A lone birch amongst other deciduous trees, hundreds of trilliums at its feet.
To me, the picture represents . . .
. . . determination to be authentic no matter what is going on around . . .
. . . a white tree being applauded by an audience of trilliums . . .
. . . alone, but not lonely. . .
What does the picture bring to your mind?
It’s time once again to remember The Three Questions by Jon J. Muth.
Muth took a short story written by Leo Tolstoy and reworked it with animal characters to appeal to children. In the book, a boy named Nikolai goes on a journey to seek answers to three BIG LIFE questions:
His steps lead him to encounters with a heron, a monkey and a dog. Each of these characters answers the questions in way that reflects personal biases. The heron suggests the best time to do things is after everything has been planned in advance. The dog believes the most important one is the one who makes the rules, and the monkey knows the right thing to do is to have fun all the time.
Not satisfied, Nikolai climbs a high mountain to seek the answers to his questions from a wise old turtle.
When he reaches the top of the mountain, he finds the wise, old turtle digging a garden. Wanting his full attention and knowing that a young boy digs much faster than an old turtle, Nikolai takes the shovel and finishes turning over the hard soil.
When he is leaning on his shovel after the last shovel full of dirt, he hears a cry for help coming to him out of the windblown forest. He follows the sound and finds a panda knocked out by a fallen tree. Nikolai rescues her and takes her to the turtle’s house to get warm.
When the panda wakes up, she asks, “Where is my child?” Alarmed, Nikolai runs back to the forest where he finds the baby panda, shivering and alone.
Before Nikolai departs, he and the wise old turtle reflect on the answers the boy has found.
Tolstoy sure was one wise old turtle.
During my book club gathering (on Zoom) one of my friends said she was becoming a little “tech-ed off.”
The need to hold a book club electronically does test the patience. Sure, it’s fine to discuss the book via the internet, but, let’s be honest, the real heart and soul of a book club is the shared glasses of wine, the tea, the dessert, and the lingering conversations that have nothing at all to do with literature. Being deprived of that connection has me a little tech-ed off too.
At the same time, I am so-o-o-o-o-o grateful for technology in other ways. I have spent more time on my laptop over the past six weeks than ever.
Even though the electronic book club was not as satisfying, it was better than no book club at all. I’ve participated in writing circles, dinners, coffee times, meetings, and church. Seeing a friend’s face pop up on a video screen is not as much fun as an in-person visit, but it’s . . . enough. The whole experience certainly has clarified who the people are that I really want to see.
I’ve also done more activities not related to technology than ever. There are six of us here, ranging in age from 22 to 64.
We have done:
In some ways this experience has a “time at the cottage” feel. We’re doing a lot of the same things we would when technology isn’t an option.
Except for when we’re using technology more than ever.
On Sunday I walked in the woods near my home.
Last autumn’s leaves have not yet composted, so they cover the parts of the path that aren’t muddy. The trees in my Ottawa, Canada climate are budding, but branches are still bare of leaves. Muted colours of grey and brown and dark forest green dominate.
I rounded a corner in the path. Up ahead, white leaves fluttered on a single tree. With branches stretched out in a triangular shape, the leaves resembled the flickering lights of a Christmas tree.
I stopped to appreciate it. I walked closer to examine the leaves. I thought about another of Robert MacFarlane’s words: marcescence. It can refer to trees that hold on to leaves through winter, or people who wither but don’t fall.
Others might have passed by without noticing the simple gift of nature. I’m glad that I walk mindfully, on the lookout for sparks of light on my path.
If we’re watchful, we can perceive those little boosts to the spirits. They help us during times when we’re withering, so we don’t fall.
This time of social distancing is easy for me. I’m in my home. I love my home. It is my sanctuary.
Or one of the anyway. I also find sanctuary in other places: the woods, friends’ houses, and, yes, church.
Are you in a sanctuary? Which sanctuaries do you miss?
Another week begins.
Another week without our usual workplaces, casual trips to the store, or gatherings of friends.
Some of us have let go of long-planned vacations.
Some of us are seized with panic about lost income.
We have let go of what is not essential. We are waiting for “normal.”
Our situation reminds me of this beautiful work by Macrina Wiederkehr, a Benedictine sister, author, and lover of the spiritual.
She wrote this poem, which she gave me permission to share, about times when we are stripped down, vulnerable, and “wearing the colors of emptiness.” At those times, we are living out the Sacrament of Waiting, ready for a new, surprising kind of beauty.
© Macrina Wiederkehr
Slowly she celebrated the sacrament of letting go. First she surrendered her green, then the orange, yellow, and red finally she let go of her own brown. Shedding her last leaf she stood empty and silent, stripped bare. Leaning against the winter sky, she began her vigil of trust.
Shedding her last leaf, she watched it journey to the ground. She stood in silence wearing the colors of emptiness, her branches wondering, How do you give shade with so much gone?
And then, the sacrament of waiting began. The sunrise and the sunset watched with tenderness. Clothing her with silhouettes that kept her hope alive.
They helped her to understand that her vulnerability, her dependence and need, her emptiness, her readiness to receive, were giving her a new kind of Beauty. Every morning and every evening they stood in silence, and celebrated together the sacrament of waiting.
Sometimes I think: “I should dump all my social media accounts.”
I get irritated by people tweeting or posting about foods I should or shouldn’t eat. Sometimes one post telling me that I SHOULD eat a certain food is followed quickly by another telling me that I should NEVER eat the food. It’s irksome.
And people can be horrible. Hateful. Mean.
But I don’t dump my social media accounts.
All those contradictory food posts make me realize how much I trust my body to let me know what it needs.
And people can be so wonderful. Inspirational. Kind.
I decided to ask my circle of social media acquaintances for their thoughts. The results wouldn’t stand up to scientific method scrutiny, but they represent an overall picture of the situation. And that is:
For every bad, there is a flip side of good.
We don’t like:
But then, we stick with it because all those things have a flip side. We like:
There are valid reasons to cut and run from social media. There are valid reasons to stay. I’ll stick it out, because I’m an optimist.
Catch you on the flip side.
* Exits whistling *
