Choosing joy and gratitude

Bee balm: a funky, raggedy, and joyous!

I like to think that I'm a "glass is half full" kind of person. The truth is that while the glass may be half full, it does have a chip on the rim or there is some bit of floating lint or insect piece. Yes, half full, but...

Wouldn't be bad if I were to keep my observations to myself or let them bounce and slide, ice-cube-like, off the edge and onto the floor. But no. I'm in the bad habit of wearing mild disappointments confidently--not loudly or brazenly, but with quiet assurance. Ask me "How are you?" and you're likely to get, "OK" or "Not bad."

Geesshhh! I don't want to be around me sometimes! ...

Powerless

Where to begin? The laundry is drying on the line. Rosie and Abby are doing their part to turn the compost. The bees are busy. The day began with prayer and writing, preparing Carl's lunch, exercising, then more prayer, some tears, and two phone calls.

Congo is calling. David Kasali has invited me to come to UCBC and work there. The invitation came as a surprise several weeks ago during the USA Board meeting of Congo Initiative. For the past four weeks the request has marinated in my head and heart. But this entry isn't about all of that. It's about the lessons of this morning.Vulnerability. Powerlessness. Quiet Confidence.

Several years ago I had the privilege of learning a lesson that has served me well: When I admit my weaknesses, I know the greatest strength. That strength usually manifests itself through people as God uses family, friends, acquaintances, and even strangers to meet needs in sometimes surprising ways. Almost every time I ask someone for help, I am blessed with sufficiency and surprise. ...

Gentle into the night

The bees have come home to the hive for the night. Dozens of them (guard bees?) cluster at the entrance. I like to think they are keeping sentry, but I haven't checked the books to confirm this notion. Rosie and Abby, the chickens, are perched on their roost. A mockingbird calls out from the telephone pole, and the fireflies float, calling silently with their tiny bursts of light. It's a gentle ending to a full day.

The gift of the evening was sitting with Dad on the edge of his bed, lightly rubbing his back as he tried to brush away the cobwebs of confusion.

He had, as is the course of his day, spent his day sleeping. I had called at 4:45, just before his dinnertime, offering to come by and visit. But he was too confused to make a decision. He had been sleeping. He could only manage to think about going down for dinner. We agreed he would call me after dinner.

He forgot to call. ...

Thunderstorm

Thunderstorm this morning. Sheets of rain.

Thunder echoes and rolls across the soundscape. First behind me, then in front. High overhead it drones.

I love the sounds of rain. Tap-tapping on the gutters. Skittering on patio and pavement.

The wash of rain cascades across the summer vegetation of trees and shrubs and plants. A chorus of sound. A chorus of wet and damp and lush.

Rainy days in summer are my forced time-out. And I need time-outs from the busyness that claims the days.

Today's rain drives me to still. To wait out. To site here on the screen porch and listen.

Welcoming the girls

A week ago, April 14, I picked up my bees, affectionately called, "the girls" (apologies to the drones in the hive--the few hundred males whose only lot in life is to mate).

My brother-in-law and I left in the early morning to drive 25 miles north to the small town of Waldo, OH, where we were to pick up the hive from George Taylor of Waldo Apiaries. George and a band of six men were unloading hundreds of bee packages from a livestock trailer which they had hauled up from Georgia overnight.

We picked up the package of bees, estimated 10,000-12,000, and their new queen and carefully set them in the car. The bees were quiet, as it was early and the temperature was cool. I kept the package in the garage for the day, as I had been instructed. Opportunity for the bees to acclimate. As the day progressed so did their activity. Clinging onto each other they formed a single body of bees and kept up a constant buzzing chorus as the day progressed.

Sanity, Serenity, and Corporate America

I've surrendered my serenity to corporate America lately. The dimmer switch rotated just enough to wake me up a couple of weeks ago. But I walked out of the room of enlightenment and back into sloppy darkness this past Friday.

You see, I'd been having a few issues with a certain mega-telecommunications corporation. Not with the individuals, mind you. The dozen or more customer service folks and technicians I've dealt with have been professional, polite, helpful, diligent, accommodating. May have something to do with the feedback questionnaire that they know gets sent to the customer as soon as we hang up. But really, they are nice people and most have been pleasant. In spite of me.

Contrasts

Most days I love the messes of life--the odd contrasts and sweet and sour of daily living. I say, "most days," because it's easiest to ride the bumps when I'm feeling relaxed and at ease. This week has been full of contrasts and messes and tensions. A few thoughts about one.

We had wonderful snow this week. Large flakes piled up quickly beginning Monday afternoon, and I've taken advantage on my cross-country skiis. I don't make a pretty site out there. This is the first I've been on my skiis in probably 12 years. I'm slow, awkward, and unfashionably dressed. But I've had a wonderful time. And as soon as the AT&T repair is done (once again) this morning, I'm heading out for another jaunt.

The contrast? Congo. It's always on my mind (apologies to Willie Nelson). Always. Many of the pictures that cycle through my laptop's screensaver are from Beni and UCBC. There are pictures of faces of friends from UCBC, pictures of landscape and lush vegetation, the buildings under construction. Chunks of time on Mondays and Fridays and evenings are often devoted to work related to Congo Initiative and UCBC. This week there have been conference calls about funding plans and strategies and volunteer policies, research on foundations (part of the funding work), research on solar power and internet, thinking about a faculty development plan...

Aside from the obvious, geographical difference, the tension is between being fully in the present place and time and desiring to be somewhere else. I love being outside in the cold and snow, provided that feet, hands, and body core are warm!. Doesn't matter that I have to stop every 75-100 yards to catch my breath or stretch an angry muscle. The cold air, the hard work, the lungs filling and exhaling, the sun and shadows on the snow are all good and wonderful. The physical exertion demands my attention and rewards me for it. And then I come back to tasks and responsibilities at home or work, and my heart and mind turn toward Congo where the challenges are many and the vision is bold.

 I want to be back, on the ground there at UCBC, but I'm here now, in central Ohio.

Today I will do my best to stay focused, be present, and enjoy this moment. It's good counsel that has guided me through far more difficult times. It's advice to remind me to relax and ride today's bumps.