A walk in the woods with Mom. Fall air. The wind sounds like a rushing waterfall once the branches empty. It's power bending mighty oaks, and humming its way through the ridge top. Where leaves still cling, the gentler breezes sound like a chattering mountain stream, cascading through its stony course.
Yesterday, my mother and I took a walk through the forest. This is the week most leaves have chosen to loosen their grip, and submit to flight and then rest. We pause, my octogenarian hiking partner having just climbed more than a hundred feet in the last quarter mile; there is no audible breathing as she navigates tall root stair-steps up the last stretch. We pause, the wind holds its breath. We scan the deep valley we've exited, turning past the ridge top to see the one lying behind us as well--and before us in this journey.
We smile. Few words. And the leaves are gliding to the earth from high above. Multicolored reminders of fearless, beautiful surrender. We whisper of the coming snows, the inevitable surrender of this season to the next. And we hike on.
Life moves on, full of greening and falling. And I will forever treasure the living I have witnessed in my mother. Very little waterfall bluster, or mountain stream chatter. Exemplary greening and giving and sheltering. And as life has demanded, willing surrender in her selfless beauty. Always giving.
Thank you Mom.
Peace.
3 comments:
Catching up on your blog-0-sphere. Whew, it sounds like much has been going on since I last checked in. Sorry about the "extinguishers" who seem to be intent on dampening enthusiasm and fervor for kingdom service. I do understand the frustration and am so glad to see your statement about the Kingdom being bigger than the hindrances. I have gotten chapters 6 & 7 ready to read. I would be interested in buying one of the books when it comes out. Have you read "Well Intentioned Dragons?" It is not a new book now, but still addresses the well-meaning, opinionated persons who seem to be good at inhabiting our churches. I found it helpful to gain some insight into why people do act the way they do in the church.
Better get back to work - actually lunch. Keep up the great work! Theresa and I really enjoy your services and the well planned and prepared sermons.
Your friend,
Peter Albertson
David
I'm catching up on your blog also. I just love it. Even though I am not reading the book, I draw much strength from reading your comments, and the comments of others. Guess I am old fashioned also with needing the hard copy in hand to read it. I need to get over that, I think??
Please keep writing about your interactions with the "church stuff." It helps just knowing that others are going through the same things we are.
You know we are in Florida. The first vacation, meaning a week, without kids or grandkids in 30 years. Not very smart. I am learning alot about God as I enjoy the ocean (sea) each morning and evening. The power, the healing touch, the broken shells (peoples lives),and the gifts...that almost perfect shell that becomes visible as the water rushes back out. Awesome!
I also read the book, "The Shack" the first two days here. Much to reflect on. I can't wait to read it again. And I never read a book again. I am now in the middle of Nouwen's book "The Return of the Prodigal Son." Wow! Trying to figure out if I am the younger son or the older?
Sorry for going on and on. Been a great week. But the issue of the church couple who left for another church down the street and the financial ramifications of that are just around the corner. I long to stay....at the ocean!!
Ron
Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.
But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.
I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?
-Robert Frost
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