Stepping Out amid 100 Questions

Stepping out …

Quail: roughly the size of a man’s fist.
Sleeping, they splay;
roused, they leap into the air,
like popcorn kernels hitting hot oil.

The females lay eggs on the run. All of them poop on the run.

One breeder says every time she leaves, her quail cry. A sound somewhere between a mew and a moan.

That’s me lately, writhing with undiagnosed infection. I doze in weird positions, then leap up for, well, the facilities.

Grousing: a verb

Twice, in the ancient Hebrew wilderness, God lavished quail on the Israelites—despite their ingratitude. Tired of manna, they demanded meat. The Almighty practically flung quail into their faces.

There. See the BLESSING?

A sign

Today, quail huddle in gangs beneath our spreading juniper shrubs, before stepping out. They make a break for it, get out of Dodge. I want out too.

I spell mad: B.R.A.T.
Broth
Rice
Applesauce
Tea

For now, no tangerines, no Mae Ploy sauce, no Honey Dijon chips.

And no escape from the smallest room in the house. No stepping out. Because no one knows if my immune system is functioning.

What eccentric blessing is staring me down?

And then in the wee hours, words from Isaiah:

In all their distress, [God too] was distressed,
and the angel of his presence saved them.
In his love and mercy he … lifted them up
and carried them all the days of old.

Even here. Tonight. Alone, on cold linoleum.

I want to know how to see blessings …

Quail make me laugh.

They dither. Their topknots bobble. Their heads are like spastic question marks.

So I have questions too …

how to send roots down into hope until I feel the sap rise
how to turn enigmas into love: valentines, worthy of stamps
how 100 questions might whirl like lassos, aiming for heaven

I want to know gratitude’s face when it roams—homeless, in my neighborhood.

I want to know What you want to know …

Raining quail story here

Sometimes, the Gift Tears YOU Open

by Laurie Klein 32 Chiming In

Gift? Or Riddle?

Joseph wakes her, by lantern-light. “We have to go. It’s not safe here.”

All Ears, their rickety donkey, snuffles. Joseph carefully settles Mary behind those elderly, twitching ears. Hands up the child.

Does she look back? Perhaps a kindly local woman supervised the swaddling, nursing, burping.

“Best to leave quietly,” Joseph murmurs. “Avoid questions about our destination.”

It’s cold. Mary misses her mother. Over the stony ground they plod, under uncountable stars—Mary’s longest night yet.

Riddle

Where will they live?
Can she trust an Egyptian doctor?
Will Joseph find work?

She shifts her son, easing cramped arms. Daily trips to a new village well will demand safely balancing him and the brimming water jar.

Can she do this?

Gift

You carry God’s gift wherever you must—Mary might say to us—each small goodness divinely implanted, whether within your arms or your mind or deep in your belly.

Over nine months, Mary has apprenticed her soul to the quiet arts: nurturing hope, pondering Mystery, carrying on.

The gift tears you open, she might add. There will be scars.

Mary’s endurance instructs me, as Dreamer and I continue seeking housing and medical answers.

Cherish each moment. Every good gift starts leaving your care long before you feel ready.

Perhaps we never fully comprehend that which God births within and through us. Child or brainchild, creation is God-breathed. Offer yourself and your work to this world, believing God will reanimate a fraction of its lost hope.

Head out into the unknown, friends, step-by-step.

“Living into the mystery of things helps us to release our hold on needing to know the answers.”*

“What Child Is This?” —acoustic guitar, Bill (Dreamer) Klein

Dreamer’s symptoms persist. He had more tests today, results next week, follow-up in 6 months. Our daughter is recovering well from surgery. Thank you for your prayers! We wish you all a wildly fruitful, delectable New Year!

*Final quote: Christine Valters-Paintner, from her marvelous New Year’s Eve post

Bowled Over: My 3-angel Day

by Laurie Klein 20 Chiming In

Bowled Over: My 3-angel Day

Angel #1

The young coed leaps from her car, arms spread wide, calling, “I want this tent!”

News of our Giant Downsizing Giveaway has reached her, secondhand. Now, she caroms amid tables laden with things we’ve used and loved—including Bill’s camera equipment. He has captured decades of travel and family history for us through his lens and unerring eye.

The young woman asks, “You’re really giving all this away?”

I’ll call her The Bright Angel (as in a kind and lovable person). Our first giveaway recipient, she’s unknown to us and becomes increasingly dear as her enthusiasm escalates.

She points to my table of artwork. “You made these? How did you do that? They’re amazing!”

Her delight over more camping gear burgeons into spontaneous twirls of gratitude: “Wow, I really really love this. Thank you!”

Angel #2

Simultaneously, our beloved friend from Seattle unexpectedly drops by. We’ve been on her mind. Knowing nothing about our giveaway, she arrives bearing a gorgeous orchid.

“Beauty that asks nothing of you,” she says.

Angel #3

Our Seattle friend and I sit indoors, catching up with each other.

Reports of The Bright Angel’s armloads of treasures reach me via Kristin, our Giveaway Angel daughter, who welcomes newcomers, draws and mounts signs, re-stages depleted displays, and replenishes goodie trays. She keeps our spirits high.

At one point Kristin relays The Bright Angel’s latest question: Do I maybe have a smallish tray—oh, and a shallow box!—for shaking and storing dice?

I rummage through my studio and produce two small vintage cigar boxes.

When I finally step outside, both boxes are gone along with a lot of other stuff The Bright Angel needed. Her taillights wink as she drives away.

I feel like the good fairy in a story, albeit incognito.

The hours effervesce, with friends hugging us and promising good homes for our treasures. All day, we give away pieces of ourselves.

Near sundown, I unplug the coffee urn, bring the leftover treats indoors.

Dreamer and Kristin replay The Bright Angel’s wide-eyed glee. “It’s really free?”

And I glimpse how the good and beautiful God may sometimes feel, watching we needy mortals bowled over, again and again, newly astonished by unexpected largesse.

When have you been bowled over by one of God’s giveaways?

Catch Your Breath Here

by Laurie Klein 20 Chiming In

Breath.

Nose-to-nose,
each day,
in near silence,
this is how
a teen-aged boy
greets his alpaca:

They touch foreheads . . . and breathe,
swapping morning breath,
mutually saluting the life force.

A pulmonary transaction. A gift.
The trusting loan of what each needs most.

I think of Aslan breathing on poor Mr. Tumnus, frozen into a statue by the White Witch.

And the Hebrew word Ruach: “Wind. Breath. Spirit.”

Breath itself, in the beginning . . .

Dear Animating Mercy,

Thank you for breathing life into the first human being, part stardust, part water, part mystery.

Thank you for lungs—for every fetus, those dormant organs awakened at birth.

Thank you for dreaming up Breath Practice via placentas. Via the luminous, pulsing, umbilical cord. Each of us took practice breaths late in our third trimester. And did not drown. We inhaled rich amniotic fluid, safely expanded our untried lungs.

Thank you for surfactant, the ingenious lung coating that keeps air sacs open, inflated.

Thank you for oxygen and carbon dioxide, the great ongoing exchange among people, creatures, plants.

Thank you for sighs resetting our respiratory system, relieving stress, recalibrating emotions.

Thank you for moments that take our breath away.

Thank you for ancient truths, breathed out:

The Spirit of God has made me;
the breath of the Almighty gives me life (Job 33:4).

If it were [God’s] intention to withdrew his spirit and breath,
all would perish together and return to the dust (Job 34:14,15).

But it is the spirit in [us], the breath of the Almighty,
that gives . . . understanding (Job 32:8).

Tell me, what does holy mean now?

Aslan and Mr. Tumnus (watch the magic here).

You might also enjoy reading: Sigh, Sigh, Sigh (& Stay Alive)

Dandelion photo, by Johannes Plenio, Unsplash

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord (Psalm 150:6).

Greek Feet, Great Art & Pivotal Questions

by Laurie Klein 17 Chiming In

Trauma

Nested five-gallon buckets separate—mid-air—serially bashing my second toe.

Howls.
Language.
Mega blood blister.

Later, urgent Labrador claws, jigging at our front door,
meet my hapless, arthritic toe and,
accidentally, gouge open the blister.

Colors yet-to-be-named fresco my foot.
Weight bearing? Impossible.
26 foot bones, not one broken.

And now Toe #2 is 1/4 inch longer than before.

Solidarity

Nurse Tina, armed with gauze and surgical tape, groans aloud—more than once—and I love her for it.

She artfully buddy straps toes 2 and 3.

Greek Feet, buddy strapped (courtesy of a Seahawks fan)

My newly-bound twosome throbs.

I hobble.

I google.

Comparisons

Pop Quiz: How does my foot resemble

Venus de Milo?
da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man?
The Statue of Liberty?

Turns out I have Greek Feet, my second toes longer than my big toes. Greek Feet are the idealized foot shape found in ancient statuary, continuing up to our present-day Lady of Liberty. (Longer big toes? You have Egyptian Feet. Read more here.)

Reflexologists, or Foot Readers, claim overlong second toes indicate leadership qualities: resourcefulness, creativity, intelligence, confidence, enthusiasm, impulsiveness, and vulnerability to stress.

Snopes fodder? You decide.

“The second toe on your right foot shows what you want in life,” Foot Reader Jane Sheehan says. “If you are getting [what you want], the toe will be touching the floor.”

Flattened Toe #2 has never hugged more carpet. Am I getting what I want?

The Kicker

My sturdy middle toe has limits.

This reminds me of relationships. We bind ourselves to a loved one who’s hurting. We try to provide balance. Stability. We compensate, try to share the weight.

When do we loose the bonds, urge the injured part (or party) to step up again and fulfill its role?

Isn’t this what we ask ourselves?

Will Toe #2 return to its original shape? Will my shoes still fit? God knows.

Beyond Buddy Strapping

Meanwhile, I’m reading up on Venus de Milo:

Artistic feet.
Misplaced arms.
She is what she is. And known for it.

How do we play a supporting role—without playing God?

Reflexologist Jane Sheehan will give a reading if you send her a photo of your feet. Visit www.footreading.com