Hope

Born with a lily white thumb,
I wasn’t drawn organically to the garden.
Housewarming plants have been given to me
with sideward glances and strained expressions,
as if sacrificing something to the altar.

Yet, as I've aged and grown into my own home,
I've filled the yard with new ambition.
I held my breath all season, turning corners
in hopes of finding a bright white bloom
on my sweet gardenia bush.
But it's not bloomed a single flower.

"Why would it?" I thought.
I know nothing more about calling a blossom forth
than I know about raising children.
And there—as they say—is the rub.

I raised my fist, my voice, my lily white womb
and sank back into the couch staring restlessly at my hands,
grief rising in my throat, and looked out the window for an exit.

And out there
on my gardenia bush
was its first
white
blossom,
shining at me

like hope.

Solo Ojai

Once upon a solo retreat in Ojai, I awoke every morning out of a deep dreamless sleep to this.

And outside...

The smell of rosemary.
Hawks flying overhead.
Birds in a constant, lively conversation.
Lizards crackling through leaves, like someone sneaking up on me.
Wind, constant wind, through the trees.
Bright wildflowers and California poppies.
Tall bald-trunked trees.
Meadows and meadows.
Lavender.
The movement of nature.
The quiet of wind.

I felt worlds apart from where I was when I arrived. My joints had loosened.

I did yoga in the mornings. These practices heal my body and mind as a way of maintaining health and balance.

In the course of my Christianity, I have always found my way back to these principles and have questioned their place in my life as a Believer. I practice releasing my mind and focus to one intention (God), all the while bringing oxygen to my organs and to my bones. I'm refreshed and clear-headed, fortified and strengthened, and prepared for some serious prayer and engagement with God, and for the world I'll face when I return to it.