Good-natured and Untidy

"Metropolitan Anthony Bloom...was asked...how a person might be humble. 'It is too much to ask for,' he replied. 'Just try to be grateful.'"- from The Ladder of the Beatitudes by Jim Forest

I am a list maker, though not a very good one. Ages ago I would take time to pick up pen and paper and write things which I deemed important down. These days I usually, albeit unwisely, try my best at a mental check-list. If I am feeling overly energetic, I might squash my tendency toward procrastination and scrawl something down on the inside of a kitchen cabinet door hued brilliant green with peeling chalkboard paint now made jagged by little fingers who cannot resist tugging loose edges. A couple months ago, Leslie kindly lent me her copy of Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are. While embracing and cultivating a spirit of thanksgiving by creating a concrete list of those things for which I am grateful was not something unfamiliar to me per se, the notion of disciplining my mind to unearth things to be grateful for within the irritating events of my daily life, though seemingly obvious, was revolutionary. Suddenly it was clear to me that I was responsible for my joy, that my lack of thanksgiving in all things was extinguishing my joy; and not only mine but of all those precious, innocent ones around me. By potentially killing the joy and allowing anger, despair, impatience, and lack of self-control to reign freely within our home, I was in danger of leading my children astray by my sins. And yes, it would be better for me to have a millstone hung around my neck and be drowned in the depth of the sea than to cause my children to stumble. And so in addition to verbally offering thanks, I have launched a list. Inside an ordinary blue blank-paged notebook held together only by staples, I am endeavoring (ever so poorly) to veer away from my typical pattern of storing things in my head and to physically write down words which will serve as my memory; a list of specific things for which I am grateful. Things like the color orange, Winnie-the-Pooh, cookies received on May Day, bacon from the Geests' fried crisp, dandelions handpicked by my boys, a white kitchen sink, shade, picnics, coffee with my husband, friends. Simple reminders to give thanks. At all times. In everything.

From "The Leaf and The Cloud"
Mary Oliver
Poetry Wednesday

When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
the orderliness of the world. Notice
something you have never noticed before,

like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.

Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
shaking the water-sparks from its wings.

Let grief be your sister, she will whether or not.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
like the diligent leaves.

A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.

Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.

In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.

Live with the beetle, and the wind.

I received the preceding selection from Mary Oliver's larger work "The Leaf and The Cloud" in an email today. I consider this a gift (thank you, Sarah). And if you have a moment, you can read an article published in the May edition of a local magazine here about the Trappist monks who crafted my father's casket. Sarah wrote the article and related that if she would have had more space, she would have concluded her piece with this selection. Peace and Goodness.