Monday, January 2, 2012

sea moss

I was thinking that to have had this magnanimous gift of time away and to hear the ocean night and day, I must come home changed. Less fatigued, more spiritual, wiser...something. What have I done with this gift?

I've embraced the rest and respite, the reconnection with my family, with nature, salty air, and my soul. Especially, when I walk by the waves and talk to God and try to hear back. I've treasured the fun of teaching a 5-year-old to play checkers, have watched him run with a kite on a day with no wind, and have enjoyed the myriad of crafts—especially the ones made on the days Jeff was able to take off completely from work, and I slept in—delicious treat of extra sleep. We've ridden bikes in the sunshine, baked cookies, and laughed at the rain (because it wasn't snow!).

We've had some hiccups on the "perfect vacation"—requiring a trip to urgent care for antibiotics and steroids, and a sleepless night with a sweet little coughing patient. We've listened, and shared, and I should probably always listen more, with friends and family on the phone, via text, FB, and email. 2011 was sometimes painful, for many—and for some whom we love most, there aren't new chapters, rather mid-chapters...but so much can happen in that expanse, I believe, I will believe.

I've considered theology by Gulley, laughed out loud with Kaling, and just today finished some fascinating "escapism" in The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh for book club. We've danced to spunky Christmas tunes and made a puzzle map of the world. Carter asks "where should we go next?" and my mind muses, "yes, where?" Of course, the answer now is, home. Time to go home.

But wait, has anything changed, in me?

That was the question I pondered today when I walked, and happened upon the sea moss. In the story above, The Language of Flowers, moss is to represent nurture. Impeccable timing. Impeccable. I really cannot tell you how stunned I was—I hadn't noticed sea moss on any other walk. For me, it was a message from flowers, the ocean, and God—of God's maternal love. I will cling to that image for this grand new year—may it be one of nurture, one which you and I feel, and share, that aspect of God that we might often forget...that motherly, comforting, nourishing's from there, I believe, that we are able to reimagine, create, and most of all, be.



  1. I'm breathing the fragrant salty air as I read this reflection. I have been reminding myself often of your comment to nurture over the past month. So helpful, my friend. You're a beautiful person sharing beautiful ideas. Thank you!