Endless Gifts

His gifts go on, even though I am not recording them.

Today I am thankful for:

69.  salt
70.  a teacher who is helping me so much
71.  cool water
72.  the delicious sound of pasta boiling on the stove.

For Memorial Day

The bugle echoes shrill and sweet,
But not of war it sings to-day.
The road is rhythmic with the feet
Of men-at-arms who come to pray.

The roses blossom white and red
On tombs where weary soldiers lie;
Flags wave above the honored dead
And martial music cleaves the sky.

Above their wreath-strewn graves we kneel,
They kept the faith and fought the fight.
Through flying lead and crimson steel
They plunged for Freedom and the Right.

May we, their grateful children, learn
Their strength, who lie beneath this sod,
Who went through fire and death to earn
At last the accolade of God.

In shining rank on rank arrayed
They march, the legions of the Lord;
He is their Captain unafraid,
The Prince of Peace...Who brought a sword.

- Joyce Kilmer, 1917

Sights, sounds, smells

66. A well-traveled boy safely returned - a glad sight for this mother's eyes.

67. The sound of a spoon digging into a piece of watermelon.

68. The heavy fragrance of the gardenia bush in bloom -

perfuming the evening air.

69. Small sister's arm around the shoulders of the returning brother.

Evidence of His Love

The brilliant reds and greens of fresh cherry tomatoes.

Beauty in an ugly corner.

Translucent beauty.

Fractals - in a vegetable (Romanesco cabbage)!

For more information about the math in this vegetable, try this very educational site from the UK.

Snapshots on Sunday

More reasons to be thankful:




60. A tray of empty cocoa mugs - evidence of family story time.





61. Crooked candles on a simple cake.

Giving Thanks

It has been a long while since I wrote of things for which I am thankful. God's gifts are so many, yet I have found it far harder than I expected to cultivate the attitude of thanksgiving I had envisioned. Today is Ash Wednesday and though my background is not liturgical, I feel led to attend to the season of Lent this year, much as we spend December in increased attentiveness through Advent.

As I focus on the life and death of Jesus in the next 40 days, I hope also to focus more on thankfulness, including these:

55. The scent of tomato plants in the garden

56. The sour-sweetness of the first ripe tomato

57. Little girl arms wrapped around daddy's neck - welcoming home

58. A favorite salad - enjoyed only once a year here

59. Small hands gathering beans

Unreliable internet in our remote place prevented me from posting this yesterday, and from adding the photos I would like to share.

Intertwined, Uprooted

It is spring here: the height of our gardening season. One recent afternoon saw me out in the garden, collecting sprigs of oregano, leaves of basil, bunches of parsley, and other green goodness for our evening meal.

Last, I headed to collect some mint.

Ours resides in a cement ring, to be raised above the flooding of the rains.

It is high season for mint.

The pot is full and green as I approach it from across the yard.

But mint is not all that grows there this spring.

Clover crowds in, vying for space in the damp warmth.

The clover has been at its work for a while now,

winding vines and runners around those of mint.

Unseen, ignored.

The two are intertwined.

Clearing the clover will take time, patience, effort:

but a necessary task if the mint is to survive, to thrive,

to send deep and spreading roots through its earthen home.

Should the rains arrive while the mint

is weakened by competition

and overcrowding,

it may not survive the onslaught - up to 120 inches of rain - in the space of a few weeks.

This particular clover is serious about gaining the upper hand.

Already, it is flowering, preparing to bear seed.

And so, I begin: painstakingly tracing out and removing

each root, each leaf,

each trailing stem seeking to put roots in yet another part of the pot.

It is tedious work, this uprooting of established weeds.

My legs ache from crouching low over the mess.

The sun beats hot on my back.

Other work beckons from the kitchen.

But this seems important, vital work somehow.

Why do I care today, about mint and weeds?

And then it comes, the soft voice in my mind,

showing me why mint matters on this busy

'company's coming for dinner' afternoon:

Sin -- all sin -- edges into life in the same way as

clover has forced its way into this pot.

It creeps into some unwatched corner -

a tendril from a neighbor,

a seed from a passing friend

- it slips in unnoticed

and makes quick work of spreading roots and seeds,

and destruction.

A little gossip here, a seed of impatience there;

of what importance is a few moments of sloth, or a tendril of unbelief?

Yet soon, sin - or clover - has done its work

and we are far from where we could have been

from where we - and HE - wants us to be.

A friend has come, to aid in clearing the weeds.

The work shared is simpler, less painful,

with tinges of

joy?

Can it be that the painful work of rooting out sin is easier when shared?

The work is done
leaving gaps and scarred dirt where beautiful
yet ugly weeds once grew.

Pulling up sin leaves scars
empty spaces
waiting to be filled.

The weed will return if I am not careful
vigilant
removing each trace of clover's rebirth.

The sin will return if I am not prayerful
vigilant
letting Him root out each attempt of sin to return.


Thank you for the lesson of mint and weeds,
for being the REMARKABLE in the unremarkable of life.


photos from our mint patch