It’s early on a beautiful summer morning. Just as I’ve finished doing all these little things— like waking
up, praying, making the bed, drinking water, taking Fannie around the block, drinking water, doing 22
minutes of classical stretch with Miranda Esmonde-White on PBS, drinking water, making a pour-over,
dusting the coffee table, petting the cat, reheating the mug of coffee, gathering up what I need (two pens
in case one runs out and two pairs of glasses in case the clouds come)—to take a seat on the porch swing on our
front porch, and open my big Book with the broken binding, it’s right then, the power mower revs up.
Looking across the street, I notice it’s big enough to mow two dozen acres, but back and forth it goes, up and down the little stretch of median, drowning out the sweet chirps of the birds I had the joy of hearing for less than two seconds. Do birds get irritated?
And just as I finish scribbling down the run-on sentence and little paragraph above in an attempt to go Zen and stay seated to finish my Devotions then get some writing done—the mower stops. Ahh…
But so have my thoughts. This is probably a good thing.
Patience is the hardest of virtues. Don’t you think? In the moment of silence that follows, I’m convinced.
But never mind that, a different mower has now started up. This time it’s a push mower, not as loud as the rider because I can still hear the bird songs. Had they stopped?
There is a “little way”* through these small days of mine, as St. Therese of Lisieux calls it, and there is no other way for me than a “childlike” surrender to God’s Way. And to more patience. Whether I lie down or wake up at 3:00 AM, or sit here on the porch swing, I will lay down my life and try not to second guess God.
From behind our house, loud grinding starts up from the workers who are expanding the neighbor’s coach house. I try to let go and ignore the noise as I see the clouds of debris rising from across the street and a fog of cement particles blowing down our driveway toward the street.
Todd comes to the door, giving a report on all this, as if I may have gone deaf and blind? just as a riding mower begins a duet with the push mower.
I can taste dust…I sneeze. He closes the door, but I remain seated on this fine summer morning in July, a most beautiful month in Milwaukee. I am determined. To sit here. On our front porch to read and write as the sun is shining and the birds are singing somewhere, and my eye is twitching.
I sneeze again. And I think it’s no wonder the coffee table needed dusting.
I don’t remember ever noticing all this summertime racket as a child. When did I become so conscious of leaf blowers and lawn mowers and machines that grind through cement? When did that happen?
Fannie stirs from behind the swing. I had forgotten she was there. Why is it that birds and children and dogs seem practically oblivious to all these little obstacles?
Yesterday, on a phone call with a friend who’s going through a tough time, we ended our conversation praying for just that. Patience. She had sighed and said, “I need more patience.”
“Me too,” I said. Then we prayed. For more patience. I knew it was a dangerous prayer at the time and said as much. It’s like praying for more love. How can God answer those prayers without bringing along ornery people and lawnmowers?
But these are the prayers of greater faith. They are necessary.
Todd opens the door again and laughs at all the ruckus. “Pancakes?” he asks. Fannie responds, rising just as a biker rides past bringing the sound of a child’s laughter from his bucket seat. Such a sweet little sound.
I listen to it echo in my ears then wait, exhaling in the silence just in time for the high powered leaf blower to start up. And I have remained here long enough to hear this outdoor summer symphony come to an end.
As the quiet descends, the birdsongs have never sounded sweeter. When someone’s car alarm goes off I have to laugh. Do you think God plays little pranks sometimes like my dad used to, just to remind us to lighten up? To laugh more? And to assure us He sees us? Psalm 32 says in verse 8 that He will counsel us with His loving eye. And I’m reminded once again. It’s true. And you know what?
I think I have more patience!
*Story of a Soul, the Autobiography of St. Therese of Lisieux, third edition, 1996.
Oh how I relate to this days note. A fruit of the Spirit is patience but so is longsuffering. I believe the birds are still praising our creator despite the ruckus around us most days.
Yes, you are so right about that! Thanks so much for that reminder and for your visit Mrs. Hess!❤️
Beautiful thoughts, Deb! Blessings!
Aww thanks, Bruce. It’s always so good to hear from ypu!
So funny, Deb! I hear you. My interpretation in situations like you describe is that God wants to give me a lot of opportunities to practice. 🙂
Beautiful! Reflective, restorative. Xo, Deb! ❤️
❤️A beautiful musing/recap.
Exactly, Wynne! ❤️
Aww, thanks so much, Victoria❤️
Thank you❤️🌷❣️
My pleasure…reading anything you write prompts a wave of goodness. A sense of calm! 🥰
What a lovely thing to say! What’s that saying…? It takes one to know one? 😃❤️🥰
Aww. Maybe so…but the compliment is all yours, dear one. All yours. 🥰
I love the St. Therese of Lisieux quote about finding a the little way through these small days of mine. Frankly, too often I’m looking for the big boulevard passing through my most gigantic day ever. As a musical person with sensitive ears, who also loves to be outside, I can totally sympathize with your porch sitting experience. At my house, it’s the back porch where I love to sit, listening to classical music on my smart speaker. That is, until my neighbor across the alley starts blasting country music. At times like these I ask myself, what would William Faulkner do right now?
That’s such a great question! And btw, I’m a music person too and with you on the classical.❤️ Thanks for the great comment.
David, my comment was so whiney last night I had to return to revise it!😅
Waters of March – Antonio Carlos Jobim
https://youtu.be/6F1-sWdV1CI?si=kxUePI4mx4F9bLeb
I figured you were just being extremely honest, Deborah. No judgment, here. I get it!
I was…thanks. Then I heard about Kyiv😔
Yes. It was one of the worst Russian attacks since the start of the war. On a brighter note, my blogger friend Matt, from Jesusluvsall, ministers to a large group of Ukrainian refugees In Lincoln, Nebraska. Their church, New Breath, turns one year old in September. It’s truly a beauty from the ashes story.
Aww, David, thank you for sharing that. We need those stories. ❤️❤️❤️
Hello Deb! I have finally done what I promised and read your Sunday missive. Though not THE one, which I will startle you by getting to one day. // I loved the meditative nature of your words, which I read directly in the email with no pictures. It works beautifully as prose only, but when I clicked the Comment button it brought me here, to the photos. I was hoping you were sitting on the kind of porch in the kind of neighborhood I imagined, and indeed you were. // I’ve always liked St. Therese’s focus on the little things – I believe she is also called St. Therese of the Little Flower, a very lovely description. I have my own younger sister named Teresa, who I think is named for her. She is much on my mind these days, and we have become close these last few years, so the reference feels like a little blessing. // I love the thought that hoping for patience is a dangerous prayer — how will you show you have received it!
It is always a blessing when our senses are alive way beyond ourselves. I was on a still lake in the boat early morning with the loons cooing within casting distance. Miles away from people noises so didn’t need filters. Dozens of tiny ducklings had found each other-skittling the Lilly pad edges. Lost in being in the moment and time itself took a vacation. Sacred spots claimed by bullfrogs.
Gary, that’s a poem! A quite beautiful poem. ❤️
Julie! That Julie!!! How often I think of you! Thank you for reading and writing! Yes, “Little Flower”, you are correct…as she wrote in her memories, we can’t all be Roses and Lilies. Some of us are Violets and Daisies. And this has me paying more attention lately. Think of the lilac, one of my favorites, each little bud all in a group, a sweeter fragrance for being together…
It’s so wonderful to hear from you! Makes writing worth it! 🌷❤️
I didn’t know that’s where ‘Little Flower’ came from, but of course it came from somewhere. // Writing is so often ‘worth it’ in unexpected ways, isn’t it. // I’ll have to think about what kind of little flower I am now! ❤️🪷
Me too. (Did you notice how many times I edited that comment? 🤣) 🌻
So descriptive and worthy of meditation – thank you!
Love the note – good reminder.
Thank you, Barbara! ❤️
Thank you Alan. This means so much!