Moonlight and summer
Last night after the kids were in bed, I slipped out into the gathering dark to baby my flowers a bit and to drink in the dusk air that was full with moisture. A gentle rain fell, the perfect kind for planting (or jogging) and I remembered why I love this time of the day. The creatures that inhabit our woods took the rain as an invitation to play. A rabbit skittered helter skelter across the grass while birds and peepers and crickets created the music I moved to.
I paused now and again to put face to sky and to breathe deep, because the smell of earth moves me in the way good art moves me, in the way a verse can move me though I may have read it a hundred times already. The scent of rain and earth was the scent of God deep in things. Even the smallest ones.
This evening after a day of rain and restless children and testy parents, I walked the day's food scraps to the compost bin and saw the medicine rain is to growing things, too. My peas at least four inches taller than yesterday afternoon when last I looked, clinging tightly to bamboo trellises; buds on the cucumber plants despite the fact that every new leaf seems to yellow before it has the chance to spread its canopy. And the chorus that accompanied my brief walk! It was full and rich with bird calls and tree frogs and rustling on the floor of our small woods. God deep in things. Even the smallest things.
My night escape brought to mind Pulitzer Prize winning author Marilynne Robinson's new book of essays When I Was a Child I Read Books. In her essay "Freedom of Thought," she writes about the strange division between science and religion, the belief that the two cannot exist peaceably in the same space. They must divorce each other as soon as they draw near, like magnets repelling. She argues that historically world religions never did claim to decipher the mechanics of the cosmos. To assume that is to misread religious literature of the ages. Robinson writes: "[The misunderstanding] reinforce[s] the notion that science and religion are struggling for possession of a single piece of turf" (15).
I do remember eighth grade English and tenth grade Biology and eleventh grade Literature where anyone who still believed a life could be lived by the Bible (or the Torah or the Koran or any religious texts, for that matter) was made to appear silly at best, stupid at worst. I grew increasingly silent in school, knowing I was neither silly nor stupid, but also not quite knowing how to live in my own skin there, to express a self where intellectual and spiritual life coexisted and informed each other. I began to wonder, did I have to choose one or the other?
Quieting the noise of modern living in exchange for the music of my own backyard reminds me that the physical and the spiritual need not live at odds. Both science and my Christian faith uncover the mysteries of the cosmos. Both invite wonder. Both point to the Creator. It is a pity that great minds on both sides continue to pit the two against each other, politicizing the dirt under our feet. How silly we must seem. How needless our noise.
I'm looking forward to the kids getting old enough for tromps in the dark. I hope our backyard adventures will become scavenger hunts for wonder and mystery and truth.
True, summer makes days lovely long, but summer nights quiet my soul when it thirsts for peace.
And a quick update on the kids:
Emelyn seems to be recovering well from her hernia surgery. She's bounding all over the place again, today racing from one piece of furniture to the next, in flight, feet never touching the ground. That one's cup overflows with love for life, curiosity for life, and a mind that slows only (maybe) while sleeping. Many mornings she can narrate in great detail the dream adventures she traveled through the night. Though her constant chatter can sometimes irritate, I do love to remember that what we hear is only a small slice of what must go on inside that precious head of hers. Her mind is a garden. She is just a little thrilled about Kindergarten in the fall, and has informed me that though I will miss her at home, it is Dad's turn now to have her close. She is psyched that, come fall, they will be in the same building all day.
Audyn (I hesitate to put it to paper, because every time I do it turns) seems to have conquered the toilet finally. Tantrums about taking breaks from playing still abound, but she is investing herself in the process, we can see. She is proud of her ability to do all potty-related tasks on her own. Though we are not allowed to make a fuss anymore (because she's too big for it), she still sings the potty song every time she goes. We hear her little voice from behind closed--and locked!--bathroom door: "Audyn went pee-pee on the potty! Audyn went pee-pee on the potty! Yey!" And then, "Aaah!! I can't get out!" as she struggles yet again to unlock herself from the john. Her preferred reward for a successful visit is a box of raisins--Mom is well-pleased with her choice, as four or five boxes of raisins a day seem also to aid her bowel system without the use of laxatives lately. Like her big sister, Audyn is becoming quite articulate. She surprises me every day with something new she knows. Quite often, she says, "Emewyn showed me." I love this about her middle position in the family; what I had to very deliberately teach Emelyn, Audyn picks up from her sister now. We pass the torch. Look what Kaleb can look forward to!
The phrase most often heard in regard to our littlest little is, "Where's Kaleb?" Full of curiosity and quicker than a flash of lightning, he zips from one room to the next upstairs (yes, he climbs stairs!) and down undoing any order we might strive for in our little house. Unplugging nightlights from outlets, chewing on rubber sandals, unrolling toilet paper, toppling trash cans, emptying cabinets, and tasting everything he picks off the floor or ground are his greatest joys in life. (Sand by the fistful, paper of all kinds, and food from under the table are his favorite delicacies.) It is exhausting trying to keep up with him. He reminds us of a puppy. He is communicating with us more and more, using a combination of sign language and sounds that his family knows as his first words: Mama, Moh-moh (more), Dada, Baba (nursing, drink, baby, and book). He loves reading stories on our laps, snuggling, and exploring. And other than a returned heart murmur (to get checked out soon, but related to an already diagnosed and non-threatening heart defect), he continues to pass his visits to medical specialists with flying colors. We are beyond grateful for that. His own recent surgery seems like a distant memory now, with only a few scars to tell the tale.
And that's it! Happy mid-summer night dreaming to all!
I paused now and again to put face to sky and to breathe deep, because the smell of earth moves me in the way good art moves me, in the way a verse can move me though I may have read it a hundred times already. The scent of rain and earth was the scent of God deep in things. Even the smallest ones.
This evening after a day of rain and restless children and testy parents, I walked the day's food scraps to the compost bin and saw the medicine rain is to growing things, too. My peas at least four inches taller than yesterday afternoon when last I looked, clinging tightly to bamboo trellises; buds on the cucumber plants despite the fact that every new leaf seems to yellow before it has the chance to spread its canopy. And the chorus that accompanied my brief walk! It was full and rich with bird calls and tree frogs and rustling on the floor of our small woods. God deep in things. Even the smallest things.
My night escape brought to mind Pulitzer Prize winning author Marilynne Robinson's new book of essays When I Was a Child I Read Books. In her essay "Freedom of Thought," she writes about the strange division between science and religion, the belief that the two cannot exist peaceably in the same space. They must divorce each other as soon as they draw near, like magnets repelling. She argues that historically world religions never did claim to decipher the mechanics of the cosmos. To assume that is to misread religious literature of the ages. Robinson writes: "[The misunderstanding] reinforce[s] the notion that science and religion are struggling for possession of a single piece of turf" (15).
I do remember eighth grade English and tenth grade Biology and eleventh grade Literature where anyone who still believed a life could be lived by the Bible (or the Torah or the Koran or any religious texts, for that matter) was made to appear silly at best, stupid at worst. I grew increasingly silent in school, knowing I was neither silly nor stupid, but also not quite knowing how to live in my own skin there, to express a self where intellectual and spiritual life coexisted and informed each other. I began to wonder, did I have to choose one or the other?
Quieting the noise of modern living in exchange for the music of my own backyard reminds me that the physical and the spiritual need not live at odds. Both science and my Christian faith uncover the mysteries of the cosmos. Both invite wonder. Both point to the Creator. It is a pity that great minds on both sides continue to pit the two against each other, politicizing the dirt under our feet. How silly we must seem. How needless our noise.
I'm looking forward to the kids getting old enough for tromps in the dark. I hope our backyard adventures will become scavenger hunts for wonder and mystery and truth.
True, summer makes days lovely long, but summer nights quiet my soul when it thirsts for peace.
And a quick update on the kids:
Emelyn seems to be recovering well from her hernia surgery. She's bounding all over the place again, today racing from one piece of furniture to the next, in flight, feet never touching the ground. That one's cup overflows with love for life, curiosity for life, and a mind that slows only (maybe) while sleeping. Many mornings she can narrate in great detail the dream adventures she traveled through the night. Though her constant chatter can sometimes irritate, I do love to remember that what we hear is only a small slice of what must go on inside that precious head of hers. Her mind is a garden. She is just a little thrilled about Kindergarten in the fall, and has informed me that though I will miss her at home, it is Dad's turn now to have her close. She is psyched that, come fall, they will be in the same building all day.
Audyn (I hesitate to put it to paper, because every time I do it turns) seems to have conquered the toilet finally. Tantrums about taking breaks from playing still abound, but she is investing herself in the process, we can see. She is proud of her ability to do all potty-related tasks on her own. Though we are not allowed to make a fuss anymore (because she's too big for it), she still sings the potty song every time she goes. We hear her little voice from behind closed--and locked!--bathroom door: "Audyn went pee-pee on the potty! Audyn went pee-pee on the potty! Yey!" And then, "Aaah!! I can't get out!" as she struggles yet again to unlock herself from the john. Her preferred reward for a successful visit is a box of raisins--Mom is well-pleased with her choice, as four or five boxes of raisins a day seem also to aid her bowel system without the use of laxatives lately. Like her big sister, Audyn is becoming quite articulate. She surprises me every day with something new she knows. Quite often, she says, "Emewyn showed me." I love this about her middle position in the family; what I had to very deliberately teach Emelyn, Audyn picks up from her sister now. We pass the torch. Look what Kaleb can look forward to!
The phrase most often heard in regard to our littlest little is, "Where's Kaleb?" Full of curiosity and quicker than a flash of lightning, he zips from one room to the next upstairs (yes, he climbs stairs!) and down undoing any order we might strive for in our little house. Unplugging nightlights from outlets, chewing on rubber sandals, unrolling toilet paper, toppling trash cans, emptying cabinets, and tasting everything he picks off the floor or ground are his greatest joys in life. (Sand by the fistful, paper of all kinds, and food from under the table are his favorite delicacies.) It is exhausting trying to keep up with him. He reminds us of a puppy. He is communicating with us more and more, using a combination of sign language and sounds that his family knows as his first words: Mama, Moh-moh (more), Dada, Baba (nursing, drink, baby, and book). He loves reading stories on our laps, snuggling, and exploring. And other than a returned heart murmur (to get checked out soon, but related to an already diagnosed and non-threatening heart defect), he continues to pass his visits to medical specialists with flying colors. We are beyond grateful for that. His own recent surgery seems like a distant memory now, with only a few scars to tell the tale.
And that's it! Happy mid-summer night dreaming to all!
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