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In the Desert

I'm reading this book.

I could probably start 99.9999 (repeating)% of my blog posts with that sentence.  :o)

Anyway, it is called In the Sanctuary of Women: A Companion for Reflection and Prayer by Jan L. Richardson.

It is a good read, but it's not a "knock it off in an afternoon" kind of book.  It's one of those where I read a few pages, and then go back and read them again.  It's full of green highlighter and lots of notes in the margins.

It's a combination of history, theological reflection, and storytelling.  And peppered throughout the book are Ms. Richardson's poems and prayers.

Maybe that's what makes it hard to read.  The poetry.

I'm a prose kind of girl.

Unless it's Dr. Seuss or Shel Silverstein, most poetry is over my head.

But I came across this one when I was reading yesterday.  As I read, I thought, "This woman has a hidden camera trained on my life."

Because this is exactly how I feel these days.


Dreaming in the Desert

It must be at least
eighty degrees already this morning.
Spring has barely begun,
which bodes ill
for the summer to come.
I can already feel my energy leaking out into the heat;
air conditioning barely stems
the lethargy that steals in and
pins me to my bed
most of the morning,
lulls me into reading
the next page of a book,
and the next
and the next
as I linger over breakfast
and then,
shortly after,
lunch.

I have read the desert mothers
and fathers
and so I know this is what
they called acedia:
weariness, listlessness,
lack of care.

Abba Evagrius called it
the noonday demon.

Amma Synclectica said
it was a sprit that must be cast out
mainly with prayer and psalmody.

And so I keep to my psalms
morning and night,
a thread in the fabric
of my fluid days,
though it will feel,
as summer oozes forward,
more and more like trying to stitch water together.

What would they have done,
I wonder,
thosoe ammas and abbas
blazing in the desert,
if they had known of
mint juleps and
wraparound porches,
ice cream and
swimming pools?

What would they have made
of ceiling fans
while cool jazz plays,
of Southern tea,
of chocolate shakes?

If the desert folk
had dreamed these things,
as I do
in these draining days,
would they
have uttered exorcisms,
chanted prayers for deliverance,

or
with the wisdom burned into them
by sun and desert sand,
would they have
for a moment
licked their lips,
closed their eyes,
and breathed
on low and longing
sigh?


Blessing

In the desert,
in the draining days
as wearying nights,
may delight find its way to you.

Happy Birthday

Dear Amazing Oldest Daughter,

I cannot believe it.  Today we celebrated your seventeenth birthday.  Seventeen!  In 365 short days, you will begin your road through adulthood.  And on this, your last "childhood" birthday, I've thought many times about that day--so long and so short--ago.  And where we are today.

In no particular order--

Seventeen years ago, I was finishing my last semester of college.  Today, I watch the college mail pile up on your desk and I listen to you as you share your college plans with people.  I can hear the excitement in your voice as you talk about it.

Seventeen years ago, I was sucking ice chips and panting through contractions  Today, we sipped lattes, sung to the radio, laughed, and had fun with friends.

Seventeen years ago, everyone in the hospital immediately commented on your amazing eyes.  Today people are still taken with your beautiful kaleidoscope eyes.


Seventeen years ago, your length was measured three times to make sure 24 1/4 inches was indeed correct.  I knew it was--I'd felt your feet under my ribs for three months!  Today, I know that you were using those beautiful dancing feet of yours even in utero.

Seventeen years ago, family and dear friends were anxiously awaiting your long overdue arrival.  Today, these same people who sat for hours in the waiting room so they could be among the first people to welcome you to Earth are among your biggest fans and your most ardent supporters.

Seventeen years ago, I had no idea what I was doing when they handed you to me.  I had never been a mother before.  Today, I still have no idea what I'm doing.  I'm a first-time mom with everything you do.  And you have been amazingly understanding about it.

Seventeen years ago, I held you in my arms and I was sure it would be an eternity before you'd even be old enough to go to kindergarten.  Today, I wonder how time got away from me and how on earth you grew up so fast and if I could have done something to slow it down some.

Seventeen years ago, I was awed by the tiny person you were.  I wondered what your life would be like...the kind of personality you'd have, what your talents and gifts would be.  Today, I am still constantly amazed by the child you were, the young lady you are, and the woman you are becoming.  And I know it isn't always easy.  Hang in there.

Seventeen years ago, you and I went through quite a physical ordeal to bring us to the place where you call me "mother" and I call you "daughter."  Today,  we navigate through the end of your teenage years to bring us to a place where hopefully, we will call each other "friend."

Seventeen years ago, a nurse placed you in my arms for the first time.  I looked at you and I remember thinking, I have never in my life seen anyone so beautiful  And I have never in my life been so completely in love like this.  Tonight, as I gave you one last hug and told you "happy birthday" one last time, I thought: I have never in my life seen anyone so beautiful.  And I have never in my life been so completely in love like this.


Happy, happy seventeenth, my dear!  And here's to the next three hundred sixty five days!

Love,
Mom

Do You Like Green Eggs and Ham?

Not so much, Sam-I-Am.

Happy Dr. Seuss Day!!