Last week was one of those weeks that can breach all emotion. Pull everything to the surface. Make for tangledness and seemed to be so interwoven that made it difficult to see through the web.
The gauge of a good day. The measure that tells it all. The standard of what is looked for and hardly ever reached. Is it unreachable? Today was measured by the boy who stood at my desk. Eyes mostly averted, searching a comfortable spot. The pain and longing was intense. Longing for his dad's approval and his mother's love. Longing for the ache of his heart to turn inside out and feel light. Letting his tough guard down, listening to my words of encouragement, knowing that prayer and more prayer is good for his soul and that of his parents' as well. It was a moment of building trust and a knowing that nothing is perfect but we must go on.
The umbrella of an oak tree reminds me that there is shelter in the wing of our Lord God Almighty. On Friday, after work, I visited a dearly departed friend. Under the large oaks on the eastside. It's his birthday soon. I just wanted to make sure that he is celebrated in the style he was accustom.
Small, delightful treasures. There are generally some every day. Yesterday it was Sadie and the feather that was so easily discarded from some type of bird. A treasure in her mind. Presented as a gift of friendship to the lady next door. "Can Grant come look at the barn door?" was the request. "It is broken" they said cautiously. That special girl, Sadie, skipped along as she slid her hand into his. Engulfed and overtaken by a paw sized hand, warn from years of hard work but also softened by the holding of the hands of little ones so willing to be loved by him.
The dinner of appreciation to those who supported KCOC titled "Imagine the Celebration". A place loved by my loved one. A place of love and commitment. Comfortable. He was so comfortable there. Today there is a place overlooking the heart of the camp. It is named for a boy who's memory will forever remain.
A day with cousin Gary. The old ranch pickup, overused but still a lifetime remaining. The same hillside we have visited so many times this year. The trees were stilled by the coldness of the day. Absolutely no wind. "Doesn't happen very often" was cousin Gary's comment. No break in the chilliness of the day except movement. Loading the pickup with cedar cousin Gary sawed into rounds and my "fine figure of a man" split in an efficient manner. I enjoyed the dampness of the mountain air and how it seemed to make the evergreens rich in color. The Fall shed leaves covered the ground in places and left a carpet of organic mulch for a continual building of soil. Boulder Peak was pointed out by cousin Gary. A chilly looking dusting of snow was visible through the movement of the fog. Gary spends many summer and fall days in those mountains, atop a horse, moving the cattle from place to place. Knows those mountains like the back of his hand. Happy to share the knowledge of the lay of the land. Talking, pointing in a sprawling reach as if he could touch the spot he was speaking of. The talk abundant between the two men. As if in a fine waltz, they played off of each other's stories and references. The time change had taken its toll and the sun began its decent. Time to be home because the night was going to be chilly.
The weekend came to a close with a couple of Skype dates. What could be better then to visit with loved ones face to face.
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