I know we are instructed as Christians to give thanks in everything, but there are things that we can’t honestly give thanks for. I’ll start with one of those Bad events:
While my family was here, we had the unhappy discovery that the fairy house creations at the creek had been vandalized, and Ivy’s beautiful sign torn down. We could tell it wasn’t just city maintenance workers reducing the fire hazard or anything like that, because although the dry grass had been chopped down a lot, it wasn’t a thorough job. And there was graffiti on the far side of the creek, along with gnomes thrown into the stream and various items disappeared altogether. The fairy who had through many seasons hovered overhead by means of fishing line, was not to be seen.
My gnome before.
My granddaughter found her sign and hung it up in a less conspicuous place. Probably the presence of the sign had drawn the attention of the vandals to the opportunity to destroy something. We were both very sad about this, and angry. But I don’t think Ivy has given up; I won’t be surprised if the next time she is visiting down here I find myself collaborating on a rehabilitation of the fairy village.
In the meantime, on her recent visit, Ivy came bearing my own garden gnome, meticulously painted so that he is better than new.
Starting with the refurbished gnome, I have only Good things to report.
Near a different creek that runs through my neighborhood, is a lovely city park that is Ever Green with soccer fields and Coast Redwood trees. Pathfinder and I went there with his nephews on the way back from the grieved fairy house village, and the three of them threw a football to each other for a while. I walked around taking pictures of them and of the trees that have only grown more majestic over the 36 years since we first visited them a block from our house. What a blessing they are.
On my own property, my only dahlia has bloomed for the first time. After I had forgotten planting it and before I noticed it happening it was fully open, and startled me.
Decades ago I had quite a few dahlias, but there wasn’t really room for them, so I gave them away. For a recent birthday a friend gave me a dahlia tuber, which I’d first planted in a pot, where it barely survived. So I planted it in the front garden, where it is a Good.
And the final great Good for today is Queen Anne’s Lace, growing quite mysteriously and so welcome at the corner of my own driveway. Over the years several other species have volunteered themselves among the oenethera there, mostly arriving from the garden on the other side of the driveway. This is the first wildflower that has traveled all the way from the creek path. I can hardly believe my good fortune at the bestowal of this beloved plant. May it ever increase!
This afternoon the sun came out, but my house was cold, so I took my lunch into the garden and sat in the sunshine, on the edge of the planter box. A few inches away several plants were draping their heavy, flowery stems over the brick area between my seat and the fig tree: Milkweed, salvia, borage, oregano, and lavender were all tucked in close together. The bees were loving it. Carpenter bees, honeybees, some little bees I didn’t recognize. It’s very sweet to be able to take a few steps out my back door and find myself in a world where a thousand tiny creatures are flying about and feasting.
My hands were occupied, I couldn’t take pictures of them, and that was nice for a change. I did take pictures on other days so I am sharing those here. The two just above are from the front garden, where the pincushion flowers are a bit hit. Leafcutter is new to me. While she was buzzing around and I first caught glimpses of all that yellow, I thought maybe it was pollen. But no, it’s not on her legs, it’s her own body that’s so bright. [But YES, shoreacres explains in a comment below, while it’s not on her legs, it is indeed pollen!]
Yes, the pollinators love all these flowers, too: the white echinacea, germander, and salvia clevelandii. I took the picture above just after I propped up the pincushion flowers that grew to 6 feet, looking for the sun. I hadn’t realized that that area is now Part Shade, because of the crape myrtle. I’ll have to move the pincushions in the fall; it’s quite a jumble in there with the flowers in back shorter than the ones in front. I’m in no hurry to do it as long as the bees are so happy.
My first draft of this post was just the poem and painting below,
but then my own bees got added to Emily’s.
It’s all we have.
IT’S ALL I HAVE TO BRING TODAY
It’s all I have to bring today — This, and my heart beside — This, and my heart, and all the fields — And all the meadows wide — Be sure you count — should I forget Some one the sum could tell — This, and my heart, and all the Bees Which in the Clover dwell.
My celebrations of Pentecost last year and this had one thing in common, that I was running short on sleep. Last year, in Thessaloniki*, it was because I had stayed up late the night before talking to an old friend. Today, I had waked at about 4:30 and was a bit dopey for the next twelve hours, until I came home and took a nap.
I just noticed that I never wrote here about Pentecost in Greece. I celebrated the feast at the The Church of Panagia Archeiropoietos that I had toured with my guide Maria a few days before. In the linked post I told about the blue-veined marble floors from the 5th century, symbolically arranged so that near the front, curvier veins make it look like rivers flowing out from the altar out to the back of the temple.
A few days later I attended Divine Liturgy in that church. On Pentecost we Orthodox have Kneeling Vespers shortly after Liturgy. This service includes three long prayers, “Again and again on bended knee,” and there I was down on that venerable floor, listening to the prayers in Greek, not knowing the language. I was beginning to feel sleepy, and almost dozed off. As special as it was to kneel there, I didn’t want to hit my head on that marble, knowing that any new cracks that might develop would be in my skull. So for the second two prayers I sat.
Today
Today I was in my home parish, and it was a very joyous day! We received five new members into our church family before Liturgy, and that is always cause for celebration in itself. We typically have a potluck on Pentecost for our agape meal, instead of our usual arrangement of having a different team each week that plans and cooks a meal for 200 people. Today lots of people brought desserts, which were very popular. I was working in the bookstore, which is in the fellowship hall, and I got to meet two new catechumens and sell lots of books.
At Vespers, I didn’t kneel on the (cement) floor, because there was space on a rug. But it was a strain to make my groggy mind pay attention to the words. Soon after I came home I slept. Sunday afternoon naps are so often needed, and such a gift.
Just after I woke, a friend from church texted me that he could come over and help me move the last of my furniture back into place, things that had been moved for painting and carpet cleaning. I’m still able to move a lot of stuff myself, but this afternoon we needed to put a twin bed back together and push-pull a chest of drawers into the bedroom where my new housemate will be living. I don’t think I told you about her before, and I probably won’t tell you much about her in the future, but I’m very excited to have a student living here, a dear girl whom I’ve known since she was a baby.
After that, there was still enough sunlight for me to wander a bit and take pictures of the garden. The Tasmanian Flax, Dianella tasmanica, is at the berry stage, covered with its grapey fruits. Those beautiful fruits are toxic “to an unknown degree,” at least to humans, but birds are said to enjoy them in the plant’s home territory of southeastern Australia.
What a wonderful day it has been. Tomorrow is Holy Spirit Day, and it would be lovely to continue the overflowing blessing of Pentecost into another day, and attend Divine Liturgy. If I go to bed early enough (like now), it could happen.
I wish you all a Happy June ❤
*If you’d like to read my other posts from Thessaloniki, they will all open up when you click on this tag: Thessaloniki.
The week previous to being in that city, I was with family on the Island of Paros, Greece, and the posts I wrote about that time are here: Paros.
This week I commemorate the anniversaries of two very meaningful events of my life, eleven years ago: The baptism of one goddaughter and the repose in death of another. I am reposting what I wrote back then, as a thank offering for these two people with whom I have been blessed to walk on the path to the Kingdom.
Rereading my thoughts back then, I see that they are an example of how writing about my grief helped me to process it, and to find a way to thank God in the midst of it. My past self often encourages my present self this way. I don’t feel the need to write as urgently as I did back then, but I still need reminders of all the good things. Here’s the post from 2015:
Joy and sorrow have been mixed up together for me this week, as it has been life-eventful in a similar way to the days surrounding my husband’s death two months ago.
Yesterday morning as I was standing at the kitchen sink I noticed out the window that the foxglove was blooming. I had been neglecting the garden and never noticed the flower stalk that must have been shooting up.
It was another overcast beginning of a day, perfect for pictures, so I went out with my camera to see what I could see – there’s a lot of beauty in my messy garden right now.
Over the last several years I’ve had the honor of being the sponsor/godmother to three women who all came into the Church as adults. One of them, Kathleen, told me when I first met her that she had a medical condition that was probably going to kill her, though her symptoms were well-managed at the time. We lived in the same neighborhood and became close friends.
Kathleen declined very quickly in the last few months; I was consumed with my husband’s care and didn’t know how ill she was, until he died and she gave out of her need to our family. She came to our house, barely able to walk in a straight line, and spent at least an hour reading Psalms and weeping by his coffin.
Kathleen at Mr. Glad’s casket
A couple of weeks ago she went into the hospital and was put on hospice care; many of us from church have been visiting her and I know she has felt the love of the Lord through His people. She’s been very peaceful in her distress.
The experience has been less peaceful for me, because of the similarities of her decline to what I went through so recently. I was angry for a week, over having to reawaken this chapter of my grief. For two days I couldn’t make myself go to the hospital to see her — I was too disabled by emotion to face the staff and other people who might be around, and I wished that K. were still at her house where I could be alone with her.
My priest came to the rescue when he asked me to come along the first time he brought her Communion in the hospital, and since then I’ve spent many hours by her side, talking at first, and reading things she wanted to hear.
rhododendron bud
At the same time, I was helping to prepare for the baptism of a new baby in our church, little Mary, for whom I had been asked to be godmother, way back in the early part of the year. Last week I had the joy of laundering the baptismal gown that she would wear, a dear little dress in which her mother had also been baptized.
Sunday was the day: “Our” new baby was dipped in the font, and her tiny squirming self placed immediately in a big towel in my arms. I helped to dress her in this frock and put her new cross around her neck. Then she was anointed with holy chrism, “sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit.”
If you have never had a whiff of holy chrism, it’s worth attending an Orthodox baptism just to get an inkling of what it is like to participate with all your senses in the realities of the faith. In my parish all the newly-illumined carry about them this scent of heaven for at least a few hours, but this was the first time I held a goddaughter in my arms and was able to share so intimately the added sweetness, reminiscent of my own baptism eight years ago, by nuzzling a baby. It was a wonderful, almost magical day, all through, but just the beginning for Mary. I look forward to praying for her and loving her for many years on this earth. For that matter, after I leave this earth, why would I want to stop?
chives
Kathleen wasn’t able to attend the baptism, but afterward I spent some time with her and told her about her new godsister. Later in the week she lost the ability to talk, but we kept on reading psalms and prayers for her. We anointed her with holy oil and tried to make sure she was comfortable; one friend played music through Ancient Faith Radio on her smart phone for a few hours last night.
This week I have begun to understand that the timing of these events is a gift from the Lord. He’s giving me the means of experiencing the sorrow and meaning of my husband’s end of life in a way I wasn’t free to do at the time, because I was caught up in the swirl of decisions and tasks and being there in each moment. I didn’t have time to think, “These are the last days, or hours. You are about to be cut apart from your soul’s partner.”
But at this point I have been able to pray for Kathleen and grieve for myself at the same time. It’s certainly not anything pleasant, but I can appreciate the benefit, because I am someone who likes to do a thorough job of whatever is necessary. Kathleen fell asleep in the Lord early this morning when none of her friends was with her. May her memory be eternal!
At noon four of us women from church prepared her body for burial, washing it and smoothing it all over with a special olive oil that had been infused with heady aromas of flowers. At the end of life, as at the beginning, out of love we lavish good smells. I was reluctant to wash my hands afterward, not wanting to lose the reminder of the grace that we all felt, and the honor of being able to minister to this earthly vessel, the body that was her means of worshiping God all these years.
The flowers in my garden tell this story that is the story of all of us: …as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more. But the mercy of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting….
One blossom is just opening, exquisite and pure, and right next to it in God’s garden another flower has faded and will soon return to the earth from which she sprang not so long ago.
helianthemum
But that will not be the end, because we are not flowers, but humans made in God’s image. Jesus Christ assures us, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live,and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.” (John 11:25-26)
Even though we are more than flowers, I am reluctant to be done with the metaphor. So, think of this: As we are made in God’s image, we have the potential and the opportunity to be gardeners of souls the way He is, co-laborers in loving the people around us, as we are cared for by Him. Let us tend His garden with love, as long as He gives us strength.
Tomorrow is one of the Soul Saturdays that we have in the Orthodox Church, on which we commemorate those who have gone to their rest. Archbishop Stylianos tells us that “Christians always took care, with memorial services and charitable acts done especially on Saturdays, to stay close to their dead and ask God for their repose and salvation.”
This spring appears to be a time God has specially given to me to stay close to my dead, so I will attend liturgy and eat koliva. Next week I will also read Psalms by Kathleen’s casket in the church, and attend her funeral.
We will be in the season of Pentecost then. My heart is more peaceful and light than last week, and it will be further nourished in this season when we sing, “The Holy Spirit has descended!” Enliven us, O Lord.
-eventful in a similar way to the days surrounding my husband’s death two months ago.
But at this point I have been able to pray for Kathleen and grieve for myself at the same time. It’s certainly not anything pleasant, but I can appreciate the benefit, because I am someone who likes to do a thorough job of whatever is necessary. Kathleen fell asleep in the Lord early this morning when none of her friends was with her. May her memory be eternal!
Tomorrow is one of the Soul Saturdays that we have in the Orthodox Church, on which we commemorate those who have gone to their rest. Archbishop Stylianos tells us that “Christians always took care, with memorial services and charitable acts done especially on Saturdays, to stay close to their dead and ask God for their repose and salvation.”
Gladsome Lights 