Two Minutes

On an errand run to Lexington last week, I ran into Target for a few things I can’t find in my small town.  I found the shortest line and waited my turn to pay.  I listened as the African-American Target employee handed the woman in front of me a receipt and said, “God bless you,” with a smile as big as Christmas.

“How you doin’ baby?” she asked me with an expression that convinced me she cared about my answer.

When I responded and then asked her the same, she said “I’m doing fine, praise the Lord.”

I can’t even remember exactly how our brief exchange went from then on, but there was an abundance of “God bless you” and me being called “baby child.” The whole event lasted under two minutes but it encouraged me for the rest of the day. It felt like a moment when God laid a finger on my heart and said, “I love you.”

Two minutes. I’m not sure I thought it was possible to feel God’s love from a total stranger in the checkout line of Target.

But I did. And it was an authentic touch from the God who is Love.

It made me think differently about those everyday errands I run and those short opportunities I have to connect with someone I don’t know. Not in my own power to be nice or polite, but through the supernatural love that only God can give.  

Closet and Soul

Closet and Soul

            My friend Theresa believes you can check the health of a woman’s soul by the state of her closet. Not the brands of clothing or even the styles, but the way it is kept. Are things in order, put away, folded and hung?

            My closet looks like a land mine exploded and spewed clothes to all corners. I have things hanging willy nilly on hooks, dangling from shelves, and covering the floor. Usually coinciding with the closet eruption is the toiletry explosion. This is when my side of the vanity is scattered with makeup, face cleanser, moisturizers, hairbrushes, hair bands and clips, toothpaste, and notes to myself and a bottle of water.  

            This is not how I like things to be, nor does my husband. I can shut the door to my closet if it gets really bad, but my junk edges over into his space on the vanity, forcing him to push a hair dryer chord out of the way in order to wash his hands.

I much prefer a neat environment and in fact, the rest of the house will be quite straight and uncluttered while my closet is a mess. And that is exactly the heart of my friend’s theory. We can keep things going on the outside, all the “seen” parts, but sometimes let things get out of order on the inside. 

            It has been a whirlwind week and my closet is showing it.  Two sets of houseguests, dinner for 30, daily meetings, decisions and responsibilities, and preparation for a writer’s conference have overwhelmed me. I’ve thrown clothes everywhere, feeling there was no time to hang, fold, or straighten. Or maybe it was some vain attempt to throw off the extra stress.

Saying goodbye to the last guest and concluding the last meeting doesn’t automatically fix things. My closet is still a disaster and my soul is still in hyper active mode.

I wish I knew how to keep from having such a wild few days, but sometimes things are out of our control. Events converge to create temporary insanity. More often than not, several activities will hit on the same weekend while the next weekend goes completely unscheduled. Even with the best attempts at creating margin in our lives, it is not always possible.  

However, I do know how to hang up my shirts, fold pants and put away shoes. I can put my hairbrushes and clips in a drawer, along with the hairdryer. I can throw my cleansers and creams in a basket and put the notes to myself in the day planner.

These simple things won’t fix all the stresses in life, but it does make my soul feel better.

Gardens on the Rise

Gardens on the Rise

It’s official. More Americans than ever are finding out what many of us have known all along. Growing a garden is a great way to cut your grocery bill and provide your family with high quality food, picked at the peak of freshness.

According to the National Gardening Association, there was a 19 percent increase in home gardening in 2009. Those are the most recent figures available but the trend appears to have momentum.

I placed an order back in the summer for Roma Beans from Baker Seeds, a company who provides heirloom seeds, and just received them two days ago. Of course, it’s too late for me to plant this year but I ended up with enough seeds and plenty of green beans.  Why so late? The note inside the package said they apologized for the inconvenience, but had been inundated with orders.  

That’s good news.

Two summers ago, I searched for quart jars in a ten mile radius and was finally forced to beg and borrow from friends and family. Never before had this happened in my many years of canning. There were always jars to be had somewhere. That taught me a lesson and I stock up on jars, even if it’s the end of the season. I don’t want to be caught without the means to put up good food.

It’s exciting to think more people are gardening. After all, unless you live in an apartment or condo, nearly all of us have a small square of fertile soil to do something with, even for a tomato plant or two. 

I started twelve years ago as a way to get back in touch with my agrarian roots. I discovered not only a connection to my ancestors’ habits of growing and preserving food, but an amazing difference in taste.  By going organic, I also knew it was healthy.  Not to mention the soul healing days of working with my hands in dirt under the sunshine.

But before I wax on about the benefits of gardening, let me be honest.  I have a love/hate relationship with my garden, depending on the time of year.  Last fall, my husband made an ill-timed remark about growing a bigger garden next year and I cast an evil eye on him the likes of which he has never seen.  This was after months of a daily routine that went something like this: Pick, clean, prepare, sterilize, fill, salt, seal, cook, cool, label.  

I am worn out with it by October, but a miraculous rejuvenation takes place over the winter. While the land is resting in winter’s sleep, so is the gardener in me. By the time April rolls around, my evil eye has softened. The grass is green, birds are singing, and I’m dreaming of vegetables.  I don’t know what I might grow next year, but one thing is for sure. I’ll put my seed order in early.

Moon Watcher

Moon Watcher

                I was mesmerized the first time I saw the moon's face. I had always heard of “the man on the moon” but thought people were referring to Neil Armstrong.  But there it was, outlined by the moonscape and smiling down at me.

                When I was younger, the moon was mostly a romantic symbol, something sung about in moving ballads and used for backdrops in movies. I admired it occasionally, when it swelled up and made itself known on clear nights, but even then it was hard to appreciate amidst the city lights.

                After leaving the city, I realized the practical benefits of a moonlit night. A person can actually see in the dark! I imagined how folks long ago likely scheduled events according to the moon so travelers could have extra light for moving around the countryside.

                When I first called my veterinarian to schedule goat castrations, she said she would first consult the almanac and see when the signs were “in.” I didn’t know what she was talking about until I opened up my own Farmer’s Almanac and realized there are recommended dates for doing certain things, such as weaning animals, planting gardens, and setting eggs.  Hocus Pocus? Maybe.  But if the moon can control the ocean tides, why not other things?

                My husband is an avid moon watcher. He loves it when the moon is waxing, building toward the one night when it is completely full. After all, there are only twelve occasions to see a full moon in the whole year, and that is if every night is clear. It really is quite an event. So we go outside and view it, admiring the beautiful aspects of the full moon, knowing it will be another month before we can see it in all its finery.

                Each moon has a name, sometimes more than one name, usually given by Native Americans.  

In January, it is the Wolf Moon, but some Sioux tribes call it the Moon of Frost in the Teepee. February is the Snow Moon and March is the Worm Moon.  The Pink Moon shines in April and May is the Flower Moon.  Strawberry Moon is fitting for June and the Buck Moon is for July. In August, we see the Sturgeon Moon and in September it is the Harvest Moon, also called the Corn Moon. The Hunter's Moon is in October, followed by the Beaver Moon in November and the appropriately named Cold Moon in December.

If I have piqued your interest in moon watching, mark your calendar for September 12.  Turn off the television and go outside with a mug of hot chocolate. Enjoy a moment only God can provide, because you won’t see another Harvest Moon for a whole year.