wants and fears

“You are asking for something that would be harmful to your salvation if you had it—
so by not getting what you’ve asked, you really are getting what you want.”

St. Catherine of Siena


(black-eyed susans / Rosemary Beach, Fl / 2019)

What really hurts is not so much suffering as the fear of suffering.
If welcomed trustingly and peacefully, suffering makes us grow.
It matures and trains us, purifies us, teaches us to love unselfishly,
makes us poor in heart, humble, gentle, and compassionate toward our neighbor.
Fear of suffering, on the other hand, hardens us in self-protective,
defensive attitudes, and often leads us to make irrational choices with disastrous consequences.”

Fr. Jacques Philippe, p. 47
An Excerpt From
Interior Freedom

Gentle, soft and sweet

“Oh! that gentleness! how far more potent is it than force!”
― Charlotte Brontë

Just as in earthly life lovers long for the moment when they are able to breathe forth their love for each other, to let their souls blend in a soft whisper, so the mystic longs for the moment when in prayer he can, as it were, creep into God.
Soren Kierkegaard

“You might say, ‘Can’t we have a more human Christianity, without the cross, without Jesus, without stripping ourselves?’ In this way we’d become pastry-shop Christians, like a pretty cake and nice sweet things. Pretty, but not true Christians.”
Pope Francis

DSCN4779

DSCN4780
(the tender sweet flowers emerging from what was overtly pruned brown barren sticks / Julie Cook / 2014)

In this often brash, over the top, garish and loud life of ours, it is ever important to still seek the gentle, the soft and the sweet of life. Sometimes it as if we forget that there is anything other than the glaring din of heaviness which wraps itself around us like a thick woolen blanket–itchy and scratchy and nearly suffocating.

That which is tender and gentle often seems bound to be crushed by life’s heavy boot.
That which is soft fearfully may soon grow coarse and worn by life’s rough ride.
That which is sweet is in jeopardy of being drowned out by life’s harsh constant whir.
Transforming our bright eyes and light step to a lifeless glaze and mindless trudge through a joyless journey.

Yet. . .
Take courage you who grow weary of life’s heaviness.
That which speaks to your soul must be sought.
Serenity is not found in bravado.
Peace is not found in chaos.
Ode to the tender and gentle souls who move mountains

Be mindful that in the sweet soft gentleness lies the depth of strength and tenacity.
For it was a mere boy who slew a giant and grew to be a king.
For it was a 5 foot little nun who tended to the sick and dying only to become a saint.
For it was a pacifist hindu who turned an entire world upside down.
For it was a newborn infant who made kings quake with fear.

Gentle, soft and sweet reach inward, lifting upward.
Soothing and comforting sweeps toward the hardened heart.
Bending the will until it succumbs to Grace.

the neighborhood kids

DSC00098

“An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language.”

Martin Buber

DSC00065

I grew up in Atlanta during the 1960’s. For all the world’s angst during the turbulent 60s’— between Vietnam protests, the birth of the hippies/flower children and the “Peace Movement” to woman’s lib, Woodstock, Hell’s Angels…my world was pretty oblivious. I lived on a street that was/is known as a “court”—a road that is a dead-end but actually has a rounded ending allowing cars to flow back out down the street as they came in. Ten houses were/are still on the street. Five of the houses had kids with another having visiting grandkids.

It was a wonderful place for kids—a relative safe enclave as the cars coming and going were, for the majority, residents of the street all knowing to watch out, as we were constantly taking over the street. We used the court end as a baseball field, as the location for the can in our night games of “kick the can”, as a roller skating rink, our bike raceway and as a basketball court as one neighbor erected a basketball backboard and net on the telephone pole.

Every house’s back yard was fair game for us. One yard was particularly ideal for a neighborhood game of football. This neighbor had a nice boat that he kept flipped over on two sawhorses that provided a wonderful place to “play” pirates….no one thought of the danger of the boat falling on any of us. At any moment a neighbor could peek out a window catching a glimpse of a young person running past, moving towards the next adventure—as surrounding the houses on one side of the strew were “the woods” and on the other side of the street, back behind those houses, was “the creek”.

With adventure and imagined danger lurking at every turn we were in childhood heaven in the middle of the big city. There were pine straw forts in the woods, with sand bar islands claimed as territory up and down the creek. I suppose back then parents didn’t worry perhaps as they do today. We could spend all day in woods and creek, not returning home until sundown all without any parents batting an eye.

My mother had an antique cow bell she’d ring, stepping out the back door swinging that thing back and forth—I was so embarrassed as it sounded as if the whole world knew the Nichols kids had to hurry home. But that only meant running in to grab a jar, complete with lid, hurrying back out to catch the summer’s arriving lightning bugs or fire flies.

It was an ideal time and way of growing up—or so it seemed to us—the violence of today just didn’t seem to exist, and if it did, it was far removed from our world. There were not the sexual predators we hear of almost daily today, or if there were, we didn’t know about it. We longed for the ice cream man to come to our street, not ever thinking he could be someone who would do harm to kids.
We walked the mile to and from elementary school, our parents never imaging that doing so could put any of us at risk for “disappearing”—thank God—thank God for that innocence of time.

Our lemonade stand was actually an ice tea stand—we made all of $2—and were proud of it. With only 10 houses our “business” was a bit limited and not “booming”. The greatest tragedy was when my cat wandered down to the busier street that our street emptied into. My dad constantly warned us to never ever go down to that street as cars just zipped up and down. Our bus stop was located on the corner and that was as far as we could go unescorted.

My Charcoal unfortunately wandered one night too far. We found him, as we all made our way to the bus stop one morning—everyone started yelling about the run-over dead cat, of which I explained was simply sleeping. I was in the first grade, what did I know?! On further inspection we all realized it was my cat. I remember running all the way back to the house, crying hysterically. My dad had to go get him in order to bury him in our backyard—-how many pets are still there in that yard…..

My Dad and step-mom still live in the house. Things have changed very little yet there are subtleties—the kids are all grown and gone, and even their children, the grandchildren are now grown. The street has only 3 of the original owners remaining and is mostly silent now. The urban sprawl of the city has grown and is encroaching more and more on the “neighborhood” but the street is still dreamlike and peaceful. I wouldn’t let any child walk to school today, or play in the polluted creek, or in what remains of any woods that has yet been developed. Dad doesn’t know the names of the neighbors….and I never see anyone out when I go to visit but maybe a passing jogger….sadly the innocence seems to have faded away….pity

Today I want to share with you my neighborhood’s kids. Well, I can’t say that I really live in a neighborhood as I am surrounded by woods and pastures but I still have kids that I can catch a glimpse of running past my window. These kids may not be as friendly as we were, but they still enjoy running around the yard, chasing and being chased….investigating this and that and simply having fun just “hanging out”…

I’ve had the joy and pleasure of watching these two grow up since this past winter….hopefully, they will be back with their children soon……as I hope my yard can maintain an innocence for them……