Bathtime

a daily routine
anything but
as she unsteadily slides in the chair
the chair used for old people

my mother is not old
not this one who knows things
--balancing             books
    --speaking    languages--technical, foreign,      domestic
--what     medicines not to take  with      others
    --what phony looks like

the cloth and soap and water move over her,
a tired body soaking and sighing as heat relieves,
still
the lines and spots and wrinkles do not disappear
         the way I want them to.

*******

a nightly routine
anything but
as she squirms and giggles her way to the water
the duck tub used for little people

my granddaughter is not a baby
she speaks
her own language
she rules the waves with her new found palms
willing her slippery self to stand
                    only to have my damp arms net her

lavender lather
is both the Eraser and the Siren
      as the day's remants disappear down the drain
she is called to bed
       new again
the way I want her to stay forever.
     
*******

miles apart, joined by name, and juxtaposed by time
their bare truth:
     nothing washes away my memory of this day.
     a moment to see the source of me
     a moment to see the heart of me
     Lillie and Lillie

   

The Mending

            I lived an Easter story this past week.

          The details matter not.  It is enough to write that the holy moment included a painful death in addition to a miraculous resurrection--divine formulas for both being forgiven as well as sharing forgiveness.

       *******

        Lord knows (literally, the Lord knows) that Sue Jane Sullivan has needed and often accepted forgiveness.  (Thank goodness the details still matter not, to you dear reader).  I have had my socks knocked off a time or two by the sheer magnitude of what it is to be forgiven.  Grace and mercy are shock paddles that revive us when we have staggered along precipices.  

          When we are inclined or perhaps even feel we have the right to push someone off that same precipice for hurting us, a funny thing usually happens on the way to the cliff.  We realize we too were once holding on for dear life.  Rather than push, we pull--extending a hand to bring someone back from the ledge.

         *******

          The original Easter story is perpetual.  Death followed by resurrection.  Sin followed by forgiveness.  A broken heart followed by healing.  Day in and day out, our own crosses call us to accept forgiveness and to offer forgiveness.  If we don't, we might as well just officially make Easter all about chocolate bunnies and Peeps.

             A twenty-two year hurt in my life was mended last week as Passover concluded and Good Friday came.  All things were made new--the old things were passed away.  This Easter Sunday 2016, there is a good chance that the message will resonate in a way it never has.  

                 

               

Spring Break 2016: Release the Brakes

What did I just do?

 

Basically, I drove coast to coast, if you simply look at mileage. Or to Lima, Peru.  I checked that one, too.

 

On the surface, if you followed my Facebook account last week, it appears that I truly did drive the perimeter of the State of Texas.  That was my goal.  After getting home, I discovered I indeed missed one, that dang Dallam County in the northwest corner of the Texas Panhandle.  At midnight on March 19,  I drove through Hartley and mistakenly thought it was in Dallam County. 

 

This means one of two things:  (1) I can arbitrarily change the rules and declare myself an official Texas Iditarod finisher or (2) do it again one day. 

 

I spent just under a $1,000 with most of that on lodging at Holiday Inn Express along the way.  Ate one good meal per day, drank tons of water, and bought only a couple of souvenirs.  My vehicle averaged 32 mpg. Score. I paid admission to only one museum. Most were free with suggested donations.   Only twice did I have a sit-down-in-the-restaurant occasion (Harlingen and Presidio).   Only twice did I have a face-to-face with the DPS, and both times I had pulled over to text or take a photo; they were simply checking on me.  Thoughtful and sweet. 

So, there's the surface.

What did I really just do?

I did something for me. 

I stopped when I wanted to. 

I paused to see, to hear, to feel.

I smiled at people I did not know.

I played music that made me smile to remember old loves.

I played music that made me sad to think about what has been lost.

I played country.  I played rock.  I sang to Broadway soundtracks.

I saw beauty in a dilapidated, abandoned place.

I saw beauty in a midnight sky on the panhandle plains.

I saw kindness in others that gave me hope.

I did not plan but simply, spontaneously, and spiritedly drove my way around the Lone Star State.

I achieved a goal; I finished a self-imposed challenge.

And I simply was in the moment, every moment, for six straight days. 

*******************

Before the Texas Iditarod (my name for the road trip), I visited a high school and college friend who now lives in Kaufman.  This was Monday, March 14, the day after my 60th birthday, so we held an impromptu birthday breakfast at the local Denny's. As if a muse who knew her role on this particular occasion, Raleen gifted me with a phrase that lingered the entire trip.  It was from a  story she had read, written about a well-known author's  "indescribable appointment" with her Creator.  The story is long, but the gist of the encounter was the call to "Feed my sheep."  It came clearly and boldly.  And, it could be said that the vision changed the author's life.

 

So, man, all during the trip I am in search of the homeless, the poor, the downtrodden, the sad.....I am inspired to stop and help and share and love and do what I can do. Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. And that is exactly what I had hoped for.  I was riding a high.  But, unlike the author, no vision came.  No moment to be the Great Feeder.  I kept looking, kept hoping. 

 

And then it happened. After the trip.

 

On Sunday morning before heading home, my daughter Julie and John and I were going to brunch in an old section of Dallas Oak Cliff.  There huddled in a corner, covered with a blanket, reading a Bible was Erica.  She was reading in 1 Samuel about "wahs and kings and people jis killin' each other because they don't knows the Lard." 

 

I sat and listened and told her about a happy story she could read if she wanted--and oh, now how I wished I would have sat down and read it to her.  Ruth.  I previewed the beautiful message in the Old Testament book of a widowed daughter-in-law's honorable love for her widowed mother-in-law.  I told her it had a very, very happy ending.....because it would be Ruth's lineage who would give the world Jesus.

 

Boy, did I feed her.

 

Wrong.  Dead wrong.  This 3,046.9 mile trip wasn't about what I could do--it never is--it was and is about how we engage each other with the understanding that the Spirit does the real labor.

 

Because you see, when I mentioned Jesus's name, her toothless smile fed me.  Erica was at the end of my trip to complete the purpose for the journey:  feed and be fed. 

 

I was inspired to write about this trip on social media.  I think some of you were entertained and encouraged, and then I noticed that you would engage each other, strangers on Facebook, with wonderful ideas or memorable stories.  We were, in essence, feeding each other.

 

The Texas Iditarod took on a life of its own. 

 

May we keep "traveling" so that we can embrace the many ways we can nurture mankind.....including ourselves.  The possibilities are as numerous as the miles I drove. 

 

All we really ever have to do is release the brake and go.