I requested for my salad. He moved quickly as if he had something else to do. <p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-373691f3-7fff-6ddc-5273-635ff2a09251"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While I waited for the salmon to cook, I put my credit card on the register. In a few minutes, he topped the overflowing bowl of lettuce, strawberries, olives, and avocado with a tenderly cooked piece of fish. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, that salmon looks like it is cooked perfectly.” I said wanting him to know I was pleased and grateful for his preparation. I don’t enjoy salmon as much when it’s dry and firm. I like to affirm good service when offered. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not pausing to look up or respond to my comment, he snapped the plastic lid onto my to-go order. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Where is your card?” he asked. I smiled and pointed to the side of the register. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Seeming embarrassed he said, “I’m out of sorts today.” He reached for my card and slid it through. I wondered what made him out of sorts – something at work, something at home, a health condition.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m so sorry” I said, maintaining eye contact. I had sensed something was wrong the minute I saw him. Now my heart filled with compassion for this tired person who was serving me. He handed me my salad and credit card, and I could see his face relax and soften. I was thankful he could hear what I said behind my mask which often muffles sound and can make conversation hard to understand. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I hope your day gets better.” I said looking at him once again before I turned to leave. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When he shared with me that he was out of sorts, I felt glad to be interacting with someone who was willing to be honest and open about how he was actually doing. Most of the time when I am out of sorts, I keep my feelings to myself. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This restaurant worker revealed to me a part of the human condition. Feeling out of sorts is not uncommon in these days of covid recovery, getting vaccines, and businesses trying to rebound as people are getting out more. Although my exchange with him was brief, I was honored that this person shared with me, a complete stranger, what he was feeling. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Each day I offer a prayer that I can be a vessel of God’s love wherever I go. That prayer was answered in the short time that this man and I shared space.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-87220881542179185682021-03-15T03:00:00.032-07:002021-03-15T03:00:00.305-07:00 Coping in Confinement: How My Restless Self Lived through the Eras of Polio and Covid<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowBYVK2yFFnWOaYRED7ssNDSz_Q474wq3d-fZQSeDtP79W-tsPtoo1YA_8GiUVcTS58lmvCZ7NN_whx1SK5IZxoAhVSNJiWwyYbkdRaxYWPd71LMXaYd7hD5gJ_9keeesWXYJCx7tO5A/s640/CovidVaccineSticker2596.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowBYVK2yFFnWOaYRED7ssNDSz_Q474wq3d-fZQSeDtP79W-tsPtoo1YA_8GiUVcTS58lmvCZ7NN_whx1SK5IZxoAhVSNJiWwyYbkdRaxYWPd71LMXaYd7hD5gJ_9keeesWXYJCx7tO5A/w400-h300/CovidVaccineSticker2596.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><br />“Get in a straight line, children. We’re going to the gym to get our polio vaccines,” the teacher said. <p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-4bef04a9-7fff-c3ad-8f2b-3d1fae258b0f"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We second graders were old enough to listen to the news and overhear adults talking about the dangers of polio. I wasn’t sure what polio did to the body, but in a magazine, I had seen pictures of children and adults confined to an iron lung, only their heads visible from the tubular machine. Laying still everyday looked uncomfortable and confining. I wondered if the children were ever allowed to get out and walk, run, laugh, or have any fun. Being confined day after day would surely challenge my restless nature. I craved movement and made every effort to get out of the house.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I knew enough about polio to know I didn’t want it, but I had heard nothing about the polio vaccine. Perhaps my parents had signed a permission slip, but they had not prepared me for this. Even though I just ate lunch, my stomach was gurgling and in knots. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t even know what the word “vaccine” meant, and had no idea what it looked like or felt like. Ready or not, I was on my way to the gym to find out. I listened to my teacher’s instructions and stepped in line behind a classmate. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For years, virologist and medical researcher Dr. Jonas Salk had worked tirelessly to find a way to prevent polio from spreading. In the late 1940’s, the polio outbreak in the United States disabled more than 35,000 people each year. Though I don’t recall my parents limiting my playtime with other children (our sandbox was a popular gathering place), I have read that many parents were afraid to let children outside to play especially in the summer when the virus peaked. Finally, in April 1955, the oral vaccine was ready for distribution. Dr. Salk was regarded as a national hero.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On vaccination day, I followed the line out of the portable trailer where our classroom met on the school grounds. We cut through the playground on that cool spring morning. The main building had become overcrowded and a new school was being built three miles north.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We entered the school building and found our way through the doors of the gym. My teacher led us to a table where we received a small white paper cup. I peered into my half-filled cup curious what the vaccine was like. It looked like water. I followed the example of the children ahead of me and swallowed the tasteless liquid. I was relieved to receive the vaccine and discover there was no harm or discomfort involved. The vaccine program developed by Dr. Salk has made the United States polio-free since 1979. As a young vaccine-recipient, I was thankful to be spared a life of confinement in an iron lung machine. I would have had great difficulty lying still on my back for any period of time. I couldn’t handle the thought of not being able to swing on my swingset in the backyard where I had the physical and emotional space to be my full self.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just a few weeks ago, sitting in an uncomfortable aluminum chair in the waiting area of a repurposed Marsh grocery store in line for my first Covid vaccine, I remembered vividly the day of my polio vaccine in second grade.. As a child I was relieved to avoid polio. Now decades later, I found myself grateful I had not contracted the coronavirus and was finally in line to get vaccinated. I had been filled with anxiety from the time the state’s lockdown was put in place in March 2020. My daily pattern had become consumed by carefully sheltering, wearing masks, carrying around bottles of hand sanitizer, and washing my hands until I thought the skin would fall off. Receiving the vaccine would not only reduce my chances of getting the virus, but also relieve the anxiety I’d felt under statewide Covid restrictions that in turn restricted my natural way of relating to the world. I tend to be a movement-oriented person who needs to get out, exercise daily, and find places of meaning in my life, most of which involve being of help to other people.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sheltering at home, I have missed volunteering at the IU North Hospital cancer center where I served for 10 years prior to Covid-19 and in an elementary school classroom where I helped for five years. It’s hard to feel like myself when I’m not able to give love and interact with those who need care in the hospital or in the classroom. When the lockdown began, I was so sad and angry about not being able to volunteer that I threw out my school entry badge and hid my red hospital volunteer jacket with the ten year “star volunteer” on the lapel under the carpet in my trunk. I could not bear to be reminded of the loss of contact with people and meaningful work in God’s kingdom, so I put any remembrance of those things out of my sight. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The past months brought a change of lifestyle in other ways, too. Curbside pickup and delivery became regular words in my vocabulary. In the past, I rarely ordered items online, instead enjoying the process of going to the store, pondering my choices, and touching the things I wanted to buy. All of these familiar practices were gone and no one knew when regular shopping would return, especially when the shutdown of non-essential stores in mid-March continued through the end of May. Online shopping became my new, unwelcome reality. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Particularly devastating was my lack of ability to go swimming. All gyms and exercise facilities were closed for 2 ½ months. Swimming is a body, mind, and spirit experience for me. The water is like a counselor ready to receive my thoughts or emotions, whatever comes to mind while I go back and forth in the pool. The water is accepting, and holds me. Swimming between lane dividers offers containment. Counting laps in my head brings order. Order and containment are two of my ongoing emotional needs. Finding ways in every day life to nurture these needs offers reassurance, and that made the Covid closures especially difficult for me. While I enjoy the feeling being contained, my anxiety rises when I feel confined. I felt a sense of loss and sadness as I looked at my swim bag filled with goggles, swim cap, arm paddles resting in the backseat of the car, and my swimsuit on a hook in my closet. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although I walked two days a week, I did not receive from walking what I did from the total body immersion in the water. I had no other safe activity but walking, and walking, and more walking. Fortunately, in mid-March the temperatures weren’t too cold. Every day, for the next ten weeks, I walked for three hours. At first I didn’t like walking so much. I missed interacting with people in the locker room and in the halls of the YMCA. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was no community in walking, or so I thought. I did see a few people with their dogs, but people often didn’t speak to each other in those early days of the virus as the risk of contamination was unknown and no one wanted to take a chance to spread the disease.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij-E-htwf5RO2Ht3OD5YS6J189EKBs6Q9L9502jKWLdVtKKzrgnp8W3cQhUZcXmYIpn_7_bbH2oygJQ60PayPTjg2rMZZ6RENOfjNwBLbStTFo9IPf0gB5i9tUfhyphenhyphen5WUWVTBNQrPnX_c8/s640/CovidVaccineSticker2589.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij-E-htwf5RO2Ht3OD5YS6J189EKBs6Q9L9502jKWLdVtKKzrgnp8W3cQhUZcXmYIpn_7_bbH2oygJQ60PayPTjg2rMZZ6RENOfjNwBLbStTFo9IPf0gB5i9tUfhyphenhyphen5WUWVTBNQrPnX_c8/w400-h300/CovidVaccineSticker2589.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In time, however, walking felt similar to a labyrinth experience. When I left home, I knew my destination, my half-way point where I turned around and started my return path. In walking a labyrinth, the first stages involve shedding what is on your mind, a time of letting go. When you reach the center, your mind is clear,ready to receive what God might offer. In a labyrinth you can stay in the center as long as you want, however, when I got to the midpoint of my walk, I paused briefly, took a deep breath, and started home. I did feel like I had released various thoughts scrambling around in my head when I reached the middle, and felt refreshed and open on my return trip. </span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have always practiced mindfulness, being aware of what is around me, noticing details to stay present. During those many weeks of walking during coronavirus distancing, I found mindfulness helped me create a connection to what I was seeing. For example, I noticed bird nests from the past spring, visible in leafless trees. I observed their shapes. I noticed if they were lodged in the crook of the tree or hanging from a branch. I wondered what the bird used to make the nest. I saw pieces of yarn, plastic bags, tags from clothes, string, branches, and dried leaves. Noting how the nest was constructed led me to research how birds made mud to hold their nests together. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then, as I took walk after walk past the same house, I watched the stages of a bee hive being built. In time, I noticed small trees surrounding the hive. One day, the owner of the house was outside when I walked by. Wearing a mask, I asked a few questions, curious about what he was developing. He described placing certain plants around the hive to attract bees, and how he planned to collect honey. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had several routes I walked, and often I went into other neighborhoods not my own. One of my favorite paths went by the backyard of a house with an outdoor swimming pool. The pool was covered with thick plastic for the winter, anchored by rope attached to the side of the yard. Even though I was walking daily, my restless nature, only fully assuaged by swimming, needed a more fulfilling outlet. Each time I walked by the yard with the pool, I wanted to jump over the short fence, pull the ropes, remove the cover, and jump in the water. I missed swimming so much that, in my imaginary dip in that backyard pool, I almost didn’t care if I was arrested for trespassing, I just needed to get in the water! </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As the months continued, I had trouble connecting with the phrase I heard every night on the news, or on a commercial, or when the governor made a special report on the virus: “We’re in this together.” I didn’t feel like anyone was with me during this time. I felt lonely and displaced. I couldn’t understand or join in the implied camaraderie adversity might bring. There was no sense of me helping anyone or anyone helping me. When I saw others not taking the same strict precautions for safety that I was (having good times with family and friends and going on trips and vacations) I felt frustrated. If we were really “all in this together” I felt everyone would sacrifice interaction with those who were important to them, just as I was careful to do. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With lack of adequate space at home, I often retreated to my car, driving to a retention pond that I could see out my back window. There, I would park and watch the small waterfall in the center. At least I could see water moving even if I couldn’t be in it. I reveled in the feeling of containment my car offered for emotions unraveling inside, feelings that were difficult to express. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Preparing for Christmas in December 2020 was about as difficult and impersonal as it got. I was used to buying gifts in person, maybe going to one or two stores to find exactly what I wanted, wrapping them simply, and mailing the gifts to out-of-town family members. Choosing, preparing, packaging, and watching the gifts wait on the floor of my office have always helped me add love to what I was sending. I would walk by the gifts I had chosen for each person and think of how they would wear each item, or how they would play with each toy, or what they would experience as they read each book. It used to be that I savored the connection I was building and imagined all of my thoughts pouring into the gifts, adding a dimension of care not possible with mechanical and impersonal online ordering.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even our zoom Christmas was impersonal. Yes, it was wonderful seeing everyone’s faces, but the energy of people being together in one room could not be recreated on the screen. Virtual hugs are a poor compensation for the real thing.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is the lost time with our small family that has been most heartbreaking to me. We’ve had limited contact with our daughter and son-in-law who live thirty minutes away. They have continued to work through these challenging days and don’t want to take the chance of giving us the virus. Our interactions have taken place through windows, and in the summer and fall, through a few short outdoor masked gatherings in the backyard.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We have a grandson born last May who we haven’t met. Our planned trip to visit him in Oregon was canceled. I had no idea that in 2018, when I was watching friends and family having fun and dancing at our daughter’s wedding in Oregon, that it was the last time our family would be together for the foreseeable future.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People throughout the world have experienced disappointments, deaths of loved ones, inability to fully mourn these losses, and disruption in routine and relationships no one ever imagined. Parents are stressed to the max, combining jobs, helping children learn virtually, and managing the change of normal routines. The fear of the elusive virus has affected those who are healthy as well as those with chronic illness. During the height of the polio crisis, although fear for the lives of children was pervasive, physical separation and isolation for weeks and months were not part of daily life for those without the illness.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although others were dealing with circumstances far worse than mine, I was cautious not to compare my feelings with the difficulty of others or minimize what I was experiencing. Feelings are feelings and need to be honored. </span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Living long enough to receive medical treatment for two diseases of global proportions makes me feel fortunate to participate in medical history and to receive the protection these vaccines have offered. I mourn for those who have lost family and friends from the virus, for their inability to be with them at death, and for missed opportunities to share their grief with family and friends. I also mourn my own losses. I have missed the time that would have been used to build memories with family, to explore interests more deeply, and to serve people who are sick. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Right now, I can’t give a hurrah speech about how I came through hard times and emerged a new person, or how I am grateful for these past eleven months. I am not a new person. I am grateful to be alive, but I am not grateful for the way my life has been altered these past eleven months. That is my reality. I am a struggling person at the high end of life expectancy longing to spend time with my family, serve others, and enjoy the people and places around me, . </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Despite my hurt and anguish, I have been grateful to keep working with my writing coach, <a href="http://darcywiley.com">Darcy Wiley</a>. From the sweltering months of summer through many weeks in the cold of winter, we have met weekly on the balcony of her house. We have continued our sessions in all seasons, picking blackberries together and watching her garden flourish, sweating in the hot summer, and noting the leaves as they changed color and fell to carpet the ground in the fall. The winter snow made the short walk from my car to the balcony sometimes treacherous, but with caution, I made it. We have worked together on expanding and editing my essays, and have enjoyed the creativity of photographing my artwork against the background of her house for use in my blog posts. Masked and distanced, we have found the balcony a creative way to add adventure and fun to our weekly time together, peppered with visits from her young daughters who were selling fresh garden-grown vegetables, bracelets, or slime at a stand in the front yard, or just needing a moment to get a thought from their mother. All of this added surprise and delight to our time. When temperatures dipped near 25 degrees, we realized just how hardy we were. We wore snow pants, boots, hats, hooded coats, heated lap blankets, and gloves lined with hand warmers to keep our in-person connection, only resorting to online meetings in storms or uncertainties about sickness. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was also able to continue weekly counseling sessions because of a special type of online conference call platform insuring confidentiality, helping me grow further emotionally, allowing me to stay grounded when I experienced a difficult trigger late last year. Coming through these times and learning how my past affects the present was my focus each week rather than dealing with the effects of a pandemic. I could work and change what I was experiencing emotionally, while most of the pandemic was out of my control.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Finally, in late May the governor cautiously allowed gyms to re-open. Returning to the pool was joyous although it took a few visits to get back into the rhythm I was used to in the past. Going to a public place created anxiety at first, but using great caution, I heeded the guidelines facilities had to follow, adding my own adaptations, such as showering at home instead of in the locker room when I finished swimming. Getting back in the water was my first taste of normalcy. I was so thankful to feel my muscles stretch and welcomed a rhythm that felt like home. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Still, the fear of Covid followed me when I went to swim. Hearing about people who had socially distanced and taken precautions yet still suffered with the virus made me hypervigilant, not wanting to get too close to anyone walking in the hall or to stop and talk to people I knew but barely recognized with their faces covered with the required mask. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the days after I received the first vaccine, I did venture out for a quick stop at Target, but have kept a low profile otherwise. I am still in the middle of this strange moment in history, or maybe coming to the final stage of it as the vaccination we prayed for has become a reality. Sometimes when a person is in the middle of a challenging event, distance is necessary to assess the impact of the experience. I am waiting to see what I have learned from these months of isolation. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although I did not deal personally with the Coronavirus nor did I know anyone who had the disease, I have had many disappointments. Not being with local family and family far away. Missing out on holding my first grandchild and supporting my daughter during those early weeks of motherhood. Not attending church in person. My restless self has struggled in lockdown and isolation. I have a past history of loss which seems to trigger me when events of deprivation occur but which also allows me to connect and feel compassion for the suffering people in our collective grief and loss. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now that I have received the second vaccine, I have less anxiety and can see life more clearly. I will continue to ponder the effects of this last year for some time. I can’t necessarily say it’s been a positive experience. Many times I’ve felt I should be coping a lot better than I have. This has been hard. Yet, when I look back, I see a woman who has kept going, forging ahead with counseling, writing, art, exercise...at least some of the things in life that are important to me. Maybe I have coped better with my limitations than I gave myself credit for. I did not withdraw. I did not become a hermit. I didn’t collapse. I kept walking. I kept moving. I kept going. </span></p></span><br /><br />Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8838966726834891807.post-31005227667867958492021-03-01T03:00:00.001-08:002021-03-01T03:00:02.229-08:00God Is with Me Always<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4ld8wpK-x34mDasEqh_Z0j9pvQcMvJFL1jXi2tNMyls37sUnA82jaSe6xPHidPEX80_d5YI2YaivfVFfWMn32e70AUJ4Wj4D0xlvxBo5HCmcWQyuwlJtTwpGJbE9oV0JGZBovkhnZTo/s640/cross1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4ld8wpK-x34mDasEqh_Z0j9pvQcMvJFL1jXi2tNMyls37sUnA82jaSe6xPHidPEX80_d5YI2YaivfVFfWMn32e70AUJ4Wj4D0xlvxBo5HCmcWQyuwlJtTwpGJbE9oV0JGZBovkhnZTo/w400-h300/cross1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br />My
father put his hands on the wheel of the car while my brother and I sandwiched
ourselves between him and my mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Seat belts and car seats were not invented. When we wiggled and squirmed
my mother’s hand reached across our laps to hold us still. We were on the way
to church. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I
walked into a classroom where I played with other children my age. I remember
sitting in one of the wooden chairs arranged in a circle. My feet didn’t touch
the floor so I dangled them back and forth, looking at my black patent leather
shoes, my “Sunday shoes” that I only wore for church or special occasions. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">While
I waited for the teacher to gather her papers, I smoothed the blue smocked
dress, made for me by my mother’s oldest sister, Aunt Helen, a relative I had
never met. Red, white and blue<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>thread
criss-crossed my chest. I moved my fingers over the bumpy surface feeling the
fabric gathered like an accordion. Maybe one day I might learn to smock. The
puffy sleeves made me feel like I was a princess. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I
heard the teacher call my name to make sure I was listening before she started
the story about Jesus feeding many people from a boy’s small lunch of five fish
and two loaves of bread. .Each week she read a Bible story from a printed
pamphlet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She taught us about people
who lived long ago and had adventures I didn’t quite understand, and about God
and how God could help us. I did not know what God meant.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">One
Sunday we learned about prayer. She said prayer was talking to God. I still
didn’t know what God meant, but I did understand how to talk to someone. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">We
weren’t old enough to ask questions, but everyone, especially me, enjoyed the
coloring page attached to the story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
home, my mother hid the box of broken crayons on the top shelf of the coat
closet in the hallway. I could only color a few times a year when she put the
box on the kitchen table. She said coloring was a waste of time, but I liked to
draw shapes and houses and think about what colors I wanted to use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At Sunday school, each child had their own
box of brand new crayons. As I opened the box, I breathed in the smell of wax
and fresh cardboard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">After
church, my parents picked me up from the classroom. I clutched the handful of
papers the teacher gave us about the lesson. She suggested to my parents, “You
can review the story we talked about at home. Your daughter can tell you the
story in her own words. She is a good listener.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I
smiled hearing the teacher say something nice about me. I rarely heard the
adults in my life say that I was good at anything. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">When I
got home and changed my clothes, I looked at the pictures and thought how the
teacher described God and people in the Bible. In time, I had a stack of these
handouts on the floor in my bedroom. Anytime I wanted, I could look at the
pictures and think about God.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I
looked forward to going to church each week, being with someone who smiled at
me, and having an opportunity to color. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">God
became more of a reality in my life when I was seven. I realized my home wasn’t
normal because I started looking for another mother. I observed the way other
mothers in the neighborhood acted toward their children in loving and kind
ways. They combed and brushed their daughters’ hair and put ribbons or barrettes
to hold their hair in place. I did not feel loved or cared for. I easily noted
the favor my parents gave my younger brother. He was the center of their lives
and I felt left out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">During
these times when my heart ached for attention, I went to my room to read the
Sunday school papers about God, how God listens to our thoughts and how we can
talk to God anytime. I remembered how much fun I had coloring the pictures of
the stories. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I
walked to school by myself envying the two sisters across the street with their
matching dresses and hair bows. I wanted to have a bow in my hair too. When I
arrived at school, I found my desk and got ready for the day’s
assignments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had trouble keeping my
mind on what I was supposed to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had
to read the same paragraph over and over <a style="mso-comment-date: 20201103T2002; mso-comment-reference: _1;">to remember what Alice and Jerry were doing</a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Numbers were confusing. I kept writing them
backwards. I could add two numbers together, but subtraction didn’t make sense
.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My spelling book was a mess. The letters I
wrote were too close together, according to my teacher and I could hardly
identify the word. My pencil point kept breaking and I was embarrassed to get
up and walk to the sharpener. I was sure everyone was watching, and I wanted no
one to notice me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I wore
dresses that were too short paired with my ugly brown leather shoes. My parents
only bought me one pair of shoes a year and by the end of school in June, my
toes pressed into the front of the shoe. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Although
I didn’t know the word anxiety, I feel certain my emotions could be described
as anxious. One day sitting at my desk, looking out the window at the school
yard, I remembered what the Sunday school teacher<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>said about talking to God. I didn’t say
anything, but I thought about God. In a few minutes I felt different inside.
Back then I didn’t have a word for what I felt, but today I would call it peace
or comfort. This new feeling brought me back to my desk. I held my pencil a
little tighter and worked with a little more clarity to solve the problems in
my math workbook.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Walking
home from school that day I remembered when I said the word, God, and how I
felt inside. Maybe that’s what the teacher meant: God can help us, because God
surely helped me stay calm during the rest of the school day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">My
family didn’t talk to God and my parents often yelled at each other, but
despite what was happening in my home, I could talk to God and feel calm
inside. At night before I went to sleep, I shared my fear with God and prayed,
“Please help me live tomorrow.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyLlAR01P6gUDvvwlBTuvnSVXyHETAUJB-k8kz_Jz1sCpU8JZd-YISF4N_E74kvDMxvVIj0ZAePW2f4RwG047pWt3cT_c2nVXXNR1AWntF-vPTE6PkW0-cZvuZMDvEy_XHfw6ai2Q5UA/s640/cross2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyLlAR01P6gUDvvwlBTuvnSVXyHETAUJB-k8kz_Jz1sCpU8JZd-YISF4N_E74kvDMxvVIj0ZAePW2f4RwG047pWt3cT_c2nVXXNR1AWntF-vPTE6PkW0-cZvuZMDvEy_XHfw6ai2Q5UA/s320/cross2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">When I
was in fourth grade, my teacher, Mrs. Rossi, had us sing hymns while we passed
our papers down the row of desks. Some of the hymns I remembered from church,
now that I was old enough to attend the service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Come thou Almighty King,” and “All Things
Bright and Beautiful,” were two of her favorites. Mrs. Rossi didn’t attend my
church, but she knew the same songs I did. Hearing about God in music, even in
my public school, nurtured my growing understanding of God. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Come Thou Almighty King”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>praised God as “Father all glorious” and
described God as “Holy Comforter.” “All Things Bright and Beautiful” told how
God created flowers, birds, mountains, rivers, the sunset, cold winter wind,
and food in the garden. I learned God gave us eyes to see what God created, and
lips to tell others about God and what God had made. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I
don’t remember if Mrs. Rossi wrote the words to the hymn on the chalkboard or
how we learned the song, but all of the children joined in to make music and
keep from talking while our papers were collected. She didn’t realize how
closely I was listening to these words and absorbing their meaning describing
God and how God had created everything on the earth including me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">My
family moved to Pennsylvania when I was in the middle of fifth grade. At my new
school in fifth and sixth grade, we formed a line to walk to the cafeteria each
day. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Before
we left our room, the teacher would say a prayer for lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know about praying before eating,
but these two teachers helped me realize it was good to thank God for the food
I was going to eat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In sixth grade, one
student was Jewish. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About once a week,
my teacher asked her to pray. First, she said a short prayer in Hebrew, then
gave the English translation. I realized that God was present in my friend’s
prayers too, even in another language. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Even
though God was never mentioned in my home and my parents never read from the
Bible, I was learning about God in school and Sunday school. Praying at school
and at night, I was slowly learning to build trust in something I couldn’t see
or even understand. I experienced how a single word, “God,” made my heart feel
lighter and not alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">When I
was in sixth grade I memorized the catechism of the church outlined for
confirmation. I didn’t understand what the words meant nor did the classes I
attend make my concentration any clearer. <a style="mso-comment-date: 20201110T1843; mso-comment-reference: _2;">What I did know was that “God”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>was becoming as “real” as someone could be
without being seen.</a></span><span lang="EN"><span style="mso-special-character: comment;"> </span></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I felt
God in my heart when I prayed. I knew I wanted to thank God for the food I ate.
I liked going outside and looking at the mountain at the end of our gravel
road. Seeing the birds in the trees reminded me of the hymn I sang with Mrs.
Rossi<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“All Things Bright and Beautiful”
describing how God made every living creature. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">After
I was confirmed, I received a certificate of confirmation in the Episcopal
Church, and a silver pendant embossed with a picture of Christ on the front and
the words, “I am an Episcopalian,” on the back. I wore this necklace every day.
I never took it off. Sometimes, friends in school noted the necklace and asked
if I was wearing a dime around my neck. When they realized I had a religious
symbol they stopped talking and seemed to feel awkward. I sometimes felt a
little shy about this public display of my faith, but I kept wearing it because
it helped me feel the strength of Christ.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Right
before I entered seventh grade, I made an altar in my closet. On top of a
burgundy train case I placed the brown cross necklace I used for singing in the
children’s choir at church. Next to the cross, I placed a bright red picture
book of children’s prayers along with a copy of “The Book of Common
Prayer”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>from my confirmation. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">When I
felt lonely or discouraged or left out I went to my closet and sat next to my
altar not knowing exactly what to do, but feeling comfort knowing God in some
form was close by.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">One
day my mother saw my altar and said, “What are you doing with this silliness in
your closet?!! You need to take the necklace to church so you don’t forget to
wear it on Sunday.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I was
used to my mother’s criticism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her
favorite words to me were, “You need to change your ways.” I didn’t know what
she meant because I thought I was an ok person and didn’t know what I needed to
change. I never heard her say, “I love you,” ever.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">When I
was twelve, attending church took on more meaning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My faith was developing. Although I still
wasn’t sure about who God was, every Sunday the familiar words of the liturgy
wrapped around my heart like a cloak. Holy Communion was the first Sunday of
the month, the rest of the Sundays the service of Morning Prayer. I knew what
to expect when I went to church. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqN3KYU3tBaKoHNSRwJ77xRNs0M8ufc8lkgwl5UAnNI0e3M8egnIMef58Zp79j3_4Ee8-BMplwXnu9RdyEeV_6kL3kPXZOaIztVb6V2Mra23Do9Dqqz70a030iHVGDxra4uuHy6L7OiEQ/s640/cross3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqN3KYU3tBaKoHNSRwJ77xRNs0M8ufc8lkgwl5UAnNI0e3M8egnIMef58Zp79j3_4Ee8-BMplwXnu9RdyEeV_6kL3kPXZOaIztVb6V2Mra23Do9Dqqz70a030iHVGDxra4uuHy6L7OiEQ/w400-h300/cross3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></p>The
liturgy was a constant to counter my chaotic life at home. I continued to have
difficulty concentrating at school, spending many hours reading and re-reading
history and English, and trying again and again to focus on solving math
problems. I felt frustrated at my inability to retain what I learned. I knew I
was smart, but I know now that the difficulty I had at home clouded my
concentration. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I
prayed each night throughout junior high and high school. Although the nature
of my life at home didn’t change, God sustained me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My life with God was simple. I said a short
prayer every night before I went to bed and continued my practice of thinking
about God when I was in school. I did not have a Bible, but I occasionally read
prayers from the two books on my altar. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I
couldn’t quote scripture like my friends who were Baptist, but I knew the
reality of God in my heart, an immediate source of comfort and strength
wherever I was. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Throughout
elementary school, all classes began by saying the Lord’s Prayer and standing
to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. My ninth-grade homeroom teacher read to us
from the Bible each day following morning announcements. Many of the ways I
learned about God, especially in the public school, would not be permitted in
this day and age. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">The
early formative years of my faith were foundational to who I am now as God’s
child. I’m so grateful for the ways I learned about God despite not growing up
in a home where faith was nurtured. Never underestimate the power of teaching a
Sunday school lesson to a four year-old, the effect of passing along the words
of a beloved hymn, or how your encouragement as a confirmation mentor might
help a child. You never know what a child may be dealing with at home. Your
words can be a beam of light directing them toward a life sustained by God’s
presence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Church
Steps<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">(a
poem about my childhood faith experience)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Every
Sunday I climbed the steps<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Half-awake,
opened the door, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Entered
the tiny vestibule<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Tables
on both sides,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Held
booklets for devotion<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Pamphlets
about the church year.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I
walked down the aisle,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">My
hard, leather shoes making noise,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">In a
place meant for quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Seated
myself on a hard, wooden pew,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">My
soul cradled by liturgy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">People
good and bad dotted the rows<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I sat
near the cross that hung over the<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Cloth-covered
altar,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">In the
choir loft,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">In
front of the sanctuary,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I sang
God’s praises<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">And
watched those<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Who
fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">My
faith was sustained and<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Refueled
by liturgy, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Lord
have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I
carried the echo of<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Those
words in my heart <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Wherever
I went.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">In my
fingers, I pressed the<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Medallion,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">The
size of a dime,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Dangling
around my neck.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Up
close the face of Jesus<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Beaming
at me with strength<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">For my
climb back down the<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Steps
of the church <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">To go
home.</span></p><div style="mso-element: comment-list;"><div style="mso-element: comment;"><div class="msocomtxt" id="_com_2" language="JavaScript">
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</div>Jacquie Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543753105930454802noreply@blogger.com0