Creativity can be as surprising as it is exciting; The morning had been spent working hard in the hot July cornfield. Alfred and I walked down from the cornfield into the cool shade of large Oak trees. A small spring gurgled below a steep embankment. We filled our water jars and sat down with our lunch pails. As we ate, Alfred said, “This would be a good place to put a paddlewheel.” “What is a paddlewheel?” I asked. “I’ll show you after we eat,” he said.

Lunch downed, Alfred cut some Sweetgum branches. He chose a branch for an an axis, roughly ten inches long, about a half inch in diameter. He cut a slit through the center of the branch at the top and another slit through the side; both cuts about two-inches long. From the large, leftover branch, he shaved out two flat paddles. One paddle he slid into the branch through the top slit; the other he slid into the side slit, forming an X. From leftover twigs, Alfred cut two forked sticks.

Once completed, he placed the forked sticks in the soft wet earth, one on each side of the trickle from the spring. He lowered the apparatus to rest on the forked sticks and into the flowing spring; as the paddlewheel dipped into the water it spun to life, powered by the flowing water. “A miracle,” I thought!! and said, “That’s great! You are smart!” As we hurried back to our field work, the little paddlewheel gently spun unencumbered in the flowing rivulet.

A few years ago, I was in a toy store. In the section for beach toys, I saw a molded plastic toy that reminded me of Alfred’s paddlewheel. “How sad,” I thought. “Would the child that gets this toy even think to put it into a flowing stream for it to work like Alfred’s: Maybe. Even if he does, he would miss the fun, the excitement, and creativity like Alfred’s. Instant fun is, well, not that much fun.”

In today’s instant-everything culture, we miss much; creativity, conversation, relationship-building; the list is long. One blessing of the COVID-19 Pandemic could be that we were forced to think out of the box; creatively, if you will. Maybe some long-lost skills were resurrected, or new ones learned maybe by accident; even creating fun and new uses for stuff we already had on hand.

Recently I read about a person who was wheelchair bound, who found a new and valuable use for Legos; She fashioned a small, lightweight ramp for her wheelchair, using Legos, enabling her wheelchair to get inside a hair salon. As it turns out, that little step up at the door—a real barrier for wheelchairs—became a new, safe wheelchair entrance.

When I think of what Alfred did, it reminds me of the creation of the world, and our human responsibility for the world. Alfred did not destroy any of the Creation, but he did activate a multimedia experience of joy through it. Often, while in the wild, I see a little stream or spring; I think of that fun day, the cool shade of the old Oak tree, the little spring, the paddlewheel, and I smile to myself. A happy memory.

Doing nothing! I remember, as a young man, complaining to an elderly friend; “Down the road, I saw some folks just sitting on their front porch— just doing nothing!” She wisely said, “maybe they had been working hard and needed a rest.” At the time I was working full time as well as scratching out time to finish my doctoral dissertation on—- “Time Management.” I couldn’t imagine “down” time.

Obviously I was having tunnel vision. I was so focused on making time count (literally count,) that I missed the value of “sitting,” —down time. Maybe it didn’t happen to Otis Redding the way the cartoonist put it, but it is an “Ah Ha” moment;

An article in the business journal, “Inc.”, touts “A Day of Rest: 12 Scientific Reasons It Works.” The article speaks in detail of good results such as stress reduction, increased productivity, mental and emotional improvement, even more joy. In an article, “The science of rest and why it is important to daydream” Professor Claudia Hammond said,  “…we suffer from a rest deficit. We need to rest more. And to rest better. Resting is good not just for wellbeing but for productivity.”

It shouldn’t have taken the global study, which revealed this insight. We’ve known this for over five thousand years. The sabbath; “Six days you shall labor and do all your work, ¹⁰ but the seventh day is the Sabbath…”

Time and again, research shows the need for, and excellent results from, appropriate rest; “sittin’ ” is one way. Folklore is flush with stories telling of modern tools and conveniences that were invented to work easier. True or apocryphal, they are the result of someone’s boredom with, or tired of, mundane or repetitive tasks. “Tired” being the operative word.

In the Old Testament, Jacob’s life came together one night while he slept, after a long, tiring journey. Not an unusual occurrence. Do you remember the oft used term, related to a weighty decision; “Why don’t you sleep on it?” It is not an invitation to laziness. Inactivity, as I assumed about the porch sitters, is not being lazy or non productive. Maybe it is an essential function of our humanity.

I think I will to out on my deck , take a chair, sit back, listen to the birds, watch the breeze in the trees, and, as Otis Redding would have said, sit here, “wasting time.”

Post Script

Otis Ray Redding Jr. (September 9, 1941 – December 10, 1967) an American singer and songwriter, is considered one of the greatest singers in the history of American popular music and a seminal artist in soul music and rhythm and blues. Redding’s style of singing gained inspiration from the gospel music that preceded the genre. His singing style influenced many other soul artists of the 1960s.Redding was born in Dawson, Georgia, and at the age of 2, moved to Macon, Georgia. His father got a job working at Robins Air Force Base, Warner Robins, GA. He died of Tuberculosis,.Redding quit school at age 15 to support his family, working with Little Richard‘s backing band, the Upsetters, and by performing in talent shows at the historic Douglass Theatre in Macon. In 1958, he joined Johnny Jenkins‘s band, the, with whom he toured the Southern states as a singer and driver. An unscheduled appearance on a Stax recording session led to a contract and his first single, “These Arms of Mine“, in 1962. Redding was entombed at his ranch in Round Oak, GA, about twenty miles (30 km) north of Macon.[89]Jerry Wexler delivered the eulogy.[90] Redding died just three days after re-recording “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay.

If you watched the TV show, “Mr. Rogers Neighborhood,” you remember Mr. McFeely, the delivery man, played exquisitely by David Newell. Always in a hurry, he never had time to tarry; he would make his delivery and hurry on. You probably know people like that. Heck! maybe even you are like that!

Pastor Susan has an apt description for such a person; she contrasts “A human doing!” with a “Human Being.” She calls on us to “Be!” more so than to “Do.” If we learned anything about life during this COVID-19 Pandemic, maybe we learned to take a breath (or several)—“being” present with people we love, people we care about, even having a little self-time.

How many times in the past have you said, “I wish I could get out of this rat race.” Well. It is highly likely you got your wish. And I mean that in a good sense. In Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, the man of law is described as a man “…who is always busy. But he seemed busier than he was.“ If this describes you, then you are a “Human doing.”

Jesus spent a lot of time “being.” Even among crowds, he could clock into “being“: On one occasion as he was pressed by the crowds, a woman who greatly needed healing touched the hem of his garment: He stopped and asked, “Who touched me?” He was laughed at: His own disciple, Peter, hooted—“In this crowd you ask ‘Who touched me?’ Well, nearly everyone.” But Jesus made himself present to this immediate need.

On another occasion, Martha chided him for allowing Mary, her sister, to sit and listen while Martha needed help preparing food. Jesus said Mary made the better choice. It is interesting to compare the choices of the two women with Maslow’s “hierarchy of human needs:” In this hierarchy, food ranks lowest; achieving one’s full potential ranks highest. Martha sought food preparation; Mary sought spiritual growth. “Busy” vs “Being.”

The Psalmist said,  “My whole being waits for my Lord—
    more than the night watch waits for morning;
    yes, more than the night watch waits for morning!”

In our frantic rush, or busy-ness, or search for God, it is too easy to miss God’s Presence by always looking elsewhere: In reality God is present with you. God never leaves you. Have you ever searched frantically for something only to find right in front of you? That is the essence of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story, “The Purloined Letter.” It is a life lesson; “doing” tends to block “being.”

We laugh when, soon after a child plants a seed, he hurries to the garden hoping to see if the plant is growing; even digging up the seed for evidence. Much of life is found simply in “being.” Of course there needs to be some doing; yet impatience tends to push us into trampling the essence of “being.”

The Prophet, Elijah did not discover the voice of God through frenzied activity, though he tried. After the excitement was over, he not only discovered God’s presence in “a still, small voice,” but also his purpose in life. A good life lesson.

Alone: Merriam-Webster defines alone: : “separated from others”—Kinda feels familiar? There are over a half dozen words that can relate to our COVID-19 experience of the past year; words like alone, lone, lonesome, lonely, forlorn, solitary, desolate, come to mind. We’ve heard the counsel, “Find the silver lining in the clouds.” Easier said than done; but possible.

Living under directives to “Shelter in Place,” “Keep physical distance,” and other healthy practices, the psyche, or soul, or personality suffered. Some more than others—for varieties of reasons; family, work, school, health, and more. In most cases, there was little choice. Yet there are always choices, within limits. The foundational choice is attitude.

Make that significant choice. Attitude! “Alone” and “solitude” sound like different names for identical conditions. But how different they turn out as a result of attitude, or personal choice. This COVID-19 Pandemic may seem new, and facing it unique. Not so. Humanity has faced and successfully dealt with its cousins’ onslaughts for centuries. For help, almost instinctively, we tend to turn to Holy Scripture. There, ample substance is found from our ancient Fathers and Mothers of Faith.

In Holy Scripture there is positive distinction and help in being “alone,” and in choosing “solitude.” The Prophet Elijah had good reason to feel “alone.” He said, “I have been very zealous for the Lord God of hosts; for the children of Israel have forsaken Your covenant, torn down Your altars, and killed Your prophets with the sword. I alone (Bold mine) am left; and they seek to take my life.” Elijah focused only on his own problems. He lost perspective. Read the entire chapter to see the possibilities he overlooked. At last he found he was not alone! God had been with him all along.

In similar manner solitude can seem oppressive That is, unless you do as Jesus did: two passages clearly point to Jesus’ choice; 1) A tiring day of teaching, healing, and dealing in general with the crowds, Jesus “went away” into solitude to pray. (Matthew 14:22-27) Another time, as he faced the most momentous hours of his life, he chose solitude as he “went away to pray.”

If you did not learn to use solitude, or to be alone during the COVID-19 Pandemic, there is still time. It is not necessary to go away on a weekend retreat, or take a day away, or kneel and close your eyes praying; although those could be helpful. You can choose solitude at that traffic light that takes too long; or waiting in line (car pool or curbside—as I think about it, you likely need a prayer time there); Turn off electronics for the moment, focus on a word of Scripture, a favorite hymn phrase. Any of these can help you find a refresh you sorely need.

The late Henri Nouwen touts solitude as a choice—no, an essential, antidote for morbid isolation; he speaks of solitude as being “…alone with God… develop(ing) a simple discipline or spiritual practice to embrace some empty time and empty space every day.” You may choose to be alone with God; listen to the voice of the prophet, Isaiah “Fearnot, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.’”

I was asked to write a Blog “Celebrating Esther.” I can only recall a few Esthers; My aunt, the late Esther Moore from Five Forks, GA; Esther Williams, more famous for her swimming than her movies, and of course, there’s the Book of Esther in the Bible. Unfortunately, I only saw Aunt Esther at family reunions, so I don’t have much information to add. As for Esther Williams I was too young to be enamored of her; I was more interested in model airplanes. So I opened the Bible I have in my hands.

I’ll do what I can to celebrate Est…..Oh My!! Sorry!! I just re-read the “assignment;” It reads, Celebrate Easter, not Esther! Shoulda had my reading glasses on. Well, that clears up a lot!

Celebrating Easter! OK!! Now that makes sense; Easter is just two days away! Growing up in Deepstep, GA (Well, OK; Goat Town, to be precise) I always looked forward to Easter. Easter Services were exciting and crowded at Deepstep Methodist Church—part of the overcrowding due to cousins coming home for the Easter service; the other part of the crowd was local relatives coming to see the little ones in the Easter program.

After church our whole family adjourned to the woods—picnic dinners in tow—platters of fried chicken, sliced cured ham, mounds of potato salad, coleslaw, Deviled Eggs, fresh fruit salad, two kinds of pickles, coconut cream pies, Aunt Mildred’s famous, tall coconut cake, and enough sweet tea to float a small boat; all spread on a blanket on the grass for for a picnic and Easter Egg hunt. After eating ourselves silly, Grandaddy Veal took the small kids on a “Violet Hunt;” a delightful lagniappe on the day! In reality it was a distraction to allow the teenagers, and adults not packing away leftovers, to hide Easter Eggs. We really did hunt wild violets; grandaddy knew just where to take us: we always returned, clumps of dainty purple violets in hand, in time for a delightful Easter egg hunt.

On Easter weekend the proverbial gates were swung wide open for Easter egg hunts at any opportunity; Sunday School, family gatherings, clubs, community houses, even at school on Friday before Easter. Being pretty well shut in with long winter nights made folks really excited to get out and about. Kinda like we’re feeling this Easter.

As kids, we knew only highlights of the Easter story. Easter pageants, like Christmas plays, help provide living dioramas of the real story; a way of embedding it into our psyche. Sometimes adults get obsessed with minute details; like “did Jesus actually ride on a little donkey?” “Did he really go into the Temple breaking up the merchandising booths?” (It’s in the Book). Music and drama make the story come alive with sticking power. Easter celebrations are replete them. One of the hymns—with the Easter message—lingering since my childhood is; “He Lives:”

I serve a risen Saviour, He’s in the world today
I know that He is living, whatever men may say
I see His hand of mercy, I hear His voice of cheer
And just the time I need Him He’s always near
…
In all the world around me I see His loving care
And though my heart grows weary I never will despair
I know that He is leading, through all the stormy blast
The day of His appearing will come at last
…
He lives, He lives, Christ Jesus lives today
He walks with me and talks with me
Along life’s narrow way
He lives, He lives, Salvation to impart
You ask me how I know He lives?
He lives within my heart (Bold print mine).

And that, Dear Reader, is The Easter Story.

(Full disclosure; no one asked for “Celebrating Esther”—I just thought I’d have a little fun first!)

This Lovely scene is from Bishop Eduard Khegay, our UMC friends in Eurasia/ Central Asia:

March 26, 2021

Today is something of a life anniversary for me. I implore you to allow this divergence from my Blog theme to offer this Ode to Paige. This entry is unique. Next Friday I will resume the Blog theme —“Finding Joy in the Journey”.

On this date, one year ago, March 26, 2020—just one week into spring, my beloved Paige, “…outran me into Our Father’s House.” * How appropriate that as spring adorned earth with new life, Paige gained new life in Eternity. Ten days earlier, the COVID-19 Pandemic locked down Emory University’s Healthcare facilities where she was a patient.

I was able to see Paige only twice after lockdown. The first time just briefly. Only an intra-staff miscommunication allowed me in. I was immediately chased out by the head nurse. The other visit was a few hours before Paige died.

The blessing here is that Paige, lingering longer, would have suffered alone—cared for by overworked, understaffed, care teams; they had little time to feed or comfort her. Paige was already in dramatic decline and under heavy sedation. She would have lingered alone. Our being unable to see each other—and her care by staff becoming even more spastic— a horrifying loneliness lay ahead for her. Nevertheless, I grieve deeply for her.

A few months earlier, during my annual checkup, my doctor pointed out that my grief had been going on for years. It is called Anticipatory Grief. This information didn’t remove my grief, but gave me some insight into the process. I came to realize that my grief had begun more than five years earlier, as Parkinson’s Disease insinuated its sinister, stealthy, slink into her body. Two blessings I cherish are Paige’s faith, and that she maintained her acuity to the end. Once this strange intruder became named, (“Corticobasal Ganglionic Degeneration,” aka Parkinson’s Disease), friends and family kept constant, comforting vigil of prayer and care for the duration.

John Pavlovitz said, “…the thing you learn as you grieve deeply—when you lose someone you love, you lose a bit of you. You don’t simply lose yourself metaphorically or symbolically, but you have stolen away the part of your story that only they knew. You lose the shared memories you curated. You lose the you who you were when you were with them. A part of you dies too, and so you want the person you love returned to you because you want that piece of your identity back—and you know you can’t have it.”

Paige’s doctor, upon diagnosing her, said, “This is a degenerative disease. We have not found a cure for it. How do you think you will deal with the degeneration?” Without missing a beat she said, “I know Whose I am. I know where I’m going. I am not afraid.”

Paige faced the inevitable undaunted, without complaining or giving up. And she never feared. Paige was concerned only about my welfare; she urged me to find someone, after she’s gone, to make me happy. She fought for normalcy, which never came, although we both tried—to the very last.

Paige and I kept each “New Normal’ as much as we could; such as our “Sunday night Burger King Picnic,” and continued discovering new normalities. I would sit beside her bed and feed her a “Whopper Jr.,” fries, and the verboten Coke! …while we watched “Animal Planet” on TV. Paige always looked forward to that treat! If it seemed I was about to forget, she reminded me; “It’s Burger King Picnic night.” Despite the hospital protocols, she persisted relentlessly. She stoically tolerated its indignities, including relinquishing her most personal-care needs to caregivers and staff. Paige did not sink into sorry squawking, but bravely soldiered on.

I could not have ordered a better friend, confidant, wife, life-companion, and mother for our daughters—not even from the Sears and Roebuck catalog (Yep, that was its name back in the day!) . Full disclosure; as it turns out, I did not choose her. Years after we married, I discovered Paige had chosen me—back in our college days—long before our first date!! I am still not sure why. But it always thrills my heart when I recall that she wanted me; Even if she did have to come to Emory to get me (she never showed her hand; even back in college!) Paige gladly gave up maiden name, Paige Dampier for Paige D. Moore. She enthusiastically leaned into life with this itinerant preacher (some days, more gleefully than others)!

Here is the joy I know she now enjoys:

“God himself will be with (her);
he will wipe every tear from (her) eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away.”

Paige and I were married for fifty-six (56) years, seven months, five days, and twelve hours.

Dear love of my life, I miss you incredibly! I will see you in The Morning, sweetheart!

______________

*This phrase is ‘borrowed” from the late Bishop Arthur J. Moore, he mourned the death of Martha, his beloved wife.

Ahhh!! Spring! Green grass, colorful constellations of spectacular blossoms fill the air with refreshing, savory, smells. New life is all around, smothering our memories of the bleak, depressing dark of winter. Nearly everyone welcomes spring. For centuries, spring has inspired festivals, fun, and frolic. In about two weeks, we will celebrate Easter; but this year spring arrives first. For a few weeks, throughout the northern hemisphere, plentiful ways of spring’s pageant will continue to erupt among us.

Like spring, poets and sages also lift our spirits; some more so than others. I migrated this old saw, “In spring a young man’s fancy turns to love,” into “In spring an old man’s love turns to fancy.” Well, OK. Not as dreamy as the former. Maybe this will redeem my effort. From William Wordsworth: “Lines Written in Early Spring,”

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure…”

Emily Dickinson captures the spirit of Spring in her poem: ‘A Light Exists in Spring‘.

“A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period –
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels…“

According to the Old Farmers Almanac; this year “spring equinox occurs on Saturday; (technically, Saturday, March 20, at 5:37 A.M. EDT.) This event marks the astronomical first day of spring in the Northern Hemisphere.” Although the weather doesn’t always cooperate, tomorrow, March 20, springtime arrives anyway. As I write this, the weather looks to cooperate—well, in typical four seasons in March fashion–as described by Calvin and Hobbes.

From my childhood, I remember the Burma Shave signs sprinkled along U. S. highways. Each little sign, 100 feet from the previous one, along the highway, carried a single phrase; spaced for reading at the 55 mph speed limit. One cluster read; “Spring has sprung/Grass has riz/Where last year’s/careless drivers is.” Terrible grammatical usage, but it served the Burma Shave purpose! And amused the rest of us in a macabre sort of way.

Springtime rhymes, romantic, raucous, ridiculous, or whatever—give the world a new look, new, birth, new hope. God’s steadfastness is evident in springtime; The Bible is prolific with springtime splendor; “Let us try to know the Lord. He will come to us as surely as the day dawns, as surely as the spring rains fall upon the earth.” (Hosea 6:3) And this…. “Be glad, people of Zion, rejoice in the LORD your God, for he has given you the autumn rains because he is faithful. He sends you abundant showers, both autumn and spring rains, as before.:”(Joel 2:23)

“The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom; it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy. he parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom; it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.(Isaiah 35:1-3

Isaiah liked the Crocus line so much he repeated it. One might say he exulted in it! But forgive him. Springtime has just such a way of doing that for folks!! The COVID-19 Pandemic now seems to have met its match in successful vaccines; soon we will be able to shout for joy—together! Caution? Yes. Back to how we were? Not so much. But Easter is coming. New life arrives. And, the blessings of God are way too many to count, but abundant to enjoy!

St Patrick’s Day is next Wednesday, celebrating the life of this beloved man. It is his Feast Day and thought to be the date of his death. I have a cousin whose birthday is on St. Patrick’s Day. Although it helps me remember her birthday, the celebration doesn’t quite overshadow it the way Christmas smothers December 25 birthdays. However, there’s nothing like a holiday for a birthday reminder. But I digress.

St. Patrick is thought to have been the first bishop of Armagh and Primate of Ireland. Thus he’s considered the founder of Christianity in Ireland. Early on he found the Irish practicing a form of Celtic polytheism. His life in Ireland may have been the first Christian presence in the land. It should not be unsettling that more precise dates and reports aren’t found. Nowadays, sometimes we can’t even agree simply on Math facts. So, be at peace about soft facts about St. Patrick.

Patrick was never Canonized by the Pope, likely because the practice was begun later. Nevertheless he is widely venerated. I don’t get too exercised about the “saint” matter. In his Epistles, the Apostle Paul referred to the Christians as Saints. In my Faith tradition, United Methodist, we don’t say much about saints. We tend to let Paul’s words speak for themselves.

Without good focus, traditions can wander widely, much like a lazy river on a coastal plain. Even Halloween and Christmas, both with deep Christian roots, are virtually hijacked by commercialization. Is it any wonder that a peripheral Christian holiday such as St. Patrick’s Day, is engulfed in a similar fate? Ask almost anyone to make two sentences about St. Patrick’s Day and at least one sentence will allude to alcohol.

My purpose is not lobbying to reform St. Patrick’s Day; I only call attention to the holiday. You can ponder your own St. Patrick’s day preparation and participation. There are fun and meaningful ways the Day is celebrated. Among them; Rivers in cities such as Chicago, Charlotte, NC, Savannah, GA, San Antonio TX, and others, are dyed green for the day. The White House lawn, beginning under Michelle Obama’s guidance, is sprayed green. It is common to find numbers of green-toting, garb-wearing, paraphernalia-sporting folks out and about on the day. School kids have been known to “pinch” anyone not wearing something green. McDonalds sometimes offers “green shakes.”

Encyclopedia Britannica said of St. Patrick, “he was a most humble-minded man, pouring forth a continuous paean of thanks to his Maker for having chosen him as the instrument whereby multitudes who had worshipped ‘idols and unclean things’ had become ‘the people of God’.”

However sketchy his writings, and uneven his ecclesiastical path, St. Patrick’s influence on Ireland is profound. There is no evidence that he drove any mythical or any other snakes out of Ireland, or that he imbibed in spirits. But there is clear evidence of the Holy Spirit’s indwelling in St. Patrick. By March 17 we are quite ready for the greening of earth! St. Patrick’s Day is a time to celebrate!

Years ago, in the dead of winter, we moved to Tucker, GA. It snowed that night. The house we bought had been owned by a family whose tastes were somewhat earthy. Over the next year various plants and blossoms emerged all over the yard. It was rather exciting discovering Camellias, Buttercups, Azaleas, and whatever, appearing hither and yon. In the early spring there emerged one I didn’t recognize. I learned later it was a Crocus; tiny, delicate, with exquisite, pretty, petals. I remember a poet, in the erstwhile Saturday Review of Literature, mentioned the Crocus; a harbinger of spring. It intrigued me, but not enough to provoke further research.

After discovering our Crocus, I began anticipating its emergence early each spring, virtually proclaiming the end of winter’s chill. You may have already seen a Crocus this year, poking its little green shoot up through mulch or ground cover. Of course Daffodils, Buttercups, and other blossoms join in the splendid spring display of color. But that tiny delicate blossom emerged from one of the coldest winters of my life. It looked so brave, beautiful, unfazed. It was magical. What a miracle! Merriam-Webster defines a miracle; an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs. Yep. That defines it for me.

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No, I did not bolt into a blast of Botany. I simply held that memory and cherished it. Maybe one day, where I live now, I will plant a Crocus–maybe more in our flower bed. More importantly, I want to plant a beauty spot for you, dear reader. This COVID-19 Pandemic can, and in some cases does, bring cold hard realities; some seem too great to surmount. I must confess; I too, have sometimes felt overladen by cold, dank, dark realities in a Winter of Dismay.

But there is hope; “Hope,” Alexander Pope wrote, “springs eternal in the human breast.” More pointedly, the Psalmist calls us to lift up our eyes, to see the glory of God:

Mighty gates: lift up your heads!
    Ancient doors: rise up high!
        So the glorious king can enter! (Psalm 24)

Also the Prophet Isaiah inspires hope in us! Don’t you know? Haven’t you heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the creator of the ends of the earth. He doesn’t grow tired or weary. His understanding is beyond human reach, giving power to the tired and reviving the exhausted. Youths will become tired and weary, young men will certainly stumble;  but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength; they will fly up on wings like eagles; they will run and not be tired; they will walk and not be weary

And there you have it, Dear Reader! The Crocus, and all its attendant cheerful splendor: a reminder of spring, of hope. No matter how harsh the cold of life’s winter, therein lies the bud to blossom into new birth. New hope. New strength.

Ok feisty foodies, shut your ears. I’m going language-ugly for a bit, using vulgar words, banned by you boney butts. Fat Tuesday was this past week. But you already knew that, or called it Mardi Gras. Merriam-Webster says “Mardi Gras is French. Literally “Fat Tuesday.” It is the day when, not only it is OK to eat rich, indulgent, fatty foods, it is virtually required. Some pancake houses offer specials for the day.

Fat Tuesday, or Shrove Tuesday, or Pancake Day, or Carnival is the day before Ash Wednesday, the beginning the Christian season of Lent. The forty days of Lent is a time of fasting and sacrifice leading up to Easter. Sundays are not counted; they are celebrations of the death and resurrection of Jesus and are automatically considered days of joy. Therefore, Sundays cannot be considered days of fasting.

Mardi Gras developed with the intent of shriving, or purging the pantry of fatty, rich ingredients so fasting folks wouldn’t feel tempted; or need to use them anyway. Another feature of Mardi Gras is the “King Cake” which has a tiny plastic baby inside. Whoever gets the slice or bite with the King in it is expected to buy the next cake, or host the next party.

On Tuesday, I eagerly called in for pick-up; a three-stack order of Pecan-Buttermilk Pancakes, slathered in warm butter. Sides included sausage patties, Hot Maple syrup, and black (real) hot coffee. So there! If you’re gonna feast, bust out of the traces, and enjoy. It will take me weeks to work this off, but so, be it!

This season’s festivities are over. This is a good time to cleanse the soul, to focus on the season of Lent. There is evil in the world, and many folks practice sin as if it were required; most of you, dear readers, are not inclined to be intentionally iniquitous . Yet you and I are flawed human beings. John Wesley did not call it “Original Sin.” I had a professor at Emory who said, “There’s nothing original about sin.” Wesley taught that we fall away from “Original Righteousness,” yet “Sanctifying Grace” redeems us. We do have hope.

Ann, my high school classmate, taught me about sacrificing during Lent. She gave up chewing gum. I knew her, so I know this was a real sacrifice for her; I also learned the meaning of spiritual discipline. Giving up something, or taking on a discipline during Lent is not one of the Ten Commandments. However, as a spiritual discipline, intentional sacrifice can become a means of Grace. Spiritual disciplines can help focus on re-vision, or reframing life habits. Lent is a good time to do so. Think of it as a Spring cleaning of the Soul. The Psalmist said,

“For You do not desire sacrifice, or else I would give it;
You do not delight in burnt offering.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit,
A broken and a contrite heart.”—Psalm 51:16-17

Habit for habit sake can be dreary for you and annoying to your family and close friends. However, good habits (practices, disciplines), well managed tend to be a great benefit to the soul. The Apostle Paul held habits of discipline in high esteem. I commend them.