Springing Through the Path

I go out the door on a startlingly beautiful spring day for my morning walk down by the railroad tracks. It is especially beautiful since the week has been filled with hundreds of tornadoes roaring through the South at a breakneck speed. Arkansas lost fourteen people. I think about the devastated families as I walk gingerly down the steep hill to my usual walking path.

The air is permeated with the scent of late April honeysuckle. The sounds around me are the clumping of my tennis shoes, the NPR station playing over my earphones, and the birds twittering away. I see a robin on a fence rail, squirrels scampering on the path as if feeling their social time had been rudely interrupted by the presence of a human, and two white-tailed bunnies fleeing for safety. I feel the leaves and twigs from the recent storms crunching under my feet. Many flower gardens are in full bloom with the Iris colors of white, purple, and yellow. The sun shines with no impeding clouds for the day, and the temperature is fifty degrees. I believe this day might be the last perfect day for a while again since storms are forecast again for the weekend--perhaps the last until Oct. as I know a long, hot summer is literally just around the corner.

As I continue to grow older, I find as much delight in nature as Wordsworth did in the English countryside in the nineteenth century. In college I used to laugh to myself at the simple Romantic messages of his poems, the daffodils which he recounts while lying on his sofa recalling them, the "splendor in the grass" and "glory in the flower" as he recalls his days as a young man in school, and the simple nature walks with his sister. Now, some forty-five years later, I understand him. He was far deeper than I could have imagined.

The Weather and The Wedding

It seems that we have been inundated by two topics over the past couple of months--the numerous weather events across the South and the plans for the wedding between William and Catherine. The highs and lows have been reminding me of the precarious nature of life and love.

As a born and bred Southerner, the tornadoes in the spring are forever with us it seems. This year, however, has been record-setting with both the number of storms and the widespread death and destruction. Around 300 have died just this week. The storms seem to have no pattern in their attack and were capricious as they took an eight-month-old baby but left his parents unharmed. It has been rather disconcerting to see the media shift their emphasis often without a segue way between destruction and joy.

The good news is that the wedding in London has now gone off flawlessly, thanks t0 the very careful planning on how to manage millions of people in person. Even the rain predicted earlier in the week held off for the happy occasion. The new princess will, of course, walk somewhat in the shadow of William's mother, Diana, who this week has been variously described as "the people's princess" and a "nitwit hussy" (Ann Coulter).

The two themes of the spring just serve to remind us all to appreciate life and its joyful moments and hold them close to our heart. They unfortunately could all be blown away tomorrow.

The Unemployed Fishermen

I was watching the Sunday Morning program last week on CBS when I tuned in to a segment about the unemployment of middle-aged Americans and the difficulty of finding work again. At the end of the segment, one of the men being interviewed stated he would not give up--that it would be like going fishing and expecting to catch nothing. Since I had just been reading in my devotional book Our Daily Bread about Christ's disciples returning to their occupation of fishing after the crucifixion of Jesus, I started thinking about their three years of unemployment. After all, they gave up three years of their lives to follow the man Jesus. Now he was gone again, and life must return to normal. At this point of the gospel, the disciples realize they are catching absolutely no fish. A man on the shore instructs them to cast the net to the right side of the boat. They do so and find their nets so full of fish (one hundred and fifty-three) that they had trouble drawing them all in. Once ashore, they realize it is the resurrected Christ who had prepared a fire to cook the fish. The story reminds me again that often, as we experience hard times, we feel discouraged and that our lives will never be the same again. Yet, God in his grace restores us to Himself once again and fills our boats with abundance.

The Beauty of "Biutiful"

A friend and I recently saw the film Biutiful with Javier Bardem. I knew that it would be bleak because I had already heard Bardem played a character who was dying. What I did not expect, however, was to see such an ugly underbelly of a world set in Barcelona, Spain. The entire film was shot in the slums of the city where Chinese immigrants struggle to survive in a Western European country. Uxbel, Bardem's character, has two children, a wife who is bi-polar, and a shady lifestyle where he is a middle-man for illegal activities. Essenially, there is no hope in this life for any type of redemption. Uxbel, however, though complicated manages to display a good heart in not wanting to give up on his wife, desiring to make sure his children are taken care of after his death, and endeavoring to make the Chinese immigrants' life better. Unfortunately, he dies without accomplishing any of these goals. His only hope is found in the film's last scene where the audience realizes he is in eternity and has been reunited with the father he never knew. The film would seem to hearken back to the belief that life on this earth is evil and that one must simply endure until heaven is reached where all the injustices of life such as crime, poverty, illness, and so on will be made right. My theology of the past has also taught these lessons in a similar way. Even though I now attend a church which says that this life is the "kingdom of God," it is hard to look around and realistically see the beauty of most people. In my opinion, the beauty of Biutiful is that it does offer hope to be reunited with our loved ones in eternity.

Memories of New York - A Poem Without Borders

Of Thee I Sing Too The MTA of New York City, filled with expressionless riders, primarily of One color—brown. Exhausted faces looking at no one. Grandson struggles to avoid the sleeping, homeless man who keeps leaning Precariously close to his shoulder. Miraculously, at the next stop a youthful red-haired, one-man-band of a man Begins to sing and play his harmonica while clanging the cymbals Attached to his worn out jeans with holes. The also worn faces in the car awake and begin to smile not only at the singer but also to each other. A boat ride to Liberty Island and Ellis Island this lovely-lit Friday afternoon, Mashed and compacted like subway riders riding endlessly below The city skyline, holding on to the poles as the boat sways one way And then another. Is this the way the immigrants felt as they crossed the ocean in their bid for A forever freedom? Until . . . at last . . . they were greeted by the famed Statue of Liberty and Began swelling with hope and joy to find a friend in America. The ever-present silent mime at the corner of Central Park, always willing To pose with all who would but contribute $3 to the bucket, Dressed as the Statue of Liberty with her torch held high, Face and draping clothes painted silver, Covering grandson with an American flag as he joyfully grins for the camera. The golden bull of a statue representing the perhaps forever gone times of Wall Street, Hoards of crowds hovering to get a photograph to take home. The commericialism of the 5th Avenue and Times Square shopping areas As herds of tiny children pose by giant, savory, chocolate Easter bunnies at Dylan’s Candy Bar or a massive Lego Chewbacca In FAO Swartz or the T-Rex in Toys R Us. Grandson ecstatic as he fills his candy jar full of M & M’s, jelly beans, Jolly Ranchers, and other delights. Is our country great or what? America, of thee I sing too.

The Peanut Butter and Jelly Bomber

On my flight home from a recent trip to New York, I once again encountered the airline security police. The flights to Northwest Arkansas through Chicago would take me directly to a spring break week with my two grandchildren, Caitlyn and Charlie, plus Caitlyn's friend. I put a jar of peanut butter and a jar of jelly into my carry on bag to ensure a quick meal at the cabin where we were staying in Eureka Springs. Evidently, according to my husband, I did not read the "restricted items" list. I admit I did not, but I knew all prescriptions had to be put in clear quart size bags for inspection, all cosmetics had to be in three ounce size bottles. no liquids of any kind would be allowed like bottled water from home, and on and on. I reasoned to myself that peanut butter and jelly were no liquids. Upon removing my vest, jacket, shoes, coins, watch, jewelry, and belt to go through the security line, I heard the dreaded words from one of the officials, "bag check." I saw the next woman put on her plastic gloves and thought, "I wonder what they saw." She immediately took out the peanut butter and jelly and tossed them into a large garbage container where they hit the bottom with a breaking thud. Our homeland security chief Janet appears on television regularly to assure the public that, yes indeed, our rules are being relaxed every day. I am still waiting for good common sense to prevail as an Anglo American grandmother goes through a security line.

Blackberry Moms

I have heard in recent months about the effect of technology on parenting. I have seen scenes on television of children looking longingly at the parent while the parent is using a Blackberry, for example. My own experience into the phenomenon has now been widened to include an actual observance of my daughter and five-year-old grandson in this mode. I was blessed earlier this month to be invited to be a nanny to my grandson in New York City while his mom was on a business trip. I loved New York and the times I shared with Cole, my grandson, for two full weeks. We did all kinds of activities in the city--two children's museums, two zoos, two trips to the famous Toys R Us location in Times Square with the Ferris wheel and roaring T-Rex, a dance on the big piano in FAO Swartz, a fun time at Dylan's Candy Bar, the St. Patrick's Day Parade, the play Mary Poppins, and numerous other experiences. I can't imagine how I would have held a Blackberry and been able to communicate with Cole. My daughter, however, is much better at multi-tasking than I. I first observed her in the backyard patio of the apartment we rented in Brooklyn. The landlords had put in a basketball goal, swing, slide, and play area for their children, Ella and Cole (yes, another Cole). Our Cole loved this area and was able to develop his skills of dribbling and shooting baskets while we were there. On one morning, Kimberly (our daughter) was waiting for an e-mail confirmation. She held her Blackberry in her right hand and shot several baskets with her left hand at the same time. I was amazed. I have also observed her ability to keep three conversations going at once--to her son, to me, and to the Blackberry tweets. Cole even became so interested in this process that, before our time ended in New York, he sent his first e-mail to his mom, knowing that she would read it almost immediately on her Blackberry. I, at this point, am still unsure about the intervention of technology on our parenting roles. Future research will show us whether this will be a positive or negative influence upon our children overall in their development. For me, the jury is still out.