65 Degrees and Sunny

I'm late to the computer today.  It's Saturday, 65 degrees, and sunny in NW Arkansas - the most perfect trail riding weather we get all year.  On the first ride of the day, we had 12 (!) horse and rider pairs.  My boarding stable offers guided trail rides on horses owned by the farm, and we boarders are welcome on any and all rides.  Most of the 12 (that's a significant number, yes?) were the farm regulars who make up my tribe: Susan, Angie, Melissa, Megan, Charlie, Amaia, Nancy.  We are a most diverse bunch, drawn together by a shared passion for horses. I'm the Sr. citizen of the group, and can so clearly see my teenage self in the young riders who are building their skills. I usually bring up the rear, and often get a catch in my throat that must be a rush of gratitude as I look down the line of friends and animals that bring me such joy.

We ride a serpentine of trails on city park land.  It takes us by a lake, a pier, and a waterfall.  Today, we were able to cross the White River over to an island populated with native bamboo.  Hence its nickname - Bamboozle.  In a couple of weeks, we will ride up the hill onto Bamboozle and it will be carpeted with purple flowers - possibly some variety of vinca.  It's breathtaking.  I wish I could share it with all of you.  Just close your eyes and imagine the most beautiful shade of deep periwinkle blue you can dream up.

The horses are scruffy and out of shape (as are the riders!).  Their hair is long, so when they get hot underneath, it curls and all their cowlicks show. We have had rain on top of rain on top of rain, so they've been rolling in the mud and ick.  They seem grateful to have their hooves cleaned and their backs scratched.  The filth migrates from the horse to me, and I'm weirdly thankful for the chance to care for a large beast that lives outdoors all the time.

I've had my sweet palomino quarter horse mare, Flash, for 22 years.  She's 25.  I can feel how she's going to move before she does it.  The slightest shift of weight, a sigh, her head perking up to pick up a sound or scent that my human senses cannot register.  I am as comfortable on her back as I am with my feet on the ground.  What a singular blessing for me to have had this kind of kinship with a horse over these many years.  She's strong and healthy, so I hope for a few more good years.  My granddaughter is learning to ride on her - be still my heart!  I can't think of anything I'd rather share with this beloved little girl, who shows all signs of making a terrific cowgirl.  She will enjoy a week of horse camp at the farm this summer, and will begin to build her own band of horsey friends.  I can hardly wait.  Thank you, God, that I can share my love of horses with my Sadie.  Bless the children who recognize their deep passions early in life.  Enable the development of their skills and surround them with caretakers who support their dreams.  I was so blessed.

It's my Birthday!

Today is my birthday.  It's a "big one", 65.  I'm officially old.  I presented my Medicare card for the first time at the allergy doctor. Last week I tripped over a baby gate I had set up to contain our basset hound, Luke, then, on Saturday, fell over a tractor attachment while carrying my saddle.  It's not like those things were tiny and easy to miss!  Clumsiness comes with age for some people, but I've always been this way: going through life in dreamland while banging up my shins.  And my daughters are quick to remind me not to worry about dementia - "You've always been forgetful. Remember picture days?"  So, I'm happy to reach this milestone in pretty good health, with my family in good shape as well.

Last night as I was falling asleep, my thoughts turned to my mother, and how uncomfortable she must have been 65 years back.  I was dearly wanted.  It had taken my parents awhile to conceive, and their friends and family members were already parents.  Those were the days before ultrasounds and such, so they were awaiting the surprise of whether they'd welcome a boy or a girl.  My mother, along with her mother, wanted a girl mightily.  My maternal grandmother had sewn a beautiful layette that included a number of pink gowns.

Those were fine days for my parents.  My mother had quit her job mid-pregnancy, as women did in 1955.  My dad was establishing himself as an architect in their small, southern town, and had all the work he could manage.  It would be several months before he had the first heart attack that would cast such a menacing shadow over our lives.  His third, when I was 8, would take him from us and set the tone for my remaining formative years.  I was to be their only child.

It is a good and healing thing for me to try to imagine my mother before her life was upended by such trauma.  In pictures surrounding my birth, she looks happy and relaxed.  She was strikingly pretty, and very stylish in that 1950's way we now call "vintage".  She is positively beaming, wearing a big, red corsage in outdoor photos taken the day of my baptism.

She would grow bitter over the years of managing life by herself.  She never re-married. The only thing she loved in life was me, and that is a crushing load for any offspring.  It was inevitable that I would disappoint as I made decisions about what I wanted for a life.  We came to blows about my beloved, to whom I've been blissfully married for almost 40 years.  You can bring a person into the world, but you can't live his or her life. You only get to commandeer your one glorious speck of time here.

I'd like to tell her I have a great, joy-filled life.  I like to hope that, in her eternity in God's close presence, she is like that new mother:  hopeful, content, safe in her world, protected from unbearable loss forever.  Thank you, Mom, for bringing me into this amazing world.

I commend to you a beautiful hymn by John Ylvisaker called "A Borning Song".  It opens:

I was there to hear your borning cry,

I'll be there when you are old.  

I rejoiced the day you were baptized,

to see your life unfold...

Several artists have recorded it on YouTube.  Bring the kleenex.

Hooray for Thursday!

Thursday is a yoga day.  I love the beginning of class.  Kristin, our instructor, opens with a silly, middle school joke, starts the calming music, and invites us to "Sit up straight, breathe deeply from the abdomen, and try to clear your minds of distraction."  What a treasure! Time to be still with the Spirit while going through the familiar, healing stretches that leave me feeling so much better.

I believe we are God's own creations, and that our earthly bodies are holy.  As I settle into the quiet and focus on my breathing, I'm reminded that we're given breath by the Creator.  A hymn text accompanies my deep breathing:  In-breath "Breathe on me"; out-breath "breath of God". (Hymn 508) This is my most reliable way to remember and reflect on Who I belong to.  The day's concerns fade to the background for 45 minutes - they can wait.

Do you have a favorite way to connect with your "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Ps. 139:14) body?  I'm all too inclined to stay in my head.  I can get interested in studying most any topic, and can usually be found with my nose in a book.  My husband is fond of saying the house could fall down around me if I'm deep in thought.  I might be accused of obsessing if I'm trying to solve a problem. But my physical body can speak more powerfully than my mind if I can just turn off the monkey brain for awhile.  When I close my eyes in "mountain pose", I can feel the intricate movements that keep me in a state of homeostasis and allow me to stay upright (most of the time!).  A similar appreciation for my whole sensory system happens when I ride my smooth quarter horse: the movement of her spine radiates right up my own, and works out the kinks of the fibromyalgia that causes my nerves to go into overdrive at the slightest excuse.

After some warriors, downward dogs, spinal twists, and finger yoga, we return to the quiet.  "Sit comfortably, hands in your laps, palms facing up.  Close your eyes or gaze softly."  So, Spirit, I'm ready to receive what you're offering today.  Open my eyes and ears and heart to your presence in everyone and everything.  Namaste.

Kristen joke:  "What's an alien's favorite candy?" (Mars bar! LOL)

40 Days is a Long Time!

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent.  Why start a blog at the beginning of Lent?  It's kind of a dark season to begin a new adventure. Well, I'm not sure I chose it.  I've been getting 2x4's to the head from the Holy Spirit, and they've become more frequent and obvious lately.  For example, a book about starting a blog "jumped off the shelf" while I was browsing my local library last week.  The process can best be condensed as a conversation with the Holy Spirit that went something like this:

HS:  "It's time for you to start writing regularly. You got this idea for a blog at the Kenyon College Spiritual Writing Conference several years ago, and time's a-wasting."

Me:  "I don't know.  You know I'm kind of lazy and undisciplined.  I like to keep my options open.  What if it's sunny and warm and I want to ride?  Blog writers post every day! What if I run out of words?"

HS:  "I'll help you. You don't have to do it by yourself.  Remember how, for the past few years, you've given up 'computer piddling' for Lent? This year, I'm just asking you to partner with me to fill that space with a specific discipline.  Who knows, Lent is a good length for developing a habit.  You might like it and keep at it."

Me:  "Hmmm.  You're making sense.  I need a good kick in the pants to get started.  Lent has always had a special dimension for me; a longing for quiet and connection with you.  Maybe taking this leap will inform my prayer life and help me listen better."

So, I dusted off my Blogger account and told a few friends about my plans to keep me accountable. We're off and running!  I'm curious where this journey will lead and am glad to have you along.

May any of you who worship in a liturgical tradition be blessed with a holy Lent.


Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.  BCP, p. 165