Do We Despise Devoted Lives?

I was brought up as a poor child, from a big family, in a big city,
Where we were taught that the way to prosper was to depend on others' pity.
My many bayou relatives were much like these rural mountain folks;
I didn't share in their hard work, but I entertained them with my jokes.
How many of us could live like Jack, in perfect humility,
Going about doing what he believes in, for all the community to see?
And what about Mountain Mama who resists much outside pressure
To place, in another's care, her daughter, the child she's always treasured?

Neither of these folks is expecting any of society's accolades
For the beds that they've made for themselves, and on which their lives are laid.
They do what they do because this is what they believe is right and just;
Jack is still somewhat embarrassed when others, over him, make a fuss.
Mountain Mama offers employment to those who come to her for help in their need;
She doesn't believe in supporting laziness or in living a life of greed.
Both of them mind their own business rather than seeking out others to assist,
But if they weren't here with their stalwart examples, they would sorely be missed.

Mountain Mama has accumulated much in her many years on this earth;
She still celebrates that her children are caring people, not afraid of work.
Jack shows us by his way of life how very little we need to survive;
In his small cabin with no electricity, he not only survives, he thrives.
I saw him on a cold, rainy day when his wood stove was warming his home;
His kettle on the top is his humidifier, and he made a double boiler in the dome.
How many of us think about the many ways we can put a tool to use?
We load our lives with every advertised gadget; there's no comfort we refuse.

I don't mean to paint a picture that I think either of these friends is perfect,
But I am humbled in their presence by how hard they both are willing to work.
Many people don't understand their choices, and instead of appreciating them,
Look upon their unwillingness to conform as a form of prideful sin.
Isn't this the way of most of us in this world of followers and loud-mouth leaders?
We don't really want to see as good the ways of the quietly confident believers?
We begin to poke fun at them and spread about them vicious lies,
As we watch them then look inside ourselves and find things we despise.

Bill and His Boys

Bill came over with his chain saw to harvest fallen trees;
His twin boys helped him haul it in the cold December breeze.
I watched out of my window as this father taught his sons;
I could see in him parts of the men that they will become.

As they stood a safe distance from the flying pine debris,
Their playful boyish interaction was a joy to see.
They tussled and tumbled in the grass near the tree
I caught glimpses of who this pair will come to be.

Like two young lion cubs learning proper teamwork,
They assured me they were taking a break, not ones to shirk.
Their daddy kept them close, under his watchful, loving gaze,
Taking time to with his children to teach them their family's ways.

It's pure pleasure to see parents teaching children good work;
This, in a small rural community, can be such a perk.
Family businesses thrive when everyone pitches in;
The labor laws don't hold them back;handshakes insure friends.

It is such a pity that so many parents of teenagers
Give up when stakes are highest in the parenting wagers.
The children need us most when they are coming into their own,
Separating the wheat from the chaff in the seeds we have sown.

They don't need for us to defend the mistakes we have made;
They need us to begin evening the odds in the groundwork we've laid.
The benefit is that they may approach the world with justice;
We can enjoy the fruits of our labors while our souls are at rest.

Magical Manifestations

Written by Gayle in her blog, One Bird Watching:

"In his autobiography Surprised by Joy, C.S.Lewis writes about those moments of joy that began for him at the age of six, as he gazed out the window of his nursery and saw something that he could not define but that later he was to call "the secret signature of each soul," the longing "not merely to see beauty...but to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it" (Transposition and Other Addresses, 1949."

I, too, remember that six-year-old wonder and complete openness to unbridled awe and joy. This was the age when I was taken by train across the country to Colorado. I can still feel the majesty of the purple mountains seen for the first time and the immensity of the amber waves of grain.

Some of my most precious moments have been in sharing the wonder of cherished children. I had the privileged of holding a friends thre-year-old daughter on my lap the first time she experienced three-dimensional bubbles "floating" over her head. The absolute innocent abandon of that child as she reached for the bubbles with absolute faith in their reality was a wonder to behold.

I was also gifted with watching my two-year-old grandson as he first experienced sunset over Lake Pontchartrain. He ran to the window, held out his hand, and with absolute awe said, "Granny, see the big orange ball! Can I touch it?" I didn't see the need to immediately dis-abusive them of their innocent belief that these were things that they could hold in their hands. I simply enjoyed sharing their magic with them.

I also know how this feeling has been systematically attacked in me and other innocents by those who wish to control our passions and pretend to know the unknowable. Six-years-old is when I was taught the intrinsic evil of humanity and all the shame that this belief entails. We were taught to examine our consciences every night for the evil that we visited on the world rather than remembering and being grateful for every moment of magic that was produced for our pleasure.

I don't really care about what makes the sky appear blue, or the mountain tops in Colorado seem purple. I prefer to believe that tiny infants' smiles are signs of dancing with the angels rather than gas pains. I do believe that my manifestations of The Almighty are just as valid as those manifestations written about by the scribes in what is accepted as Judeo-Christian sacred scripture. I don't believe this makes me an atheist or an agnostic; I believe this makes me, once again, able to embrace my own innocence.

There is much in creation that we are not meant to define, only to enjoy. I have come to accept that there are different visions of The Almighty, just as we have differing visions of each of our loved ones. I believe that if we could explain and define The Almighty once and for all, this would limit The Creative Energy that powers all of creation.

A Place of Prayer

Simply being here is a form of living prayer,
With the beauty and wonders of Creation everywhere:
In the breeze that blows through the tall trees,
To fish jumping is our pond whenever they please.

To the hammock that beckons people with their books,
And the gurgle of clear, cold water running in our brooks.
To the wild blueberries on our own property's hills,
And the horse stalls that may one day be less still.

Sharing our bounty seems to be that for which we were born,
And even though our methods often bring us scorn,
We continue to be open to the voices of others
Who seem to want us as their sister and brother.

I believe that the voice of Divinity that defines our place
Comes from the throats and lips of the human race.
We have been blessed with much time here on earth
In which we have been asked to put others first.

Though I've lived in fear that our resources would run out,
I know that sharing is what community is about.
We have many people who I know will share with us, too,
But asking for help can be the hardest thing that we do.

We feel called to continue in this small community,
But from our roots in New Orleans we cannot break free.
We are one more step toward what seems our new mission;
Living two lives in two states is a big decision.

Our property managers, Marshajene and Bill, were coming;
Our place must present well against other rentals in the running.
We know that Bill is a simple meat and potatoes man,
So it wasn't too difficult to come up with supper plans.

We went down to Sav-a-Lot and bought some nice steaks,
Mushrooms and onions, potatoes to be mashed, not baked.
Some Mayfield vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup,
Combined with peanut butter cookies made a fine dessert.

After all day of cleaning to prepare our house for inspection
We were glad for the easily prepared menu selection.
It will be nice to envision our home, when we are away,
Being enjoyed by those who seek a quiet place to pray.

Found Food

Once again we're cooking up a storm in Coker Creek;
How could we resist, when the weather was so bleak?
We are attempting to spend down food in our freezer,
And provide meals to Mountain Mama that are sure to please her.
We've already delivered Italian sausage and vegetable compote;
This was made for a Ruritan supper when we arrived from places remote.

We found frozen squash that we had grown in Mountain Mama's garden,
Used her daughter-in-law's recipe and to create casseroles for friends.
Today, I baked peanut butter cookies from Helen's recipe,
While Richard requested help on projects from me.
I served my man, for lunch, some hot chicken soup,
While he took a break from work in order to regroup.

The chicken soup was from foods found in the freezer;
Fresh vegetables were added, but frozen bounty made it easier.
The sun has come out after dustings of new white snow,
So Richard can deliver, to our friends, meals to go.
The Monroe County Buzz offered me a columnist's spot
To write about events that in Coker Creek that are hot.

Nancy has a greed to be a local correspondent
But I'll be happy to write about whatever news I'm sent.
Jack's new book is something the locals will celebrate;
After reading his first book they didn't want to wait.
We are happy to be where we can do some community good,
Even if our service is limited to words and food.

To Disagree Without Disrespect

I had a spirited exchange with W regarding dogma and divinity;
It seems she has different biblical interpretations than me.
She said that many people find her a bit abrasive
I told her I like to talk with people who aren't evasive.
We spoke of the way things are said in the mountains
And laughed at how differently city folk pronounce things.
We agreed that different bibles have different translations,
But she rejected the idea that this opened it to interpretation.
She almost blew a gasket when I made the suggestion
That holy scripture is suffering from the bible editors' rejections.

We agreed that The Holy Spirit has forever been,
But she believes until Jesus died wasn't available to men.
While I believe that divine revelation is still being scribed,
She believes only the bible is forever alive.
We did agree that it is more important to witness by ministry
Than to speak beautiful words, but from responsibility be free.
What was so sweet and really touched my heart and soul
Was she asked me to forgive her if she hurt me with beliefs she holds.
What's to forgive? Neither of our beliefs were disrespected,
I felt a great deal of camaraderie, certainly not rejected.

Heartache and the Aged

I have a very dear ninety-two-year-old friend for whom my heart aches;
She has always defined herself by her work and by what she makes.
She married as a fourteen-year-old, to one of her daddy's farmhands;
She knew he'd be a good partner after watching him work the land.
She's widowed and has buried the son who was her best friend and neighbor.
Her oldest daughter has Alzheimer's; from the nursing home her mama saved her.
But now my old and dear mountain mama has no respite from her memories.
She can't travel or make a garden, and her daughter she can't often please.
Her health is good, as is her mind; she's not sure that's a blessing
She's grateful for her life, but feels she should be eternally resting.
How is it that our families live in such loneliness and isolation,
When we are told that we have too many people living in creation?
Is it because we're afraid to honestly face each other's pain,
Knowing there is nothing we can do to make their lives whole again?