My Valentine Shell

In her "Gift From the Sea," Anne Morrow Lindbergh tells the story of her time alone on a beach-side vacation and the self-discoveries she made through the metaphor of the various types of seashells she collected while there.  Recently, I've had a yearning for a few seashells to decorate our home.  Perhaps it's the desire to move into a new season from the heaviness of pine cones and evergreens.  Whatever the reason, I bought a small bag of seashells at my favorite thrift store and placed them in a Blue Willow bowl that had been my mom's.  Mom loved seashells, so the combination of shells and bowl seemed appropriate.   While scouring through my thrift store find, I discovered that one of the shells was a sliver-thin, pale and small heart-shaped shell, hardly bigger around than a quarter  It seemed the perfect addition to the Valentine card I had gotten my husband.  I may not have the poetic words of Anne Morrow Lindbergh in my being, but I felt the poetic pull of the heart-shaped shell when I thought of my loving husband Larry. As I rolled the shell over and over in my hand, it reminded me that love is precious and beautiful and honed into its own shape over time and some adversity. However, like the shell, love may appear fragile, but it is actually strong and resilient and made to survive the test of time.  So, with the gift of a small shell, I send my love and best wishes to my favorite Valentine, my husband Larry. 

Going All Moony

My 2014 calendar indicates that tomorrow is not only Valentine's Day; it's a full moon.  When I read that calendar entry, I smiled, for what better evening to have a full moon than on Valentine's Day? On that traditional day and evening of expressing love and affection for another, it seems appropriate to me that it also be one when we can "go all moony." We can daydream and moon over a special someone and consider it justified.  There is nothing so intoxicating than to be in love, especially when that love is new.  One's surroundings seem blurred, as if in a dream, making the sky seem brighter, the scents sweeter, the jokes funnier, the possibilities grander, the world better. But, there is something even more enchanting to me about love that is no longer new.  There is comfort in a love that has seen some seasons. When love has matured, it has been through some tumbles and still stands firm.  It is deeper and built on commitment and steadfastness. So, whether love is new or not so new anymore, tomorrow's Valentine's Day full moon will be a great opportunity to "go all moony" over the one you love.

6:35 a.m.

I'm used to rising between 5:30 a.m. and 6:00 a.m.  For months now, I've awakened to darkness. However, last Saturday, I let myself sleep in until a little after 6:30 a.m.  As I opened my eyes, something miraculous struck me.  It was no longer dark!  Although it wasn't completely daylight yet, there were hints of it through our bedroom window, enough for me to be able to make the bed in a tidy fashion without having to turn on a single light.  As I arise each day, I immediately list three things for which I am thankful.  That day, early sunrises were among my three things.  The increased daylight is such a gift.  It may be cold, it may be snowing, but the incremental addition of minutes of daylight do much to lift the spirits.  I couldn't help but think of the foreboding bass aria from Handel's "Messiah," "For Behold, Darkness Shall Cover the Earth." Darkness has covered the earth for the past few months, but we are now experiencing the day-by-day gift of light!

Blessed

Last Sunday at church, we responsively read text in our worship bulletins about the blessed, with such words as: "Blessed are the poor in spirit...Blessed are those who mourn...Blessed are the ones who seek justice.... Then, we heard the full words of Matthew 5:1-11, words that have come to be known as The Beatitudes. Using Inclusive Text, we heard that those who mourn, those who are gentle, those who are merciful, those who are peacemakers, we are all blessed. In our day-to-day living, it is sometimes hard to remember that we are blessed.  Two people at our church reminded me last Sunday of the meaning of the text we had all collectively read and heard.  One, who is facing the serious illness of an adult child, looked at me with the calm eyes of faith and said "Everything will be alright."  The other, a woman who is seeking some changes in her life, gave me the gifts of her kindness and generosity.  Even in the depths of our sorrow and our uncertainty, our fear and our anguish, there is reason to find blessing.  At times, we may have to dig a little deeper, but blessing is there all the same.  Each day this past week, I have continued my ritual of beginning and ending with three things for which to be grateful.  Such a check-in gives me focus to remember just how very much I am blessed indeed.

Un-revealed Until Its Season

It's mid-winter and our fickle weather vacillates between sub-zero wind chills and inches of snow.  Yet, when I look out of our kitchen window, I see the hope of spring.  There, I see a line of flowering ornamental shrubs, each holding spring in the buds that are forming on their limbs.  First in line is the French lilac. Farther down is an azalea, flanked by two weigelas.  I can't count the number of buds that they hold onto so dearly, for there are so many. Even the two small burning bushes look as if they're just counting the days until they can burst forth with leaves.  As I watch the scene out of our kitchen window, I am reminded of the "Hymn of Promise" by Natalie Sleeth:  "In the cold and snow of winter, there's a spring that waits to be."  These next winter weeks will be a test to our patience, but like the ornamental shrubs holding tight to their spring buds, some things are, as Ms. Sleeth wrote so beautifully, "un-revealed until its season."  

Mop Tops and Moppets

When I was five years old, our nation was rocked by both horrific and hopeful news.  The first came in November 1963 when JFK was assassinated in Dallas.  My five-year-old mind could barely take in the profound sadness that stilled the soul of our country. Three months later, still in the shroud of our collective sorrow, something hopeful and fun happened.  On February 9, 1964, The Beatles appeared on "The Ed Sullivan Show," raising us, at least in part, out of the depths of our grief.  A new era of Beatlemania had begun. I was among the millions of "Ed Sullivan Show" viewers that Sunday evening when The Beatles made their first appearance. Although I was only five years old, I became an instant fan.  The next afternoon, The Beatles were the talk of the kindergarten class I attended.  We commented on their music and the shrieking teenage girls who swooned over them, but the biggest, most controversial topic was whether Paul, John, George and Ringo had really grown their hair that "long" or, more likely, whether their mop-top hairdos were really wigs!  Such commentary out of the mouths of five-year-olds!  Fifty years later, I am still a huge fan of The Beatles, particularly their early work. "Please Please Me," "From Me to You," "I Want to Hold Your Hand," "Can't Buy Me Love" and "All My Loving" are among my long list of Beatles favorites. However, after such a long winter, I'm especially favoring "Here Comes the Sun" these days.

Creative Fire

Lately, I've thought of the many people whose creative fires burn, bringing warmth and meaning to the world even in the depths of mid-winter's chill.  The flames of creative fires cause them to do great things: the actor who stretches himself to try comedy, the vocalist who learns a complicated musical piece, the painter who explores new media for self-expression, the photographer who sees things through a new lens, the dancer who is weary from practice but emboldened to perform, the writer who finds voice in a new way of experiencing words.  Without those creative fires, who would we be as people?  We all have gifts of creativity, talents that allow us to express ourselves in ways that are unique to us.  I think of my friend Kitty whose visits always include a sharing of her latest magnificent projects.  From quilting to looming to painting to constructing, Kitty's hands burn with a creative fire.  My fires might appear tepid to another's, but I feel them nonetheless.  Here's to the artist in us all, whether instrumentalist, textile artist, baker or composer.  In the still darkness of mid-winter, may we let our lights shine.