A whole conversation

A couple weeks ago, I went to the woods across the street and stood in the snow, listening. I told the woods that I loved them, and I rested in the peace that I feel among the trees.

My mind wandered, and I realized that for more than half of my adult life, I have been totally financially dependent on my husband. Although this seems like the best choice for our family, it weighs on me. I had been looking forward to developing our farm and bringing in some more money, but now it looks like that plan will be delayed for several years while I give most of my energy to mothering.

"You don't make money either," I told the trees offhandedly. Then something completely new happened. The trees answered me, quickly, in a way that I could understand.

"That's right," they said. "We don't make any money. But we make songs." I nodded. I hear the songs when I listen carefully. They vibrate up to the sky like chords played on an enormous guitar. "You make songs too," they said.

"We make light," they continued. I nodded again, because I have seen in this light as well. "You make light, too," they told me. "And that is enough. It is more than enough."

If this had happened several years ago, I might've been terrified, but I wasn't. If the trees were giving sage advice, I wanted to make the most of it, so I asked a question that has been weighing on us for a few years.

"What do you think we should do with our farm? What should we grow?" I asked. I waited, but if they had any advice, I could not understand it. I was starting to feel kind of excited.

"You're getting a little riled up here," the trees said. "You can be more like us. Stand tall and let the peace flow through you." I did my best, and again I felt the peace of the trees soothing and strengthening me. I decided it was probably time to go home and took a few steps in that direction, but then another thought occurred to me.

"Was it wrong to ask you the question about the farm?" I asked. "When should I be talking to you, and when should I be praying to God?"

"It is very important to praise God," the trees said. "Feel the ground and how solid it is. God is like that. Praise God as you touch the ground. Now look up at the sky and feel the power and joy that trembles there. Praise God like that. Now go home."

I thanked them, went home, and have not gone back there since that day. I will though. I'll go back.

Richly blessed

A couple months ago, I was marveling at how big my daughter has grown and how much we share in common. Because she's here, I often have a perceptive, artistic little lady in the house as a companion, and I am so grateful for that. I was remembering the day I found out I was pregnant with her and thinking that I had no idea what a gift I was being given. I decided that if I ever were pregnant again, I would at least have a clue that I was richly blessed.

Except right after that, I found out that I actually was pregnant, and I am not feeling richly blessed. Intellectually, I'd agree that I am, but emotionally, I'm not there yet. Mostly, I just feel exhausted.

Maybe this is part of being human. We often can't keep up with our blessings.