Constancy
I want . . . something I can turn to,
regardless of what I do,
regardless of who I become,
Something that will just be there,
always, like tomorrow’s sky.*
Dressed for a jog, I take my usual route. Care to join me?
My trail sinks a fraction lower each year. Call it a packed-earth anthem to rambling. Unwinding. Sometimes I sing.
I love these rolling wild acres beyond our back door. I’ve traversed them in sundry footwear and weather, accompanied by Uncle Tanner, our yellow Labrador. Oh, come with us . . .
. . . This is the jarring, knee-shocker downhill stretch: momentum’s kick-start.
Uncle Tanner will charge the pond, spring-fed and fringed with cattails. Whoosh! Canadian Geese panic, their long bodies airborne. Sunning turtles resembling overturned clogs plop into the pond.
Listen. The water talks to itself as it surges, then cascades, through a buried exit pipe.
Piney woods beckon, crisscrossed by owls and deer, the shadowed expanse sporadically sunlit.
Then, at last, we’re out in the open. Beneath cinematic skies, two tire tracks carve through acres of meadow.
It’s like four small worlds. They surprise and enliven me—even when my feet hurt. Over time, coupled with gratitude, their familiarity breeds . . . contentment.
I’ve traversed this trail for 28 years. I know exactly where the temperature reliably alters a few degrees. I recognize seasonal blooms, each rotation of insects, the arresting ways that light oils the hinges, morning and evening, of every day.
But nothing compares with the big-muscle, thumping-heart rhythm of moving through each distinct space with a dog. I cherish his cheerful constancy. We absorb birdsong and the reedy shrill of crickets. We take in the clean, resinous air.
Today, I aim to jog the entire heavenly loop.
Until I don’t.
Not far from my back door, bluish-green seedlings clog my path and its margins—hundreds of them. An arboreal rash of feathery green.
These baby pine trees are the plucky offspring of bug-riddled trees we felled, two years ago. Now, I must stem the invasion. They are part threat, pure nuisance, yet vital—because, well, they’re trees!—thus integral to the sense of sanctuary.
But this is renewal with a vengeance. Left alone, they’ll take over, obliterate the path, my hard-won path.
So I stop. Then stoop. You have to tease their skinny taproots, long as a forearm, from parched soil. That’s it, an even, seamlessly smooth, slow-motion pull. Too much angle and the tiny green crown snaps off in your palm. Too much tug and the last gasp of root hunkers underground, plotting resurrection.
I also pull knapweed, thistles, wormwood, vetch.
One’s adversaries deserve to be named. Known.
So I am an oft-interrupted jogger. An adamant seedling assassin.
Occasionally I question time spent on weeds and dirt. The relentless, dogged, losing battle.
Yet here is my sacred trail: and here, my gentle loping-toward-God pace—with strategic pauses—all of it so conducive to listening prayer.
There is an art to constancy,
a sinewy ache,
alongside
Olympian rigor.
Constancy in life’s details ripples outward, inward. In times of turmoil, it grounds us.
Cultivating the habit of constancy spills over, nourishing friendships, marriage, and more. I find myself more apt to take a stroll with Dreamer . . . rather than take another mindless scroll through the latest real estate listings.
I’m more prone to savor face-to-face conversations with friends rather than loiter, overlong, on Facebook.
Constancy slows me down.
I make time for two outings per day. Trail time seems to be Uncle Tanner’s constant hope. Fourteen now, he needs less speed, fewer miles, more treats. Who knows how much longer he’ll pad along at my side?
Constancy carves a path through all manner of wilderness.
Tell me more about constancy . . . What have you noticed?
- Opening quote by Kazuo Ishiguro, When We Were Orphans
- From the Archives, earlier tales of The Trail: Own a Better View
- Space: Creativity’s New Frontier
For balance, some things must be constant. Self-love and self-sacrifice, activity and rest, engaging and withdrawing, praying and waiting, giving and withholding, laughter and tears. Thank you for the theme of constance, Laurie. Good habits are life-giving.
This is a wise and wondrous list, Niki. Thank you for sharing it! I want to faithfully access grace in ways that help me find each day’s sweet spot as it shifts along the continuum of these life-giving opposites.
How good it must feel to be back on your feet and out into your twice daily dose of nature! I triumph in gratitude with you for the returning strength and every gulp of green air, and in the privilege of squatting or kneeling to pull up trail marauders by the roots (as long as your arm!). You make me smile. How thankful I am to read your quintessential collection of savory sentences, so evocative, such familiar and beloved sounds and sights, with an inimitable Laurie Klein gleam to them.
I then read your readers’ comments and could see how your entries resonate and illuminate others lives as well. And then your heartfelt responses are an extra gift! You are a treasure!
Dear Pacia, your timely, encouraging words offer me yet another precious “gulp of green air.” I needed them today. Thank you!
Memory brings up the two of us strapping on snow shoes and exploring YOUR glorious acreage along the river. I’m glad your camera captured one of our pauses that day (for anyone reading this and feeling curious, see photo on “About” page in menu bar.)
Thank you, too, for vicariously sharing MY wild acres. Your passion for God and nature and truth, for creative expression and loving connection refresh and hearten me yet again. So so grateful for you.
Misty-eyed and grateful for our long-distance friendship…?
Me too!!!
As always your words help heal my soul. And I am in awe of your jogging:)
Anne, what a wonder this is to me. It makes me want to keep trying to get words down in hopes of lifting others up. Thank you.
p.s. Thanks to your influence, I FINALLY bought new shoes for the trail yesterday.
Interesting that you should write a post about the firmness and fixedness of constancy when you were on the move. 🙂
Oh how I love your posts, precious Laurie! And normally, I would have shared this w/ a beloved friend who recently moved away. She’s been through so much upheaval in her life, and has suffered a divorce, loss of her home and possessions, and ill health. She knows that God is the one constant someone in her life, and yet she has known such erratic and horrific loss. And then, the final blow? Her beloved and constant companion, her faithful dog through thick and thin, suddenly, unexpectedly died. She had posted numerous posts on FB showing them ambling through her new seaside neighborhood. Without the Lord this would be too much to bear. I’ll remember this beautiful post to share with her at some future date when her grief is not so raw. In the meantime, I think that in this vacillating, dizzying world of ours (and in our own country. especially with our political climate), regaining our constancy to virtues, people we love, and to Him, our solid, immovable Rock, is a good way to live. Thank you for sharing a way to sanity and stability.
Constantly, Love,
Lynn
Dear Lynn, one of the many things I applaud in your life is the compassion and care you feel, and express, for others. My dog-lovin’ heart is praying along in solidarity for your friend. I’m humbled and grateful that you think this post might ease and encourage her, at some future date. And I’m especially grateful today for your words: “our solid, immovable Rock”—such a grounding, comforting image. Amid the din, a sheltering place to rest.
Laurie, your grace and kind words are ever reassuring and comforting. My friend is Terry, and she has had so many blows of late. Thank you for your prayers.
xo
Lynn
You’re welcome, Lynn. It’s so tough to watch someone we love seemingly beset from all sides. I am ever-willing to add another name to the list. (These days I have to write it down, or it sieves straight through—despite my good intentions).
I loved reading this, imagining your years of trekking and growing familiar with the fields and woods through all the seasons. There’s much to ponder in your assessment of outer and inner worlds.
Though we live in an older suburban area, the cluster of surrounding evergreens bring a lot of birds. For the first time there’s been a young bald eagle cruising around the past month with it’s distinctive “screee” vocalization. My heart lifts to hear it and I’m reminded to raise my view above the press of daily life and remember there’s another world.
Diane, when I recall your (new) neighborhood, I think of wide streets. Deep greens. And peace. All of it lovely. But then how arresting to watch a young bald eagle wheeling above. I can imagine how its singular voice and aerial maneuvers would elevate your thoughts, alter your mindset and sense of proportion. What a startling, mind-expanding gift!
I think I will rename my best habits, Constants. Habit has such a noxious connotation. Thank you for allowing certain longevities in my life an upgrade by way of name. Makes them seem like better friends already.
❤️
A noun upgrade; what a great way to put it!
I agree about the word “habit” (and noxious as the modifier). The word habit takes me straight to nail biting and a lifetime of temporary triumphs (interspersed with down-to-the-quick defeats).
I also like longevities.
And thinking of our life-giving behaviors becoming better friends.
We have Canada Geese that fly by our house to and from a pond down the street. Deer often visit the backyard as well, to munch on the wild thicket foliage bordering the creek bed. Now when I see/hear them, I’ll think of you, enjoying the same wildlife where you live. And then I read about your battle with the baby pine trees and I was reminded of our own attack on the dozens of baby oak trees that sprout each spring, due to the hundreds–maybe thousands–of acorns that fall in autumn. As usual, Laurie, you turn such ordinary tasks into delightful discoveries: “Constancy in life’s details ripples outward, inward. In times of turmoil, it grounds us.” Indeed. Praise God for the constancies of life that do ground us–reminders of God’s faithfulness and steadfastness to us.
Nancy, it’s fun to imagine you enjoying similar wildlife and terrain. I can’t help wondering whether those deer also graze on your shrubs and flowers . . .
Thousands of oak seedlings seem even more formidable to me than our baby pinelettes. Those acorns are hardwired for mighty breadth and height.
Honestly, the hardy feisty-ness built into seeds just amazes me.
time for a puppy… or an adopted mature dog, Uncle Tanner will, I know, leave a large void… Trust me on this one!
“Occasionally I question time spent on weeds and dirt. The relentless, dogged, losing battle.” Sounds like the refrain from the song of life around here!! Pam will commiserate, I am sure…
Dear Dog Whisperer (among your many other talents), I appreciate your insight and experience. Seems I’ve always been dog-crazy. I wonder, however, if I can muster the patient consistency to train another puppy.
We adopted Uncle Tanner at age 2, and it was so much easier! Despite the spaghetti squash he so kindly clawed to noodles and left atop the oriental rug. And the 5 pound bag of potatoes he ate. Not to mention an entire box of Splenda packets, wrappings and all. Endearing, now.
May “the song of life” at your place transpose itself, a step or two, into an easier, more genial key. A lilt would be nice.
Wishing you both great peace.
Constancy… the pathway of repeated prayers and poems are helping. Plus, the gift of a new book, “Every Moment Holy” from the Rabbit Room.
Every moment is holy–making coffee, pulling weeds, preparing dinner. And having a prayer/liturgy to hang those daily actions on provides a neural pathway my soul needs.
It’s all connected, yes?
Thank you for taking us along (well, sort of. until the seedlings showed up) on your daily walk.
Right next to you, my friend.
Dear Jody, your “pathway of repeated prayers and poems” sounds life-giving. Inspiring. Refreshing. Just this morning I moved a collection of Celtic prayers to my place at the table. And I keep another on the windowsill near my bed. I need all the help I can get!
Are you enjoying the Rabbit Room book? I’m always grateful to ride shotgun with a trusted voice that inspires faithfulness and makes me look at the world from new angles.
Thanks for reminding me of the neural pathways we create through our repeated actions.
Every moment, sacred. Yes. I want to experience the continuum: rest to reverence to lament to jubilation (and all honest points in-between).
This beautiful blog post on Constancy came at just the right moment. I had a rough night and woke late, getting my day off to s late start and seeming to throw off its momentum. Here it is, nearly 2pm, and I haven’t taken my daily walk or written in my journal. It would be easy to skip these two daily rituals and go on to “things-that-need-to-get done,” but your blog reminds me of the importance of constancy, the importance of observing these blessed rituals, today. Thanks, Laurie!
Dear Judith, how vexing that you were robbed of your rest last night, then hit with that morning-after domino effect: feeling ragged, hurried, worried, beset.
May your equilibrium gently return. Your resolve to make time anyway for what nourishes you inspires me! I too overslept this morning, and my clumsy entrance into the day probably resembled an apprentice clown’s pratfall. And now that I’ve formed that image, I feel a chuckle rising.
I loved your hawk poem on FB today. Thank you!