Nature's Extremes

As I walked along the lake late this afternoon, the wind picked up and began pushing eager whitecaps in my direction - a frothy army bent on sloshing to its death on the shore.  Trees blushing with their various hints of fall color tossed wildly like freelance dancers acting out the music of the soundless but persistent wind.

I inwardly joined with the choreography while walking along, pacing myself with the energy of the waves.

Several clumps of ornamental grasses wearing silvery seed heads greeted me as I rounded a curve.  The tall green leaves waved an excited hello in every direction, while the silky tops flew wildly like the rippling mane of a galloping palomino.

Now, several hours later, I sit lakeside as a gentle rain pelts the still water. Leftover golden-peach sunset colors are magnified in the western sky from north to south beneath elephant-gray clouds, as if they’ve been poured from a celestial bucket to spread in a stream beneath the herd.  It is quiet, now.  And I find myself inwardly joining with the mood, melting into the stillness and serenity.

Sky Watching

The sun just fell below the horizon, a blazing ball of metallic gold, and now a group of ghostly-looking blue-gray clouds are slinking across the sky on the other side of the lake.  One must be female – she’s very large, and it looks like she’s had a bad hair day.  Another without any sort of identifiable features is gradually pulling apart and dissolving like cotton candy without gravity.  A third appears to be a giant three-sectioned ant that is a member of a chain gang, leaning into a slow, laborioius walk while dragging puffy cloud-balls behind.

This is not such a particularly remarkable scene, or inspiring, except to say that often we go through life overlooking the small things that provide so much texture to otherwise flat days.

Look!  The lady with the bad hair has suddenly turned!  Now her open mouth is screaming something in either terror or rage, while her hair streams out behind as if she is facing a strong wind.  And oh….look again….her nose just evaporated, and her hair flew off like an airborne wig! 

During these few minutes, the light has continued to fade.  As I’ve watched the clouds, a tiny fingernail-sliver of a moon began coming to light without my even knowing it until, as I saw the screaming fat lady fade away, it suddenly caught my eye in such a way that I haven’t been able to stop staring.

Word Study

Individual words can be chock-full of meaning, not to mention powerful influence.  Their synonyms and antonyms may seem equally compelling and challenging as tools to clarify and broaden a meaning. 

This morning I bumped into a quote circulating around the internet that talks about the word love. It goes like this:

Everyone says love hurts, but that is not true. Loneliness hurts. Rejection hurts. Envy hurts. Everyone gets these things confused with love, but in reality, love is the only thing in this world that covers up all the pain and makes someone feel wonderful again. Love is the only thing in this world that doesn't hurt.

This got me thinking.

Many of our synonyms for love are shallow.  Passion, affection, fondness, attraction, and even the more flowery words like enchantment are all limited.  Love goes beyond the expected and desired, beyond the intellectual, logical, and rational.   Yet it is not abstract, as we might think of some theory or fantasy, but rather is a reality that surpasses human understanding and all of our finite perceptions about core commitments like acceptance, appreciation, and forgiveness.

Imagine you’re back in English class.  Put aside whatever thoughts you prefer to have about the word love, and then try diagramming this sentence: 

…God is love.  I John 4:8b 

What about antonyms? We typically think of hate as love’s opposite – the ultimate of dislike or animosity that leans toward abhorrence or loathing. 

But there are others.  Indifference or apathy sets in when a person misunderstands God’s love for him or her, cannot receive it, and is thus unable to share anything but manufactured, superficial love with others.  Fear often then takes over.   

There is no fear in love.  But perfect love drives out fear…the one who fears is not made perfect in love.  I John 4:18

Nature: Sacred Space

“How do we live in creation? Do we relate to it as a place full of “things” we can use for whatever need we want to fulfill and whatever goal we wish to accomplish? Or do we see creation first of all as a sacramental reality, a sacred space where God reveals to us the immense beauty of the Divine?

“

As long as we only use creation, we cannot recognize its sacredness because we are approaching it as if we are its owners. But when we relate to all that surrounds us as created by the same God who created us, and as the place where God appears to us and calls us to worship and adoration, then we are able to recognize the sacred quality of all God’s handiwork.”

– Henri Nouwen

Inspiring, Invisible Friends

Tonight I saw an inscription on a t-shirt in one of those catalogs that tempts you to order early Christmas gifts you don’t want or need:

Writer’s Block:

When your invisible friends won’t talk to you.

A writer’s “invisible friends” almost always get more vocal with practice.  And watch out, they wind up into an absolute frenzy when you regularly put them on center stage amidst props (a blaring orchestra, open curtains, and a waiting audience, perhaps). On the other hand, they WON’T talk to you is if they’re sentenced to the stuffy, introverted cave-life where there’s no reason to express themselves.

Truth is, when you write a little essay or short chapter or blog or SOMETHING daily - anything - it keeps the “invisible friends” going.  They build momentum with practice. With everyday stimulation, the “invisible friends” almost never QUIT talking, but chatter on subliminally in some subconscious closet with the moth-ball-infused woolens and old picture frames, plotting ways to put words together when the door swings open and they’re invited back out onto the stage to perform.

Sometimes the topic seems illusive when I start working on an entry for my weekly writing guild.  Either there are a million ways to address it, or else I draw a big fat blank. But how enchanting…almost always the “invisible friends” take over.  Had they been plotting?  How did they know this topic might show up? Or do they just do well under pressure, as spontaneous performers?

Many times when tackling one of these assignments I come up with a vague idea of a fictional main character, and maybe a setting, but little else.   Something about this person’s appearance and/or personality and/or circumstances sets the stage, but that's all.  So I depend on him or her (who IS this person, exactly?) to tell me the rest of the story.  And, miracle of miracles, a developed story emerges.  Where did it come from?  Hmmmmm? 

Some say creativity, others inspiration. A few might call it artistic license born of whim or fancy.  Just for tonight I’ll say maybe credits should go to those “invisible friends.”

Goof Ball(s)

Today I participated in a marathon: six hours of movie-viewing!  Not Hollywood-type movies, but some (not all) of my husband’s old extended silent family movies that have been transferred from their original reels to a DVD format for posterity.

The multi-generational pass-in-review can be summarized as…inspiring.  Seeing the march of relational ties through the last 75+ years (yes, they were fortunate enough to have movies dating back to the mid-30’s) portrayed an honest look into a family broadened by a wide scope of shared experiences and mutual commitment.

Perhaps my favorite was a series of my then-young mother-and-father-in-law diving in a swimming pool while on vacation in Florida.  She looked slim and poised with her perfect jackknives off the board, while he became the clown, stiffening and going off side-ways and/or with a crazed look. 

I’ve been married into the family for 40 years, and my father-in-law passed away over 10 years ago.  After 30 years of observing him as a highly respected, strong-and-stoic mature man with a quick wit, I FINALLY understood his long-standing nick-name: Goof Ball.

And maybe, just maybe, I understood some personality trait in his son a teeny bit better, too.  My hubby definitely inherited some of those Goof Ball genes!

Chance Meeting

There was just a hint of chill in the air this afternoon as I walked the road, absent-mindedly appreciating the red blush of color showing up in the trees but otherwise lost in thought. 

Suddenly a fat and fuzzy, charcoal-gray-colored, cigar-shaped-something-or-other scooted like a motorized toy across the road directly in front of me.  I jumped, not sure what to make of it, and it stopped as well to see what huge giant-of-a-creature I might be. 

The tiny mole turned his head my direction.  Could he see me?  I squinted as if with vicarious blindness.  Wanting a better look at his little pink nose, I and bent down as non-threateningly as I could and stared directly into his face.  But he turned away and resumed his earlier path with his smooth shuffle-of-a-walk to disappear in some rocks.

Where he is tonight?  Is he settling down for the cold weather somewhere? More than wondering about logistics though, I’m curious about his personality.  From our quick chance meeting, I’d guess he’s as endearing as the loveable Mole in Wind in the Willows.