Out of Order
This morning, an arctic-feeling January Sunday, I met with a young bride-to-be. This is just the sort of thing that casts a warm sunny glow on all that seems cold and brown and lifeless in winter living. Seeing her excitement, bubbling up joy and possibilities, was like watching a flower go from seed to fullest bloom in fast forward. Wedding talk is good medicine for January blahs. We donned our coats and walked up over our field to see the spot where our great oak will smile down over the moment of her new beginning. We imagined twinkling lights, a big white tent and colorful rugs to line her walk down the aisle. Magical. But oh it’s cold and let’s bustle back down to the house and back up the dreaming a bit, because there’s much to be done between now and September.
There are decisions and dresses and calls and colors to choose. There are guest lists and invitations and conversations that must take place long before that (hopefully!) sunny September afternoon. One step, one task at a time, all in necessary order . . . will unfold the unforgettable. Ahh . . . there’s something profound here that I don’t want to miss . . . something about taking every step in order that will make her most sure-footed on her wedding day. And me? It’s not my wedding. I’ll just watch from the window. But I need an order to my steps too. I need a rhythm that will help me savor, swallow, and digest the biggest moments, even in the smallest days. And not just for one big moment, but for every moment that I walk this planet.
Maybe it’s as simple as the instructions on a shampoo bottle . . . wet, lather, rinse, repeat. Well, maybe not that exactly. But perhaps it’s life instructions . . . Slow. Focus. Affirm. Celebrate. Rest. Reflect. Repeat. This might be a practice much less burdensome than a New Year’s resolution. This might be an expansive way of living in a good order. And sometimes it’s best to chart new territory with the help of older guides. In this case, I decided to sit awhile in the company of gardeners and poets who lived centuries ago. They plucked wisdom from the rhythms of God’s creation . . . works for me! I see a welcome order in their happy observations.
“Here remember that you never take in hand or begin the weeding of your beds before the earth be made soft, through the store of rain, falling a day or two before.”
Thomas Hyll, 16th century English writer
Step 1 . . . Slow.
“I know nothing so pleasant as to sit there on a summer afternoon, with the western sun flickering through the great elder tree, and lighting up our gay parterres, where flowers and flowering shrubs are set as thick as grass in a field . . .”
Mary Mitford (1787 - 1855) English horticultural writer
In this speed racing, multi-tasking, you-can-do-it-all world, the hardest thing . . . sometimes it seems the craziest thing to do is to slow down. Even while I’m standing still, my mind can be racing. The first step in my new order might just be to not take a step . . . at all. I must find a way to plant my feet in solid earth and allow the noisy wind to rush by me, and resist the urge to run ahead. Without first slowing, all is disorder.
Step 2 . . . Focus.
“I wish I could paint the hues of the splendid delphiniums, such shades of melting blue, some light, others dark, some like summer heaven, and dashed across their pale azure wings with delicious rose.”
Celia Thaxter (1835 - 1894) American poet
Speed is blurry. Slowness brings focus. How can it be wasteful to be still if it helps me see more? WilI I spy wonder in the eyes of a little person? Will I notice the sadness behind a smile? Will I catch love in the expressions of someone who can’t say it with words? Only if I’m able to focus.
Step 3 . . . Affirm.
“I want it said by those who know me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow.”
Abraham Lincoln
Every soul is thirsty for the water of affirmation and the glorious warmth of sunny belief. In a world that focuses on flaws, could I be the one to overlook the offense, to notice the need and speak the healing balm of belief over a life? Where might a flower grow because of me today? It all begins with words . . . “You know what I love about you? . . .”
Step 4 . . . Celebrate.
“Is any moment of the year more delightful than the present? What there is wanting in the glow of colour is more than made up for in the fullness of interest. Each day some well-known, long-remembered plant bursts into blossom”
Henry A. Bright (1830 - 1884) English horticultural writer
Every celebration calls attention to a moment; and every moment calls for celebration. Parties and elaborate events are good, but quiet, consistent, everyday celebrations are better! I want to hunt for reasons to celebrate and crown with recognition in simple, do-able ways . . . your favorite dinner, an afternoon coffee break, a few moments watching sun set or snow fall. They call out the gratitude response in me and make me a more practiced noticer.
Step 5 . . . Rest.
“The garden is never dead; growth is always going on and growth that can be seen,
and seen with delight.”
Canon H. Ellacombe In My Vicarage Garden and Elsewhere, 1901
Without rest, dead things have no opportunity to spring to life. Without rest, I dull to the miraculous. I become a slave to the endless tasks before me and their associated pressures and burdens. I am discovering that rest is both physical and emotional; and it must be inserted deliberately into days, weeks, and years, so that renewal is continual.
Step 6 . . . Reflect.
“Every deep snow gives time for cleaning, thrashing and sorting of seeds, preparing stakes
and pea-sticks, tying mats, sorting bulbs.”
J. C. Loudon (1783 - 1843) Scottish horticultural writer
In spite of our cultural quest for multi-tasking champions, I recently learned that our brains are designed to focus on one thing at a time, and concentrate deeply. This bodes well for me . . . the one who can’t seem to watch the cookies in the oven and attend to texts at the same time. But more than this, I feel the need to pause and think about what’s transpired in the course of my day, my week, and my recent months, and freely allow myself to relate to all of it, to swallow and digest and grasp the fullness of meaning that both good and bad have to offer me.
Step 7 . . . Repeat.
Just like that young bride, I must relive the moments and set a good order to my steps. Establishing a simple pattern, weaving in faithful reminders, posting a sign for the next step, and the next . . . this indeed is a happy work . . . the fitting of a beautiful new gown.
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