ponderingsat80’s posterous

The steady rhythm,

The ebb and flow.

Inward, outward – onward

Towards becoming.

Nothing held onto,

Nothing held back.

Nothing treasured

Yet – all treasured.

No time wasted,

No moment lost.

All held together

In a bond of steady giving.

In the silent stream of a

Softly flowing movement

Is found Christ,

The Joy of gentle discipline.

We are God’s helpers.  We are part of His Spirit. We are His thoughts and we are part of His plan.  Each of us is given what is needed to do His work.

If we find ourselves envying others who “appear” more intelligent, better with their hands - more talented . . . we will fail to develop the skills to do what is asked of us.  We are not called to do everyone’s work, only our own. If we are envious and jealous, we will have missed the point.   

We are given many opportunities to serve, but often fail because of our need for recognition.  It takes humility to trust that we are exactly where we are meant to be; that we have been given what we need to do the work.  We are God’s helpers and until we realize this, we will delay becoming the person we are meant to be. We will delay the process that leads us back to the Source from which we have our being.  It is not ours to question, only to accept.

This is how I see it.

 Her beauty was in her smile – a kind of innocence. She trusted people.  It drove me crazy to see how easily she could have been cheated of her money.     Without question, without concern, she would hand me her wallet urging me to take the money I needed in which to buy something she needed. She never questioned me - she trusted.  She behaved this way with everyone.  She developed a childlike innocence and sweetness as she aged.

 We go around watchful - suspicious of everybody.  Is this any better?  Oh, sweet, sweet soul – you had so much to teach,  but we failed to see or to understand your beauty.

 Is it too late?  Can we now learn from you?  Can we too find a kind of innocence?

We were the first plane to land at Heathrow Airport.  A heavy smog blanketed London and for several days  nothing had moved.  Having left Stockholm earlier that day, I was anxious to meet up with my husband in London for our trip home.  As we deplaned, those of us in transit were directed to a waiting lounge.  The airport was in total chaos; stranded passengers, unable to leave, were everywhere.  My only thought was, may my husband please be waiting for us! 

Having been told he would soon see his daddy, my 2 year old threw a tantrum when his daddy was nowhere in sight.  He lay on the floor kicking and screaming and wiped his face with his dirty hands. He was inconsolable.  Meanwhile, my 5 month old baby was crying – she needed to be changed and was hungry.  Alarmed that something may have happened to my husband, I began to panic.  Where is he?  Why did he not meet us as planned?    What should I do?  I have no money! . . .

 Once again, I was approached by strangers offering to help.  Gratefully, I asked,  “Can you heat this bottle?”     They did, but the milk was too hot and the baby cried.  My little boy kept on screaming and my side ached from a recent appendectomy.  There was chaos at the airport and chaos in my life.   I had to do something - I had to create some kind of order.  I had no money, true, but I had tickets to fly home.  This is what I must do, I reasoned. I have no other choice.

Having made this decision I felt myself more in control and I began to relax. I took the children to the washroom, cleaned them up and cooled the bottle.   When I returned to the waiting room my name was being paged! What a relief!  Who else would know I was there?

 Because of the smog, my husband too was stranded.  After several calls from his hotel to inquire about our flight, he was finally told our plane had landed. He immediately had me paged and found his way to the airport.   

We finally met and nothing mattered anymore – we were together and we were  going home!

Moments of Peace

  Days of Quiet 

 Silence

What a gift this has been

For me these last few days

Time Alone

Routine,  rhythm,  silence.

My heart has yearned for this

My soul rejoices

I feel nourished, balanced

And at peace

All is given

The need, the yearning, the desire

  That I may hear the call

Of the Giver

In a previous entry I mentioned attending the Nobel Ball and dancing with a prince . . .

The following morning  was a very different story . . .  I awoke with a wicked pain in my stomach;  by   afternoon it had worsened and I was rushed to the hospital.  I was exmined and immediately underwent  exploratory surgery.   A ruptured ovarian cyst was found and  removed along with my appendix.   

When I came out of the anaesthetic, several women -  one of them in white, with lighted candles on her head - surrounded my bed singing Sancta Lucia.  Ooh, I thought, I’ve died and am now in heaven!  Noticing my confusion, they explained they were celebrating St. Lucia Day.  The custom is to chose a young girl to be St. Lucia;  a crown of lighted candles is placed on her head and she is sent to visit people in their homes, offices, schools - in this instance, a hospital - to offer them cakes and candies. This custom is practiced on December 10 in all of Sweden.    

 Socialized medicine in Sweden was new to us and we were very impressed with the care I was given.  I remained in hospital for ten days, and was well back on my feet by the time I left. 

 No Ball.  No dance with a prince . . .  but  St. Lucia, complete with lighted candles, was another exciting experience to remember.  

Not from the time of day

Nor sunshine

Rain

Or season.

Not from the way one feels

Or touches

Hears

Or reasons

But from silence of the quiet night

A place of the unknowing

Comes Presence – All – eternal Light

From in the darkness glowing.

How excited I was to attend the Nobel Ball!  My hands were shaking as I slipped into a red taffeta gown,elbow length gloves and satin shoes; my hair done up in a fashionable chignon; a single strand of pearls with matching earrings, and a dainty gold bracelet over my gloves.    It was all so Cinderella like!

We attended the banquet – my husband at one end of the hall and I at the other – as was the custom at these events. More booze than food was served and I quickly relaxed and felt comfortable with strangers.

 As we entered the ballroom after the meal, I was approached by a handsome young man who asked me to dance . . . I recognized him as the prince and immediately began to worry I might miss a step or trip over his feet.

That did not happen and I was quite enjoying myself when I suddenly became aware that my breasts were leaking!  I had not fed my 3 month old baby for hours; booze at dinner and the excitement of dancing, triggered a deluge!  Stains were forming at the front of my dress and becoming more obvious by the minute.   Horrified, I made some excuse and found my way to the washroom.  There was nothing I could do – it was a disaster. 

 I caught my husband’s eye as I exited the washroom, and signalled to him there was a problem.  “We have to leave right away! “   I exclaimed.  “Look at my dress!”  It was with great reluctance  that   we said our goodnights and  I quickly walked towards the door with shawl draped tightly around me.

  As we boarded the train back to Uppsala, it was not the stain that remained in my thoughts – it was the thrill of the evening, of the incredible event, and as  I lay my head against the seat, I kept hearing over and over in my head, , I danced with a prince!  I danced with a prince!    

 I was alone with my 2 year old son in Uppsala, Sweden,  the afternoon I went into labour for my second child.   As I got up from a nap, I noticed that my water had broken and contractions had begun.  My husband was at a Meeting in Stockholm and not expected home till after six o’clock.  I won’t panic, I thought – I’ll see how it goes...  Unfortunately, the contractions did not let up and  something had to be done .

I crossed the hall to the elderly neighbour and asked to use her telephone.   I spoke no Swedish and she no English but it was not difficult to communicate what was going on. She had no telephone so she headed up the stairs to ask for help.

Within minutes - in perfect English - a woman asked what she could do to help?   She rushed to the nearest phone booth to call my friend who had offered to take our little boy when I went to the hospital.   In no time my friend was at the door and took him with her  kicking and screaming.    The upstairs neighbour then asked, “What will you do?”  -- “I must get to the hospital.” I replied.  “Alone?”  - “Yes.”  “You cannot go alone!” She insisted, I will go with you!” 

She saw me to admittance and answered all questions for me in Swedish.  She stayed by my side until I was taken to the maternity ward. 

 Several hours later a beautiful baby girl was delivered by a mid-wife.  I had no idea what was happening; could not speak the language, and kept asking for the doctor.   The mid-wife smiled and showed such confidence and efficiency that I soon realized there would be no doctor (unless there is a problem, no doctor is called).  Prompted by the mid-wife, I relaxed, took deep breaths and gave birth naturally without medication.     

 What struck me the most about that experience, and stayed with me all these years, was the help I received from an upstairs neighbour – the kindness of a stranger.