Lazy W Marie

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

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heart of the home

We had another plumbing emergency last week.

Around 7:30 Wednesday evening, Handsome wandered into the pantry to get some animals crackers for Klaus and discovered standing water and dripping wet shelves. A water pipe behind the kitchen pantry wall, and actually behind the built in cabinets surrounding the refrigerator, which makes it much worse, busted and leaked water all over our well stocked dry goods, cast iron skillet collection, large countertop appliances being stored there. All over the walls, all over the floor.

It is, unfortunately, a familiar sight. We have expereinced this a handful of times now, in different parts of the house, so we knew exactly what to do and jumped right to it, with maybe some snarling and groaning and WHY WHY WHY thrown in for good measure. Are you familiar with the scientific study which found that some gentle cursing helps alleviate physical pain? I think this also applies to plumbing emergencies.

My cute guy provided all the brain power for discerning the needed repairs, then he swiftly and patiently made those repairs. Cleanup and reordering the kitchen is my responsibility, which I am always happy to shoulder. That night the kitchen was sucked dry of standing water, and all the broken sheetrock was removed. The fridge was even wheeled back into place only after the floor there got rubbed to (almost) true white. But, truly exhausted, we surrendered at that point and went to bed with the shockingly voluminous contents of our tightly packed pantry strewn all over the dining room table and limited countertop space in the kitchen. It was a wild sight. Like a small grocery store had exploded in a very small space.

The next morning when I stepped into the cold, blue-black kitchen for coffee, it was all still waiting to be reordered. Piles and stacks of kitchen contents, all shadowy and chaotic and, in some places, still damp. The pantry mostly empty, yawning and awkward and asking me if, while we’re at it, should we paint?

(No. We should not paint.)

I actually kind of love jobs like this. I love rehabbing overgrown gardens, and I love a good, vicious decluttering job. In fact my early November task list was already headlined by “audit and deep clean kitchen,” in order to be ready for Thanksgiving. This was perfect timing. (Hey please nobody tell my husband I was glad it happened. Thanks.)

Okay here is the real story:

During those first hours that next morning, when the kitchen was repaired but in utter disarray, I could not focus on much else. I did all the basic farm chores first thing, but the state of the kitchen was preoccupying me. Although neither of us needed a full meal yet, nor were we expecting any guests, it was unsettling. I can tolerate lots of things undone, but not an unmade bed and certainly not an insane kitchen.

The kitchen is the heart of the home, after all, and when your heart is our of order or in disrepair, or even when it is not clean and refreshed, all other systems are at risk. Nothing else feels quite calm and safe to me when the kitchen is wonky.

So I spent several hours getting it just right. And it was great. Better in a dozen ways than before the mess, even. Every surface got scubbed. Every ingredient got inventoried and replaced to fresh new food bins. Every applaince got a once over and a tidy new spot. I refolded the ten thousand kitchen towels we have apparently accumulated, and I made long overdue decisions about mismatched napkin sets. By the time Handsome was headed home, I could cook dinner like I was playing in a new playground. And I relished the sensation of openness it all created inside me.

Now that our small, cozy kitchen is back in order, clean and shining and restocked, I feel equally compelled to make sure my heart is in order. As much as I want to feed our family a gorgeous Thanksgiving feast in less than three weeks, and then host many fun little Christmas parties after that, I mostly want to be healthy and soft and strong, reordered in my bones and in my soul, to serve my loved ones a good emotional feast, too.

I have gotten it wrong plenty over the years. In ways I did not mean to, in ways I was not aware of at the time, because I was focused on the wrong details. The wrong themes in general. I have been in phases where I focused more on table settings than repairing relationships. I have focused more on the dessert table than on speaking sweetly, or thinking sweetly. I have sometimes focused more on making sure we cook enough for everyone to have leftovers than on making sure we have an abundance of quality time with each other.

None of these hostessing priorities are bad, but they are not the most precious things. When I get them out of order, people feel it.

((My Mom always gets it right…xoxoxo))

Something cool God is showing me is that it does not have to be one or the other.

We actually can offer each other both a beautiful table and a feast for connection. We can deepen and enrich relationships while we plan and cook and share traditional foods. We can enjoy the dessert table and pretty centerpieces and we can speak sweetly.

It is all available. It is all part of the best feast.

How wonderful that time and grace have afforded us year after to year to improve. How magical that our family contiues to gather, however many people we add to this lucky roster, however busy our separate lives are, however much grief or stress we are feeling. We gather. And we need a good kitchen and lots of good hearts.

A kitchen that has been cleaned and organized, well stocked and prepared, can feed an army beautifully. A heart that has been filled with truth and good messages, that makes an effort to scrub out bitterness and ego, a heart that is full of the best gifts, can then share the best gifts while serving the best food.

While my kitchen is almost ready for Thanksgiving, my heart could used some attention, and I am so grateful for the time and appetite to do it!

“I cleansed the mirror of my heart,
now it reflects the moon.”
~Renseki

respect your life

At the risk of fully enraging my husband who just wants light and easy stuff to stay light and easy, I am about to ruin a perfectly good raunchy comedy by extracting from it a luscious bit of wisdom. Please join me in this meanness.

A couple of weeks ago, Handsome and I indulged in some vegetative relaxation by re-watching some old comedies. Among them was The Change Up starring Jason Bateman and Ryan Reynolds. If you haven’t seen it, the premise is this: Two life long best friends, now adults but leading very different lives, are suffering from respective versions of burnout. To remedy their angst, they hit the town for a night of revelry which culminates in them both urinating in a public fountain. While peeing side by side in the fountain, they make a wish simultaneously, I think just as lightning strikes? Or maybe it’s just at the stroke of midnight. Either way, their mutual wish, uncoordinated, is to have each other’s life.

Bam! Their mutual wish is granted, and the hilarious, predictable chaos ensues. Jason Bateman’s middle class, somewhat-happily married-with-children, upwardly mobile-white-collar-career, suburbian lifestyle is swapped with Ryan Reynold’s scruffy, ill mannered, sad-bachelor, rarely sober, disconnected-from-his-father, free wheeling, barely-surviving-but-also-very-free-and-promiscuous lifestyle. The connective tissue between them is the married guy’s house and wife. The men both float in and out of the domestic scene freely, and the wife, unaware that her husband and her husband’s best friend have switched bodies, well, it’s all so cringey. Lots of fun.

Here’s where I ruin the fun by extracting a message.

Somewhere past the middle point of the escapade, deep in the predictable and hilarious parts where each man is really sinking into the newness and novelty of his best friend’s exotic and unfamiliar, supposedly much craved lifestyle, one of them admonishes the other for not appreciating his life more. I can’t remember which one says it and at exactly what moment, but I think he says, “Respect your life, man!”

Respect your life.

Everyone in the world is susceptible to burnout, no matter how their life looks from the outside.

Most people will at some point wish for a different reality. It’s a normal and common human phenomenon. This shows imaginative pliability and an openness to growth, as long as we can avoid the sticky territory of envy and bitterness.

Respect your life.

This message was well timed for me. Every single day since we watched that movie, the phrase has hung in the air. I have felt more inspired to see the uniqueness of my days, the particular opportunities I have, and the weirdly beautiful custom fit between my talents, my responsibilities, and the needs I can perceive around me. Such a fast acting antidote to any comparison traps.

I have also tried to step outside of myself and see what I might be forgetting to notice, by viewing my life briefly as an outsider. That ones takes some effort, and who knows how effective it really is? But it’s a fun exercise. It invites me to dive more deeply into everything, and I love that feeling.

Respect your life.

Maybe you are familiar with the modern parable of the room full of crosses: A man issues a litany of complaints to God, that the cross he has been carrying in life is too big, too heavy, too cumbersome, too splintery. He is exhausted and wonders why everyone else has such lightweight, smooth, manageable crosses to bear. So God offers him a chance to exchange crosses. He ushers the man into a large room filled with hundreds of other crosses of varying sizes, materials, weights, and apparent difficulties. There are mammoth sized crosses that must have required the strength of armies. Ones made of rusted iron and spikes and ones so rough and shifting they were barely in one piece. Every option looked brutal and beyond his scope. The man scans his options, evaluating the various burdens carefully, and eventually chooses one. He finds a smaller one, a cross he can lift with a moderate effort, one shaped to his back and shoulders perfectly. It’s not smooth, but his shirt protects him just fine. He thanks God for the opportunity to trade down on his burden. God smiles and reveals that the cross he selected was the same one he had been carrying all along, that in His infinite wisdom, God had always known it was exactly what the man could bear safely.

Respect your life.

((Klaus tempting me with soccer on a snowy day))

If you feel weary of your life burdens, how could you reframe your thoughts about them, to know all over again, deep down, that you are not just capable of carrying them, but maybe destined to? That certainly you are the perfect person for the task?

If you are noticing the beauty in someone else’s life and quietly wishing it was yours, how could you remind yourself of the pain they might be hiding, of the sacrifices and responsibilities that come with their outward success? Better yet, how could you reinvigorate appreciation for the beauty in your own life?

I believe pretty deeply that the life situations into which we are born and the uniqueness with which we are each created are exactly the magic raw materials each of us needs to slowly and deliberately imagine, form, and refine a living masterpiece. Wishing for someone else’s life not only invites burdens we might now be able to handle; it also leaves our unique offerings on the table.

Respect your life.

And watch a lightweight comedy with me at your own peril. : )

“Be yourself.
Everyone else is already taken.”
~Oscar Wilde
XOXOXO

remnants, wabi sabi, fractals, & resolutions

This past weekend, everywhere I explored were fun little remnants of the holidays and of our recent winter storm. At public parks and in residential neighborhoods I saw half-toppled snowmen, dirty around the edges and facing more down and to the side than forward. (The snow around them mostly disappeared, these icy statues felt so optimistic. Very Oklahoman of them.) Brightly colored nylon cartoon inflatables, deflated for the season, hung over porch rails to dry. A few gates still boasted over sized evergreen wreaths with red velvet bows, but not many. We are well past Christmas now and facing Oklahoma’s own funny version of late winter.

After nine consecutive action-packed weeks (all wildly happy and rewarding and also exhausting in the best ways), I almost didn’t know how to approach a truly open weekend. Our work was caught up (except for a few days’ laundry, to allow the septic tank leach field to dry out a little), and we had nothing planned. Not one thing in stone.

On Saturday, I ran my miles in Choctaw then Handsome and I had lunch out together and did some exploring. We watched movies at night and slept like babies.

On Sunday we knocked out an errand to Tulsa and stopped at a few small town playgrounds on the way home. Klaus joined us for the drive and experienced his first merry-go-round, ha. He was very protective. I had to muscle myself into relaxation, though.


Three cheers for old-school public parks!

I can’t stop thinking of something.

My friend Kelley France (the Mathematician and Artist) recently recommended the book Wabi-Sabi Hospitality. I previewed it on Amazon and was immediately smitten. That sent me into a pleasant rabbit hole about wabi-sabi as a general aesthetic (not to be confused with general anesthesia ok), the Japanese acceptance of transience and imperfection. The most delicious takeaway for me so far is this:

Imperfection is a form of freedom.

This has helped me relax and breathe deeply this week. And it has braided together in fascinating ways with my morning devotions. I keep receiving these messages and scriptures about peacefulness, trust, leaning into my own shortcomings, letting God’s strength meet my weakness, keeping an open heart, finding His purposes instead of asserting my own, and more. Lots of guidance about surrendering control a little bit.

I had already chosen “cultivate” as my word of the year, and this helps. It helps me to remember that I can deepen and enrich both relationships and life experiences by accepting my limitations and imperfections, and by inviting God to meet me with His grace and power.

I will inevitably fail in the coming year, and I will get derailed by outside forces while pursuing goals and dreams. But breathing space and light and grace into every effort is a lot better than the dark, angry alternatives.

“Poppies” by Kelley. It’s a poured oil paint method, and watching it happen is entrancing.

I intend to step back and breathe, a lot. I will try to remember that a perfect plan can also be restrictive. And my freedom has already been purchased for a price. Not only can I relax; I should relax. I should be embracing my liberty and freedom, my flexibility and separateness from man-made structures and plans. And maybe this would help you too?

OSU OKC teaching garden

Fractals. Fractals are swimming in my brain again. The spiraling patterns that seem chaotic and random up close but are orchestrated into beautiful, purposeful masterpieces. Remember, from The Shack? Kelley and I touched briefly on Jackson Pollack, too. Being both an artist by vocation and a mathematician by trade, she had a lot of interest in this. I would love an entire afternoon to explore it all with her. I would trade lots of good things for that conversation.

Which reminds me to expound on another idea: JOMO. The Joy of Missing Out. This is the exact opposite of FOMO (fear of missing out) and suggests an infinite smorgasbord of pleasures. We just have to find those pleasures and values, savor them, magnify them. When I say “we” here, I am talking straight to myself. Reminding myself that life is a very long and ever-heightening Choose-Your-Own-Adventure story, and every single choice I make provides a trade off. The trick is to focus on what we gain, not on what we lose.

Imperfection. Freedom. Liberty. Focus. Patterns in the Big Picture. Choosing Joy. Gratitude.

Oh my gosh, and of course Brene Brown. The Gifts of Imperfection is still on my shelf. I love what this author and speaker as to say on vulnerability, too. Have you read either?

Sometimes in yoga with Tara Stiles, she says something along the lines of “find freedom in the form, in your movement,” and I just love that. Adrienne expresses it with her now very famous catchphrase, “Find What Feels Good.” There can be a depth of grace and freedom in all of our movement, in all of our routines and resolutions, our habits and hobbies and work and relationships.

My gosh yes, our relationships need and thrive on lots of grace.

I don’t think I want to strive for anything that hinges on perfection to be successful or satisfying. Partly because I already know I will never make it; also because I know more concretely than before that my freedom is already purchased, and I don’t want to surrender it.

This feels like great food for thought in January. This seductive month of newness and trailblazing energy.

Yes, let’s do better at lots of good stuff this year.

But let’s also hang onto the good from last year, the momentum we have already built, and the values that are ours forever. Let’s keep our priorities straight and strong. Our well being does not have a deadline. Our physical selves are only part of the story. Having room for improvement in character or goals reveals imperfection, which is a form of freedom. And regarding our true weaknesses? Let’s remember Whose strength meets those perfectly and fully.

I love structure. I thrive on systems and routines. But I can accept some wiggle room, too. It’s healthy and can also be pretty dang fun. I accept it all with an open heart and hope you can too.

Thank you, Kelley, for sharing your gorgeous mind with me.

Happy New Year!!
Happy Goal Setting!!
Happy Living (no matter what day it is)
XOXOXOXO

happy new year from the lazy w!!

Happy New Year! The first day of a sparkling new season, a meandering story certainly worth telling. I am so happy to still be here writing, trying to document our life stories and capture some of the learning curve along the way.

Regarding the above photo, two things: I am very excited to soon finish some extensive dental work that could end a lifetime of front-tooth replacement drama. This means I might soon smile for photos with my mouth OPEN, ha. Also, I am loving winter garden tasks lately. So much. Just looking at this, I can smell the cedar and feel the crunch of leaves.

How are you? How was your December-January threshold celebration?

Our last day of 2018 was quiet and well spent. Yesterday while Handsome was at the Commish, I took down all of our Christmas decorations and started cleaning the house. Klaus helped by requiring lots of fetch in between. I also grabbed my final run of the calendar year and started cooking and setting up for a casual dinner with Mickey and Kellie. We had “church” on Monday evening this week, and it ended up being a sweet and perfect New Year’s Eve, just the four of us. I promise to tell you about this project soon, as in this month. Pinky promise.

After we hugged a lot and the Sperrys went home (around 10 p.m.), Handsome and I got into some pajamas and cuddled up to read aloud our 2018 Grievances. This is only the second year we have done this, but we both know it is a favorite tradition that will likely stay with us for the rest of our lives.

It’s so simple, too. We just keep a large empty jar in our bedroom and a supply of blank slips of paper near it. Both of us are free every day throughout the year to scribble down little memories and love notes, details of daily life we want to remember. As with yours, our life is brimming with variety and roller coasters. The details each of us chooses to harness are a lot of fun to read at the end of the year! We cover everything from romance and super romance (brown chicken brown cow, haha) to family updates, farm projects, stressors overcome, community stuff, funny animal stories, excellent meals, and all the stuff in between. You name it, one of us has documented it in short sentences and messy handwriting.

So we accumulate them all year long. Then on New Year’s Eve, at least an hour ahead of the countdown, we take turns reading aloud the other person’s notes. Oh! We call them “grievances” because at some point in 2017 a joke started about filing grievances, something funny, I don’t remember now because we forgot to write that down, ha!

Example, an entry of mine following our Second Annual Talent Show which was rained out and which my husband rescued in one million vital ways:

LOL

Anyway. It’s heartwarming and funny, and it is amazing how many big and little events tend to otherwise blur together or standout in weird ways until we read our real-time reactions to them. Does that make sense? It’s a tiny, easy little time warp into our own minds. The things that mattered to us on no particular days in the past. We both love it. And it is funny how many events we both chose to document, unwittingly along with the other.

Okay, moving on.

Speaking of writing and keeping history, this year one of my seven million happy intentions is to blog more regularly, to keep an actual account of daily life. I don’t know whether I have a specialty niche to offer the internet, but as they say, each of us is an expert in our own selves, in our own lives, so that much I can definitely offer. And I will gratefully and freely admit, my husband and I have built and enjoy a really beautiful life here on these nine acres. Lots to share if I just take the time. I hope you will follow along.

I am reading for the second time the small daily devotional called “Jesus Calling.” It was a soothing and inspiring little daily ritual for most of 2018, and I am excited to dive more deeply this year. Plus, I get to read over again the notes I wrote on each calendar date from last year. So much has changed in our life, so many miracles, so much growth! It’s going to be fun to re-experience all of that, including the hard weeks.

Today’s standout scripture is from Romans 12: “Be ye not conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” This speaks to me more vividly all the time. It all starts in our minds, truly. And I crave deeper transformation than ever before. As for the worldly part, also yes. Yes a thousand times. It takes effort, but resisting the push and pull of trends and bandwagons is good. Cultivating our own paths, learning to ignore outside pressures and actively choose to not be conformed, that is all so good and juicy. “The Joy of Missing Out” has been on my mind all month long. Ironically, I don’t feel like I have missed out on anything that matters. It’s a pretty nifty little paradox.

Romans 12:2

One of the television programs that made a big impact on us last year was The Kindness Diaries, and my husband especially has taken up the chance to connect with the show’s host and author, Leon Logothetis, via social media. As a result, he has received two books in the mail and is excited to read them. One is a memoir of the making of the show’s first season. The other is called, Live, Love, Explore. After my guy studied The Book of Joy with me, helped host that amazing discussion dinner, and then propagated that material to his friends and employees, I am so happy deep in my bones for this next experience.

Farm Census to Start the Year:

We still have two fat, sassy horses, Chanta and Dusty. Both male, both cut, both extremely affectionate and smart, but neither trained. No, before you ask, sadly I guess, we do not ride them. But we do love them so very much.

The Bachelors, a few years ago.

We have one slightly famous llama, Meh, who is approaching five years old. He was born here at the Lazy W to registered and beloved parents Romulus and Seraphine. Meh is one of those animals who is more than the sum of his fuzzy parts. We just plain love him to the moon and back. Meh was recently immortalized by local artist Emily Williams, and as long as I am lucky enough, the artwork is hanging in our living room. Pretty sure Handsome will scoop it up and take it to his office before long.

The Lazy W has two South African geese, one gander named Johnny Cash (we always say his full name) and one mostly blind, barely walking, still elegant and beautiful female named Mama Goose. We are amazed she is still with us after so many years, so much extreme weather, and so many predator encounters. We love her. We love them both.

Along with the geese we currently have nine chickens. Two of them are mature roosters, and the other seven are gorgeous little hens, all hatched here at the W. My “pet” is called Red Shoulder Chicken, so name because in good weather she has a penchant for hopping all the way up to my shoulder to perch. She rather demands (and therefore receives) lush and colorful kitchen treats before settling for pedestrian chicken scratch.

kiss ’em!

Lately we have been getting two large, heavy fresh eggs every day or so. Our hens are young. It will naturally increase as weather improves and the hens mature, but I also want to increase our laying flock this year. The trouble is that we want to keep them safe in the penned yard (hash-tag hawks and owls), but space is limited. We want them to be super happy and have room to play. We shall see.

Three barn cats grace us with their presence and for food and cuddles, and each of them has a distinct personality. Klaus loves them like the small, vulnerable siblings they are. He roughs them up violently and with great zeal. I taught him this.

Fast Woman still appears when the stars align, and I recently dreamed that she was shrinky-dink size but three times as loud as normal.

Also, of course, you know Klaus, and if you have been reading here very long you know Pacino, our adolescent macaw. We have some possible life-improving plans for Pacino his year. Stay tuned.

this snoot OK?? xoxoxo

Bobby Pacino, Macaw at large.

Have you ever taken a meditation class? Handsome and I and a few of our friends are flirting with the idea of attending some being offered near the farm, and a Buddhist Monastery. I am pretty excited. Reading, studying, thinking, journaling, and staying in contemplation are all easy for me. Quieting my mind, not so much. But I crave “spaciousness” and ease, and this could be a pathway to that. Plus, one of our happy intentions for 2019 is to explore other faiths. Love it. I will keep you posted.

Ok, I am so glad you stuck around for some thoughts and reintroductions to the farm. Again, thank you for reading. Thanks so much for giving me a chance to share some of the things I find to be truly amazing in this life.

“Happy Everything” xoxoxo

More than ever, I feel the cascade of Grace and Joy, and I am eager to write it all down. Happiest of the New Year to you, friends. I hope you can take hold of this wave of good energy and make it your own. See you again soon.

“We are all gardeners,
planting seeds of intention 
and watering them with attention
in every moment
of every day.”
~Cristen Rodgers
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