the Sheriff has arrived for duty

“Human happiness and moral duty are inseparably connected.”
― George Washington

(the Sheriff dressed for his arrival at home…finally)

It’s been a whirlwind of time and activity…
trying and hard as well as grateful and good.

It’s like I told Tricia the other day…when our family’s newest addition ended up in the
neonatal unit shortly after his birth, it was as if the world simply stopped and stood still.
Nothing outside that hospital mattered…

no politics
no societal or cultural idiocy
no countries
no governments
no Democrats
no Republicans
no tit for tat…

Absolutely nothing mattered but that our little guy would rally.

In hindsight, we learned that one of his lungs had collapsed and he “strangled” on amniotic fluid—
of which was suddenly realized when the “crisis” occurred while he was being kept in the nursey
following his birth.
Hence the surge of staff presence and the rapid removal to the neonatal care unit.

Add to that a few other issues that would delay circumcision for at least 6 months.

When my son and daughter-n-law returned home without a baby…
the very baby they had raced to deliver Sunday night, it was a sad arrival back home
and it was hard.

I had just returned home from having spent 4 days with them—we thought we still
has about 3 days when at midnight I got the call…
“Mother, I need ya’ll to come back, NOW!”

But how many couples experience such…?
How many parents continue to leave for the hospital only to come back home without the baby
they had left to go deliver?

It quickly put a spin of reality on birth…
something that we in the “civilized world” now take for granted.

We treat delivering a baby much as we do a trip to the dentist— a simple in and out.

100 years ago…folks knew not to take such for granted…

Perhaps it is our technological advances that have left us jaded and smug while feeling
almost infallible and indefensible to those worst-case scenarios…
situations that a century ago our grand and great grandparents knew better than to assume
that all would be well.

I learned as an educator to expect the worst, but rejoice when the success comes…

Maybe that’s why I consider myself more or less a pragmatist…
despite the fact that I claim and often cling to the positive…
I know, however, that life can change on a dime.

We were fortunate.

His initial tests came back negative and he got to come home to us late Thursday afternoon.

He weighed nearly a pound less than and was shorter in length than that of his sister,
The Mayor, when she was born nearly 15 months ago.

He lost weight in the hospital…backtracking from his birth weight.
But is slowly making a come back to the weight he arrived with.

Lanky and spindly vs a sister who was more round and full.

And speaking of the Mayor…she was a bit apprehensive on the day of her brother’s birth.

And note that face on The Mayor when she clamored up to sit by Mopie (aka “Biya”) when holding
the new Sherrif…

The Sheriff now wears a tiny monitor on his foot which measures his heart rate and oxygen levels…
And thankfully so far so good.

He’s just so tiny and seemingly frail…but I suspect that having to live under the tutelage
of his new boss, the Mayor, will require a ramp up in fortitude…
something I suspect our little Sheriff will certainly rise to occasion for…

I have no doubt…

Rejoice in the Lord always.
I will say it again:
Rejoice!
Let your gentleness be evident to all.
The Lord is near.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition,
with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding,
will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:4-7

Waiting and arrivals

“Waiting patiently in expectation is the foundation of the spiritual life”
Simone Weil

(Illuminated manuscript from the Book of Hours, the Annunciation 1410)

We have entered a new season within our faith…
Those seasonal cycles of the Church.
For we have now entered the season of waiting…
Otherwise known as Advent.
Taken from the Greek word, parousia, meaning arrival.

As in we are waiting for an arrival.

Yet do we not seem to spend our lives waiting?

Waiting on things to take place, to happen, to hurry up, to change, to come or to go….

However Father Henri Nouwen, in his essay Waiting For God, reminds us that
“for many people, waiting is an awful desert between where they are and where they want to go.
And people do not like such a place.
They want to get out of it by doing something.”

So waiting seems to be something we are relegated to suffer.

But Father Nouwen continues…
“Most of us think of waiting as something very passive, a hopeless state
determined by events totally out of our hands.”

“But there is none this passivity in scripture.
Those who are waiting are waiting very actively.”

“Active waiting means to be present fully to the moment, in the conviction
that somethings happening where you are and that you want to be present to it.
A waitng person is someone who is present to the moment, who believes that this moment is the moment.”

“A waiting person is a patient person.

The word patience means the willingness to stay where we are and to live the situation
out to the full in the belief that something hidden there will manifest itself to us.
Impatient people are always expecting the real thing to happen somewhere else and
therefore want to go elsewhere.

“Waiting, then is not passive.”

“To wait open-endedly is an enormous attitude toward life.”

So, too, is giving up control over our future and letting God define our life, trusting that
God molds us according to God’s love and not according to our fear.
The spiritual life is a life in which we wait, actively present to the moment,
trusting that new things will happen to us,
new things that are far beyond our own imagination, fantasy, or prediction.

“That, indeed, is a very radical stance toward life in a world preoccupied with control.”

And so we begin to wait…
actively and radically waiting….

Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord.
See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth,
being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains.
You also, be patient. Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand.
James 5:7-8

(Father Henri Nouwen’s words taken from Watch for the Light
Readings for Advent and Christmas / Plough Publishing House

The Duration

The measure of a life, after all, is not its duration, but its donation.
Corrie Ten Boom

(a lovely flower in Wright’s Square / Savannah, Ga / Julie Cook / 2014)

As our car pulled up to the hotel valet parking, with my aunt and I both shrieking for joy for having made the 4.5 hour journey in one piece, we noted that the guys who were waiting to help us unload the car, looking a bit like deer in headlights–as in “what in the heck has just pulled up to the curb” sort of fretful look.

It was either due to the fact that two crazy woman were hooting and hollering as they pulled up to the valet desk, or that a small SUV just pulled up with a giant Winston Churchill riding shotgun, or that a year’s worth of bags were staring them in the face, as the car was stuffed to the gills.

In our giddy as well as weary excitement, we explained that half the stuff could just stay in the car as we wouldn’t need it until Friday. They seemed relived.
I kind of think Winston had them a tad intimidated.

They loaded all the luggage, dresses, bags, pillows, picnic baskets, etc on the cart and pushed it in as we lagged behind.
The greeting by the front desk staff was warm and cordial—of course it was, this is still the South you know. Our rooms weren’t ready but no worries, hitting the pavement in search of an antique store or two would be a marvelous diversion in 91 degree heat.

Once the rooms were good to go, we made our way back to the hotel and schlepped our crap up the elevator. My room was facing the oh so busy main Savannah East Bay drag—in a nutshell—loud and raucous. Not being one who can sleep in the best of conditions, we headed back down to the lobby to inquire if there was perhaps a quieter room available, but if not, I’d just suck it up and deal with it.

The young lady behind the desk was as gracious and kind as she could be and actually moved me up 3 more floors–a prime view, still over the busy street but up enough as to muffle some of the sound. Pushing the luggage cart, maneuvering it through doors, in and out of elevators with me pulling and my aunt pushing was a comedy of errors—but we managed to unload, reload, move, and unload again with minimal disaster.

As it appears I have arrived for the duration, it must be noted that not all of that is mine.
My husband is coming down tomorrow night. I went ahead and brought down his bag. The bride asked if I’d bring down her dress for the rehearsal dinner. My aunt’s bag was along for the ride–yet the eyes of those in the lobby who were surveying our cart, spoke volumes. . .”they must be moving in” was the same smug stare from every face.

May it also be noted, you can’t take a wedding on the road and show up with some little over night bag.
Miracles are packed in those bags.
Straightening irons, brushes, makeup, baubles, party clothes, pretty shoes, perfume, the organization manual–aka–cookie’s notebook.

And so now, as I sit alone in this big ol room, sans husband and two cats, wondering what do to with myself. . .I think I’ll count the cars which are zooming past on the street below in order to fall fast asleep, as there are more errands and preparations looming tomorrow. All as the countdown continues.

One car, two motorcycles, three loud pedestrians, four street musicians. . .
(***and just so you know, it is now morning and the passing vehicles throughout the night do not, I repeat, do not make for slumbering assistance–nor the 5 AM constant din of traffic pouring into this major eastern seaport town—ode to puffy eyes)