About seven Sundays ago, we had several days of snow.   It was our second snow  of the  winter and I do not remember that ever happening, in my  “neck of the woods”.  Usually, I feel like  a child when it snows.  I celebrate with special treats and gaze in wonder at the landscape. . . .but my beloved boxer was feeling poorly. and I did not have the inclination to bake.  I   can’t bear to watch suffering in any living thing-not a robin, nor a tree.  Sincere compassion is a beautiful and a holy gift, yet so very painful that it can be a sort of burden, also.  

As the snow reduced to mere patches in  shade, we lost  our  dear friend, “Cash”  . At the same time, plans were underway to sell my parents’ home.

Christian had a birthday, a few days later.   Everyone came that could.  All  of the grandchildren were here.  I got “Mama Hodges’  (my maternal great grandmother) tea cake recipe, from Aunt Christine, and so I served the delightful cookies and told a family story, which was  exactly as I had intended to happen,   

Thankfully,  Aunt Christine had sat in Mama Hodges’ kitchen, some decades ago and watched her grandmother concoct the simple ingredients for this very old and memorable  recipe.  I consider this recipe an heirloom-and it does give me another chance to tell our family history.     

It was such a happy time, when the children  were here.  I watched the grandchildren playing with their uncles, through the kitchen window and how glad I was.  It had been a while since the cottage on Bonnet Street had been at such a capacity and I welcomed the  happy sense that washed over me.   

Daddys’ birthday was on March 15th and he would have been 90, so  I cooked a few of his favorite dishes and a cake, he liked.  Kyle, Christian and I celebrated the day together.   

The daffodils  celebrated with us.  The snowdrops finally showed up and just in time to join us. . . and at long last, the peach tree.  What a delightful occasion it is for me when the peach tree blooms!  This particular one, was one I rooted from my sorely missed Farm Life”   home.  All of these blossoms seemed to beckon to me -and so on spring like days I perform what tasks, that my body allows in the rabbitpatch lawn.  Not yet, will I dare plant, for March and April are prone to frosts . . .but I certainly entertain lofty notions! 

  Christian and I  went to Raleigh for a few days.  His nephews (my little grandsons)  followed him around like puppies.  Well, why not, for Christian plays soccer -and plays guitar.  . .He does have that beautiful spirit too.   We spent afternoons out in brilliant sunshine.  A small grove of pines whispered in  the gentle breezes while the boys learned to play kickball.  I laughed at the lullaby   of the pines while sheer madness erupted just beneath them!  When Brant was home, he joined the game. 

One afternoon, they  all hiked to the woods.  Brant is building a hut  or a sort of camp for the boys -and Ryan “helps,”  . They all left with a tool in their hand-so Banks picked up a stick to carry.  It was a beautiful  sight for me-for I have watched Brant “take to the woods”, since he was a very young child.  The world seemed so much safer then-and Brant often had a dog or even a pony with him.  I felt satisfied that he was giving the gift of  rambling in the woods to his little sons.   We ended  up ,going  back to Raleigh,  last week too  

So, life has been quite busy since my return to Bonnet Street.   I am glad of this, for loss was about to become too familiar,  All of the losses, in the last five years seemed to take an unshakable toll on me.   I noticed that I did  not hum as I  went about tasks . . .and more and more things were seeming less  meaningful   I felt stilled and quiet-deeply quiet.   

Mourning is  inevitable for all of us,  and  I think that it must be necessary to grieve- for the heart ought not to be so heavy that the joy of what remains, is hidden , yet in plain sight . Sorrow must be allowed for it does have a place, but oh , how carefully we must manage it! 

I have said before that the art of recovery, is one of the most valuable lessons to teach our children.    I remembered my own advice and realized  that  it turned out to be true.  My own children were witnessing my journey, first hand .  This fragment of my life, was just a fragment,   I reminded myself as I peeled potatoes or washed dishes.  I made it my mission to keenly observe what was good and beautiful. This helped me maintain some sense of balance.

The lovely patch of Thrift is in full bloom  by the clothes line scenting the wind sweetly as it billowed the sheets.  I  have been working on a painting for weeks.  I baked scones and had them with coffee, on several occasions.  I prayed a lot til it was as natural as drawing breath. 

After a while, I realized every thing is temporary  in this life.  Circumstances are often  unreliable. It is sensible to prepare for what we can, but even that can be fruitless.  These are somber thoughts, but I recognized this truth.  We all know this, but to really grasp  this teaching, helped me to carry on-not unscathed, but “able”. 

Writing was most difficult, as the act forces me to examine the contents of my heart , , ,and a lot had happened in “seven Sundays”. . .and though I was tired of being in this state, I could not hasten  my stride. It is a mystery to me that “being still” is in itself a motion and also creates movement.   I suppose  in some way, that this season was like a very long prayer and too personal to share with anyone, but the Father.  Faith should not be acted on as a “last resort”  .   .  and I needn’t rely  on my own understanding  of every component of this earthly life.

It seems that I often  need refresher courses..   .

I hope this explains my absence but mostly, I  hope that my account might  lend comfort, fortitude and hope to anyone that can use it.  While the world chattered on loudly and rushed headlong  from one shiny thing to another,  I was meticulously examining the contents of my heart.  . .and my beliefs.  I did not rush through the process, yet I did not proceed with caution, for I was determined to serve my family with my former vitality. 

After seven Sundays, I am able  to share my account, for I can be slow and dull to learn . . . but a patient and very merciful God showed me His abiding love . . .and that made the difference.