Breathing

Last night we dropped our son off at his event, then drove fifteen minutes to the beach. We walked out to the edge of the ocean and sat on the sand. Others walked or jogged by, their long shadows across the sand, but it was our evening to sit. To sit and watch the waves, a couple of surfers, the couple with their little dog who wore a bib, "Adopt me," the sun drop lower in the sky.



I listened, attempting to put the sound of the waves into letters. It was as if the ocean was breathing. The waves broke on the sand with an exhale, "Wwhhrshsh."

The waves, pulled back out to sea with an inhale, a whistle, like someone softly snoring, "Sssfftt."

Rhythm. Consistent breathing, in, out, in, out. Motion, a reliable pattern. A painting or a photo of the ocean is only one tiny time slot, a small still life of the perpetual energy, always changing, alive. I could sit for hours, listening to the slow breath of the ocean against the shore, the rhythm as it exhales, then inhales.

The real purpose of going to the beach was to pick up a jar of sand. (Well, my purpose is always to watch the waves, to listen, to enjoy the feel of the wind and smell the salt in the air.) Our son is getting married this weekend in Arizona. We will drive there, taking sand from the Pacific Ocean. His fiancee's mom flew in from Houston,Texas, where she grew up, with a jar of sand from the Gulf. As part of the ceremony, they will combine the sands, west coast and southeast, symbolizing the joining of their past and combined lives. A symbol of the rhythm of life, the breath of their new married life, together.

Steeped in Prayer

"Great God,
In public and in private,
In sanctuary and in home,
May my life be steeped in prayer,
Filled with the spirit of grace and supplication,
Each prayer perfumed with the incense of   atoning blood.
Help me, defend me,
Until from praying ground
I pass to the realm of unceasing praise."

                                                             -Valley of Vision

joining with others at www.deidrariggs.com for quiet Sunday worship
 

Lincoln's Letter

This poignant letter of condolence, written by Abraham Lincoln to Mrs. Lydia Bixby toward the end of the Civil War, was printed in the Boston Evening Transcript on November 25, 1864.

Dear Madam, 

I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts, that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle.

I feel how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save.

I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of Freedom.

Yours very sincerely and respectfully,
A. Lincoln 

Mrs. Bixby
Boston, Massachusetts

Although there is historical question as to the loss of all five sons, Lincoln's heartfelt point recognizing the deep loss to families remains true and accurate.

The lines from the second verse of the Star Spangled Banner say it so well:

"O thus be it ever, when free men shall stand,
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!"

This Memorial Day, remember to give thanks for those who have gone before us, those who have suffered and died for the freedoms we appreciate today. Don't take them for granted. They come at great cost.

Topsy Turvy

Five Minute Friday. Topic by www.thegypsymama.com. Write, five minutes, go with the flow.
Today, Opportunity.

Go.

Opportunity? We are renters. I am a gardener. I love plants. Flowers. Growing things. It is kind of an obsession. No, it is an obsession. I have to have plants around me. Have to. What is a renter to do without roots in the ground? When we have to move, it is a literal tearing out the roots for me. So, I stopped (well, almost) planting anything in the ground.

I resort to pots. There are still lots of possibilities with pots. Flowers do well in pots, and pots are moveable, transportable, flexible. Like I have to be. No roots in the ground. Or, roots that are easily pulled up. Roots that are adjustable, but sometimes, when we move, I have to leave the pots behind. Tough for this gardening girl to do. Throws me topsy-turvy. Out of kilter, dumped upside down.

Like my topsy-turvy tomato plant. Don't they know plants are supposed to grow from the roots up? Who got the idea to grow them from the roots down? But you know what?? They still grow. They still insist on growing, even upside down. Even if you throw me upside down, even if my roots are uprooted, I will re-plant, I will insist on still growing. In new soil, in a new place, I will take the opportunity to grow, even if it means being upside down.

Time is up.

Lessons Learned. Again.

One of our sons is part of the Civil Air Patrol, an organization for young people affiliated with the Air Force. They are trained in leadership, teamwork, and life skills. We are pleased with the caliber of training they receive each week, and the growth we see in our son.

This week, they were divided into four groups, about five in each group, and given a puzzle. Three of the groups had a 100 piece 3-D puzzle, the other group a 1,000 piece puzzle. The instructions were to complete all the puzzles in the time given, 30 minutes. Each group was assigned a leader. Go.

The group our son was in worked together, laughed and completed their puzzle ahead of the allotted time. They sat back, watched the other groups, and wondered what great prize they were going to receive for winning, proud of their efforts to work together and complete the task, quickly and efficiently.

Time is up. The Commander asked, "What were my instructions?"

"To complete the puzzle."

"No, to complete all the puzzles."

Realization dawned. Oh, no. They missed the point. The group, proud of being first, suddenly became last, the one yelled at for not paying attention to detail and turning it into a competition rather than the unit working together as a whole. Wow. An impressive lesson for these young people. The point is not the competition. Leadership. They had worked well within their team, but those same skills should have been extended to the other teams once their task was accomplished.

This is a challenging lesson. We are a competitive people. (At least I am. More competitive than I'd like to admit). We watch others succeed, have more, be more, do more. We wonder why we can't succeed like that. It is hard to understand that the best way to succeed is to help others succeed.

Live a Good Story

I sit at the computer. What is this idea of living a good story?

My three (at home) boys. Not so little now. Teens, manhood knocking at their door, waiting for them to open, escort them through. My guys are in the living room, watching the movie, Transformers. Caught, absorbed, living Sam's story by osmosis.

I wash yesterday's dishes.

A robin bounces across the lawn, hop hop, pause, hop hop, pause. Watching for the worm that will become part of its story, that may become part of the stalking cat's story. (I hope not).

One of the guys sits forward on the edge of the couch, enthralled with the intensity of the scene. What is this ability to tell a good story? The ability to capture the attention, the emotions, the heart and intensity of a life well lived?

I don't know how Transformers was written. I imagine someone asking, "What if?" One of those days when their car was driving like it had a mind of its own. What if it really was being driven by aliens? Add a pretty girl, a cool car that goes really fast. Not to mention turns into an alien robot. Make the robot of epic proportions, the conflict, the heart of the universe. Not just saving our world, the universe. The story every boy [man] wants to live.

I swat an annoying fly in the kitchen. Fold a load of laundry and put it away.

Cars flip and explode. Soldiers yell and rally, a team, working together, sacrificing all to save all. Each other. The pretty girl, dirt smudged on her face, her hair not so perfect now.  Sam says, in a light-hearted moment, "I bought a car that turned out to be an alien robot. Who knew?" An ordinary action became an extra-ordinary story.

Mix the meatloaf, put it in the oven. Peel the potatoes, simmer them in the pot.

The robot is willing to give of its heart.To sacrifice all in order to save the universe. "I will sacrifice myself." "A necessary sacrifice to bring peace."

Interesting. My story, closely intertwined with others. Willing to give of my heart, to serve others for a greater cause. As I give of my time, my work, my efforts to make others' stories happen, my story is written, too. Not in the literal sense of the robin or the cat, but in an intertwined, interwoven pattern. Interrelated with the stories of those around us. My story, it cannot be just my story, but a story that involves many others. And the stories of others involve me.

When those around us ask a lot of us, do we respond, "No, you are interrupting my story." Or, do we weave the stories together, theirs and ours? My story is not just my story, but a part of the story of all around me, influencing them, them influencing me. Our stories, interwoven.

The closing line of the movie, "There is more to us than meets the eye." Live a good story. What is your story, today? What is there, more than meets the eye? Isn't that what makes a good story? Characters, growing, changing, challenged, meeting those challenges, becoming more than who they were. To live a good story, we meet the challenges of today, grow, and alongside others, become more than who we were.

Outnumbered

"How precious also are Thy thoughts to me, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
If I should count them, they would outnumber the sand."

Psalm 139: 17-18

joining for a quiet Sunday with jumping tandem, www.deidrariggs.com