No Such Destination

I have tried for decades to find the quaint little village of "All Caught Up." I can see it in my mind, but it isn't on any map. Nevertheless, I'm in love with the false notion that if I work hard enough, smart enough, fast enough, and long enough, perhaps one day I will find myself zooming over the mountain and into a beautiful lush valley. Just before entering a peaceful little town, I will see the sign, "Welcome to All Caught Up!"

Are you like me? Do you wish that for once all your work and chores were completed? All the laundry done, folded, and put neatly away. All the closets clean and organized. The basement all neat and tidy. The garage swept. The bills paid. The desk cleared of all that random paperwork. All correspondence completely up-to-date. The weeds pulled. The lawn mowed. The windows washed. The refrigerator filled with marinated salads and a casserole just waiting to be popped in the oven. Fresh cherry pies cooling in a row on the counter top. And the feeling of delight and satisfaction that at least for once, everything is "all caught up."

Instead everywhere I look, something calls out for my attention:

I walk through the laundry room. Look at that heap of laundry. I really must tend to that.

Then I see the stack of dishes by the sink. I had better get those in the dishwasher right away.

My eyes fall on my kitchen desk. Oh, I need to get those insurance claims filed and the checkbook balanced.

I think of a friend who needs some encouragement. I need to call and see how she is doing.

Oh, I had better figure out what I'm making for dinner and thaw some meat.

I really must get to my office and write that article I promised to have done this week.

On and on it goes, this never-ending dialogue with myself. The chastisement for what is not done rather than the pleasure of what has been accomplished. Just yesterday I weeded and cultivated the soil around my plants in my six garden beds. Immediately, I began to think of other things that still needed to be done: the roses need fertilizer, two rose bushes wait in their pots to be planted, a flower bed needs weeded. But I was tired and hot, so I stopped. As I entered the house through the laundry room, I saw the laundry that needed sorting and washed. That was just the beginning of endless things indoors that clamored for attention. Then I caught myself.

Marlene, your garden is weed-free for the moment. Enjoy what you HAVE done. Stop always focusing on the next task at hand. So I went back outside to enjoy the garden beds all neat and tidy. Everything else would have to wait for a few moments. Then I came inside and cut two large chocolate chip brownies to take to my neighbors who had just come home from putting their dog down. Then I called a friend who has been having some health challenges. (Neither one was on my list!) I continued my day with a variety of other tasks. But when the day ended, many things were still undone---as always.

Since my mental to-do list will never end, I must find a way not to let things yet undone become my cruel taskmaster. There must be a way to gracefully move through the day seeing my work as sacred and accepting the rhythm of my daily round. I want to find joy in what I have accomplished and to thank God for the strength and energy he has given for today. For today, I determine to give up the search for the mythical destination of All Caught Up. What about you?

(c) 2005 Marlene Depler

Come Away and Rest  

An Invitation to Rest

When I was in kindergarten decades ago, we each had our own rug to spread out on the floor for rest time. My mother made my rug and stitched my name on it. I was quite proud of my peach and green mat.

Our teacher required everyone to lie down and close our eyes a few minutes each day. When the teacher tapped us on the head, we could get up. I didn't appreciate this forced activity as a five-year-old, but after moving into adulthood, I would have welcomed it.

In our performance-driven culture, it seems that periods of rest are not highly regarded. Many even think a good night's sleep can be shortchanged. Just think how much more we could all get done if we each denied ourselves a couple hours of sleep each night! But are productivity and performance our only goals?

I have run across several articles in recent months on the subject of sleep. Research is now touting the value of sleep in promoting good health. One study I read said, "Sleep Essential for Creativity." Scientists are now validating our need to be well-rested.

I'm not a scientist. Nevertheless, I am continually reminded of the importance of rest, both sleep at night and other short interludes of rest amidst our busy days. God rested on the seventh day after creating the world. God instituted the Sabbath rest so the Israelite nation would take a day off to worship and rest. In the New Testament, Jesus invited his disciples to "come away by yourselves to a lonely place and rest for a while."

It's easy to to disregard our body's need for rest. Just last night I was tempted to stay up late to write this blog because I knew I had a full day ahead. I reminded myself to practice what I preach!

There are times where things beyond our control inhibit our sleep and ability to rest. To name a few: a new baby, illness, menopause, and unexpected emergencies. During times like these we cope the best we can. The problem is in letting this become a way of life---and then relying on four shots of espresso and adrenaline just to make it through the day.

Rest is an invitation to slow down, change our pace, take a deep breath, refocus our priorities,and refresh ourselves. So pull out your kindergarten mats---or tip your head back, close your eyes, and enjoy a few moments of "sacred idleness."

And tonight go to bed at a decent hour!

"To be well-rested is a blessing, not a waste of time."
-Richard A. Swenson, M.D., The Overload Syndrome

Storm Mountain---From the Ashes 

From the Ashes

Huge billows of black smoke rose from the mountains to the northwest of our home. Storm Mountain was ablaze. Firefighters were called in to contain the fire and attempt to protect the homes in the area.

After the fire was extinguished, my husband and I drove up the steep, winding road to see the damage. Acres and acres of beautiful trees were now only blackened sticks on the sides of the mountain. The devastation was sickening.

That happened two summers ago. Just two weeks ago, we took another drive up Storm Mountain. Blankets of lavender, white, yellow, pink, fuchsia, and red wildflowers covered the once marred mass of rock and earth, along with green native grasses. Charred tree trunks still stood as a memorial of what had once happened. Nevertheless, unbelievable beauty had risen from the ashes of a horrible fire.

Firestorms of disappointment, heartache, loss, and pain also come into our lives. We all end up singed, scorched, scarred, and charred---to some degree or another. Our own poor choices may bring ugly consequences. Things beyond our control may ravage us unexpectedly and leave our lives in rubble. Yet the message of Storm Mountain is one of hope. After a time, beauty can once again return from the ashes of our lives by the wonderful grace of God. HOLD ON TO HOPE!

Real roses and lemonade! 

The Real Thing

Flowers of the artificial variety filled my mother's window box at the townhouse where my parents lived. It was Mom's attempt to make things pretty. I didn't want to hurt her fellings by telling her what I really thought.

Later my parents lived in a little white house with planter boxes and white pots. Flowers of the fake species showed up once again.

Then one year in late March when my husband and I were in Missouri to visit my parents, my mom asked me what REAL flowers would look good on her porch. I was surprised by her question. I stopped to think a moment. The porch faces East. Morning sun. Afternoon shade. The house is white so any color would look great.

So we talked of geraniums, white alyssum, blue or purple lobelia, yellow marigolds, petunias, etc. My dad was listening to the conversation. He handed me a piece of paper and asked me to write down what we had talked about so they wouldn't forget.

Near the end of April, I called to talk to my mom on the phone. I could hear the excitement in her voice as she told me about the flowers in the planters and pots on her porch. My dad had planted them for her. "It's what I have always wanted!" she exclaimed.

Two or three weeks later, my mother suddenly passed away. When I pulled up in front of her house, I saw her beautiful, vibrant flowers and thought, "She finally got the real thing, but she didn't get to enjoy it for long."

It seemed sad that she hadn't asked sooner. If I had known that she wanted live flowers, I would have done my best to see that she had received her wish. She hadn't asked. I hadn't offered.

Most of us, given the choice, would much prefer the authentic to the imitation--the genuine to the phony. Live flowers. A genuine diamond. Pure vanilla. Real butter and maple syrup. Natural wood. And when is comes to cash, no counterfeit bills for me! But more than all of these, I want genuine relationships without pretense and an authentic faith that weathers life's storms. As often as possible, keep it REAL. (That is except for my artificial Christmas tree! I hate to vacuum up those pesky pine needles.)

Today I will share my recipe for REAL lemonade. With summer upon us, it is great for hot afternoons and evenings. It can be made ahead and mixed by the glass. If you don't have the time to make this recipe, then try Santa Cruz Organic Sparkling Lemonade. Yummy! I buy it at Costco and Vitamin Cottage.

Fresh Lemonade

Place 2 cups of sugar and 1 cup of water into a saucepan. Add the rinds of three lemons cut into strips. (Save the juice!) Boil for five minutes. Cool. Remove rinds with a slotted spoon. (If left in the rinds will make the mix bitter.) Add the juice of 8 lemons (total). This is approximately 2 cups. Strain if desired. Store in covered container in refrigerator. Use2-3 Tablespoons per glass of ice and water or carbonated water. Adjust the strength to suit your taste. Option: you can also boil just the sugar and water. Store it in the frig. Then squeeze a lemon each time you want to make a couple of glasses. Happy Summer!

My purple clematis with roses 

"Dirt Therapy"

It's relatively inexpensive. I don't need an appointment or pre-approval from my insurance company. Yet it's therapeutic---good for my soul and spirit. I call it dirt therapy.

While I no longer make the mud pies of my childhood, I still need to get my hands in the brown earth each summer. Give me long days and dirt along with something to plant or prune, and I can work for hours with little thought of life's disappointments and difficulties. Somehow the sunshine and the hard work distract me from what's weighing on my heart. And as I watch my tomato plants grow and purple clematis bloom, I experience the joy of joining with God in my own wee bit of "creation."

I choose the seeds, the plants, the colors. I decide where things will be planted. The color palette of the flowers is up to me. When I take to my yard on a summer morning, I am a designer---an artist of sorts.

So out the door I go! I'll water or fertilize. Plant, prune, or pull weeds! I'll literally smell the roses. As I drink in the beauty, my spirits will lift. The complexities of life will give way to gratitude.

Dirt therapy! Why not try it?

Raindrops on Roses 

Serendipty

"Let's do something here in Portland before we head out to the coast. Is there anything you want to do?" my husband asked that morning in the hotel room.

I thought we had seen most of the Portland attractions on past visits. Nevertheless, I headed for the rack in the lobby filled with tourist brochures. I found one advertising the Japanese Garden. It was in Washington Park. I thought I knew approximately where this was. It would be right on our way. So I suggested it to my husband, and he agreed.

We crossed the river to the west side of Portland and found the exit we needed. We passed the zoo and followed the signs leading to the Japanese Garden. We also noticed signs leading in the same direction that said, "Rose Garden." We wound through the wooded hillside. We came to a large, terraced clearing that overlooked Portland. The rose garden was right next to the walkway which led up to the Japanese Garden.

We parked and started toward the rose garden first. The air was permeated with the sweet fragrance of roses. We came toward the garden and caught our first glimpse of the hillside filled with thousands for rose bushes. Amazing! Glorious! Roses of every color: yellow, peach, coral, pink, white, lavendar, and more. Roses of every type: tree roses, climbing roses, miniature roses, shrub roses, hybrid tea roses, old-fashioned roses.

We spent a long time meandering through the roses, drinking in the beauty. What a visual feast! We still took time to see the Japanese Garden as well. It was also lovely, but for a rose gardener like me, the roses were the highlight.

As we drove away, my husband commented on the serendipity of our day---finding something so wonderful while looking for something else. In our journey through life, we occassionally have these moments. Sometimes we are aware of them, and other times we are too distracted to notice.

When have you actively pursued something only to discover something you weren't even looking for? Have you ever been headed one direction through life only to be frustrated by a detour,realizing later that the detour was a gift? In the midst of great sorrow or pain, have you had an unexpected encounter with grace? On an ordinary day with its mundane routine, have you ever been surprised by an unexpected blessing?

My desire is to have the eyes to see all the serendipitous blessings that come my way---then to say, "Thank you, God!"

Portland Rose Garden

Ocean Comfort

My husband and I just returned from a few days on the coast of Oregon. We have gone to the same place for several years. Sometimes I go for rest and relaxation. Other times for inspiration or to write. This year I went in hopes that the sounds of the surf would soothe my sadess and wash away my grief.

Three of my wee grandchildren, one of my two daughters, and her husband recently left for Bosnia to do humanitarian work for three years. After having them about one mile away and seeing them several times a week, it was unbelievably hard to say good-bye. Often my heart literally hurts. I grieve for all that I will miss out on as the little ones grow and change. I miss the smiles, the laughter, and the exuberance of Brent, Rachel, and Jacob. I miss reading books and singing lullabyes. I miss eating popsicles on the porch swing and watching "Franklin" movies.

I am fortunate I still have two married children and two grandchildren nearby. I am expending my energy on them. Between that and gardening, maybe I will eventually adjust to the separation from five people that I truly love. And it is my hope and prayer that I will again return to my writing with renewed inspiration.

Here is a poem that I wrote at the Oregon Coast several years ago:

Simple Pleasures

By Marlene Depler


Tuesday morning—
leisurely day.
No schedule,
no pressure,
no stress.
I stroll the sandy shore
with my sweetheart
wearing sweatshirts.
Short steps - mine,
long strides - his.
We search for sand dollars
and shells.
I see stones washed
smooth in the surf,
and a solitary starfish.
Haze and mist surround us.
We stop for lunch at Mo's.
Seafood soup, slaw,
and, yes, something sweet—
simple pleasures.