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Archive for November 2011 – Page 2

signs . Mesker No.1

I found this metal plate while walking around Downtown in Starkville, MS. I was intrigued by the company job description… “Frontbuilders.” Now, that’s a positioning statement! It turns out the Mesker Bros company produced cast iron building facade components that were shipped to small towns across America in the late 1800s and early 1900s via their mail order catalog. I can promise I’ll be on the lookout for more of these on my next letters-and-numbers hunt.

Joy in the Labor

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY 10

I read this poem from the American Life in Poetry project last week and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I love the phrase “to claim a place in the bounty of earth.” Isn’t that what we really find ourselves about so many times? Claiming a place of bounty for our own hearts and spirits. So often we slip into thinking that bounty falls before us with no effort. That we are simply able to sit before a table amply spread and partake of bounty at no cost. But, as Mr. Levine writes, bounty more often comes through effort — through the conscious and persistent labors of grace in our lives and the staunch belief in our hearts that labor will be rewarded. And the belief that the bounty for which we labor is precious.

I’m reminded today that bounty must be cultivated as we root out the life of meaning that brings us joy. God is so incredibly generous. His provision is ample. But it is my responsibility to maintain that space for His abundance. It is my responsibility to put in the effort to cultivate my own heart, recognizing, claiming, and preserving what is important.

And, as the poem expresses, joy may be found in that labor. Our effort and struggle produces a greater measure of gratitude.

American Life in Poetry: Column 348

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

When we’re on all fours in a garden, planting or weeding, we’re as close to our ancient ancestors as we’re going to get. Here, while he works in the dirt, Richard Levine feels the sacred looking over his shoulder.

Believe This

All morning, doing the hard, root-wrestling
work of turning a yard from the wild
to a gardener’s will, I heard a bird singing
from a hidden, though not distant, perch;
a song of swift, syncopated syllables sounding
like, Can you believe this, believe this, believe?
Can you believe this, believe this, believe?

And all morning, I did believe. All morning,
between break-even bouts with the unwanted,
I wanted to see that bird, and looked up so
I might later recognize it in a guide, and know
and call its name, but even more, I wanted
to join its church. For all morning, and many
a time in my life, I have wondered who, beyond
this plot I work, has called the order of being,
that givers of food are deemed lesser
than are the receivers. All morning,
muscling my will against that of the wild,
to claim a place in the bounty of earth,
seed, root, sun and rain, I offered my labor
as a kind of grace, and gave thanks even
for the aching in my body, which reached
beyond this work and this gift of struggle.

——————————————————-

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation, publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright © 2010 by Richard Levine, from his most recent book of poetry, That Country’s Soul, Finishing Line Press, 2010, by permission of Richard Levine and the publisher. Introduction copyright ©2011 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

photo 112211 . Fiery Bounty

Hearing Thank You

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY NINE

“Thank you Mommy for saying these things.”

I don’t think I’ve ever really thought much about hearing “thank you,” and the impact it can have — the lessons it can teach. If you’ve read much in the EyeJunkie archives, you know that my children have taught me many lessons. My 5yo, Bug, is no exception and his lessons have their own brand of sweetness because he is so very passionate about his little life and everything in it.

I can’t believe I just typed 5yo, but it’s inexplicably true. Bug turns five today. He always has a place in each year’s 12 days of Thanksgiving series because he was born just two days before the holiday. He is responsible for one of my most powerful Thanksgiving memories because I brought him home on Thanksgiving Day. Definitely gratitude worthy! And he continues to provide those opportunities.

It was Bug who said the “thank you” that stopped me this time. It was just a normal evening for me. The bedtime routine was in full swing, and I had reached the point in the process when it was Bug’s turn. Bug is a man of routine, and his involves me spreading his blankets in his special way, reading a book, rubbing his back, singing a song and various answers to questions. I’m ashamed to admit that sometimes I do it mindlessly.

All too often I forget, but I do try to send their minds and hearts off to sleep with some reminders of just how special they are. Truths like “you’re so smart,” or “I love you more than you know,” or “you make me smile.” For something so profound, it’s funny how I can breeze by the words just as mindlessly as the rest of routine sometimes. On this night, I kissed Bug’s cheek and off-handedly mumbled “I’m so proud of you.”

Uh uh. With Bug, you don’t get by that easy. You don’t get by with simple flattery. He lives in specifics and usually demands them. And, true to form, on this night he did. He immediately asked me why. Why was I proud of him?

Now, it’s not hard for me to answer that question. I AM proud of Bug, and there are many daily reasons why. I think what surprised me was his desire to hear all those reasons and his boldness to ask for it. It had honestly not occurred to me be more specific. So, I told him. All the little success I could think of. The ones that are small in the course of the life I know he’ll have, but big in the scope of the moments he’s aware of now. And, when I was finished, he said thank you.

“Thank you Mommy for telling me these things.”

Bug rolled over and closed his eyes for sleep, apparently content with the answers he got. And he left me, once again, completely pondering what just happened. Amazed at how much I had to learn from that simple “thank you.” And from “these things.”

Pride is a powerful thing. It fulfills our desire — our need — to be seen. To know our efforts have been noticed and commended moves us. It pushes us closer to good habits, to the confidence required to accomplish more, to that resting place in our own minds where we know we’re doing a good job. Bug’s “thank you, Mommy” reminded me again how important it is to communicate these things. In specific. In real terms and descriptions they can understand and hold easily in their own hearts.

Bug’s request for specifics and his “thank you” showed me how very valuable and needed the reminders are for his heart. For all our hearts. How our hearts awaken when we hear “I’m proud of you.” How we want to know more. How we treasure that affirmation of our efforts and our good work. In specific. How it motivates us toward bigger and better things.

Today I’m grateful for that little sleepy, heart-felt “thank you,” the privilege to hear it and the encouragement to let each of them know how uniquely special they are.

Treasures

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY EIGHT

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.”
~ Thornton Wilder

…When our hearts are conscious of our treasures. I want to live in that place of consciousness, where not a single treasured moment escapes the attention of my heart. I’m recognizing, as I have time and time again, that so much of our joy in life is derived from simply being aware of it. Life, I mean. And all the spectacular treasures it contains. Some days the treasures make themselves known. It may sound like the din of three over-exhuberant young ones in need of a nap, but it’s really being alive calling. Giggles, squeals, smiles, conversations — my heart’s inescapable evidence that life is running over.

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