"Do now, do now, what you will wish to have done when your moment comes to die." [St. Angela Merici]

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

A Dear at the Dinner Table

By Micky Wolf
The evidence. It speaks for itself. Someone—or likely some creature—passed by one of our raised bed gardens in recent days.

Given the choice bites taken from tomatoes at the top of the vines—a height of about six feet—it is reasonable to believe it was the work of deer passing through. We’ve seen one or two over the summer, usually at dusk.

My beloved and I would probably be upset if they had devoured most of them. For whatever reason the crop is small this year, not only in size but quantity. One of those gardening mysteries. Our neighbor’s plot, a couple of feet away, is overflowing with big, red globes. 

Then again, our Italian roasting peppers are sprouting shiny, slender goodies everywhere. And I mean, everywhere.

The whole deer thing is an interesting phenomenon. We’ve lived in this suburban area for nearly twenty years and not seen as many as this spring and summer. Maybe the development of areas beyond our subdivision is the reason. Or maybe all the elements of creation have converged and the deer population has been exploding like our peppers.

Whatever the explanation, we would be hard pressed to stand watch in order to frighten away or hurt these animals. While I understand it is necessary to have organized kills (sounds awful) in some locales because of the destruction they can cause, I also can’t help but think that to a great extent it is we human beings who have created more distress and damage to them and the environment at large.

Yes, I am a big fan of Pope Francis and ascribe to many of his insights about the need for us to be better caretakers of the world and the resources our Creator has provided.

Which doesn’t necessarily mean I’m about to suggest we revert to the way our ancestors lived hundreds of years ago.

But, by the same token, it does mean that if a deer or two happen by our little patch of God’s green earth, we’ll be just fine if they choose to make a brief stop at our dinner table.

Really…there’s more than enough for all of us. If we only care enough to be compassionate and share the abundance of blessings the Divine desires to shower upon us.

Each, and all of us.

Dear. Or deer.

Friday, September 25, 2015

Coming or Going—It’s the Connection that Matters

By Micky Wolf
(Note: Thank you for your interest with the recent posting schedule change. Was away on vacation. Then, upon returning home, had to have a medical procedure to correct tendon issues in my right hand. Slowly regaining use of the fingers.)

My beloved and I recently had a wonderful opportunity to enjoy a week of vacation with our eldest and her husband. We all agreed it was important to keep details to a minimum, so we noted a short list of must-sees, allowed for spontaneous change of plans, and incorporated down time when weary bodies and minds reminded us we needed rest and nourishment.

During those shoes-off-feet-up moments in a comfy chair on our deck of our room at the hotel, I found myself, on more than one occasion, watching the never ending parade of boats ferrying passengers between the Michigan mainland and Mackinac Island.

Those boats are the focal point for many people. At the same time, the purpose they served was unique to each of us. Why? There are a multitude of interesting implications, but the following got my attention.

Whether coming or going, it’s about connecting and connections.

…Waiting at the dock for the adventure to begin. Long lines of mostly patient people of all ages would que up at the appointed time to depart for the island. Smiles abounded. Laughter punctuated the stillness of the morning. What would happen today? What new discovery would be made? What savory treat would tickle the taste buds?

Each person carried with them a unique story of life, of how they had, in this moment, become part of this present unfolding journey.

…Feeling the wind (or spray) as the ferry scooted across the water. Singles, couples, families—all found their perfect spot to experience the ride. For some that meant high atop in the open air; for others that was the mid-level, under cover but open sides allowing for the breezes and an unobstructed view of the water and shorelines. And for those who preferred shelter, the lower, enclosed deck.

…Waiting at the dock to head for home. Worn out, hair askew, little faces smudged, the long lines of people were now marked by subdued voices, slower steps, and arms laden with bags and totes of every size and description. (Among other things, the island is renowned for its smoother-than-smooth fudge in an alphabet of flavors.) Little doubt many an adventurer, young or old, would collapse into bed for a night of well-deserved sleep.

Boarding the ferry, it was clear each person carried with them a unique story of life, of how they had, in this moment, become part of this present unfolding journey.

The boats are never far from sight, whether you’re along several miles of the shore, or in the midst of the bay. Nor are they hard to miss when the sharp, short, toots of their horns announce departures or arrivals.

All of this coming and going is routine for the locals. Yet not so familiar they become complacent. They know the ferries are a direct link to their local economy and livelihoods.

Kinda makes me smile when I consider the Divine connection. Whether coming or going, the Spirit knows where we are, what we need, and the details of our unique vantage point. And when necessary, what is required to get our attention.

Thanks, Captain, for standing watch and keeping us safe, all the way.