I hurried to the sea after work today and watched the light turn blue. There were mosses and grasses and little familiar things along the way. I took a picture.

The air is salty and smells of pine and seaweed. The rocks are different though, and the tides are higher and lower.

The boats and streets have English names. The people on the street look you in the eye and smile hello.

You’re Welcome to Stay

I walk everywhere. My feet feel the pavement, but the pavement doesn’t feel my feet — not yet. Not yet like the city at least.

“Where are you going after this?” someone asked today. “I’m saving up to go to Europe,” was the short answer, the one I’ve learned to give.

I hurried home through the forest from the sea. It was cold and getting dark but I wasn’t afraid. How many times have I walked like that, bundled up in a hat and jacket so when the weather speaks I’m dressed to listen.

You’re Welcome to Stay

I hurried home the long way. I might as well. People sat at tables in the windows, tables set with china and crystal. All the light was orange.

There were leaves on the porch; I brushed them off and went upstairs. A cup of tea was quick to fix and everything grew warm again.

And now it’s quiet, a good day done.

You’re Welcome to Stay

Day Two is always better than Day One. Day One there’s so much to learn your head swims and it all runs together and you know you won’t survive. But Day Two you’ve had time to sort the information, and you realize that training is cramming every projected scenario into one small slice of time; you actually don’t have to survive everything, not all at once, not in real life.

Day Two is better. I like my manager, and I get the feeling she’s happy and relieved I’m here. I’m impressed with the whole company, though, The Acadia Corporation. Upper management stopped in yesterday just to meet me and say hi. Somebody from IT saw me out the window as I passed the office on my way to the shop this morning and waved big.

I walked to work smiling, and that’s how you want to start your day. Especially Day Two.

This morning I went to church. The rest of the day was spent exploring.

And there’s room to explore.

I slept under this plant in the airport.

It always starts with an airport. It always starts with leaving or coming, with change. It always starts with uncertainty.

Though, it often also starts with hope.

I slept under this plant, but only for a little while; I knew someone would be there sometime in the day to pick me up. And they were. And now the plant’s a memory — funny, but only a memory.

Now I’m in a room with a bed in which I hope to sleep many more nights than I’ve ever spent in airports. Now my bags are unpacked and my things have proper places; and Jaime Banks herself has been given a task and a proper place as well.

Leaving and coming and change, yes; but with hope.

I know what it is to sleep under a plant; I know what it is to sleep in a bed. But all these kinds of things, and many more besides for more than me, are surely done through him who gives us strength. 

Just got back from the bank. There was enough to transfer to Jojo to build a basketball half-court next to the church in Pacao.

Jojo and I were at Bible school in Singapore at the same time. The school was around the corner from the national university, and on the weekends, on Fridays or Saturdays when the day was cooler and homework was done, Jojo and the Jumao-as brothers and I played basketball (I really did try) on the open courts.

One night between rounds, Jojo pulled off his shoes, set them aside, and came back to the court, grinning, “This is how we play in my village!” And it became a kind of joke that I needed to come someday and play that way.

Barefoot basketball.

So that was four and half years ago. Last year I did get to visit Jojo’s village, but when I was there the goal was broken and the lot was overgrown, so instead of playing a basketball game we had a water buffalo riding lesson there.

Now the overgrown lot looks very different. Since I was there it’s been turned into a beautiful place. They’ve built a little church building, and Annaliza and the girls have surrounded it with plants and flowers and they gather for worship together. The other side of the lot has been cleared, too, waiting for something good to fill the space.

And now it will be filled. People responded to the fundraising campaign, and it was just enough, $3.32 more than the goal amount, to build a half-court next to the church for the kids’ outreach in the village.

I don’t want to just say that I have no words, or that it’s hard to express how I feel and leave it at that. That seems lazy somehow, so I’ll try.

There’s something about putting good into the world that you may never see and never get to enjoy yourself. There’s something about seeing something that needs done that’s beyond your own effort and having other people come on board to help make it happen. There’s something about working together — normal, ordinary, everyday people — for the good of other normal, ordinary, everyday people.

It’s so deeply satisfying that I think the “something” is the thing we were made to do, the truly human thing, the creative and giving thing. We were made to tend and care for.

There are so many overgrown lots in the world, so many things that need transformed and made beautiful. This one is a literal lot, a place, but there are many other kinds of spaces needing transformation as well, and we look like our own Creator when we imagine something better for them and work together for change.

When we do that, I think we’ll find there’s enough.

Mamma turns 80 this year. Mom, Sherrie and Nancy put together a surprise party for her, and relatives drove in from Texas, Mississippi, and Alabama to celebrate: daughters and sons-in-law, nieces and nephews, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

We had her party in the church where Dad and Mom got married; Mark and Sherrie too. Duane and Nancy’s wedding may have also been there — I’ll have to fact-check that one.

It wasn’t my party, but some moments I especially loved were:

Going to Brookshire’s with Uncle Mark to get balloons filled. While we waited he told stories about when he worked for the company himself. He doesn’t miss the job, but he misses working with the kids — it was really a youth ministry.

When Mamma walked in the door and saw us all waiting she really was surprised and happy.

Sherrie put together a trivia game about Mamma’s life. There were several interesting things I hadn’t known before, and Mamma even spoke up and told some stories.

A few of Mom’s cousins drove in for the party; it was interesting to see Mamma as “Aunt Alice”.

And then again with Uncle Mark. As the party was winding down we sat on the church’s kitchen cabinets and talked about life and faith. I’m glad to be part of a family that loves God, and that those are the kinds of conversations I can have with relatives.

Cleanup was great. It wasn’t a big deal. Everyone just kind of picked something they saw needed done and did it.

It’s not perfect, but it’s a good family. And a lot of the goodness began with our good Mamma.

It’s been a day. Decisions to make, things to consider.

Mom reminded me tonight that the way you get through things is faith and thankfulness.

Yes.

Something I feel more this year than others is the goodness of spring. Alabama might not be known for being outrageously beautiful, but there’s something here… Maybe what I feel comes from the work in the yard and flowerbeds; it’s not that it’s more beautiful than anywhere else but that I’ve worked in it and been out in it so I notice it more. Where your treasure is, and all that.

I do like this place, and I do think it’s beautiful.

In between things I took a break and hung the hammock up in the old oak tree. I’m reading N.T. Wright’s big book on resurrection, and also Emma for less of a tackle. It was the first hammocking of the year, and I’m hopeful for many more.

There were friends to talk to today, people that know me, that know where I come from and where I hope to go. Knowing where I come from gives them empathy, and knowing where I hope to go shapes their advice into something truly helpful and wise.

So yes, it’s been a day. And tomorrow will be another, and then the next day, and more after too. But let them come.

There’s always faith and thankfulness.

It’s spring, so I dug a flowerbed around the wellhouse. It only took two days, barely enough time to catch a sunburn.

I liked the work, the simple work; and I didn’t know what I was doing so the guess of it all was creative and restful. It’s good to figure out as you go.

I had time to think, too. And to feel. Sometimes when I’m inside I’ll stop to listen and hear so many things: the dryer, the hum of the fridge, a mouse clicking, a keyboard typing. But outdoor sounds are different… I’ll have to think about why.

Maybe outdoor sounds come from things that don’t require anything of me. They’re not connected with a machine that takes, at some point, managing and tending and paying for. Birds and trees and blowing grass all just kind of… do their own thing. And that’s freeing; it means I can do mine, and nothing pays for me being there.

I can happen.

That’s so Estonian. Is it?

Anyway, while wheelbarrowing old leaves for a mulch layer, I thought about doing simple things. The sun was shining, my hands were dirty, everything smelled of spring, and I suddenly wondered if that was normal, and if maybe we’re a bit confused on what it means to live well.

Is it really about the dryer and the computer?

Maybe farming wouldn’t be such a bad life. I like having a dryer and especially a computer, and all the rest besides, but there’s something alive about tending, and there’s something right about life happening in seasons.

I wonder if “life”, according to our modern, fast-paced, this-day-and-age world, isn’t a little abstract and disconnected from reality. We’re supposed to forge ahead and plow through and make seasons happen. Time should all be harvest time, and there’s no stopping for winter, hardly for sickness, and when we’re too old to work we’re seen more as being a bit useless (because it’s all about work and contribution) and not as still happening in another good life-time.

I’m rambling. But I’m house-sitting and have quiet and time on my hands to write (on my computer), and think about how I’m living.

I really did enjoy those days digging in the dirt. It felt good.

It felt normal.

“…because they were studying Shakespeare as a text to be read, and not as a performance as it was written to be.”

Actors From The London Stage came to town for a week. They visited classes at the local university, taught a workshop at the library, met informally with students and faculty, and performed the whole of King Lear twice.

Several of us took part in the workshop at the library (and were happy to discover that they were real British actors from the London, England, stage). The workshop was led by two of the actors and began with the history and background of the troupe, which travels to universities across the States every year.

The founding directors of AFTLS (of whom Sir Patrick Stewart was one) saw that Shakespeare was being done a disservice in America by being analyzed and studied and picked apart as text, when all along the plays were intended to be performances. “You can’t fully understand the nuance and meaning by merely reading the words. You have to see it happen in front of you.”

The actors talked about “getting into the heads” of the characters they play, and how they become so involved with their roles that they begin to take on their perspectives. In King Lear, for example, one of the main villians is Edmond, and the actor who plays him, Fred, has such empathy for his feelings and motivations and will so defend him that when he plays the part he brings the same feelings, the same motivations. He brings himself.

For them it’s an honor to bring their individuality to their roles. Together — actor and role — Edmond becomes real; Cordelia is real; King Lear is real.

The actors also talked to us about the classes they’d visited at the university: the English classes, and, surprisingly to me, sociology.

With English majors they talked about the effects of Shakespeare on language and communication. With sociology students they discussed the family dynamics found in the play — fathers and children, in particular. They mentioned that they’ve heard different perspectives depending on where they were, based on cultural norms in either Britain or America.

And then the psychology of it all. The actor who plays King Lear was amazed that Shakespeare understood the human psyche  as well as he did, and that his ideas sometimes seem to belong to another age. “Take the character of Cordelia, for example… Her idea that love is a verb, that love is found in action and not simply words is quite modern and not one you’d think to find at that time.”

And there was more.

They were like missionaries for Shakespeare, and there were many echoes of a greater drama.

“It’s because the trees are healthy…”

Dad and I were getting ready for the family to move down from Missouri a couple of summers ago. We were camping in the empty house while we painted and cleaned; there were always little things needed — paint brushes, nails, every kind of screwdriver — and we often made trips to town to get them.

It was on one of those drives that we were talking about trees; I was pointing out how huge they get here and how much I like them.

“They get so big because they’re healthy,” Dad said. “The climate here isn’t harsh. They have everything they need to grow, so they do.”

I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s true. Climate matters. The same tree can almost become a different thing depending on where it grows. Like when Iiris and I were in Iceland and someone pointed out the little scrubby, brushy, brown things along the path. They told us that they were björk, the same species as the birch trees that grow in Europe, it’s just that in Iceland they’re battered by the weather and have to survive in volcanic soil, so they’re much smaller and darker.

The obvious comparison is that people grow like that, like trees — nature and nurture, etc. But it’s also curious to think of all of us as climates, as a kind of space in and around which other things grow.

Because we really do bring life to the things around us, to the environments of our homes and workplaces and to the people in our families and communities. And the more we’re involved the more effect we have on them.

So what kind of climate are they up against? Too much rain, too much sun, too much of anything? Not enough of something? Are they dealing with harshness, are they trying to just survive, or do they have enough to be healthy?

Maybe just like God put man in the garden to tend it; God puts us into our worlds to make them come alive.

They have everything they need to grow, so they do.