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Darkness Brings Promise

May 2, 2021 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Spring sunsets look like promise to me, which seems backward—one would think sunrises bring promise with the beginning of a new day. So I’m not sure what it is exactly that makes me think that, but I do know promise arises from some very dark situations.

Fire-scorched earth greeted a friend and I when we arrived for a morning walk at St. John’s Arboretum. It’s rather shocking to see acres and acres of blackened prairie and wetland. There were no more smoldering embers, but the acrid smell of smoke and ash swirled into the air and into our nostrils with the stiff breeze. The trail was the line of demarcation as we walked—on one side was the black earth, on the other side the brown and greening prairie.

Among the old, brown grass and new, green shoots, we found a clump of Pasque flowers—early bloomers of the prairie. The pale purple flowers were closed; the long, silky white hairs that covered the whole plant shone in the sunlight. The state flower of South Dakota, Pasque flowers are dear to my heart. They are known by some as May Day Flower.

Prescribed or controlled burns of prairies are a common tool to manage the land. Fire destroys invasive and woody plants, thus improving the native plant community. It quickly returns nutrients to the soil by way of the ash as opposed to years of decomposition of accumulated dried grasses.

A yellow-stemmed willow, a woody plant, is out of place on the prairie. While the matted, dried grasses provide protection for perennials over the cold Winter, it takes much more time for the prairie to ‘turn green.’ The black, burned side soaks up the sunlight, which warms the earth, the root systems, and the growth crowns of the grasses and wildflowers that remain. As stark as the burned side looks now, it will be lush and green before the other side. There is promise in fire.

So although it doesn’t look like it, much remains after the fast-burning prairie fire.

Since it was a relatively dry Winter without much snow, and early Spring was also fairly dry, the ‘wetland’ of cattails and rushes could also be burned this year.

But on the other side, the old, brown stalks of cattails and rushes gave cover to the nesting waterfowl. This young-looking Canadian Goose was frozen in her long-necked posture when we walked by on the boardwalk. At first I wondered if she was injured, but later I realized that she was probably just alarmed for her nest of eggs.

Her mate flew in as we walked on, so we backtracked to see that the female was in the cattails, probably at her nest. A nest full of potential.

As we left the prairie and wetlands, we entered the forest and saw what I was hoping to see—blooming Leatherwoods! The tubular yellow flowers hung from the tough, flexible branches of the understory shrubs.

This little Leatherwood tree looked like a child to me—fresh and bright, strong and pliable beside the tall, mature forest trees. The embodiment of prospects and hopes.

A fallen tree had scattered across the trail. It was unusual in that it had been so far-decayed while standing. Usually a dead tree falls and most of the decay process happens on the ground. The light amber wood of this tree was dry and crumbly, like a Jenga tower tumbling to the ground.

Bright, vibrant Fan Clubmoss and Shining Clubmoss grew from the old leaf litter, like miniature Cedars and Pines. Evergreens keep hope alive even through the longest Winters.

A small hanging nest, last year’s nest, was visible on the bare, budded branches. There will be new nest building and some re-use of old as the Spring promise of new eggs and new baby birds unfolds.

Nature embraces and expresses duality in most every aspect—the dark of night and the light of day, fire and ash and new, green growth, exposure and protection, decay and flexible growth. Should we think our lives would be any different? We are a part of Nature, her sons and daughters who start from eggs and grow and develop with protection and vulnerability. No matter what scorches us, our roots remain, and we can rise like the Phoenix from the ashes. That’s how sunsets show us promise, how first flowers display hardiness, how the young goose reveals potential, how Leatherwood demonstrates flexibility, and how the Jenga tree explains the cycle of Life.

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Filed Under: Spring Tagged With: Canadian geese, darkness, Leatherwood, pasque flower, prescribed burn, promise, Saint John's Arboretum

The Light in the World

July 15, 2018 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

“Where there is darkness, light…”   –from the Prayer of Saint Francis

There were two times in my life when I was in profound darkness.  The first time was when I was very young—before many memories were etched into my brain, and when my brain, in all its wisdom, sequestered that darkness into a walled-off place so I could continue to smile and run and explore and be a child.  The second time was forty-three years later when the walled-off place suddenly burst open, spewing all the feelings and emotions of that earlier time into my mind, my body, and my soul.  I could no longer smile, I could barely move, and my soul felt like it was dying.  There were other times in my life—between those two times—when I peered into the darkness of the abyss, when I stood precariously on the edge fearing any misstep that would plunge me into that place I did not want to go, could not yet go.  During the second darkness, there were a few amazing beams of light that guided me through—my therapist, my pastor and friend.  There was the warm, caring light of Chris who pulled double duty with the chores and work, even when it all felt confusing and overwhelming.  And there was the brilliant light of my children—one who was already gone to college, one who was on the cusp of leaving for school, and one who still needed my day-to-day presence.  

I am acutely aware of the toxic darkness that resides in our world—where children are intentionally separated from their parents, where violence permeates homes and lives, where people are going hungry and sleeping on the streets, where illnesses are unable to be treated, and a list too long goes on.  But I am also joyously connected to the light in our world—the life-giving sunshine in our daily lives, the hope and comfort of spiritual belief and practice, and the day-to-day words and actions of good and kind people.  The early morning and evening sunshine has been lighting up the landscape around our place, noticeable as we sit on the porch or walk through the yard.  The coming or going of darkness is emblazoned by sunlight as it reaches from the horizon through trees and leaves.

It illuminates the seedheads of grass, transforming the natural color to pure white light.

Ninebark shrubs flower and fruit in little clusters that often get lost among the leaves.  The sunlight reveals some hidden fruits.

Wispy needles of a Larch tree dance green and white in the light, casting narrow shadows on themselves.  We are all a combination of light and shadow.

Life-giving food made from life-giving sunlight and soil is part of the process of transformation for a caterpillar eating Milkweed and becoming a Monarch butterfly.

How does sunlight impact a rock?  It beams light energy into the hard, seemingly impervious surface—some gets reflected, making the rock look brighter, while other gets absorbed and transformed into heat.

When a place looks dark, light can shine on unexpected places making the whole picture look different.  Often our help, our light, comes from people and places we never expected.

A constant source of pleasure for me is the ever-changing way the evening sunlight radiates through the leaves of a Banana tree on our patio.  The red edges turn to fire, the veins are unveiled, shadows deepen the green color in areas, and drops of pure white light drip from and through this living, breathing organism.

Sometimes the sun doesn’t shine on our face, but enlightens and enlivens our heart where we need it most, so that later our true beauty will be revealed for all the world to see.

Light also exposes dangerous, harmful, or annoying things that go unseen in the shadows and darkness.  Red aphids on a sunflower stem glowed in the sunlight, and vines and webs were clearly seen in the light of the sun and the lens of the camera.  Sometimes one has to look closely with unflinching courage in order to eradicate the harmful things.

The result of being aware of the light and the darkness, of looking honestly and closely at our own heart and soul, of asking or allowing or finding the help we need, is the revelation of an inner and outer beauty that displays our true essence.

 

Our brains are amazing structures that protect us during overwhelming events by sequestering sensations and emotions to a walled-off place so we can continue to function at some level.  But they never disappear, and time does not abate the intensity of our feelings.  Sometimes the walled-off place is touched or triggered by a sensation or situation, and we react instantly, unconsciously, and we or someone around us wonder where those words or actions came from.  That’s why the second darkness is so important—to slowly know and release the sensations and feelings that have been clouding our life, so we are no longer afraid of the dark abyss, because it is gone.  We all need help at times with our shadows and darkness, and we are all called to be sowers of light.  A Minnesota author Kent Nerburn wrote a book Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace—Living in the Spirit of the Prayer of Saint Francis.  He wrote how Saint Francis went forth in the world to give his light to others, how at times it was an act of pure will, and how fervently he believed that every small gesture of light was needed.  Nerburn wrote, “We must remind ourselves that, though our lives are small and our acts seem insignificant, we are generative elements of this universe, and we create meaning with each act that we perform or fail to perform.”  He continues this compelling call to action with “All our actions on this earth have eternal life.  It is up to us to determine whether our actions have a life that increases the light in the world or adds to the darkness.”  May we know our shadows, may we light up the landscape of our world, and may we let the luminescence of our true essence shine on. 

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Filed Under: Summer Tagged With: darkness, darkness and light, flowers, Saint Francis of Assisi, sunlight

Santa Lucia–The Lightbringer

December 21, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

We arrived at Salem Lutheran Church before 7:00 am and took our seats in the candlelit sanctuary.  The pews were filled with smiling parishioners, many of whom wore colorful Nordic print sweaters to chase away the extreme cold and to proclaim their Scandinavian pride.  My 100% Scandinavian genes were feeling a little envious.  After the handbell prelude, we listened while the first verse of the processional song ‘Sankta Lucia’ was sung in Swedish, then joined in for the English version: Night’s heavy footprints lie / ‘Round farm and toil / Spirits shall haunt the world / Shadows on soil / In our dark house at night / Rising with candles bright / Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia // Night’s full of black and gloom / Now hear her swing / Through all our darkened rooms / On her sweet wings / At our door clad in white / Wearing a crown of light / Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia

Santa Lucia (Saint Lucy) was a young Christian from Syracuse, Sicily who refused to marry her pagan husband and was martyred in 304 A.D.  Many legends surround Santa Lucia—that she carried baskets of food to persecuted Christians in the catacombs with a wreath of candles on her head to light the way, and that she appeared after her death at the bow of a ship carrying food to the starving people of Varmland, Sweden.  She was clothed in white with a crown of light circling her head.  Her feast day is December 13th which coincided with the Winter Solstice during the Julian calendar.  Santa Lucia’s Day, the 13th, marks the beginning of the Christmas season in Sweden.

Sweden and at least parts of Finland, Norway, and Denmark celebrate Lucia as the symbol of light and hope during the darkest time of the year.  In villages and households, a chosen Santa Lucia carries coffee and pastries—often lussekatter, sweet saffron buns—to villagers and family members.  Denmark’s first Lucia procession was held during Nazi occupation of the mid-1940’s to show peaceful resistance and offer a reminder of hope.   **

At Salem Lutheran Church, Tomtars and Star Boys, Saint Knut, and Lucia with her Tarnors or handmaidens processed down the aisle with candles and bells and sat at the front of the church during the service.  As we sang and prayed, daylight gradually revealed the amazing stained glass window above the alter.  After the service, all were invited to the Great Hall for Scandinavian pastries, coffee, and lingonberry glogg!

 

Today, on this 21st day of December, we celebrate the Winter Solstice, the first Day of Winter.  We have reached the shortest day of the year, the longest night.  Santa Lucia is celebrated in Sweden and other northern countries as the Lightbringer of faith, hope, and good things to come.  Her light shines through the darkness as she brings food for the hungry and needy.  She heralds in the Christmas season.  On this longest night, I wish for all of us the Light of generosity and compassion, the Light of warm housing and abundant food, the Light of forgiveness and peace, and most of all the Light of Love.  May we all be bearers of Light.  God Jul!*

 

*Happy/Merry Christmas in Swedish

**Santa Lucia image from Google images

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Filed Under: Winter Tagged With: darkness, light, Santa Lucia Day, Winter Solstice

Light of the Morning Sun

September 11, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

The sun is rising farther north in the morning sky and later in the hours of our clock-run days.  When I raised the shade of our bedroom window, I saw the morning sun hitting the trunk of an old oak tree in the woods.  Usually cloaked in shade and blended in with the other trees, its presence was illuminated for a few minutes by the rising sun.  The sun had to peek over the quarry shed, sneak through the spruce trees, and find the opening between the large lilac bushes in order to shine on the rough trunk of the oak.

Morning sun on old oak

The low morning sun lit up the grass and goldenrod and produced long shadows of tree trunks.

Morning sun on grass

Goldenrod

A busy squirrel carried a huge Buckeye seed in his mouth that he had gathered from the yard down the road from us.

Squirrel with a buckeye

The feathery branches of a young White Pine shimmered in a sea of golden grass.

White Pine in the morning sun

Saint Francis, who stands among the ferns in the shade garden, was also illuminated by the morning sun.

Saint Francis in the morning sun

 

The morning sun, with its warmth and light, has been a welcome sight these past days.  The last two weeks have been kind of tough around here.  A friend of mine died suddenly, and as I mourned the loss of such a kind, gentle woman, I was also filled with regrets.  We had planned to ride bikes together, and I never made it happen.  I was so caught up in my own life that I didn’t go see her or send her a card when she broke her leg recently.  We live our lives thinking the people we care about will always be around.

The overwhelming darkness of this past week has been the tearing open of an old wound in our community.  The body of a young boy who had been kidnapped twenty-seven years ago was found after a confession from his killer.  The details are chilling and horrendous.  Our hearts ache for the family that has held his memory and the hope of his return like a bright beacon for all of us.  Our tears flowed as the news recounted the facts of the case.  And parents held their children more tightly as we watched Jacob’s mother face the unacceptable.  Patty Wetterling’s words:

Everyone wants to know what they can do to help us.

Say a prayer.

Light a candle.

Be with friends.

Play with your children.

Giggle.

Hold hands.

Eat ice cream.

Create joy.

Help your neighbor.

That is what will bring me comfort today. 

The light of morning.  The Light of mourning.  Death, despair, hatred, destruction, and every kind of darkness doesn’t stand a chance when the collective rays of light and love are gathered in God’s name.  We need to lift up the lives of those who bring goodness and mercy to all those around them, like my friend Joan did.  We need to bear the agony of innocent lives lost at the hand of evil and stand with an eternal flame in defiance of the darkness.  We need to do whatever it takes to illuminate any darkness within ourselves in order to be a light to others.  There is so much we can do to help, as Patty Wetterling suggested and as Saint Francis wrote in his prayer:

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace….

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

Love and Light to you all.

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Filed Under: Summer Tagged With: darkness, light, morning sun

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A Little About Me

I love Nature! I love its beauty, its constancy, its adaptiveness, its intricacies, and its surprises. I think Nature can teach us about ourselves and make us better people. Read More…

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