Mom Linville's Birthday

From Don and Kay in Garden City comes this photo of one of mom Linville's amaryllis plants (more correctly, a descendant thereof) blooming in their sunroom on Monday of this week. As Don noted, just in time for her birthday. Bertha Williams was born on this date 101 years ago in a Western Kansas dugout. A true pioneer, she loved flowers and grew an amazing variety of them despite the challenges of surviving in a a dry, windy, hot, freezing, dusty, unpredictable climate. The amaryllis was only one of the beautiful things that she passed on to her children and their children over the years. And she was the best mother-in-law I could have ever hoped for. Nine years since her passing, we still miss her.

Opening to the Holy

In Central Missouri, there is a retreat center known as Rickman Camp and Conference center, which is owned by the regional Disciples of Christ church. I spent the weekend of March 23-24 there with 21 other women. The rest of the story of the retreat can be found on Home Stories. About 11 a.m. on Saturday, I explored the prayer trail, and found all kinds of small details and wonders to photograph as I walked. I was practicing being in the present moment, trying to be open to what my heart or soul might have learned during the retreat. Our leader, an artist, talked about coming back to her art after many years, finding it a gift she could use for ministry.

Over the years I have explored many gifts, including writing, quilting, photography, and others. But one sensibility I've had since I was very young is an appreciation for the natural world and a desire to experience its myriad changes and moods.
I've collected rocks since I was in grade school (but I left this one in place after taking its picture.). I've identified trees and flowers and birds and tracked the stars.

The night before I took this walk, I had gone outside for half an hour to just sit on a bench in the darkness. Something the leader had shared with us had reminded me of accounts I had read of the old Cherokees and other Native Americans who said they needed physical contact with the ground in order to connect with the Great Spirit. I took off my shoes and socks and let the coolness of the ground seep up through my feet.

As I sat absorbing the silence, I began to hear the peeping of little frogs that come out as a first sign of spring. The next day when I shared that, people seemed surprised that anyone would know what had made the sound. I'm wondering if this is a gift I can use again at this stage of my life. What does it mean that I see the delicate web of a spider in the woods by the prayer trail, or a lichen-covered stump?

A hillside near an outdoor chapel on the Center's grounds is covered with huge, ancient cedar (actually, juniper) trees. They were about to bloom and release a ton of pollen into the air, much to the dismay of anyone with allergies. Even the tiniest thing in Nature can have a profound effect on humans. After I came in from sitting in the night, my feet in contact with the ground, my ears open to the silence, I wrote this:

All the world is quiet except for the buzzing of a street light, the click of a cardoor and someone rolling a suitcase up the walk. And a far off roar of traffic on the highway. And the FROGS! So faint...spring peepers, that falsetto soprano chorus... first night sounds of Spring.

I have to be grounded--I could never live in a high rise, or even on a second floor with a lovely deck. I need the ground to walk on. If only I could be limber enough again to sit down on it, kneel on it, lie on it, and feel the energy of the Earth flow into me, rekindle my spirit. BUT I'm not yet ready to be IN the ground--because I also need to see the sky.