Freely Give

As cool, thick winter folds in upon us, we are drawn inside - to warmth, light and comfort. We busy ourselves with inner tasks, make ready for the coming holidays. What is a worthy gift and how should it be presented? I ponder some of the cherished gifts I’ve received:

Small Tokens
There was the quick, simple breakfast a neighbor once left in our refrigerator as we returned from a long, out-of-state trip. Another time, a neighbor arrived at our door bearing a bag of fresh grapefruit - “just because”. Over the years, many children, parents, co-workers, and friends have offered heartfelt notes, handmade cards and gifts. A bucket of honey from Mom; a gerbil from Bill.

Sharing
I’ve enjoyed wonderful dinner time conversations around the family table, as well as coffee and cookie sessions at friends’ homes. I’ve spouted off, listened intently, laughed and cried with loved ones who willingly gave their time, space, ears, shoulders and arms. At Dad’s knee, I learned to love his Limberger cheese and radish sandwiches.

Kindness
I was fortunate to have gentle, compassionate parents who lived what they believed. Twice I’ve been with a critically ill old dog as our veterinarian euthanized him. Each time, there was the gentle hand on my arm and softly-spoken “I’m so sorry”. One year, my niece sent me a Mother’s Day card.

Understanding
Although I was a rampant tomboy, delighted in making model airplanes, eating lemons, raising way too many rabbits, and collecting frogs and bugs, my family always respected my individuality and supported my interests. In my daily life, there are those who know me well; know my joys, sorrows, and innermost thoughts. I believe they respect and like me in spite of that.

Encouragement
I desperately wanted to draw well and became frustrated when I couldn’t. Time after time, my mother urged me to take a break and try again later - but to never give up. Eventually, she told me, I’d learn what I needed to know. The year our family was going through some very personal tough times, my older sister began calling every week. She was never prying, never judgmental, nor did she offer any unsolicited advice. She was simply there.

Unconditional Love
By e-mails, phone calls, and cards, my two sisters keep in touch. Through 67 years, age differences, careers, countless moves, travels, and family traumas, we remain close. I have friends I can count on - no matter what. My husband loves me just as I am - grey hair, extra pounds, blue jeans, personality quirks and all.

Some gifts go into boxes, are wrapped with colorful papers and bows; are sealed, signed, and delivered. But the ones most treasured, and needed, have no packaging and follow no season. They are simply priceless - give all that you can.

Freely you have received, freely give.

Matthew 10:8

The Glow of Advent

Who would ever believe that cold, welded metal, salad molds, tart tins, turned wood, and metal chains could result in such an enduring, endearing thing of beauty?

It has become a yearly ritual that begins our preparations for Christmas. There is the jaunt out for greens, well-bundled against the wet and cold. Some years, windfall is easy to glean from the ground. In busy years, the search is done at night by flashlight, but I could probably do it blindfolded. Always cedar, fir, and juniper; sometimes pine, hemlock, or arborvitae, is gathered. I revel in the texture, shape, color, and smell that is unique to each.

In my husband’s warm, well-lit workshop the assembly begins. Small twigs of evergreens are overlapped, one by one, and wired together to form a long rope. Care is taken to alternate the types of greens for the best effect. When long enough, this evergreen rope is wired around the hard metal ring. Various cones, twigs or colored berries are sometimes added. A royal blue bow is attached just below each of four candle holders. I sometimes include gold ribbon; sometimes white lace ribbon to commemorate the Scandinavian heritage of  our little church. It has been here for over one hundred years now. The candles are set in place and the completed wreath is slowly turned on its chain for the final straightening and balancing .

These wreaths have their origins in the folk traditions of northern Europe, where in the deep of winter people lit candles on wheel-shaped bundles of evergreen. Both the evergreen and the circle symbolized ongoing life. The candlelight gave comfort in this darkest time of year, as people looked forward to the longer days of spring. Later, European Christians adopted this practice and by the 16th century they were making what we know as Advent wreaths.


The circle of the Advent wreath symbolizes God’s love that knows no end. Since evergreens keep their “leaves” throughout the winter, they represent the promise of new life and the constant presence of God. I include various types of greens as a reminder of our diversity.

The light of the candles reminds us that Jesus is the light of the world that comes into the darkness of our lives to bring newness, life, and hope. The colors of the candles vary with different traditions, but there are usually three purple or blue candles, representing royalty and corresponding to the sanctuary colors of Advent. The fourth candle is pink or rose. Our blue candles are lit on the first, second, and fourth Sundays and represent hope, peace, and love. The pink candle is lit on the third Sunday and represents joy. Some Advent wreaths have a white candle in the center called the Christ Candle. It is lit on Christmas Eve or Day and reminds us that incarnation is the heart of the season, giving light to the world.

In the early 1970s, Pastor Moore used his remarkable talents to weld, screw and paint the base for our hanging Advent wreath. If you take a close look, you’ll see that the candle holders are indeed constructed of turned wood, tart tins and salad molds!

I am only one of many in a long line of Vinland Advent wreath-makers. Over the years each person has collected and assembled the greens, added their own touches, and carefully placed the candles. Each has done it with love.

“I have loved you with an everlasting love;

I have drawn you with loving-kindness.”

Jeremiah 31:3

“I am the light of the world.

Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness,

but will have the light of life.”

John 8:12

Dancing Ladies

It was one of the least attractive plants at the school - just short of ugly. But Jack treasured it and always asked if we had watered his orchid. When questioned, he told me it was gorgeous when it bloomed, but I had my doubts. In the 2 years I was there, it did nothing. Its few long, thin, lily-like leaves grew out of fat pseudo-bulbs and drooped over the rim of the pot. A tangle of pale, hairlike roots tumbled out of the soil and over the side, reaching 18 inches or so in length. We did water it each week and it lived, but that was about all to be said for it.

At the end of the second year, Jack passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. The other teacher and I divided up the plants that his family did not want. No one wanted the orchid, and I didn’t really either, but I took it. I’d never had an orchid plant and was curious about it. Besides, it had meant a lot to Jack, so I couldn’t bear to just dump it.

Later that summer I took the scraggly plant into a local garden center to see what they could tell me. The orchid expert there took one look at it and frowned. “It breaks my heart to see a plant in that condition.” he said. “Give me a break.” I answered. “I sort of got it by default, but I’m willing to try if you’ll tell me what to do.” He sent me home with a bigger pot, a bag of medium-sized bark chunks, and an instruction sheet. I now knew this was an Oncidium orchid, better known as “Dancing Ladies”.

Not surprisingly, these plants can survive a lot of neglect. Native to the South Americas, they can stand moderate to high temperatures, filtered to bright light, and don’t need much water. The fat, fleshy, base stems store some and the long, tangled “air roots” absorb any that runs over them. For the next year or so it put out new green leaves and more of the air roots, but I can’t say that its looks improved any - it was still sad-looking.

Finally, I noticed a thin, spindly stem appear and slowly grow upward. Excited, I rushed to the store to buy fertilizer. The clerk informed me that orchids take a long time to bloom, so to try to be patient. She had that right - for three to four weeks the wiry stem grew, reaching a length of 45 inches before the first tiny bud appeared. It was a show well worth waiting for; over the course of many weeks, myriads of small, bright yellow and rust-colored flowers appeared. Each had a small, 3-part division at the top and a long, frilly lip below - the “dancing ladies” had arrived!

I have established a routine with this plant. For most of the year I keep it indoors, watering it sparingly and keeping its unruly tangle of roots under control. Summers, I move it outdoors on the covered porch so it can get sun and fresh air. As the days shorten and grow crisp I watch for the spindly stem to appear, then move it into the kitchen where we can enjoy it. One year it put out three stems and the flowers lasted for months. Another  year there was only one stem, but it was spectacular.

At those times when I feel just like this drooping, tangled plant looks, I remember we will both be transformed into beauty - eventually.

The Lord their God will save them on that day
as the flock of his people.
They will sparkle in his land
like jewels in a crown.
How attractive and beautiful they will be!
Zechariah 9:16-17

Sorting Out the "Needs"

courtesy of the U.S. Geological Survey

Ahead of me on the trail, my husband stopped suddenly and studied the brush to one side. “Look, look, look!” he said in excited, hushed tones. There, among the greenery, crouched a small, furry animal. About the size of a small rabbit, with grey, catlike fur, small ears and big, unblinking eyes, it eyed us with its mouth literally stuffed with leaves. We waited for it to run for cover, but it seemed frozen in place. Obviously frightened, its only movement was rapid breathing. We whispered to each other a moment, then backed off to give the creature room - my husband moving up the trail a bit and me moving back. Then it ran all right, but instead of heading off into the woods, it scurried straight up the path toward my husband, nearly crashing right into his boots before veering across to the other side, through the grass and under a large log. I watched it go and noticed it had a very poor excuse of a tail. We stood by and quietly watched for a while, hoping it would come out on the other side of the log, or maybe return the way it had come, but there was only silence. Neither of us had any idea what it was.

We’d taken this day to hike the Spruce Railroad Trail along Lake Crescent on the Olympic peninsula west of Port Angeles. It was one of those “two days in August” that I jokingly refer to as Puget Sound’s summer. The day was perfect - clear, quiet and sunny, the lake glass-smooth. As we reached the half-way point and began to hike back to the car, I kept thinking of that little critter and its odd behavior. Passing the log again, we kept alert for signs of the animal, to no avail.

courtesy of the U.S. Geological Survey

At home, I looked in our field guide to discover it was an Aplodontia, what most folks call a Mountain Beaver. The young are slate-brown, rather than dark brown, and - they build hay piles along their runways in late summer/early fall. Suddenly it all made sense - young, inexperienced, frightened out of its wits, but with a built-in program that said: “Prepare for winter!!” So, ignoring possible danger, it blundered ahead on its established route and tried to do just that. Now, as winter  approaches, I think of that little animal and hope that it succeeded in putting enough away to make it through. Its life will depend of that.

We live, these days, in a frenzied world. It’s so easy to be distracted with all kinds of things pulling at our time and energy. This season brings particular stresses along with special delights.

Perhaps we could learn something from the Mountain Beaver and other creatures like him. If we sort through all of our miscellaneous "to do" lists, figure out what we really NEED to do, and attend to those things first, all else will fall into place.

And do not seek what you are to eat and what you are to drink, nor be of anxious mind. For all the nations of the world seek these things; and your Father knows that you need them. Instead, seek his kingdom, and these things shall be yours as well.

Luke 12.29-31

Blessings, Wherever You find Them

The season has definitely turned; I've been on the lookout for stems with decorative seedpods, interesting twigs, and greenery that's relatively "un-nibbled". As the month has progressed, I've been out cutting them as a part of my yearly ritual. I've changed it some, but it is part of a family tradition.

Fancy dinners were rare in our home, but great effort and care went into them. Most meals were eaten in the kitchen, but for holidays we used the dining room. Out came the beautiful tablecloth, good silverware, crystal, and precious china. I was shown the correct way to set a table - proper placement of the knife, spoon, dinner and salad forks; position of salad plates, water and wine glasses; use of a cloth napkin. There was the quick course on how to receive and pass the serving dishes and where elbows belonged! I loved helping to prepare shrimp cocktails in Mom's special cranberry-colored glasses and watching that big brown turkey finally come out of the oven. We often had a guest on these occasions, usually a widower or single person with no family nearby. We were an informal family, so there was the awkward moment as we settled into our chairs, but after a heartfelt grace was said wine and conversation flowed, Dad began to carve the turkey, and a warm glow took over. As a child, such a feast was rare and I felt full halfway through dinner. I felt bad not being able to eat everything as I knew how hard Mom had worked preparing that meal. I was never chastised for that, but I was expected to remain at the table until everyone was finished. The older I got, the more I appreciated the adult conversation that took place at the table during those times. Invariably, one topic always emerged - sincere gratitude for what we had.

I came to realize the tough times my parents endured during the depression of the 30s. They had little money and did without much, but they "made do". They, and thousands like them, survived by raising and preserving their own food, making their own clothes, and working long days into the night. Friends supported each other and gathered together in homes for entertainment and to celebrate special occasions, sharing simple meals and enjoying each other's company. Because my parents worked in the floral business, they always had flowers. With time and hard work, they eventually owned their own floral business. A special arrangement was always made for our table, and no holiday would be complete without it. A constant reminder, I think, of simple beginnings.

I have carried on the tradition as best as I can. Wherever we've lived, whatever the conditions, we've celebrated holidays with family or friends, a home-cooked meal, and some kind of table arrangement. I've scoured woods, meadows, and roadsides to make bouquets and eaten roast turkey on a card table while sitting on packing crates. I, too, am forever grateful - for family and friends, a warm kitchen, heady cooking aromas...and flowers. They are, after all, wherever you find them.

You are my God, and I will give you thanks;
You are my God, and I will exalt you.
Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good;
his love endures forever.
Psalm 18:28-29

Tree People

It can first be noticed in August with the occasional golden dangling bauble and the slight scattering of pale orange across the floor.

You blink and in September catch a glimpse of brilliant yellow accessories, muted orange laces and vivid red trims around the edges.

Turn around and October brings the full-length mahogany robes, flowing, golden gowns and windswept capes of speckled patterns.

 

By the end of November, the grand parade fades away - all the finery swiftly shed to lie tattered and sodden on the floor beneath cold, naked bodies.

 

It is so easy to take them for granted. Especially here, in the Pacific Northwest, where we are so accustomed to seeing them that our eyes scarcely notice. From the time they first sprout, tiny and unimpressive in the forest duff, until (Lord knows how many years later ) they finally cease growing, producing leaves and flowing their sap, they are a constant, silent presence. Certainly, we welcome their blossoms and fine, lacy greenery in early spring after a long, dark, wet winter. In summer we enjoy the cool shade of some and lush fruit of others. Fall brings some to brilliant color, some simply wither to a dull brown & fade away, and many remain (outwardly at least) just as they are. By winter, there are the harsh, bare skeletons and ominous, dark shapes in the gray mist.

But even now, during this “resting” time , they are at work. Penetrating deeply, their roots seek out life-giving water, hold soil in place, create air spaces below. Above ground, they affect the air, taking in gases we don’t need, giving off the oxygen we do.

So many living things depend on them - grow beneath the shelter of their trunks, upon their branches, among their leaves, within their wood. Creatures perch, peck, claw, gnaw, scramble, slither and dig about and within. We humans are among their benefactors, using what they produce, as well as their very bodies, to such an extent that we never give it a second thought...

Take the time for a close look. Notice the shape, color, hang of their leaves. Examine their trunks and discover their patterns, textures, thicknesses - inhabitants! Rub your cheek against them, inhaling deeply of their particular scent - the dry pine forest, the dank cedar one are very different. Close your eyes to listen as the wind stirs through - fir, spruce, alder, cottonwood, willow, aspen; each chorus hums its own melody. I think of them as “tree people” and no two are exactly alike - ever.

In a quiet moment sometime, take note of your surroundings - wherever you might be. Mentally remove all that comes from trees. Odd though it may seem, spend some time thinking of those trees - and then imagine a world without them... I cannot.

I will put in the wilderness the cedar,

the acacia, the myrtle, and the olive;

I will set in the desert the cypress,

the plane and the pine together;

that men may see and know,

may consider and understand together,

that the hand of the Lord has done this,

the Holy One of Israel has created it.

Isaiah 41.19-20

Rising to the Occasion

O beautiful for spacious skies,

For amber waves of grain...

A wonderful, rich aroma wafts through the kitchen as my automatic bread machine bakes a batch of “homemade” bread. It’s so easy these days that I wonder why I don’t do it more often, but many things compete for my time and attention.

The evening news spews the latest political rhetoric from the current candidates. I try to pay attention, and I am interested, but it seems they all spend their precious time, and ours, telling us what they think we want to hear and berating their opponents. I want to believe what they say, but actions speak louder and we won’t know what they will really do until the election is over.

I grew up surrounded by wheat country, but never knew much about wheat. In elementary school we took a tour of a local flour mill, so learned what happened to those truckloads of wheat hauled in to, and the box cars of flour hauled out of, my home town. After that, I did view bread on the grocery store shelves a bit differently.

As an adult, I taught myself to make bread because I wanted to learn how and find out if it really did taste better than the store-bought kind. I enjoyed mixing the ingredients together, kneading the dough, and watching the yeast do its work in making the dough rise. There were times of trial and error and more than once, failure. The bread machine makes the job easier, but old yeast does not work well whatever the method.

Old rhetoric does not work well either, although the politicians do not seem to notice. It is obvious that they want to stir us up, get us to cast our ballots for them as they set out to save us from ourselves. Passions will build and rise up to Election Day and then what? Will the great American loaf fall or rise further toward the perfect ideal we want so much to believe in? Politics, economics, societies - none are perfect and none change quickly.

Pikes Peak, Colorado - by David Shankbone

Katharine Lee Bates did not perfect her lyrics to America the Beautiful immediately, either. An English literature instructor at Wellesley College, Massachusetts, she made a lecture trip to Colorado in 1893. While there, she journeyed to the top of Pikes Peak. Because of the altitude her stay at the top was brief, but she viewed the sea-like expanse of fertile country spreading away under ample skies and the opening lines floated into her mind. The resulting poem first appeared in print in 1895, but she revised the lyrics in 1904 and again in 1913. For two years after it was written it was sung to just about any popular or folk tune that would fit with the lyrics, with “Auld Lang Syne” being the most notable of those. Not until 1910 were the words published together with the tune “Materna”, which was composed in 1882, nearly ten years before she wrote the words. Even after that, the tune to be used was challenged to some degree. In 1926 a contest was held to put the poem to new music, but no other entry was determined to be more acceptable. And so the issue was decided, but Katharine never did indicate publicly which music she liked best.

The bread machine beeps, and I remove a tall, lovely brown loaf of fragrant bread. The yeast was good and did its job - now let’s see how the politicians do. Hopefully, they’ll rise to the occasion.

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee,

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea.

...”What shall I compare the kingdom of God to? It is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough.”

Luke 13:20 - 21

Pikes Peak picture file from Wikimedia Commons