Come walk with me in the peak Autumn beauty of the Northwoods. To say that I love this time of year is an understatement. Most everyone can appreciate the colorful falling leaves---it reveals the 'true self' of a tree when its leaves are no longer producing chlorophyll. Their true colors are revealed, and there is something simple … [Read More...]
The Girl, the Wreck, and the Reckoning
There was this girl. I can say we were both girls with our youthful faces and my unblemished naivete, even though we had just slipped into chronological adulthood. She was the cutest, sweetest, doll-like person I had ever met—she had dark curls, porcelain skin, and a child-like sing-song laugh. And she lied. It didn’t take long before I realized how much she lied. There is nothing wrong with eschewing a non-virtuous trait like lying. At the time, I could not reckon with the dichotomy of outward appearance and altruistic behaviors and the manipulative, self-serving, incessant lying. So I hated her. I discounted her. I didn’t want to be around her even as she pulled us all in, and we revolved around her world. My gut reaction had lots to do with me, but at the same time, there was something that wasn’t right with how she interacted with the people around her. Leap ahead a decade and a half when I was knee-deep into parenthood and a plethora of self-help books. I came across the concept of what we hate/envy/dislike in another person is what we disown/hide/reject in ourselves. So I looked in the mirror and tried it on. ‘I am a liar.’ I couldn’t get it to fit—at all.
The St. Croix River at William O’Brien State Park was like a mirror—except where there was ice. Reflections of the trees and sky were obscured wherever the ice formed or floated.
The cloudy sky reflected steel gray on the River mirror. The dark-trunked trees and the gray bluffs could be seen in their twin forms on the water.
What we see in our reflections and in life depends on how we frame them. Do we look through a narrow lens that blocks out parts we don’t want to see and call it good?
The ice on the River became the focal point even though it clung to the shore and was a small part of the large whole of the River water. It was a distraction really.
It was captivating really.
It was interesting really.
It was intriguing really.
It distracted me from the calm, quietness of the River mirror and its reflections.
There is destruction with ice and distractions.
It immobilizes the old, spent parts of ourselves.
It mesmerizes us with confusion. How could we possibly see clearly through a maze of such entanglements?
It piles up, digs in, and creates a false narrative to the big-picture reality.
The ice-distractions even get reflected in the calm waters, entwining their way into real life, obfuscating our true north.
It takes will and determination to look away from the train wreck, to center ourselves in calm and peace, and to reflect on ourselves and our values.
But we really need it all. We need to be able to see the past, the roots of our being, the things that worked and the things that hurt. We need to be able to identify the captivating, mesmerizing distractions that pull us away from the reality of who we really are and what we need to learn. And we need to embrace the mystery of the mirror, of the reflections we see and those we discover in our hearts.
And then we walk on. Our path, our journey is only partially revealed to us at any given time.
We gaze up-river, from whence we came, notice the distractions and the reflections, all the while heading in a new direction, to an uncharted new world.
Life is a hazy, lovely mystery that catches us off guard, pulls us in, invites us to reflect, compels us to change, and blesses us with the whole process all over again.
For years after trying on and rejecting the term ‘liar,’ I pondered the concept of disowning what I disliked in others, and I wondered why I had hated her for lying. It took maybe another decade of trying to please people, being nice, avoiding conflict, following the rules, and feeling beat up before my reflection revealed that I really was a liar. I was saying I was fine when I wasn’t. I was saying I didn’t need help when I did. I was saying yes when I wanted to say no. I was a self-inflicting liar. I was hurting myself in order to make others feel comfortable. I had to reckon with my own dichotomy, my own hurts and disappointments, my own distractions and stories that were woven together into the cloak of my being. The heat of my hurt and humble embarrassment melted the obfuscating ice, and the calm water revealed my flawed, striving, righteous self. So I walked on in reckoning, recalibration, and forgiveness to the next lovely mystery of a train wreck that caught me off guard. Dear God, help me walk on.
Know from whence you came. If you know whence you came, there are absolutely no limitations to where you can go. –James Baldwin
The Face of the Water
The face of the water, in time, became a wonderful book… and it was not a book to be read once and thrown aside, for it had a new story to tell every day. –Mark Twain
My face no longer has the roundness and smooth silkiness of youth. Gone is the brightness of eye and cheek that glowed in young adulthood. The perpetual optimism of my smiling lips has waned a bit, and my braces-straightened teeth have slipped back to some crookedness. The smile lines are etched into my skin, no longer disappearing with my smile, as are the worry lines between my brows. My face reveals the story of my life, unabashed by the sorrows and joys that have ravaged and lit up the cells of my countenance.
We went to Mark Twain’s river, though much farther north of his Hannibal, Missouri home, farther north than our home close to the same river, up to Crow Wing State Park. The last time we were there was mid-March, when Covid was beginning to shut things down, when snow was still piled around the picnic tables, and ice still covered the Mississippi. Now, the tannin-rich water reflected the blue of a clear summer sky, and lazy ripples formed the features of its face.
Speckled leaf-shadows lead to a rock in the River. It was just big enough to catch the river and add lines to the shore-bound water, reflecting agate-like on the face of the rock.
Wild Turkey tracks were dug into the wet sand alongside the human kind. What story do they tell?
Prairie grasses and wildflowers grew tall between the trail and the River, obscuring a good look at the Mississippi. We knew it was there. Glimpses of blue came through in the background. But the Indian Grass and purple Asters grabbed our attention.
We followed the Red River Oxcart Trail along the point of land the River curved around to Chippewa Lookout. Tall Pines framed the view of the Great River—until it disappeared around the bend. What lies beyond our sight? What does the next page tell us?
The water shows us a reflection of the grasses, the trees, and the sky; though it gives us a view of the environment, it is not ‘true’ to form. Wind and rain can distort the reflections—a re-telling of the story of the surrounding flora and firmament.
The face of the water is background to a wide array of characters, like Sneezeweed, Red Pines, Birch trees, and Ash. The characters grow and change and have stories of their own. Sneezeweed (Helenium autumnale) is an aster, a late summer- and fall-blooming plant who likes to grow in sunny swamps and beside water. The story of its common name? Its dried leaves were once used as ‘snuff’ and induced sneezing.
I never tire of the River—or the woods—or the prairie. Like Mark Twain said, it is not a book to be read once and tossed aside. It has a new story to tell every day, every hour even. We are the main character in our own stories. Many things distort or cover up the true chronicle of our lives; it’s hard to shake out the plot—the burdensome details and less relevant characters get in our way. Our reflections often do not show our true selves. In other words, our stories are messy. They obfuscate our purpose. And yet, isn’t that what a good book does? What if the writing, the reading, the living of the book of our lives is exactly the right thing, messes and all? What if our reflections are actually more beautiful than what we see? My face, with time, has many stories, many chapters. With time, I have accepted the lines, the less-than-perfectly-straight teeth, the worn look of my eyes. In fact, I love it now. I look at my face and appreciate the sorrows and joys that have left their marks, underlining and highlighting those impactful moments. With time, my face has become a wonderful book. I wonder what new story is on the next page?
Gleanings from October—A Reflection
There have been days in my life when a glorious mixture of Light and Love from a combination of earthly wonder and heavenly grace has shone upon me. The brightest of them all were the days in which I married my partner for life and I bore our three children. Each of those days is etched in my body, mind, and soul as a reflection of everything that is good and holy. Each of those days included mundane tasks, messy happenings, and marvelous emotions.
October is a reflection of those kinds of days—bright and beautiful, colorful and chaotic, yet peaceful and priceless! It seems like October days pass by too quickly, as the vibrant-colored leaves fall and dry to brown, and the warm days fade to cool nights. Maples of all species are the shining stars of autumn color in our yard…
and in the woods at St. John’s Arboretum, where a Sunday hike on the trail is like walking through a grand, gilded cathedral.
The stillness of the beautiful Lake Sagatagan reflected the autumn colors and housed a community of lily pads with only the stems remaining of their exquisite flowers.
The reflection in a pond along the trail seemed sharper and more realistic than the actual trees in the woods…
until the focus changed to the individual leaves floating on the stained glass water.
Our destination for our Sunday hike at Saint John’s was Stella Maris chapel which sits on an island-like peninsula across Lake ‘Sag’ from the campus. Stella Maris is Latin for ‘Star of the Sea’ and ‘Our Lady Star of the Sea’ is an ancient title for the Blessed Virgin Mary. The original chapel was built in 1872 but was struck by lightning and burnt down in 1903. It was rebuilt in 1915 and has had three renovations since that time.
The beautiful stained-glass star window and pregnant Mary statue simply adorn the inside of the chapel.
Moving on through October, another celestial body displayed its beauty—the full moon.
A hazy reflection of the Sun’s light illuminates the darkness.
And then a foggy morning diminished visibility and gave the changing leaves a muted glow. Such a changeable month this October!
A clear, crisp night frosted the blades of grass and tipped the outlines of fallen leaves with white.
The bright sunlight soon melted away the frost and shone on these robins who grabbed a bite of crabapples.
By the end of the month, the gloriously colored leaves are gone, and the silhouettes of the trees are lined against gray skies. We move into our late fall landscape.
October reflections of light, color, and brilliance are gone before we are ready for them to leave. Once again we are reminded that Nature’s time schedule doesn’t bend to our wishes and wants. But those days of illumination stay with us and quietly and stealthily renovate our hearts. We build our lives with the stones we have available to us, and sometimes the fires of life tear down those walls in order for us to rebuild something new and better, all while retaining what is good and holy. At any given moment, we believe we see the reflections of our lives clearly—but what happens when we change the focus? Hindsight has a way of honing in on what matters most and of illuminating the flaws of our thoughts and actions. And the best thing we can forgivingly say to ourselves is ‘Live and Learn.’ We move into a new landscape of life, our eyes see differently, and we receive new wonders from our earth and new graces from the heavens.