The Messenger
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
---Mary Oliver--
These are my little glimpses from my Thanksgiving week. It was beautiful. So beautiful. My brother and his sweet family, my mom, and Byron's mom and dad were all here.
I never wrote about it in this place, but my mom overcame a really big medical condition this year that had, most likely, been brewing for ages. I was shaken considerably. Terrified really. We all were. That little, short woman - barely five feet tall -- our breadwinner, mama, housekeeper, bus driver, father, night time storyteller, taxi, house chef, and on and on of the roles a single mother must take on to insure her babies survive -- is so strong. She is one my few great teachers. Probably my greatest. Not in scientific facts and such, but in the spiritual way. Gratitude for the here and now. For family. For health. For work. For the chance to be here. That is what she has always tried to emphasize while she was raising the six of us and still today.
Mom came out on the other side of her illness stronger than ever and as I quietly watch her in the everyday, I am astonished by her strenghth and her spirit. And just so grateful that we get to have her in our lives today.
Happy, happy Thanksgiving!
