Day 14

I haven’t had much access to the computer lately, so I’m a little bit behind on my posts! But I haven’t forgotten the beautiful things from Day 14! On that day, I drove to Connecticut to spend about a week there, visiting my brother and a number of friends in the area. As I got on the interstate, I realized that I haven’t driven on the highway since December, when I last returned home after a trip away! That made me realize that I really do live out in the country!

I have to say, it felt a little bit like I crossed an international border somewhere along the way! As I drove, there were lots of little things that reminded me of the different culture I was entering. My nose registered a foul, acrid smell, and my brain remembered that those are called fumes, and they happen on highways. I heard a strange noise overhead and suddenly realized it was a helicopter. The shock absorbers on my car reported happily that the roads were actually smooth, not heaved by frost as they had been up north, and I got excited when I saw grass that was actually green! I began to see people of different races, and felt again the excitement of a blending of cultural history and perspectives. When I stopped at a store, I heard a flood of Spanish around me (which reassured me that the language I’ve been breaking my brains on for the past few months is in fact still in use, although nary a word is heard in my corner of the woods).

A lot of people talk about how the pace of life is more frenetic in the city, and I must say I did notice that, along with the fact that people don’t seem to take much thought to smiling at the people around them. There was none of the neighborly interest that people in the country take in their customers, or fellow shoppers. In fact, there is a general air of distrust (this corresponds with the fact that I felt impelled to double check that my car doors were locked when I came to a stoplight in the city.)

But then I ducked into a bagel shop. A bagel is my favorite meal on the go, because it’s quick, cheap, and delicious. That day, it also taught me a lesson. The bagel shop owner was the only person there, a short, slight, grey-haired fellow. After much deliberation (it’s hard to make any choices regarding food when you like everything), I gave him my order, and he set about toasting the bagel and spreading it with lox and cream cheese. As he handed me the bag and watched me get ready to leave, he leaned against the counter by his shop window, as though he was getting ready to take up his solitary vigil until the next customer arrived. It was a gesture of leisure, and perhaps of loneliness, and made it easy to stay a few minutes in hopes of a chance to share good news with him.

Somehow or other, we got talking, and the rush and swirl of the big city was entirely shut out of the quiet shop. He began telling me how he used to be a bus driver, and had travelled all over the States and even into Canada. He talked about mountains, and lakes, and all the beautiful scenes he had visited. He made a gesture with his hands to signify a collar around his neck and said, with his slightly broken English, “Now I feel like a dog, just going this way, and then that way.” He had done bus routes to a town near where I live, and he said he liked it up there. The people were friendlier, life was slower and less expensive. I had to agree.

But as I chatted with him in the quiet shop, I learned that busy, hurried, rough cities are not composed of busy, hurried, rough people. Instead, they contain plenty of people who spend life like a dog on a chain, trying to eke out a living and find a meaningful existence at the same time. They might be friendly if they only had a friend with a little time to listen. They’re not city people after all. Just people.

I got a mighty good bagel and an interesting conversation, plus a valuable lesson, for only $2.50. But I was able to leave him with something of much more value, the message of life and liberty through Jesus Christ. He was God, incarnated as a man who grew up in the country and lived in a city, bringing the message of hope to people of every background. He said, “Come to me, all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest….and you will find rest for your souls, for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

And there are weary people, and heavy laden, in every town, city, tent, and log cabin, of the world.

Day 13

I have a beautiful family! Oh, we’re not much to look at necessarily, but the more that I’m around my family and my extended family, the more I realize how wonderful they are! Today, two of my mom’s sisters and a few friends (whom we consider family) came over for a “sisters’ day,” and we spent the day making some lap quilts for some nursing home residents. It was just a nice way to spend time together.

And as we worked, thoughts of my grandmother, their mother, often came to us, the wonderful, thrifty lady who had made many generations of lap quilts for other nursing home residents. Dementia has now robbed her of the ability to do the simplest tasks, but she still has the appreciation for beauty and bright colors that enabled her to make such cheery works of creativity! We knew that she would approve of us, using up scraps to make beautiful things to share with those less fortunate, and we could almost hear her exclamations of delight as the colors came together in joyous patterns. The quilts that we made may have turned out as beautiful as those which she made. But her best masterpieces were the children whom she raised, the beautiful family that I am blessed to enjoy!

Day 12

Day 12 was a very busy day in the kitchen. But in the mid-afternoon, when I was waiting for a batch of soup to finish simmering, I went outside to capture a wee bit of the glorious day!

I found a sunny patch on the deck and lay down to soak in as much sun as possible in the short time that I had. As I lay there, I thought that there must be few sensations as delightful as sunshine on your skin—especially after a winter of cold and clouds and snow. It seems to me that people who live in places where it is perpetually sunny, can never really gain a true appreciation of sunshine—it’s warmth, it’s cheeriness, it’s soft welcome to the outdoors (I suppose that people like myself also don’t properly appreciate clouds and rain). All winter, the weather has been something that we had to protect ourselves from, bundling up against the wind and cold air, trying to keep dry from the snow and wetness. The sunshine instantly makes the world a far friendlier place.

I only was outdoors for fifteen minutes or so, but it was a beautiful moment that stayed with me through the day—the rushing sound of a distant brook, the indefinable smell of spring emanating from the thawing ground, and the warmth of the sunshine that called the whole beautiful scene into life.

Day 11

A little girl with a golden curls and a tearstained face. Her father, with his rugged beard and strong arms, holding her close. He looks into her eyes and whispers, “I love you.” That was a beautiful thing.

A not-so-little girl who has been learning disagreeable lessons. Her loving Father, who, in a sense, holds the universe with one hand, and her with the other. He has never stopped looking upon her with a smile of love, waiting for her to turn to Him for long enough to catch His whisper, “I love you.” That is, perhaps, the most beautiful thing of all.

Day 10

Today I went to my first town meeting! It was entirely different than anything I’ve attended before, and provided quite a delightful taste of rural New England. Apparently this is the way it’s done here; the majority of significant town business is settled in one day, by a legislature formed by whatever town residents show up. The dress code was whatever was warm enough for a brisk March day—and for most people that meant jeans, overalls, well-worn hoodies, and a few biker jackets. The moderator was a tall fellow with long grey hair and a beard, which he combed out preparatory to taking his official office.

The town business was conducted in proper meeting format, with motions and seconds and ballots, but the discussion about the individual articles was carried on in plain English, such as you would hear at the counter of the one and only local store. When the people were discussing a motion regarding the budget for road maintenance, someone in the back called out, “Does that leave enough for fuel for Frankie?” And Frankie, who is evidently one of the two snowplow drivers, expressed his opinions on that topic and also his concern that his two trucks are both about twenty years old and have needed some repairs. But, he assured us, he has a couple of backup trucks (one of which is twenty-four years old, but “they still run pretty good”) so the townspeople need not fear.

It was a new experience to be among a group of craggy, self-sufficient people, who spoke and voted quite consistently according to common sense. Looking around, I saw a number of war veterans, several local farmers, and lots of people whom I haven’t met, but whose lined faces and calloused hands testified to the fact that they knew a thing or two about hard work. It felt like the scene of Norman Rockwell’s painting, The Freedom of Speech. Or, as one of our fellow townspeople expressed it afterwards, it was like being back in the 19^th century, an expression of true democracy, and an opportunity for everyone to be “a legislator for a day.” And that made me realize what a beautiful thing it is to live in a country where such freedom is still protected.