Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

miracles brewing in the late summer storms

Around sunset one evening last week, a mild storm gathered. We walked around the farm gathering the free range birds, I flaked out some bedtime hay for the horses, and Handsome obliged Klaus with his requisite post-dinner fetch throws. The skies grew bruised and moody, the clouds lowered, and a cool wind combed over us. After such a brutal heat wave and drought most of the summer, these were foreign details, sensations we had almost forgotten.

I grabbed my husband’s hand and said, “Let’s pray for the kids. For everyone.”

We stood in the front yard between the house and the yurt and faced north to watch the swirling, dimensional weather. We continued holding hands and prayed aloud for those closest to us. We prayed for some hard situations at the Commission, too. We prayed for a few dear friends. We gave thanks for innumerable miracles in our lives, both very old and very recent. We gave thanks for this little farm that has survived another extreme weather season, for all the birthdays, for all the fun and hard work and rest afforded us.

We prayed for the kids again.

And my heart lifted.

I got that giggling feeling that so often starts in my hips and rises through my belly and lungs. I let it bloom into a smile while we prayed and watched the Pine Forest and listened to the chickens quiet down. It felt wonderful and natural to be submitting needs and wants to God without begging Him. And in the shadow of the front edge of that storm, I felt revolution coming.

Today more fresh weather rolled in, an even cooler and much gentler rainstorm. I was at the local reservoir running a few easy miles, and the sky grew thick and woolly. The first few raindrops might have been my own sweat, but soon enough the moisture felt cold and consistent. I let it soak me and remembered many of the prayers we uttered a few nights ago. I thought back over the years, of how many miracles have burst forth in our life in what appeared to be an instant. One phone call, a sudden announcement at the office, an email, a visitor. A realization.

Everything can turn on a dime, and that is to be celebrated, not feared.

As we begin a brand new month and likely a new season, my heart feels stronger than it has, maybe, in years. I feel more attuned to Love and more expectant of miracles big and small, and this time in a much happier, less desperate way. Because this is how life is supposed to be. Rich with blessings and mercy. Alive with texture, change, mystery, peace, adventure, and Love.

I bid adieu to August in an Instagram post and my husband said it almost made him cry. I get it. Summer is a fun, free, celebratory time. August contains his birthday, too! And we always hate to see certain chapters close.

But this next little bit will be so good. Probably better in many ways. Maybe with fewer difficulties. Because all the late summer storms are hiding miracles we have not yet seen. Answers that we have sought earnestly and should absolutely expect at just the perfect moment.

As I finish writing this, rain has picked up pace. It is pinging and echoing in the chimney. Klaus is on the concrete floor, snoring contentedly. The farm is, otherwise, nearly silent. Ready for and open to whatever is coming our way.

Trust in the Goodness of Life
XOXOXOXO

out of the blue and in his perfect timing

Two Wednesdays ago, I had already planned to drive to the City to see Jess and go shopping with her for eyeglasses, hopefully grab lunch together, and do some early Christmassy fun stuff, too. You may already grasp what a beautiful blessing just this much is in our life, this normal mom-and-daughter afternoon. A year ago it was a brand new chapter, and I have been grateful every day since. But this week, we had another surprise.

In our planning texts, Jess asked casually how I would feel about her big sister joining us. My contact with Joc has been almost non-existent this past year, though I do hear updates through loved ones here and there and my intense dreams about her have not slowed down. But this would be our first in-person meeting in many months, and for it to happen by her choice made it extra meaningful. 

 

Silliness, beauty inside and out, & pure joy!! xoxoxo

My baby girls are young women now, ages 23 and 21, both fully engaging in life with all of its light and darkness, all of its thrills and terror and beauty and ugliness. They are as similar as twins yet wildly different. And they are two of the most resilient, deeply feeling, and vital people you will ever meet. Seeing them together, across from me, after so many years is an immeasurable joy.

Jess treated us to rolled ice cream after a romaine-free Tex-Mex lunch.

A few days before this, though I never told anyone, I was kind of on the edge of despair. For all my talk of gratitude and hope, faith and trust, I certainly have little stretches of time when the facts get too loud and scary, and I begin to doubt.

That Monday morning I was driving to the lake for a run and cried out loud to God, kind of spontaneously, “When are you going to bring her back?! I miss her so much!! Just bring her back!” Had you been in the car with me, friend, you might have described my outburst as a shriek. And not a lovely one. It was guttural and unplanned.

Though brief, all of that felt too much like anger, which is dangerous territory for me. So I tempered it with deliberate prayers of trust, shaping my thoughts and words with effort, making sure to verbalize that His timing is perfect, that I know it’s more important for her to be safe and happy than it is for me to have her close by.

You know that sometimes with motherhood, sometimes it is an impossible separation for us, to ever stop craving our children. Sometimes I miss them so much I feel like screaming or vomiting. Selfish, but there it is.

So I quieted myself and ran those solitary miles and went on with my work day at the farm. Next came a few days of extra spiritual/emotional work, choosing to trust Him when it did not come easily. And I will tell you that God was merciful. He sent me some relief, emotionally. I just felt softer, safer, more assured in those days. And forgiven for my outburst, too.

Then came Jessica’s text Wednesday morning. My hands were shaking, and I cried and giggled until my jaws clattered against each other.

Then my long drive to Oklahoma City, anticipating Jocelyn’s face, her ebony eyes, her smell, her slender arms and sneaker-clad feet. I had seen her from a distance recently, while driving, but that she hadn’t seen me. 

When I found my girls together, they were happy and laughing, curling their hair. We spent just a moment in suspense, feeling the space between us, then we hugged tighter than ever. I laughed until I cried, again. And those slender arms squeezed me back. She was 23 and newborn and 9 years old and home with me and on a mountain top in Estes park and there in her sister’s apartment, all at once.

We spoke carefully at first, but that did not last long. All this joy and ease, all of this delicious energy, just poured out of us, into the room, filling the space between the three of us. I could taste the Love.

This is exactly the kind of thing that is both out of the blue and completely “on deck,” if you know what I mean. It is something for which we have been praying, and we have trusted and built up our faith stone by stone, but we could never know when the answer would come. In fact, sometimes the answer comes in glimpses, and that’s ok.

Last November, life was so different. We were stunned and fearful. I wrote this almost exactly a year before this thrilling reunion two Wednesdays ago:

I have spent the last two weeks soaking this answered prayer deep into my bones.

I know more is coming.

I know that God hears us. He is worthy of our trust, and He has better answers than we could every imagine on our own, certainly better solutions than we could construct ourselves. I’ll happily take these glimpses of joy while we wait and trust. 

Whatever miracle you are waiting to see, please keep believing that the best is yet to come. Please muster the oxygen to fuel your faith, and fan each other’s flames too because we all need the warmth. Joy is coming. miracles are very real.

XOXOXOXO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

our dewali experience

Last weekend my husband and I had the unique opportunity to attend a Dewali festival in Oklahoma City. It’s an Indian Hindu tradition, and it was beautiful. Our dear friends Mickey and Kellie joined us. Here are some memories, incomplete though this writing will be. It’s just impossible to capture everything from such an extraordinary evening. xoxo

We entered the building at the back, walking through double doors and into a foyer, just like in any North American Christian church. (In fact I think this building used to be a Christian church.) To our left, three Indian men were seated at a long table, all dressed in colorful floor length garments. They smiled and bowed lightly to their folded hands, welcoming us.

The hallway in front of us was adorned on the floor with colored powder, mandala-like designs, abstract lotus flowers maybe, but other symmetrical images too. Tables, windows, children and adults were all covered lavishly with silks and linens and embroidered cottons in every color, mostly jewel tones. Lots of gold. Lots of pink with red and pink with purple, every shade of green and blue, more gold, and a few striking black ensembles edged in silver. Breathtaking, inspiring color everywhere I looked.

We wandered briefly before our friend Kiran appeared. Petite and smiling, she glided down that lotus-strewn hallway and greeted my husband and our friend Mickey. Kellie and I watched as she hugged and welcomed them and they smiled warmly at her, so much curiosity about the evening piquing. I could see the feeling of belonging wash over both men. Kiran directed all of us to remove our shoes. Piles of high heels, sneakers, boots, and flip flops were stacked and arranged along the far end of the long hallway. A few teenagers giggled and walked quickly through our group. I could feel that happy holiday energy.

Our husbands were ushered to the main auditorium to sit up front with the men. Inside, a visiting guru dressed in solid orange robes was already speaking, the language unfamiliar but soothing. Lilting and energetic.

Kellie and I followed Kiran. My eyes feasted on the parade of color, and every person who made eye contact with us smiled warmly. I felt happy, welcomed and loved.

This whole time God was whispering to me again about gentleness and Love in action, not just ideas. Real True Church, in this unexpected setting.

I cannot relay the full experience of the evening’s message, because even with some abbreviated translation we only caught snippets. But what we did glean was powerful, and I was thrilled to discover so much common ground with my own faith:

  • Religion is not full spirituality; it is only a part of life. But it is important. Religion is the salt that gives life flavor.
  • In true community, it doesn’t matter who you are or what you have; it only matters what you bring to the table, what you can do to help others, and how you contribute.
  • Light dispels darkness. New life erupts from death. Good wins over evil, in the end. Love is it.
  • Life on earth is filled with many tangled, curving, meandering paths offered by demons and evil, paths that lead to destruction, but only God (yes, singular) shows the path to salvation.

Since Kellie and I spent most of the first session on the back row, we had a glorious view of the whole room. We could see the small group of men up front, the gurus in orange, and the male children who spoke on stage (irresistibly cute). We saw dozens of women of all ages glide in and out, and we oohed and ahhed together over our favorite saris and scarves. We made secret plans for what we would love to wear, given the opportunity.

Kellie and I also smiled about the many ways this “church” experience was similar to our own American-Christian “church” experiences, things that, the more I think about it, are maybe just human experiences:

  • People chatter politely even when there is a revered speaker on hand.
  • Friends and family are happy to see each other, especially on a special holiday occasion like this, and you do not need to understand the language to understand the emotion.
  • And they love to dress up in extra special outfits for special occasions. It was different, of course, but it sure brought back happy memories from all through my life (and my daughters lives) of wearing a dress to church that was purchased just for that holiday.
  • Little children wander and play freely between the aisles. They just do. Here, though, we noticed that everybody helped. Instead of insisting that one parent do all of the corralling or correcting, all the adults in the room seemed to care for all the little children, and it was so gentle and loving. It was such a communal feeling that we couldn’t really tell who belonged to whom.

After a while the entire group exited this main (unadorned) auditorium and reconvened upstairs. We crowded happily into a room where everyone sat on the floor, men up front again and the women behind a dividing rope. I felt the excitement building and could also smell food fragrances wafting up the adjacent stairwell. (A delicious community feast would follow.) We all faced one wall that bore this expansive and ornate collection of icons. Wall to wall and floor to ceiling, three dimensional artwork, stunning stuff. They were all images with which I was somewhat familiar from literature or folklore. It was a carved and painted display of gods and goddesses, and it was breathtaking. In front of the artwork were tables strewn with food offerings as colorful and abundant as everything and everybody else. Also, dozens of strings of electric lights. A feast for the senses.

I want to mention here that every time Kiran or her husband anyone else from the community (Kellie and I received hints from friendly neighbors here and there) addressed their gods and goddesses, it was with a gentle tone of… not ambivalence… but rather, caution. I understand that vital intricacies can get lost in translation and language barriers, and these are sacred topics. So that could be part of it. But also, the more we learn about this faith the more we see that their beliefs are much more like our own than we had previously grasped. The Hindu God is actually singular and is manifested or personified in many different ways. There are myriad stories and practices which honor so many incarnations. This feels familiar, right? Okay, this is a fascinating topic for conversation. I have lots more to learn before I feel qualified to write about it. But please know that this community, these treasured friends, took us deep into curiosity about our common ground. And we appreciate that so much.

Seated on the floor surrounded by so many women in those luscious colorful garments, Kellie and I did our best to follow along. We prayed silently while they all sang, and we thoroughly enjoyed their happy songs. Children toddled around us, the gurus in orange swayed and bowed, everyone was happy. We absorbed it all and wondered together how our husbands were feeling. At some point we saw that they were being dotted on their foreheads with red ink and received woven bracelets.

I meditated with eyes wide open while the group sang in unison. I tried to guess what they were singing about. As if she could read my mind, an older woman behind me tapped the back of my left arm and leaned in, answering, “It’s a song to worship God.” She said this with firmness. I loved the clean, dark-denim sound of her voice.

During a part of the ceremony when the fluorescent lights were low and everyone was holding a small ghee candle, I couldn’t resist glancing around and behind us. So many beautiful dark brown faces, waterfalls of shining black hair, and ebony eyes illuminated by that firelight. It really took my breath away. The women were gorgeous beyond my powers of description. Glittering, glowing, calm and energetic.

We all rotated our candles in front of our seated selves, clockwise I think, and when I fell out of sync with the group, that same solid woman behind me offered gentle redirection. Later, my husband and I shared the observation that the prayers here closed just at the exact moment that our little ghee wicks extinguished themselves. Beautiful.

This evening offered us so much. We stayed long enough to meet more people, friends old and new, and Kiran loaded me up with a platter of delicious (I mean SO DELICIOUS) Indian foods and handmade candies. We were gifted books to study and were invited to Delhi, haha! Kiran and her friends answered every question we asked.

Eventually the four of us found our shoes and walked to the parking lot, the air cold now and smelling of snow. We drove to our respective homes, chattering about the event, and I ate all the candies on our way back to the farm. (So good.)

In the coming hours and days we had lots to distill. The experience offered far more than I can write about here, and we have all been hungry for the spiritual feast. I hope this writing at least marks the memory so later we can come back to it and summon the feelings, the new thoughts, the echoes and truths rediscovered.

In addition to so much else, Dewali tradition also celebrates the power of knowledge to win over ignorance, which is especially meaningful to me. We had first walked through those double doors curious but plenty ignorant. We left better informed, despite the language barrier, and I think that Love did most of the work. This community just welcomed and loved us, and softened us with genuine hospitality. Along the way God spoke to our hearts. He translated for us. We still have oceans of knowledge to gain, but this feels really good for now, and I am so thankful.

Happy winter, friends. Happy Thanksgiving week. Happy Advent (soon) and Dewali (belated) and happy everything. May light dispel darkness in your world. May Love overpower sin and worry and evil. May knowledge fill all the ignorance gaps. 

XOXOXOXO

 

 

 

 

 

daybreak today and the happy residue of our friday night gathering

Around 7:15 this morning Klaus and I went outside to feed everyone breakfast and to bear witness to daybreak. The inky black sky and diamond moon an hour earlier had whispered promises of an exceptional display, and we were not disappointed.

The eastern sky cracked open and gushed Technicolor all over the farm. All over the prairie grasses and wildflowers, the pine trees and blackjacks and zinnias and eerily decaying summer vines. Something I’ll never capture in a snapshot. That molten energy rushed through the treetops, scattered leaves both downhill and up, and transformed the pond into a pink and orange looking glass. The already dazzling crazy quilt of autumn leaves was for several moments downright metallic. Glittered. And still, the sun was just rising, barely.

 

Almost forty five minutes later, as I sat outside scribbling this in my notebook, broad gashes of light were streaming across the treetops and aiming west, downhill, and straight through me. It was all bold and direct, no longer diffused.  

Everyone around here seems to agree that this year’s autumn transformation has been a special one. We should probably thank the lush, mild summer and gentle cool down for that. The forests and gardens have been changing daily, hourly sometimes, like a twisting handheld kaleidoscope where each leaf is a chunk of tinted glass reflecting against so many connecting mirrors.

I want my eyes and my heart to be mirrors for all of it. I want to always remember how beautiful Oklahoma was in October of 2018.

One day soon we will wake up for our usual routines and see that the trees are bare and the ground is frozen. On that day we’ll find the beauty of course, but it will be different. For now, for today, we will soak up the color and thrumming life and all of this glorious transformation energy. And we’ll count it all joy because it’s so easy. It’s so available to us.

Last night four friends joined us at the farm for a cozy dinner and to finally discuss The Book of Joy. It was a small, organic mix of deeply thinking, tender, feeling people who had either already enjoyed the book or who were interested in it based on piecemeal reviews I had been posting on Facebook for months.

The Book of Joy is just so nourishing, you guys. I highly recommend this slim, straightforward work to people of every religion, every background, every station in life. And I strongly suggest you buy a copy to keep forever; because it seems to be the kind of book that you might read (or at least skim and review) at different times in life and each time glean new wisdom.

Our intimate discussion last night was everything my soul needed. I felt absolute Love in the midst of us all, and my brain kept sparking and coming to life every time someone shared their insights. The fact that my husband was there for it all and a strong part of the dialogue is a brand new joy for me. 

I have tried to make people aware that the ultimate source of happiness is simply a healthy body and a warm heart. ~Dalai Lama

Soon, in addition to so much great material from the book, I want us to explore Ubuntu, the African expression for humanity. “We become persons through other people.” It’s the notion that connectedness is part of our human design, our nature. The idea that we function best when we find other people and live in actual community. Especially as the holiday season opens wide, I would love to really internalize this concept.

Togetherness, intimacy, connection, community.

Daybreak for our hearts and minds and bodies and spirits. Eye candy and nourishment, both. Improving our perspectives and staying aware and very very present. Yes to all of it.

I am beyond excited to continue this dialogue with my husband and our friends and their loved ones, and also with my sister Angela and maybe our adult children, as well as with our friend Kiran, who is Hindu. The diversity of our favorite humans is as mesmerizing as Oklahoma’s autumn display right now.

“The way you see the world,
the meaning you give to what you witness,
changes the way you feel.”
~Jinpa
XOXOXOXO

“be gentle”

This reminder came to me in earnest on Saturday, but it has been circling for weeks: “Be gentle.” 

I saw it at a nearby thrift store while we shopped for a table lamp. The message stopped me in my tracks, the words scrawled in loopy handwriting with a blue grease pencil on this beautiful little dressing mirror, a pink vintage treasure, chalky to the touch and no doubt filled with memories. 

“Be Gentle,” the message pleads with passersby to not crash past and damage this.

I had been hearing and feeling this all month in lots of different ways, but I just kept crashing through every day.

Do you remember in that Jim Carrey movie Bruce Almighty when the silent homeless man holds so many cardboard signs, yet he goes largely unnoticed until finally the messages are unmistakably aimed at the main character? Ok. You’re with me now for sure.

Be Gentle, lady. Ease up.

It’s all okay.

Soften a little, breathe more deeply.

Touch everything more lightly.

Speak and think more slowly.

Gentle yourself,

like it’s a verb as much as an adjective.

Move into more delicacy.

I have a tendency to crash through my days with a weird sort of desperation, trying not to miss a thing, trying not to waste a drop of time or energy. Everything is so beautiful and I really do love my life so much, even the difficult parts. I’m learning to appreciate that particular sort of growth.

It’s all a positive panic, but still a panic. And too often that results in spreading my attention (my awareness) so thinly that I only manage to glance at my surroundings and opportunities. I miss out on the deep, nourishing soak that I crave. And that means that my people and animals and home and community miss out on my undivided attention. 

I move (and speak and think) so quickly that I become rough and handle breakable things carelessly. Things like dishes and garden tools and books and even relationships. 

When my grandpa was alive he would have said, “Settle, settle.” He would have hushed me lovingly, his tan and wrinkled hand parallel to the ground, pulsing steadily. He would have done so with a smile and maybe some soft laughter. 

Some gentleness is in order. Some stillness and attention. 

I definitely trust God enough to pause and take a deep breath. Choose to see and affirm that He is in control and that I can afford to slow down.

My zinnias and other summer flowers are fading slowly, very slowly, so I watch them obsessively. Every tiny change is fascinating. Beautiful.

 

Okay, this is precisely the motivation I needed today, friends. Kind of the opposite of how I usually revv my engines on Monday morning, ha! I hope it finds you in a state of bliss or inspiration or at least poised for exactly what your soul needs most.

Just a few days left of this fine transition month. I am so excited to see what November brings. But I will reign myself a little bit, gently, so it all comes more slowly. One glittering moment at a time. 

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast.
You Got to Make the Morning Last
~Simon & Garfunkel
XOXOXOXO