Unpacking

I've been unpacking for several months. Unpacking to help answer the "why" in some of my fears. Thirty-three years ago I unpacked my fear of flying.  That unpacking was filled with revelation.

I've seen the success of that unpacking in the fact that tomorrow will be my 332nd air travel trip. Such an accomplishment!  I've packed for travel near and far because I unpacked.

Currently I'm unpacking weather. Those red triangle warnings stir up more than wind or rain. Or snow or hail.  Or flood.

Flooded. High water.  High fears. High losses. High struggles.

Tomorrow I begin "the journey back home" travel.

A year and two weeks ago I fled.  We fled.  Flooded, and having taken refuge on the 2nd floor, we waited for rescue.  And it came.  It came in the form of a double-kayak.  Room for two to flee.  Not alone, mind you, rather both led by and followed by kayaks.  One pulling, one bringing up the rear.

And now, 56 weeks later, the finishing touches are being carried out on the restoration of home.  Redesigned, rebuilt, repainted, redecorated, reclaimed.

From the last night there, to the first night there.  Fitting.

Literal unpacking awaits my visit. I'm certain my soul-unpacking will happen as well.

Traveling mercies.

Blue Iris

With a move to the cooler climate some fourteen years ago, I began to add plants to the property from my childhood.  Plants I knew would grow where I now lived.  Lilac, Mock Orange, Iris.  The iris were planted along the driveway, and every Spring the iris would appear.

About 4 years ago, only the green leaves would appear.  No buds, no blooms.  Then this year one plant decided to bloom.  A beautiful white and purple bloom.  The sight of the single iris with the woods in the background, literally stopped me in my tracks. I was driving out of the driveway, saw the iris, and pulled up next to it and took this photograph.

Stunning.

Mary Oliver penned the poem, It Doesn't Have to Be a Blue Iris.

     Praying

     "It doesn't have to be
     the blue iris, it could be
     weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
     small stones; just
     pay attention, then patch
     a few words together and don't try
     to make them elaborate, this isn't
     a contest but the doorway
     into thanks, and a silence in which
     another voice may speak."

I'm learning to pray.  Of course I've been praying for a good while, but not in the way I am praying these days. I feel like I'm in conversation with God.  Right now it's not as shared a conversation as that I crave.  That's probably because I'm better at speaking to God than listening to God.  Nonetheless, the praying conversation is off and on during each day, and at night I drift off in mid-conversation. 

As Mary Oliver reminds us, prayer does not have to be elaborate, dramatic, scene-stealing-- just pay attention to what is around us, patch a few words together into thanks; with silence for listening.