In the Shop

One of the nice things about being a substitute teacher is that every day is just a little bit different—different classroom, different subject, different students.  I substitute at a technical school. It is a program for high school students who are learning a trade. There is building repair, health services, digital media, etc., etc. and I enjoy it.

Recently though, I had a day that brought tears to my eyes. No, the students weren’t a problem. They can be a challenge sometimes, but it wasn’t them.  On this particular day, I was assigned to a metal fabrication class and the experience just hit too close to home.  I have subbed for the class before—no sweat. The teacher usually assigns some book work; we stay in a regular classroom and the most challenging thing I do is keep students on task and quiet.  But on that day, perhaps because the teacher was going to be in the building and had an experienced assistant, he decided to allow the students to work in the shop.  They were cleaning mostly, but also welding and grinding with a few working on a class project.

I was a little nervous at first. The thing about substitute teaching is that you are often navigating the unknown—the dynamics of personalities and the teacher’s own classroom procedure all are unchartered waters.  Now all the ships were pulling anchor and moving around. Still, life is an adventure and I was onboard.

Once in the shop however, something happened, something I didn’t expect at all and I started riding waves of emotion. “In the shop” even the sound of the phrase stirred something in my gut. “Your dad is in the shop,” how many times had I heard that.  And then there were the same sounds—the banging of the hammer, the grinding of metal and the smell of it—the oil, gas and flame, the same as when the door to the shop swung open, oh so long ago.

Wandering through the shop, counting bodies and making sure they were all occupied, I noticed the machinery, the brake, the shear, the press.  I knew them all by name. I picked up a piece of soapstone they use to mark the steel.  I felt its smoothness.  My dad always had a piece or two in his pocket. The shop smelled like his clothes, like my dad, my grandpa, my husband too, three generations in the shop. 

What a place to have my heart fill and spill over surrounded by the sound of grinding metal, the sparkling fireworks of welders (and students). Suddenly, it all came back rolling over me—childhood and my dad young again. The business I knew so little about that housed and fed me for all those years. I had never realized what a really big part of my life it was, something that I hardly realized was a part of my life at all--my roots black and sooty, hot, loud and heavy.

And I remember the dark faces of the men and how hard they worked and the shop bell that sent them to the locker room and home. And now I will never forget, ever. As far removed as it seems,  it is still a part of me, of where I come from and who I am.

Sunrise Service

Easter is my turn... I put the basic meal together and host the family. We have brunch, and it's wonderful--baked ham, eggs, fresh fruit salad, sweets of all kind and of course, coffee. I love decorating the table and always include fresh flowers for Easter. Everyone brings something of course and we hold an egg hunt for the kids. There are though a lot of us --about 30, give or take a few.

Hosting a brunch for 30 people kind of puts the kabosh on my regular 10:30 Sunday service. So generally, I go to the sunrise service at another nearby church on Easter. It's a better idea anyway--so symbolic, watching the sun come up, bringing light and life and another new day.

So, about 5:45, I drug myself out of bed threw some clothes on and headed to church. What a beautiful morning! The air was so clear. A glowing moon in an indigo sky was calling me to pull off the highway and get some pictures. The valley along the river was thick with fog. Ahh but I pushed onward. And just before sunrise, I arrived, which is probably why the service had been pushed back to 6:00 instead of 6:30--someone had realized they timed it wrong; but they forgot to change it on the Internet...

I missed it, but I tried, and now the sun was rising over that foggy river bottom. I turned right around. Because of the increasing light, the moon was fading to what seemed a translucent disc. No longer a great object for photos... I took the river road but the fog was so thick there was no mystery just a dull gray mass. Hmmm, I thought I had hit providence with the turn in my direction. I had not fallen into any miracles though, and if I didn't find something soon, the moment would be lost. I decided though come what may, it was going to be okay, and I could worship no matter my situation church or not, moment or not even sitting in my car on some empty parking lot. But I headed back on the highway, anyway.

Just over the bridge hemmed in by big ugly power lines, the sun was rising over the river. I pulled onto the shoulder and walked about half a block to the bridge. Yes, there was a moment God had given to me.

And more would follow.

It was a beautiful, holy Easter morning. Blessings to you--hope, light and love.

Any Road I Take

Here I am, a little slow, already a week after that February 14^th snow, and now it seems that spring is upon us. And it felt like spring that day too. The snow was thick, heavy and wet, and the air was cool not cold. The snow would soon be gone, but while it was here, I wanted to get out in a world of white.

I thought I would go to the Morse Mill River Access. I had never been there in the snow, but the snow-slushed gravel road put me off, and I passed the entrance and kept driving on Highway C, and so fate made the first decision on my little road trip.

I often do that, let circumstances direct my path. I know the discovery and the adventure of it are worth much more than any particular destination. And when I have some time and nowhere else to be I am pleased to trust that God will get me where he wants me.

So along the fields and rural acres between the hills I cruised till C met Y in a place called Ware. I knew that Brown’s Ford was not far from there, a river access I had not taken photos of before, so I turned down that road and rode on, and on a whim cut a curving right on a side road and up a mountain.

It was a beautiful digression. The road was lined with pines. I stopped, got out of my car and walked along the ridge looking down to the valley below. The snow was rolled out like a white blanket covering the hills and filling the hollow.

And at the crest of the hill, there stood a small cabin looking a little worse for wear, and maybe even abandoned, or was it just held at arm’s length  for moments stolen from an everyday world, too few moments.

Under the overhang a sign hailed it "Haven."

And so was the morning full of snow pictures, and I got back in my car to see where else the road would take me, when for a moment, I had a doubt. I wondered what I was doing on a Tuesday morning out taking snow pictures when I probably should be home looking for a job...

Suddenly I felt empty, thought perhaps I was fooling myself. The sky grew greyer, the air colder, the world more like a dismal winter. I looked up again at the snow-filled woods.

There, standing at the roadside was a coyote, winter silver, calm and cool. It casually walked across the street, turned, looked at me, and walked off into the woods.

I knew then I was where I was supposed to be.

I’d say the rest of the day was pretty anticlimactic, but it wasn’t. The world grew brighter again. I felt purpose and promise and I knew that whatever road I took there would be a reason, something beautiful, something to be learned and accomplished.   

All I had to do was believe.

Winter Wondering

Because yesterday was probably the last semi-warm day we will have for a while and the sun was making an appearance, I decided I would too. And under a February sky, I walked up to the old ball fields on Cedar Hill Road and cut through to the cemetery, as I often do.

As I walked, under my feet, flowers bloomed. I am surprised I noticed. They were so small, less than a quarter of an inch, and yet as brilliant a blue as any glorious morning glory.

And with the blue, a bit of purple henbit was also showing, and yes, even the clover was coming out.

It was quite a show for the first week of February, and I worried, not about the tiny field flowers, but the early blooms on peaches and apples and pears, and even more about the strangeness of the season and whether it was an omen of more weird weather to come.

The trees are dressed for March. Some of the roses have not yet lost their green. My mums sit in pots, not frozen and dead but just resting, a dull green at the base.

Bluebirds are everywhere, eating at my suet feeder, singing to me from leafless limbs.

And then, last night the rain came and quickly turned to snow.  

The grass was dusted and the buds chilled.  The world turned gray for a day, but even in Missouri, it was a lame excuse for a snow storm. Colder weather is on the way, but not to stay.  Winter had its chance, its last dance?

I enjoyed the taste of spring the warm weather through the worst of it, but there is something about the trip round the seasons, with all of them intact, even winter, that feels safe, that keeps you from wondering about the the weather, about the world, about what lies in store.

.  

Gloooom

Late January, eh... Okay, it could be worse. Maybe... I'm thinking snow might be better.  But rain, gray, rain and damp chill, and did I say gray? It was a gray day, and I was feeling gloomy. I had nothing to do or er nothing I wanted to do, and it was taking all day to do it, and it was a really long dayyyy.

I went to town. The business I went there for was closed. My wheels splashed through the streets and everything-- the cars, buildings, barren trees and brown grass looked soggy.  I sat at the stoplight and wondered what in the world I was going to do with the rest of the day.

And while I waited, school was letting out, and a big yellow bus pulled up beside me. I looked up and saw a kid about six with unruly hair. He was licking the window. Yeah, I know, it's gross, but it made me smile.  About halfway back another child's ear and cheek were pressed hard against the glass.  I could feel the cold, smooth glass against my own cheek, maybe forty years ago. I too was a kid on a bus. Two windows back, two lips smooshed in a fat ugly kiss taunted anyone who might look their way.

Their moms would die!

But they made my day.

Just Before Dark

Let me tell you about God's world--it's gorgeous. Every moment that I step out and into the outdoors I'm awed, mesmerized and grateful. He did a good job. I'm so glad he is taking me along for the ride.
 
Take an evening earlier this week when I took an excursion about an hour before sunset. A friend and I took gloves and buckets and walked the woods along the barren fields and the more untidy banks of the Big River.

The weather was once again unseasonably warm but the trek was not all that pleasant, for though the cold didn't bite us, the undergrowth did. The caney weeds, thick and tall, slapped our faces. Vines tangled round our ankles and thorny stems grabbed our thighs even through the denim. We could have used a machete, but even without one, and the unpleasant traveling against the tide, I wouldn't have missed the trip.

For as we made our way through the undergrowth, we walked the same paths of other creatures that like to walk the river.  And although we didn't see the creatures, we found a place brimming with life. Little raccoon hands and or er feet were printed all over the sandy banks. A small deep hole opened like a cave at our feet, likely home to a sleeping groundhog. There were deer tracks of course and lots of hollow logs perfect for hiding in. And there also was lots of construction going on... 

Needless to say a patch of woods between the corn fields  and the river is a happy place for God's wild friends-and me too. We could hear the cars on the highway though as we made our way under the concrete and steel of the bridge, a rolling constant like breakers against the rocks. And the woodland animals were not the only ones that had been here, the abandoned belongings of the more civilized beasts were scattered about, beer cans and empty water bottles mostly, cigarette packs and food wrappers and then rubber gloves, a plastic bag full of foil packs probably tossed from the highway above us, and for a moment the world became a more sinister place, no, a sadder place.

Then the day grew darker, and despite my doubts, the mystery, the marvelous mystery was moving in on the bank of that river, a place like any other and less than most. I heard the cry of the kingfisher as it swiftly sailed past. A hawk giving up the hunt for the day headed east flapping smoothly across the field. Then the stillness set in, and it seemed I was in another place. 

 With the setting of the sun, that narrow wooded bank took on an exotic air. The sky colored in waves and the river resounded them with echos of light. The barren boughs, the tall black hardwood trees, the reeds piercing the rose and blue pools, seemed to me inked into the landscape by an artist's hand.

It was only for a moment, but my heart was lifted and I wanted to get down on my knees.

Then my friend and I climbed the banks back to the field. We would take the easy path home through the plowed earth carpeted with corn. 

The sun had vanished behind the hills. A purple plume rose above it like the sun lie smoldering beyond.  A large flock of geese honked overhead and swirled around the field looking for a place to settle.

The dusk blanketed the earth, and the mystery receded in the twilight. I was back in the familiar, and on my way home, just before dark.

A Little Grace please

Ah, so it's not Every Day with Grace. Maybe it's almost every day with Grace.  Whatever, I have just come in from a lovely evening. A cousin of my father's on the spur of the moment planned a dinner party. It was good to see family members I have only seen in passing in the last 2 decades.  I spent the evening conversing with people I perhaps have never sat down to talk with as an adult in my whole life and yet they were a real part of my childhood. Interesting. Time goes so fast.

You may delay, but time will not...Ben Franklin.

Yes, she was right to throw a party, and what a party it was.  There were tons of appetizers--pigs in a blanket, little toasts with cheese dip, something she called green fudge.  I had my first Manhattan. It was good :).  Then there was dinner--beef stroganoff, salad, and these lovely vegetables with zucchini, carrots and leek.  And though I couldn't, you know she didn't forget dessert--beautiful meringue cookies, butter nut toffees, fruit cake and Boston creme pie.  I thought I'd die, and one day I will. So glad to have had the opportunity to party in the interim.  I'll keep it my heart and count it as my send off. 

Time flies, you know.

Dancin'

Well, this explains everything. It explains hula hoops and pet rocks, the Macarena, reality tv shows, crocs, and maybe even Justin Bieber. And it’s a plan—get out there, get crazy, take your shirt off (okay, not that crazy), and most of all find a follower. And this morning, I have my first follower. Thank you F.J.! As Derek Sivers says, “it takes guts to be the first follower.” The thing is I’m not real sure how this dance is going to go yet, but I’m going to keep dancing. I’m willing to be the lone nut. (Sometimes I think I have no choice).

So, my grace for today: Give the lone nuts a little room, but if it feels right, get in there and get dancin’.

Looking in New Directions

The last three days of 2011 were days to remember. The weather was unusually warm, breezy but sixty and sending the heart skipping on ahead to spring although the head knows that winter simply hasn’t arrived yet. So not to waste a warm minute, my friend and I decided to take a hike in West Tyson Park. 

We never take long hikes but prefer to get off the beaten path and into the woods shaking the bushes a bit even in the midst of winter when wildlife is scarce and wildflowers sleeping. That is not to say that the woods weren’t green they were! The mosses were filling the void covering the stones with a brilliant chartreuse in a sea of dry dead brown.

The stones grew larger as we went, forming rock walls and ledges along steep hillside and lay scattered down the slope wherever they landed after the long roll, long, long ago.

Besides the mosses, we found mineral deposits growing beneath the rocky ledges. I’m still waiting for my cave friends to tell me what they are… We also found some unusual mushrooms and pretty  common fungi that are still interesting to me.

Although the landscape was really steep and covered with a thick blanket of leaves hiding treacherous terrain, we climbed down the hillside and went exploring, finally ending up walking along a little creek which was nearly dry but dripping consistently over moss covered rocks and puddling on flat beds of rock.

Winter landscapes seem barren at first glance, but the sparseness of the vegetation can work to your advantage providing new venues for observation. The naked branches open space which reveal beautiful vistas. The dead brush clears new directions for exploring, and the poisonous plants and pests are all sleeping, thank goodness. Perhaps though, the best way winter works is to shift your focus and force you to look in new directions for discoveries. In my own experience the result has been fascinating, and so it was on this day.  As we scanned the stream and rummaged through rocks, everywhere we looked there were fossils.

* Just a note: Usually you are not allowed to take fossils from a public park.

And so, our finds were fascinating. I’m afraid though I don’t know much about  prehistoric eras nor  fossils.  I do know that during the Mississippian age, much of Missouri was covered by warm, shallow seas.  It seemed that most of what we found were the fossils of shells and other water creatures and plants. Perhaps I will start studying more about fossils.

The hike back was pleasant.  We saw an old rock wall at the boundary of the park. There is no end to the rock in this state ;). The day ended with a beautiful sunset, and I couldn’t help but think how fortunate it was to have the sun and warm winds on the winter landscape these last days of 2011.