Laurie Klein, Scribe

immerse in God, emerge refreshed

  • About
  • Books
  • Blog
    • Small Wonders
    • Soul Mimosas
    • Springboards
    • Wellsprings
    • BiblioDiva
  • Reveries
  • Links
  • Contact
  • Press Kit
  • Playlist

“The Food of Love …”

by Laurie Klein 28 Chiming In

The food of love? Well, we are making cookies today . . .

My granddaughter perches on the kitchen stool, one loose-cannon leg kicking the rungs. She’s chatty, a tad restive. She waves the baby chick cookie cutter above her head. Then, surprisingly, she falls silent, pointing to the decal that spans the soffit. With a five-year-old’s zest she proclaims, “If music be the food of Love, pla-a-ay on.”

“Keira,” I marvel, “you’re reading!”

She grins briefly, then returns to cutting birdies from dough. Keira, aka Kiki, was once a hypersensitive infant we carried around on a pillow. She suffered acute sensory issues. Traumatized in utero by her birth mother’s drug habit, our little fledgling now reads Shakespeare.

Oh, the ageless effervescence of wonder — it tingles all over my body. I’m older than the average grandma, eager to savor each stage of growth while I still can.

As my friend Judi Carlson says, “What piece of our heart did God create to receive this kind of miracle? We adopt fragile children. And those children adopt us.”

Kiki, our impish dynamo, seldom sits long enough to hear a story through to the end. So when did the skill to read click? She’s a girl with places to go, faces to make, boundaries to test.

“All done,” she sings out. “Now what?”

I slide her tray of ginger-bird cutouts into the oven. “Eight minutes,” I say. “Want to see the baby robins?”

We tiptoe to my bedroom window to watch the ramshackle nest on our deck.

awaiting the food of love

Three fledglings yeep and chirr, jostling each other. Then, like harrumphing uncles, they rotate positions.

She wants to know why they are fighting.

“They’re getting too big for the nest,” I say. “And maybe they’re itchy. Look, they’re taking beak-baths.”

[Click & watch] IMG_0548

Chirping, Mama Robin swoops to the lawn, nabs a worm, heads for the nest. She embodies music, the food of Love — countless times each day.

I’ve watched her spread wings and tail over the nest during two hailstorms, her quivering pinions jeweled with ice. She’s giving her young every chance in a world where statistics show only 25% survive their first year.

The oven timer goes off, and we head for the kitchen, Kiki bouncing ahead of me — and off a wall or two. The thought comes to me, she’ll be okay, despite her rough start in life and her madcap ways. The cherishing God who knows when a sparrow falls is with her, and will be, long after I’m gone.

Whoever wrote Psalm 91 knew a thing or two about love: “[God] will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection.” For now, I’m grateful the Deity shares part of that privilege with me.

Kiki and I frost the cookies and top them with sprinkles. Another gift. The robins, too, seem sent. Vulnerability dressed in feathers chooses my deck. My time. Me. From the nest’s inception to sky-blue eggs to scruffy hatchlings, I’ve eavesdropped on this family-in-progress day after day, for weeks. A living psalm.

Kiki takes bird cookies home to her mama. A few hours later I find the nest empty. Abandoned. I’m surprised by the ache in my chest. And how it spreads.

I would have loved to watch them fly.

Since then, I’ve used this breath prayer throughout the day, the one that’s been singing itself in my head lately, helping me let go.

(inhale) Lord of every     (exhale) quickening,
Watching over     egg and wing,
How you cherish     everything!
Taking flight     or nestling,
I live     to sing
All that you are,     my King.

lauriekleinscribe logo

What helps you release a cherished hope or a beloved being already in flux?

You might also enjoy this one about Kiki

And this one, if you missed it, about the nest

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: adoption, cookies, feathers, fledgling, gingerbirds, love, music, nest, robins June 2, 2022

IF

by Laurie Klein 13 Chiming In

If only . . . it hadn’t happened.

Today, I wake up grieved by Wednesday’s violence in our nation’s capitol—only to be further dismayed by the media’s name-calling in the guise of news.

When epic troubles escalate, how do we resist the downward spiral of resignation? How do we nurture fresh reasons to hope?

Earlier this week I splurged on a pot of hyacinth bulbs. Buds closed tightly as raised fists lined three fleshy stalks.

This morning, bloom after star-like bloom perfumes the house.

When bulbs are responsibly “forced,”
the wild, greening wellsprings
that infuse creation
surge upward and outward: Now,
marvel transfuses my spirit, triggers
awe, releases a whiff of poetry.

My outlook shifts,
from grainy, film noir desolation
to hi-def, hyper-spectrum joy—each stem
redolent with modest glories. It reminds me
we’re all fiercely loved
by One who makes all things beautiful
in their time—even when growing entails
unspeakable suffering.

For God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end.

So, I am scouting evidence of order. Implicit design. Metaphor and deeper meaning.

I am seeking Love quietly lavished in merciful ways around me so that I might go and do likewise.

It’s a plan, albeit a small one . . .

If I do say so myself.

lauriekleinscribe logo

What’s rekindling your experience of beauty? Truth? Humor?

This “IF” quotation made me laugh:

“If I could go to dinner with one person, dead or alive, I think I would choose alive.” — B. J. Novak

If of thy mortal goods . . .

You might also enjoy: Hai*Pho — No, it’s not a new entree . . .

And here’s a famous poem about hyacinths:

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: Beauty, bulbs, hyacinths, love, marvel, poetry, resignation, wellsprings January 8, 2021

Rainbow Bridge, from Shelf Life, 4th Edition

by Laurie Klein 19 Chiming In

Imagine the mutt-iest Mutt, black and white, seemingly yards of flapping tail and tongue. Erratic markings. Clattery nails. Milk teeth like tack strips for carpet.

That was Spooky, my first puppy.

Meanwhile, my dog-doting father told me a story wherein a villainous tomcat blinded his first puppy. Little sponge that I was, my heart absorbed his fear and lifelong bias.

Three decades later, my eldest daughter was offered a cat.

Now what!?

Interrogate yourself, then discard false assumptions? Shelve your father’s old, embittered story?

Say, Yes?

The things you do for love . . .

. . . go unnoticed as, all too soon, your daughter prefers The Cat for entertainment. Comfort. Heart-to-heart talks.

I longed for the role of comforter and confidante. I wanted to be her good time, all the time.

How does one coax gratitude to emerge—albeit one furry inch at a time?

“Laurie, sit.” (Watch, and enjoy her joy.)

“Laurie, stay.” (This too is a form of power: love overruling the need to be needed, a command I’ve had to learn, over and over.)

Yesterday, my daughter texted me. She’d found a vet who, despite social distancing mandates, would allow her to hold Ellie, cherished feline companion for 14 years, as they eased her into the final sleep.

It’s a holy thing to witness a pet lover’s last full measure of devotion. How I longed to be at my daughter’s side. But that honor rightly passed to a dear friend, the one her children have nicknamed Seashell.

“I’ll watch the kids,” I texted back.

At the clinic, I entered her car armed with books and treats. “Aanie,” my grandson gravely said, “Ellie’s crossing the Rainbow Bridge.”

I did not yet know the famous anonymous words written for grieving pet owners. I thought fast.

“Which color will her paw touch first?”

“Red.”

“And then?”

“Orange. Blue. Purple!”

And there would be clouds where she could play. And take a nap. His mama had told him a story worth holding onto, so different from the one my father had told me. And isn’t this the way bias is overcome, one story, one action, at a time?

Yesterday God showed me, yet again, that sometimes stepping to one side so another can grow and thrive in their own way is vital.

And my daughter showed her child Goodbye is sad, but it can still be beautiful.

We treasure our children. Our pets. “Stay!” our hearts cry.

All too soon, we must relearn “Sit.” And we do, quietly, with our memories. Our sorrow. Acceptance. Eventual gratitude.

 

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. . . . There are meadows and hills . . . plenty of food, water and sunshine . . . [A]nimals who have been ill or hurt . . . are made whole and strong again . . . happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly, he darts away from the group, flying over the green grass . . . faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you . . . finally meet . . . happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together . . .

—Anonymous

farewell before crossing the rainbow bridge

Who might come bounding toward you on that rainbow bridge?

lauriekleinscribe logo

You might also enjoy Crossing the Gap

Or Threshold Times—Yours, Mine—Crossing Safely

Rainbow photo, Marco Forno on Unsplash

Hand and Paw photo by Seashell

 

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: bias, cat / dog, gratitude, love, rainbow bridge, sit / stay, story June 3, 2020

Change: Brought to You Today by the Letter “R”

by Laurie Klein 50 Chiming In

 

Two vases, cast off
by their owners,
stand side by side
in my greenhouse window.

My Jack Sprat-and-wife of the pottery world.

Both came from yard sales, several years apart, and I enjoy them every day. But this morning … I see them a-fresh.

Last year, you could say my life resembled the tall vase: shapely and capacious, with an easy, upward outlook. Familiar, much-loved dimensions.

Then I got scary sick.

Talk about crushing. It was like being squashed into the squat, bulbous vase: squeezed, compressed, diminished. My personal soundtrack underwent change, too, from carefree humming to yelps, groans, the occasional whimper.

In the words of Jeremiah the prophet, I was being emptied from vessel to vessel.

Without my permission.

“The people of Moab,” Jeremiah said, “are like wine left to settle; they have never been emptied from one jar to another.”

Dregs are so repulsive.

And no one wants to be forced into shape-shifting change. So we pray, rebel, scout silver linings. We whine, rage, then pray some more.

Panicky at being out of control, we pursue compulsions. (Why yes, I did solve 31 jigsaw puzzles and 413 crosswords.)

Sometimes we make lists: Things I Can Still Do.

We binge. Then pay. Grieve. Pray harder.

And all the while, friends—like you!—keep showing up. You pray, send cards, emails, puzzles, and gifts. You prepare healing foods and assist with errands.

The goodness of God shown through loving, practical grace has kept me hopeful, tensile. Malleable.

Little by little, I’ve found peace in the awkward new shape of my days.

“Through love all pain will turn to medicine” (Rumi).

Friends, after five long months my new favorite word begins with the letter “R.” I am officially in Remission. End. Of. Siege. No more Abominable Abdominal C. diff!

Now begins the slow, stretching efforts of trial-and-error diet, to heal the interior damage.

Perhaps I need a third vase.

lauriekleinscribe logo

Have you been disrupted, too? Emptied from vessel to vessel?

I would love to pray for you.

 

You might also like Kissing — Actual, Metaphorical — Changes All

Thank you to Cris DiNoto for Railroad Crossing photo (on Unsplash)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Small Wonders Tagged With: C. diff, change, grace, love, medicine, remission, vessel to vessel June 10, 2019

Chosen Again, Moonshadow Day

by Laurie Klein 38 Chiming In

Moody skies. A cliff. An abandoned stroller . . .

chosen chariot awaiting

Who took the baby?

+++

May I tell you a story?

On August 21st the solar eclipse will, in some locations, turn day into darkness. I wish you could know what the day means for our family.

On this day a year ago, an unwanted child was born to a drug-addicted mother and unknown father.

The parents would not cradle or feed or rock their baby girl.

They’d never be the metaphorical sun and moon watching over her world.

The baby, traumatized by Lithium withdrawal, could not settle and would not eat.

Our daughter, Rachel, agreed to work with her in the Neonatal Care Unit.

Love ignited their first moments together.

Rachel took this baby . . . into her heart.

Irresistibly drawn, she and her husband would rescue her, raise her, and nurture little Kiki into wholeness.

chosen to be cherished

Perhaps Kiki sensed she’d been chosen, because she relaxed. She ate and slept. Her new responsiveness to love lit up the room.

Homecoming

Ongoing drug withdrawal consumed compassion, patience, and stamina.

Even tightly swaddled, sometimes Kiki could not bear to be touched, and I carried her around and around the house on a cushion. As with so many of our solutions, the pillow trick worked but wasn’t foolproof.

Weeks passed. Red-eyed and shaky with fatigue, Rachel and Damon agonized over her anguish. She shrieked and flailed.

“I’ve got you,” Damon would whisper, holding her close. “I’ve got you.”

Is this what it means to be chosen and cherished by God?

To be rescued, again and again—no matter what. To be made part of a family, given a new name.

Sometimes few words are needed. Touch is all.

Kiki’s suffering raged on.

Will the clouds part?

People who follow total eclipses wonder: Is our equipment good enough? Will the clouds part? We’ve come all this way . . . what if the wonder eludes us?

As caregivers, sometimes we miss glimmers of light when our loved one’s pain is vast and their progress, incremental.

We doubt our ability. God seems remote. Hidden.

Who will hold us and say, “I’ve got you.”?

We turn to “the man with starlight in his veins,” as writer Brian Doyle once called Jesus.

Then we offer ragged presence.

Chosen Again, Moonshadow Day

chosen one
“To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

Kiki is thriving.

On the solar eclipse we’ll celebrate her first birthday . . . at the courthouse. We’ll witness the finalization of her adoption. She’ll be formally chosen, again, and for always, in a court of law . . .

. . . with all manner of declarations and testimonies, photos and signatures.

Can you imagine the hugging? No words needed. Touch is all.

lauriekleinscribe logo

 

Did it take long to find me? I asked the faithful light.
Did it take long to find me? And are you gonna stay the night?

“Moonshadow,” by Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens)

More of Kiki’s story here

 

 

 

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: adoption, cherished, chosen, eclipse, love, moonshadow August 20, 2017

  • 1
  • 2
  • Next Page »
  • Email
  • Facebook
  • RSS

Subscribe

Please enter your email address below to receive emails from Laurie twice a month.

Your information is safe with me. I will never spam you. Read my privacy policy here.

Hi, I’m Laurie.

  • Scribe for wonder
  • Contemplative author/artist
  • Reader/performer/speaker
  • Imagination maven
  • Biblio*Diva
  • Expert on chocolate raisins
  • Click here to read more.

Where the Sky Opens, a Partial Cosmography

Where the Sky Opens, a Partial Cosmography
Buy This Book Online
Buy from Amazon
Where the Sky Opens, a Partial Cosmography
Buy now!

Recent Posts

  • A Respect for Emergence
  • Alteration
  • Grit, Stardust, Healing Rigor
  • My Christmas in Asia
  • Sustain

Categories

  • BiblioDiva
  • Immersions
  • Small Wonders
  • Soul Mimosas
  • Springboards
  • Wellsprings

Tags

adoption adventure attention Beauty breath change chosen Christmas contemplative cookies delight disappointment Gift Gifts grace gratefulness gratitude hope joy light longing love Magi moose music nest pain peace pearls pivot possibility prayer Risk senses shelf life soundings space star stories surrender transformation truth waiting wonder yes

Copyright © 2023 Laurie Klein, Scribe Laurie Klein, Scribe All Rights Reserved Laurie Klein, Scribe Privacy Policy