Spring Means New Beginnings

 

On this day, I simply want to BE - to soak up some sun and enjoy the spectacular views. Sitting on a grassy bluff surrounded by towering madrone and Douglas fir trees, I gaze across the vast expanse of sand exposed by the receding tide. Beyond the sands lay the waters of Georgia Strait, snow-capped mountains of mainland British Columbia forming a dramatic backdrop. Closing my eyes briefly, I hear the soft swish of the wind in the trees and feel the warmth of the sun on my face. We have come here for rest and relaxation - what a day to be alive!

 

We have come through the long season of darkness. Some of us may carry heavy burdens and feel no relief with this passage of time. But we are still here as the days lengthen and the earth warms.

As Easter people, we have passed through a time of sadness and grief and come forward into the light of new hope. Once again, we witness a season of newness and rebirth.

In the woods blooms appear on Indian plum, salmonberry, red flowering current and Oregon grape, while redwood sorrel, trillium, and delicate Pacific bleeding heart brighten the forest floor.

 

 

In our yards forsythia, dogwood, rhododendron, bluebells, tulips, and many others burst forth in various colors and scents.

 

We drift off to sleep with the peeping of frogs and awake to the singing of birds, which are already nesting and caring for young; young fawns will soon be seen with their cautious mothers.

 

Dusty, bug-gnawed leaves will be seen later, but now all new growth appears shiny-bright and squeaky-clean.

 

We anticipate all that is new: a landscape full of surprises, a first-born child, a joining of lives in marriage.  Still to come are graduations, anniversaries, and celebrations we’ve yet to plan. Rejoice in this, for as spring progresses with wave after wave of sprouting, unfolding, and blooming we are led toward the full-fledged burgeoning of summer. After our dark, cool, wet winters who does not welcome that?

It is a time to savor and enjoy. There is much to be learned from the never-ending cycle of seasons, for we can – each of us – begin anew; we can be refreshed, changed, improved.

 

If there are things undone, we can do them. If we owe an apology or need to make amends, we can do that. If we are weary, we can rest. We can get our affairs in order; if necessary, we can say our good-byes. We can change our household, our appearance, our habits, our state of mind, our outlook or attitude. We can change our actions, or finally act at all. We can accept that challenge, take on that task, meet that new person, or send that letter. We can make that call, visit that friend, and hold that hand. This is a time of renewal and second chances - thank GOD we have those.

 

"Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

Isaiah 43:18-19

 

Snow Birds' Return

There are those we know, retirees, who spend their winters "down south". They drive or fly to Arizona, New Mexico, California, or Hawaii to escape the cloudy, wet days that make up our winters here in the Pacific Northwest. Some in the Northeast go to Florida to avoid the snow and cold. Those who are younger, or still working, may take a cruise or mid-winter vacation to places of sun and warmth. It is to be expected; human climatic migrations are eons old. The grass is always greener - no, sunnier and warmer perhaps - than it is here. 

 

We are drawn to other places for what we perceive as a better climate, but also for a change of scene, an adventure, a look at the world outside of our usual domain that will increase our understanding. And, interestingly, if we go often and far enough, what we really discover is ourselves. For if we find the people here cool and unfriendly, those are the people we will find in New Mexico. If we are unmotivated, bored, and find little of interest here, California will be more of the same. Unusual and unseasonal heat, rain, snow, and storms are as likely to hit Arizona and Hawaii as they are anywhere else. Likewise, we will probably respond there in the same way we do here - by complaining about the weather...

If we know how to find contentment, yet stimulating challenges, within our everyday lives, then we will find these things wherever we are. If our life is full of adventure, we'll carry that with us. If we are grateful for what we have, refusing to constantly want for more and more, our travels will always be more about experiences than about things.

 

  

It really is, to some degree at least, all about how we view and adjust to our lives wherever we may be. Granted, some surroundings may please us more than others, but we all know people who seem to shine no matter their circumstances. We also know some who are never content, regardless of how well-off they may appear. And so getting away from it all to some other environment is more than a nice change of pace - it is a way to better discover who we really are.

 

 

Here in the Pacific Northwest, the Spring Peeper frogs are again filling the nights with their songs. There is a stirring in the land, a subtle warming and gradual advancement of daylight. Plant buds are swelling, birds are singing, insects are increasingly creeping about and those gentle rains sprinkle down on everything. The gardeners among us are tending to trees, planting new specimens, busily planning summer gardens; resurrection surrounds us.

 

 

No doubt, many "snow birds" we know will soon be returning here. Perhaps it is warming a bit too much for them where they've spent the winter, the climate does not look as good now as it did a few months ago, or they simply long or need to return home. Those of us who have remained here - for various reasons - will welcome them with open arms. For they are a part of our larger extended family and, if they are friends of ours, we already know who they really are. Rain or not - welcome home!
 

 

"I will send down showers in season;
there will be showers of blessing.

The trees of the field will yield their fruit
and the ground will yield its crops..."

Ezekiel 34:26-27

 

You'll Be Just a Memory

One day, you'll be just a memory
for some people.

Do your best to be a good one.

Anonymous

 

 

I was stunned the first time I read this because it is the absolute truth and truth can be pretty jarring. None of us will be here forever and I well know that someday I, too, will be gone - just like my mom, dad, sister, and a few good friends. But I tend to think of myself in terms of the past and present, not so much in the future. I know what my past looks like and how I was then; the here and now are what I muddle through daily, but my future is totally unknown. As to how I'll be remembered by others.... that's a very good question.

This time of year seems to be one of stirring, a time when winter shifts a bit toward the spring that's out there somewhere. It was in February twenty six years ago that I lost my mom; in December a year ago I lost my sister. Recently, a dear friend's death was sudden and totally unexpected. I know that people of my age begin to experience these losses more and more often, so it follows that these lead to greater introspection.

It helps to think of people we've known and how we remember them - and why. I had an uncle whom I disliked immensely; I wasn't the only one. We did not see him often, but I never looked forward to it. Mean-spirited and rude, he knowingly asked inappropriate, embarrassing questions in front of others just to watch your reaction. It seems that he got great pleasure at the expense of others. A great "ladies' man", he went out dancing well into his eighties, so he certainly had his charming side. In his later years he did seem to mellow and the last time I saw him he was very kind and appreciative of the visit we had. I have tried to understand why he behaved as he did and to remember him as he was that last time I saw him. That's difficult; there are so many negative memories of him because of his unkind treatment of others that I'm afraid most of my memories of him aren't that good.

 

In contrast, there must have been two hundred people at the memorial service for the friend mentioned above. Everyone spoke of her as a well-respected friend and devoted volunteer to the myriad causes she was committed to. I liked and felt at ease with her immediately because she was approachable, down to earth, curious about the world around her, and willing to share whatever she knew. There was never a doubt about what she valued most - her husband, family, friends, and the importance of learning about and sharing knowledge of the natural world. She literally gave her all and the world is better because she was here.

 

Although we have no direct control over how others will ultimately remember us, we certainly can control how we live our lives today. All those "little" day to day actions do add up. Consider those who have gone before you - those you remember warmly and those you do not - and let them be your example. Your individual standards, principles, morals, and religion will guide you. As a Christian, I have a sterling example before me - all I need do is attempt to follow in His footsteps...

 

And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it,
and gave it to them saying.

"This is my body given for you;
do this in remembrance of me."

Luke 22:19

Ray of Sun

Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes,

and the grass grows by itself.

Proverb

Sunlight has a way of breaking through just when you need it most, and Easter is no exception. Whether you celebrate this day with a religious tradition, look forward to a visit from the Easter Bunny, hide or hunt for colored eggs, gather together with loved ones for a special meal, most of us grasp onto some sort of HOPE:

• of spring bursting through
• count-down to graduations
• summer vacations
• longer days with more sun
• some sort of after-life
• or perhaps just a better one in the here and now

However you CELEBRATE

- and why -

may your day be filled with sun and your spirit soar.

I share with you these past writings - may you find them worthy of the day:

Simply Live

The Sand Beneath Our Feet

Sweet Scent of Easter

Spring Bloom

Precisions of the Season

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.

 Emily Dickinson

Easter Eggs

Excitement built as I watched the bowls being set out - three, four, five - until there were at least six. Then water and a spoonful of vinegar were added to each, and finally the small aspirin-sized tablets, which slowly dissolved and bled out in the most brilliant colors of red, blue, yellow, orange, green and purple. mom brought out the carton of hard-boiled eggs and I set about creating masterpieces. The first six were easy - one of each color - but after that there were decisions to be made. How could I best combine more than one color on an egg? What should I draw or write with the colorless wax crayon that would repel the color on the egg's shell? How long I left the egg in determined how dark the color and experimentation was part of the fun. Sometimes the results were dazzling; usually not, but I always wished for more than the dozen I was allotted.

The hunts were another thing. Before I ever went to one, I remember hearing of them and I'm sure made known, as children are wont to do, that I really wanted to experience such a marvelous, challenging activity. One year, my oldest sister took me to the large public one held in a downtown city park. To me, "hunt" meant exactly that, and required a certain skill and tenacity to successfully find the hidden treasures. What disappointment I felt when we finally arrived to see the lawn littered with colored eggs and to find that the hunt was really a stampede and over in a matter of minutes. Being shy and unassertive put me at a definite disadvantage, and I decided that Easter egg hunts weren't all they were cracked up to be.

But in the home of my childhood, Easter morning was a sheer delight. There was a special basket filled with candy and a stuffed toy. And because Montana springs were always cold, and often snowy, there was a real hunt for the many small nests, skillfully hidden throughout the house with tiny candy eggs in each one. Months later, someone would likely find one or two of these nests that had escaped detection. I had no idea then why eggs appeared at Easter - I only knew I liked that they were a part of our tradition.

In many ancient cultures, eggs were a common symbol of new life and immortality; in Egypt, Greece, Italy, and Persia, they were dyed for spring festivals. In medieval times, Christians adapted the egg to their own religious devotions by giving up the eating of them during Lent, then giving beautifully decorated ones as gifts on Easter morning as a symbol of joy and celebration.

Today, in most countries eggs are stained with plain vegetable-dye colors. Syrian and Greek faithful present each other with crimson eggs in honor of the blood of Christ. Ukrainians create intricate designs with checkerboard and rhombi patterns, dots, wavy lines, and intersecting ribbons. Blessed by the priest at Easter, these artistically-rendered eggs become symbolic heirlooms. Austrian artists design striking patterns by fastening ferns and tiny plants around the eggs, leaving a white pattern after they are dyed.

Romans believed that "All life comes from an egg." Christians came to consider eggs to be "The seed of life" and so they are - even today - symbolic of the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Romans 15:13

Simply Live

I would never have recognized it, had I been expecting its former shape. Appearing lifeless, it hung there, suspended, shrouded, bearing absolutely no resemblance to what it had been before. But I knew the promise it held, so I carried it home for safekeeping.

During the passing weeks, I observed it carefully, hoping against hope that I would be present for the big event. I’d never actually seen one in person, only on television or on the glossy pages of a magazine.

When the predetermined time had passed, I was indeed privileged. First, the slow splitting open; Then, the silent emergence. It carefully withdrew one - then another and another - until all 6 rested securely atop the dangling shell. Then, braced & balanced, it slowly pulled the rest of itself out. How ragged it looked - all folded up & compressed - not at all yet the image of what it was to become. It appeared to rest, but silently shuddered - with anxious anticipation or from the pure effort of pumping itself into its full, final shape. I resisted any urge to touch it, for it was not yet ready.

Just what does a caterpillar think as it eats its way through its green world? Does it have any idea at all of what lies ahead for it? The fortunate ones - those not plucked off by some hungry bird, nor eliminated by an overanxious gardener, nor demolished from inside by parasites - have a transformation ahead that is difficult to imagine. I wonder if, deep, down inside their tiny brains, they quake in fear of the changes ahead. There will be the end of their gnawing, the slowing down, the searching for the perfect spot to attach and encase themselves. Then the months of waiting - the miraculous metamorphosis - as their bodies change into something entirely different.

There it sat fully formed, unfolded and spread into a gorgeous yellow and black shape. It nimbly climbed to the top of its branch, wings wide open then slowly closing and reopening , to survey the world through new eyes. Slowly I put forth a finger, gently urged it to climb on and lifted it high in the air to watch as it took off. I held my breath as it fluttered across the open expanse, wishing desperately for its safe, secluded landing beyond notice of those who would prey upon it. For it was, after all, only one small butterfly in the larger scheme of life.

And what of the caterpillar? Was not the progression of its life determined in the beginning? I think, perhaps, it spends its allotted days simply living. It does what it must, slowly crawling day by day toward its destiny - toward confinement, transformation - and glorious release.

Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed - in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed...But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
1 Corinthians 15:51-52 & 57

The Sand Beneath Our Feet

The color purple - bunnies, lilies, chicks, colored eggs, butterflies, and the cross - the symbols of Easter are everywhere. Not nearly as attractive as some of these, and certainly not soft and cuddly, a symbol of a different sort lies here in our own backyard, right beneath our feet.

The average person finds only the bleached white remains, its markings symbolizing the Birth, Crucifixion and Resurrection of Christ. On top, the outline of a five-petaled “flower” with a perfect five-pointed star at its center. Legend names this the Easter Lily and has the star representing the Guiding Star of Bethlehem that led the Wise Men. When broken, five little pieces resembling white birds are released. Some say they are the Doves of Peace, others say they are the Angels that sang to the Shepherds the First Christmas Morning.

In some parts of the world, five narrow openings run all the way through the body. These are said to represent the four nail holes and the spear wound made in the body of Christ during the Crucifixion. On the back of these, there is an outline of another five-petalled flower, considered to be the Poinsettia, the Christmas flower, and also a bell.

Living Sand Dollars are deep, velvet brown and sandpaper-rough to the touch. These cousins of Sea Stars and Sea Urchins are found in great numbers throughout our local waters where there are muddy or sandy beaches. Preferring the protection of deeper waters, living ones are not seen as frequently as the familiar white, rigid, flat, disk-shaped “shell” of dead ones. The lily pattern is actually five sets of pores which move sea water into its internal water-vascular system. This allows their tiny suction-cup feet to operate. These ancient creatures, totally covered with small sharp spines, plow slowly through the sand eating tiny bits of algae and detritus. Their mouth, found dead-center on their underside, is equipped with five tiny triangular white teeth. It is the hard, supporting structures of these teeth that form the little “doves”. Sand Dollars in our part of the country do not have the five holes that are found on some types - nor do they have the flower and bell on the underside.

Symbolism is a very old, rich part of the human culture. It is often how we associate and remember things that are important and dear to us. To me, knowing the facts behind the unique structures of the Sand Dollar does not in any way lessen the impact of the legend. Their design is so amazing - I turn them over in my hand, dead or alive, and remember ...

And God said, “Let the water teem with living creatures...”

So God created the great creatures of the sea

and every living and moving thing with which the water teems,

according to their kinds... God blessed them and said,

“Be fruitful and increase in number
and fill the water in the seas...”

Genesis 1: 20-22

O Lord, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
I will praise you, O Lord, with all my heart;
I will tell of all your wonders.
I will be glad and rejoice in you;
I will sing praise to your name, O Most High.

Psalm 8:9 & 9:1-2

Sweet Scent of Easter

Closing my eyes and breathing deeply, I relax and ride the flood of memories back to the early springs of my youth. Entering from the sparkling clear - yet still crisp - outdoors, I’m struck by the warm, humid, atmosphere and enveloped in a sweet, earthy scent. Before me lies my father’s greenhouse and benches full of brilliant white Easter Lilies.

I realize now how much I took them for granted, surrounded by them as we were for several weeks each year. Arm loads were sold and delivered each day, decked out in brightly colored foil and ribbons. We always had at least one in the house. At an early age, I was shown how to carefully pinch off the stamens to prolong the blooming time and keep the bright yellow pollen from staining the white petals. Or worse yet - Mom’s fancy tablecloth. I learned to check them daily, gently poking a finger in the pot to see if they were moist. Those who know me well notice that I still do these things - no matter whose lily it is. Old habits die hard...

The plant we know as the Easter Lily is native to the southern islands of Japan. In the 1880s Japan shipped it to Bermuda, where it was widely grown and known as the Bermuda Lily, but the majority of bulbs exported to the U.S. came from Japan. After World War I, an American soldier returned home to the southern coast of Oregon with a suitcase full of hybrid lily bulbs. These he gave to family and friends; because the climate there was similar to the plant’s native habitat, the growing conditions were ideal and the lilies flourished. With the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, the Japanese source of bulbs was cut off from the west and the value of lily bulbs skyrocketed. West Coast growers began producing bulbs (referred to them as “White Gold”) for the commercial market, and today 95% of these bulbs grown in the world are grown in a narrow coastal region straddling the California-Oregon border.

The journey from propagation to bloom is not an easy one for the Easter Lily. Bulbs require 2 years to reach saleable maturity and are handled as many as 40 times before finally being harvested in the fall, packed, and shipped to greenhouses. They do not normally bloom in the spring - science and horticulture have altered their natural blooming sequence to coincide with Easter. Growers must carefully determine when to plant and start forcing them, under controlled conditions, to bloom. This is made more difficult because Easter varies in date from year to year. Marketing occurs only for about 2 weeks before Easter and blooms are short-lived by nature, so there is very little margin for error in timing. They are worth the trouble.

Often called the “white-robed apostles of hope”, lilies were said to be found growing in the Garden of Gethsemane after Christ’s agony. Tradition has it that the beautiful white lilies sprung up where drops of Christ’s sweat fell to the ground in his final hours of sorrow and deep distress. We continue this tradition at Easter time by banking our altar and surrounding the cross with masses of them.

From the fields to the greenhouse to our church and homes, the Easter Lily remains the traditional, time-honored flower of Easter. Symbolic of the resurrection, it rises from earthy grave as scaly bulb, and blooms into a majestic flower that embodies the beauty, grace and tranquility of the season. For many, the beautiful trumpet-shaped flowers symbolize purity, virtue, innocence, hope and life - the spiritual essence of Easter.

I deeply inhale their rich scent - and feel my spirit soar.

“Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith!”
Luke 12:25-28

Spring Bloom

First, the hole.
Not too shallow or deep - it all depends on what goes in.
Hard work - the challenge of rocks, roots and clay.
Frustrating,
when the tool that’s supposed to make a neat, easy hole - doesn’t.
Messy - cold, wet, stick-to-the-hands dirt.
Drop it in.
There is a right-side-up, but not to worry.
When the time comes, it will find its way - honest.
It does not look like anything special.
Small, withered, brown & flaky.
Cover it up and wait.
How long?
Depends - for some, a few months; for a child, forever.
I am a child in so many ways, and time is relative.
It, too, must wait
for the cold, the wet, the warmth, the right time.
Through all the long winters of your life,
it lies dormant and cold.
You forget,
but the promise is always there.
It will come - slowly inching through -
multiplying, pushing, straining upward, bursting forth.
One day you will see it and know,
for it is a magnificent thing of perfect beauty
and warms your heart.
Was it worth the trouble?
Though not here long,

it leaves a small seed in your soul -
Hope.

When you sow, you do not plant the body that will be,

but just a seed, perhaps of wheat or of something else.

But God gives it a body as he has determined,

and to each kind of seed he gives its own body....

So will it be with the resurrection of the dead.

The body that is sown is perishable,

it is raised imperishable;

it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory;

it is sown in weakness,

it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body,

it is raised a spiritual body.

1 Corinthians 15:37 - 38, 42 - 44

Precisions of the Season

Make no mistake, they are precisely wrought. One is of dried grass, woven ‘round and ‘round into a neat, compact, cup shape. The center depression is lined with short, fine, white hairs - perhaps from some neighboring dog or goat. The second is more raggedy, made of small twigs, dry plant stems, fine pieces of bark, and a couple of strands of yarn. Its center hole is lined also, with what seems to be wool, dryer lint, or insulation and some grey, downy feathers. I have nestled them into small baskets for safe keeping, bringing them out of storage each spring as a reminder of the wonders of this season.

The raggedy one contains its original 5 small eggs. I committed no crime against nature, here. My sister, finding the nest abandoned and knowing of my passion for wild things, offered it to me - eggs & all. We carefully carried it all the way back from Montana that summer.

I gingerly remove one of the eggs and set it on the table. Smooth and white, with a spattering of dark speckles at the wider end, it tapers down at the other. As I tap it gently, one reason for its shape becomes clear. It spins where it lies. Eggs of cliff-nesting birds are more tapered still and, if jostled, roll in a circle - no chance of rolling off. Perfect design.

The shell in the other nest does not belong there, I just put it in for display. Sky-blue, it is obviously a robin’s, but the nest is much too small for that bird. Even now, after several years, the two pieces remain mostly intact, held together by a tough inner membrane. With more than one layer, an egg shell offers “flow-through” support and protection to the precious life inside. I found this shell on the ground, where the mother had dropped it after her young had hatched, for it was no longer needed.

Once we had a pair of geese. The female laid eggs, but she was a confused mother. She laid so many, that when she finally decided to set there was no way she could cover them all. She tried, warming & turning the eggs for weeks on end, but hatching none. Finally, I shooed her off and threw the rotten eggs at tree trunks faaaaaaar away from the house. Each one exploded loudly as it hit its mark.

My solution was to buy an incubator, collect the next eggs, & become a surrogate “mother goose”. Being one takes time & commitment. The eggs need to be kept at a certain temperature and humidity, turned several times a day, & “candled” to be sure they are developing. We used a strong flashlight for the candling and how exciting it was to watch the embryos develop from tiny red spots to turning, squirming nearly full-grown goslings! Hatching time arrived right on schedule & we kept close watch as each tiny babe used its egg tooth to peck a hole, then laboriously peck around the shell until it was finally free. New life rested near cast-off shells.

And so I keep these nests, and others like them - reminders, precisely wrought.

Therefore, if any one is in Christ,
he is a new creation;
the old has passed away, behold, the new has come.
All this is from God...
2 Corinthians 5.17-18