In my cigar box of personal
“treasures”, and along with such items as my 1946 Boy Scout compass, my 1st
“Pilot Log”, samples of frankincense and
myrrh and my Dad’s WWI Marine
Corps dog tags, lies a tiny hammered-brass coin known to history and bible
scholars as a widow’s mite. Excavated
in Jerusalem, its personal value lies in the knowledge that it passed from
hand-to-hand in the daily transactions of real people who lived nearly two
thousand years ago. When I hold it in my hand I am “transported” across time in
a spiritual but undeniable way. I am often led to do just that.
In the process of trying to live mindfully at
a time and in a place in which disappointment, discouragement and self-doubt
are ever-present, I have found it important to acknowledge – and yes, even celebrate
– the little successes and tiny marvels that occur around us every day. I am probably not alone in today’s
world of hand-held devices, “talking” ear-buds, and an endless supply of “Apps” promising answers to every
question, in wondering what great truths are being whispered to us but missed
in the confusion we call modern progress.
As I made my routine “rounds” this
morning, I exchanged vocal greetings with our six golden hens waiting for the
sound of my voice and the touch of my hand – and yes, a scattering of corn kernels
they knew would be coming. They are just one year old this week, but they have
long been delivering to us (and our neighbors) their gift of five, and often
six beautiful, hard-shelled brown eggs every day. They are wonderfully
garrulous, sociable and always-happy creatures who never cease to delight us.
Their happy nature and undeniable generosity are contagious. We would be the
poorer in every way without them in our lives I realized.
Stepping into our greenhouse, I
spent ten minutes checking out and admiring a raised bed of garlic plants
already more than a foot tall. Carefully divided and planted last November 1st,
they represent five different varieties brought back from last fall’s visit
with our friend Brooke Bottger at her Oregon
Trail Garlic Company in Baker City, Oregon. This year I mulched my planting
with straw which has made a huge difference. As an adventurer in the culinary
arts, garlic in all its historical wonder is for me a vegetable as valued as
silver and gold and my stop in the greenhouse sent a shot of pleasure into my
day’s beginnings.
A mid-morning phone call from Denver
turned out to be our Colorado grand-daughter calling to check in on us as she
does several times each week. “I love you
so much” she stressed before moving on in her busy daily routine. Before
moving on with my own planned tasks, I sat for a moment to think back over
moments which beg to be remembered.
Some weeks ago, as my wife and I
were leaving a favorite local restaurant where we often observe our weekly “day
out” together, I noticed a 20-something young man seated with a small blonde
girl, obviously his daughter. There was a look of mixed and abject sadness and
gladness on his face. On sudden impulse I halted and stepped back. Pointing to
the child I asked “where did you get this beautiful little blonde girl?”
Looking up with a grateful smile he answered, “well from my ex wife mostly I
guess” he replied, verifying what I had suspected from the overall picture.
“Well, are you going to try and get her back?” I said. “I’m afraid it’s too
late for that” he replied sadly. Leaning over to shake his hand, I said, “well
that is one beautiful daughter you have sitting beside you, congratulations!”
Almost leaping from behind his
table, and with tears running from his eyes he hugged me tightly, saying “Thank
you! Thank you so much!”
I can only dare wonder what the
exchange may have meant to that young father, but for me that moment of human
connection was one of life’s small three-minute wonders. The kind we
unfortunately too often miss altogether or too quickly allow to pass from our
recollection.
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