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"That Thy Days May Be Long Upon the Land" 14 October 2008
"Bye, Mom. Oh, and can I use the car?"
Those two sentences may have made the two feet of difference between a seventeen-year-old at the wheel finding herself behind and not beneath a Ford Explorer that crossed two lanes and crushed her bumper, radiator, crumpling the front end of our little blue 88 Toyota Camry on her way to work on Thursday. I joking have decided that the act of honoring parents saved a life. A simple goodbye and a pleasant request--enough seconds to slow her from much more intense personal impact.
This week each of my brothers, and today, my sister will have had the blessing of honoring our parents. My maverick mother and father returned from their pioneer home up north a week ago last Sunday, having single-handedly winterized the house and taken down a trampoline, with help of mom's younger sister, who cheerfully reminded them, "We are farmer’s daughters! We can do this!" Before break of the next day, they had plowed the "East Forty," or peeled and processed at least that many bottles full of plump peaches, placing each carefully on pantry shelves.
Isn't harvest time heart-warming—to look up and around at crimson leaf-bearing limbs suddenly aware of color and change? And then glancing at vines, stalks and foliage in a plot of earth that was recently sod, pulled up by roots after which tiller blades separated the soil preparing it for seed. New growth from spinach, lettuce, turnips, okra, parsley, and thyme stood beside tomatoes and jungles of squash vines varying from hidden monster zucchinis to acorn and Hubbard. The last few weeks of summer brought "grandchildren" raspberries from another grandma and a strawberry rhubarb fruit sauce from a plant extracted from a gift of a dear now-deceased friend. And pumpkins! Who knows which bird planted the front yard spread of vines with small orange extensions sprawling on both sides of our front steps? Now the palm-sized pumpkins are piled and planted on the front steps, announcing a culmination of harvest and the change to winter—each was harvested this week, to escape nipping from frosty mornings.
Isn't harvest time heart-warming—to look up and around at crimson leaf-bearing limbs suddenly aware of color and change? And then glancing at vines, stalks and foliage in a plot of earth that was recently sod, pulled up by roots after which tiller blades separated the soil preparing it for seed. New growth from spinach, lettuce, turnips, okra, parsley, and thyme stood beside tomatoes and jungles of squash vines varying from hidden monster zucchinis to acorn and Hubbard. The last few weeks of summer brought "grandchildren" raspberries from another grandma and a strawberry rhubarb fruit sauce from a plant extracted from a gift of a dear now-deceased friend. And pumpkins! Who knows which bird planted the front yard spread of vines with small orange extensions sprawling on both sides of our front steps? Now the palm-sized pumpkins are piled and planted on the front steps, announcing a culmination of harvest and the change to winter—each was harvested this week, to escape nipping from frosty mornings.
The door opened and closed quickly today, allowing consideration of coats and gloves to accompany braving below-freezing brisk walks. It is a season to gather, to count the harvest, to rejoice in our blessings. Mom planted, A watered, M plucked the plants, and God gave the increase!
As siblings flew and drove from Seattle and various other beginning points to meet my parents in Provo at 6:30 in the morning Saturday, it was a fulfillment of a dream that I had a hard time imagining, working fervently to find family names to commemorate a fiftieth wedding anniversary. My dad had celebrated each week, with an email installment remembering our little family’s beginnings…but this day was a means of reaching out, of sharing with someone else the joy of the nature of eternal families. Grateful to the girls for giving up precious slumber time, my heart clasps the image of a little girl grown up to fit into a college-age smile, garbed in a white jumpsuit, wet hair, having just stood with her grandfather in an oxen-surrounded font, comfortably crouched, sitting on her bare feet, telling me with her body language, "This is a happy place that welcomes me. I love coming here!" She does. Often…with her roommates…and it was her food lab boss in white who issued clothing and helped us stamp our cards. A little like when a five-year-old invites you up to a special tree branch, this touched me.
I whispered stories to her about her great grandmother's gumption--traveling across the United States with a near-toddler in tow to be with a young, distant husband--no matter that this Indiana girl had never before driven more than a few miles in a stretch! The same great-grandmother also made a point of learning along side her teenager, studying nursing and serving in a local hospital when her peers were retreating into less active retirement. Grandma A also learned dots and dashes to speak with ham radio friends near and far, and filled her walls as she dabbled in acrylics and oils from the Southwest as she and Great Grandpa traveled.
It isn't hard to honor those who have honored us with choices of sacrifice and goodness and giving! And it is not as hard to rise in the dark to begin a morning with a brief pause of thanks, to tender pages of holy writ and ponder meaning of the day together before a back pack zips and a connoisseur of chemistry and calculus doggedly marches in early morning query to devoted teachers. Not long after, when sleepy-eye sister claims bathroom mirrors and repeats a similar routine, our hearts embrace the words of a wise leader: "Be at the crossroads!" So here we are. And aren't we blessed when they let us be! Dad’s mom reminded us at Sunday dinner that seven years to the month have passed since another leader reminded us about the parable of seven plenteous and seven lean years. Aren't we blessed to have had plenty? If this is our crossroads, aren't we blessed to have been taught how to prepare for inevitabilities that come our way? Aren't we blessed to have one another…to be reminded that our life is not a dead end (crash or no crash)…and aren't we glad to have another day?! May your days be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee!
Happy Tuesday to you each! From your “gathered in” friends
As siblings flew and drove from Seattle and various other beginning points to meet my parents in Provo at 6:30 in the morning Saturday, it was a fulfillment of a dream that I had a hard time imagining, working fervently to find family names to commemorate a fiftieth wedding anniversary. My dad had celebrated each week, with an email installment remembering our little family’s beginnings…but this day was a means of reaching out, of sharing with someone else the joy of the nature of eternal families. Grateful to the girls for giving up precious slumber time, my heart clasps the image of a little girl grown up to fit into a college-age smile, garbed in a white jumpsuit, wet hair, having just stood with her grandfather in an oxen-surrounded font, comfortably crouched, sitting on her bare feet, telling me with her body language, "This is a happy place that welcomes me. I love coming here!" She does. Often…with her roommates…and it was her food lab boss in white who issued clothing and helped us stamp our cards. A little like when a five-year-old invites you up to a special tree branch, this touched me.
I whispered stories to her about her great grandmother's gumption--traveling across the United States with a near-toddler in tow to be with a young, distant husband--no matter that this Indiana girl had never before driven more than a few miles in a stretch! The same great-grandmother also made a point of learning along side her teenager, studying nursing and serving in a local hospital when her peers were retreating into less active retirement. Grandma A also learned dots and dashes to speak with ham radio friends near and far, and filled her walls as she dabbled in acrylics and oils from the Southwest as she and Great Grandpa traveled.
It isn't hard to honor those who have honored us with choices of sacrifice and goodness and giving! And it is not as hard to rise in the dark to begin a morning with a brief pause of thanks, to tender pages of holy writ and ponder meaning of the day together before a back pack zips and a connoisseur of chemistry and calculus doggedly marches in early morning query to devoted teachers. Not long after, when sleepy-eye sister claims bathroom mirrors and repeats a similar routine, our hearts embrace the words of a wise leader: "Be at the crossroads!" So here we are. And aren't we blessed when they let us be! Dad’s mom reminded us at Sunday dinner that seven years to the month have passed since another leader reminded us about the parable of seven plenteous and seven lean years. Aren't we blessed to have had plenty? If this is our crossroads, aren't we blessed to have been taught how to prepare for inevitabilities that come our way? Aren't we blessed to have one another…to be reminded that our life is not a dead end (crash or no crash)…and aren't we glad to have another day?! May your days be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee!
Happy Tuesday to you each! From your “gathered in” friends
