Even leopards give thanks

Yesterday in church we listened to the story of Jesus healing the ten lepers two times. Not that he healed the lepers twice. We heard the story twice, once in Sunday school, and then again in church.

That makes sense. It’s an appropriate story for Thanksgiving week. Ten lepers healed, but only one came back to say “Thank you.” Of course we were then admonished to be that one, not only on Thanksgiving Day, but everyday. To make gratitude a habit. Good advice, healthy for the body as well as the soul.

That story has special meaning to me. Years ago, in a Sunday school, the leader was teaching on the miracles of Jesus. For such an uplifting subject, the class was remarkably boring. The teacher, a good friend, was a college professor in lecture mode, droning on and on. At one point he was reading off a list of all the miracles recorded in the Gospels. I had drifted off when, on the borders of consciousness, I heard him mention the healing of the ten leopards.

That caught my attention. Instantly my imagination went into full gear and I saw an African savannah with leopards and other wild beasts. Jesus was walking among them, having mercy on their conditions.

Then class was over and we filed into the sanctuary for the worship service. I wrote the following poem in the margins of the church bulletin:

The Cleansing

And it came about that Jesus, King, was passing
through the grass lands of Burundi and as he
entered a village ten leopards approached,

slinking between the huts, pad-padding down
the paths on great pudding feet,
ten shadow beasts brought low by mange and

malice came near and said to the King of Cats, 
O Master, Jesus, have mercy on us,
we know if you will you can make us clean,

heal our hide, sharpen our claws, restore our
terror names, and Jesus, Beast, said,
I will, be clean, and straightway the ten

leopards were healed and with leaps and holy
yowls they departed, but one, when he saw
he was healed, returned and crouching purred

his praise, a gravelly grace song, and Jesus,
Cat, twitched his tail
while all the skies of Africa sang.

While the poem was playful, it also turned out to be true. Christ is called the Lion of Judah in the Old Testament and in the book of Revelation. My slip-of-the-ear and the consequent vision presented me with a different perspective on the Gospel. A picture of a cosmic healing Christ who we’ll never be able to completely understand. And a new view of gratitude. I saw a bigger picture of grace and goodness abroad in the world. Writing poems sometimes does that to me.

As we focus on thanksgiving this week, let’s ask for a bigger vision of God and of the grace and goodness of God in our lives, no matter what is going on personally and in the world at large. Let’s be thankful.

If a leopard—or a leper—can express gratitude, so can I.

Gratitude in the old growth forest

 I’m a list maker: to-do lists, wish-lists, prayer requests, priorities, and so on. I just made a (helpful, I hope) list of migraine triggers. And because this is Thanksgiving week, a gratitude list seems appropriate. (Hal helped me come up with this list.) I focus on the retirement community where we now live. This is a very particular old growth forest.

I’m thankful for….

--an environment that not only keeps me safe but encourages me to keep growing

--that my long-time husband is still my best friend and we get to share this apartment

--for the art studio in the basement that lets me (a non-artist) keep my own locker of art supplies, invites me to come down anytime to experiment with my own projects, encourages me to join classes and discover that maybe, just maybe, I am a sort of artist

--lots of new “best friends,” all of them in their 70s, 80s, and 90s. (I had thought “best friends” was a high school thing. Wrong.)

--the opportunity to listen, understand, and be present to my neighbors in good times and hard

--a library with a good selection and a flexible attitude toward late returns

--food that is almost always good and sometimes delicious

--a room with a view—trees, hills, a sky full of dancing clouds

--a cozy burgundy rocking chair that swivels to let me see the view (It’s my early morning prayer chair and my afternoon nap chair.)

--the path around the Hess Creek Canyon that feeds my need to be among trees on a regular basis and to hear water moving over the earth

--the critters that inhabit the secret spaces—deer, birds, squirrels, the occasional racoon

--the staff that works behind the scenes to make our lives comfortable: the women who clean our rooms, the man who replaced the handle on my refrigerator door when it broke off, the tech expert who solves my computer problems, the cooks and waiters/waitresses who prepare and serve our meals, the community life director who plans our outings, the gardeners who keep the place beautiful, and especially the nurses and aides who care for our most vulnerable residents.

--beautiful and sometimes intriguing works of art that decorate our lobby and all the residential halls. We live in an art gallery with free admission.

--our own lobby on the fifth floor where we congregate to have meetings, celebrate birthdays, pray together, and work (play) on puzzles

--free coffee down in the lobby

--our community garden where this year, for the first time, we had our own plot. Amazingly enough, things grew (roses, tomatoes, Inca lilies, green onions, wild flowers, and spaghetti squash, among other miracles).

--an exercise room with lots of machines and open space for courageous classes. My favorite machine (called the New Step) faces a window with a forest view. Forty-five minutes can pass without my realizing it.

--a woodshop where I (Hal) find a community of like interests and skills.

--an active residential association that lets us self-govern, plan our activities, and come up with creative ways to serve the community

--a resale shop and storage space that not only provide residents with a place to donate their furniture, clothes, and other items as they need to downsize, but offers bargain prices on really good stuff

--the security of knowing that as I continue to age and need different levels of care, this community will provide that. That’s the nature of a continuing-care retirement community. My kids and grandkids can come be with me, but they won’t have to take care of me. That gives me peace.

--the blessing of knowing that this community is Christ-centered and founded on values such as integrity, compassion, stewardship, community, excellence and service. I can live with that. I can grow old in this environment.

I hope this doesn’t sound like a publicity pamphlet. That’s not my intention, and that’s certainly not my favorite writing genre. And this community is far from heaven-on-earth. We have our fair share of problems, conflicts, and challenges. After all, we’re all people.

But my intention today is gratitude and the above list represents my true feelings. (Maybe I’ll write an angry list another day. Probably not.)

Thanks be to God for blessing us in this time of life. Life in this old growth forest is good.

Over the river and through the woods

 

“Lord, you have been our dwelling place
throughout all generations.”  Psalm 90:1

Over the River and through the Woods…

to Grandmother’s house we go.
We used to sing that at Thanksgiving.
My mind gobbled up the image,
an idealized Thomas Kincaid calendar picture
complete with snow, a horse-drawn sleigh,
candle-light streaming from the windows,
and a plump, rosy-cheeked grandma,
apple pie in hand, waiting to welcome
the family home. I knew that’s how it would be
when I became an old lady. Grandpa and I
would be the hub of a living wheel
of hugs and stories, music and good food.
Welcome, welcome! Welcome home!

That’s not how it turned out.
We are well taken care of in our retirement home,
but our small apartment can host two or three
at the most. Family gatherings take place
at one of our kids’ homes and now include
numerous in-laws. We have to decide where
to go for Thanksgiving dinner. Thomas Kincaid
flew out the window years ago.

Thank you for replacing my fantasy
with a vision of reality richer and warmer
than any calendar picture.
You, Lord, have been our dwelling place
through all generations.

You are the hub of the wheel.
You shelter us, feed us, teach
and discipline us, give us rest.
You make us one in you.
You’re the one who says, Welcome home