hidden Archives - Laurie Klein, Scribe

Hold Fast

It’s May again, and
tendrils of vine
finger our wall,
inching along
toward the shadows
where each rosy tip
swells, anchoring
like the little pads
on a gecko’s feet.
Each breathes,
feels for the vertical
with sinewy
footings, splayed yet
elastic. Only
the plant’s steps
leave a mark (We are
still here), a hidden
holdfast
beneath unfurling leaves.

“Holdfasts,” we call them. In the plant world they anchor vines, lichens, even various seaweeds to some form of substrate or structure.

Here’s the author of Hebrews again, this time in The Message: “[Y]ou need to stick it out. . . . It won’t be long now . . . stay with it and survive, trusting all the way.”

Will our faith count for more than a ghosting remembrance, a slight stain left behind in places we’ve been, amid people and flora and fauna we’ve loved? Where’s the beauty in that?

Amid all that fractures within and around us, is sticking it out enough?

Author Sarah Clarkson writes, “God gives us beauty, not as his argument but as his offering—a gift that immerses us in something that allows us to touch hope, to taste healing, to tangibly encounter something opposite to disintegration . . .”

As Virginia Creeper clings to our wall, and as dementia stalks our path, Dreamer and I try to hold fast to this promise: By God’s gift, believers possess the mind of Christ.

Friends in the faith, I also know this. Whatever our reach, our literal touch—curtailed as it is—often embodies Jesus touching others through us.

Remember the gentle practice of prayer via the laying on of hands, in the Savior’s name? Love, with skin on.

When God’s love supports and directs our growth, it also anchors our rooting as well as our reaching.

“It is Christ, working through us, who does this,” Ronald Rolheiser writes. “The power is still with God, not with us, but in the incarnation God has chosen, marvelously, to let his power flow though us, to let our flesh give reality to his power.”

Oh look! A swoosh of iridescence overhead—a swallow, circling the vines that wreathe our birdhouse. Half-hidden, it crowns the retaining wall. Beyond, in the crab apple tree a reedy voice calls up a song. Her mate? She makes another pass, swooping closer. As if she remembers. As if she knows somewhere amid the tangle a haven awaits.

She carries a twig in her beak . . .

then enters the opening.

God, our holdfast, be here with us in the shadows.

Friends, what helps you hold fast?

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Autumn Creeper Photo by Sam Goodgame on Unsplash

Vines with lantern: Photo by Yurii Zinets on Unsplash

B&W Vines around Windows Photo by Greg Willson on Unsplash

A profound book that keeps reminding me Christ is our Vine and we are the branches:

Please Pass the Salt

by Laurie Klein 25 Chiming In

Today I drink bone broth straight
from the white mug
a friend gave me, years ago,
inscribed with lyrics, in red:
“I Love You, Lord” . . .
(and I lift my mug).

No kidding. Someone made a mug of my song.

Is it soup yet?

Four months of daily chicken soup translates to gallons. I’m a leaky vessel, swamped in broth. Still sick.

And still curious. How can I make this taste better?

Varying fresh herbs and aromatic veges subtly alters the taste. Chicken and rice enrich nutrition and texture. Peas add a jolt of green.

But it’s salt—cheap, elemental salt—that unlocks all the hidden flavors.

My mother once read me a tale built around an insecure father’s question, and his youngest daughter’s unforgettable answer.

“How much do you love me?” he asked.

“As meat loves salt, ” she replied.

Years passed before he finally understood what she meant.

Even longer ago, Jesus told his followers, “You are the salt of the earth.”

In a long season short on answers I understand this as never before. Salt offers a foretaste of heaven.

Salt mingles. It balances unwanted sweetness; it also suppresses bitterness. Too much kills.

The right amount evokes nuance and satisfaction.

Blah, bland, blashly

For 60-some years I’ve disliked broth. Too boring. In a word, blashly.

Go back 200 years and you’ll find blashly describes overcooked veges and thin soup.

However.

Sometimes what heals us … at first, repels us

“If you arrive at a place in life that is miserable,” Anne Lamott writes,
“it will change, and something else about it will also be true.”

Who knew a mess of used bones
plus the right herbs and aromatics
would (eventually)
generate healthy craving?

Refilling my mug, I give thanks for curiosity—seemingly hard-wired into our psyches.

And there’s this: Salt plus sound displays singular, hidden magic.

Curious?

Click here to watch this brief video: Using a tone generator, the experimenter shakes table salt over a vibrating metal plate. As the pitch rises, the salt granules form new, increasingly complex patterns, for each tone, a different design.

Here’s to the hidden dance of salt.

You only get one life.

Please. Be the salt.

Photo: Dan Michael Sinadjan on Unsplash

Cymatics Demo

Read “As Meat Loves Salt” (also known as Cap O’ Rushes)

More about the marvels of salt, by Margaret Feinberg

Stitches, by Anne Lamott

You might also like “Learn to Sing out on a Limb”

Love and the Stork’s Apprentice

by Laurie Klein 18 Chiming In

Some stories are so tender, they’re meant for only a few eyes. This story reveals hard things, and hopes long-guarded. I’ve covered the heroes so you can see their goodness, but they won’t feel the world’s glare in their faces. I trust you to do the same.

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Can a young, single, entrepreneurial girl be almost full-term—and not know it?

Let’s call her Larkin: Girl-on-the-move, literally and figuratively, traveling across country with a new boyfriend. Unexplained pain prompts their detour to our city’s Emergency Room. [Read more…]