Love Letters From God... From April-into-May's Moon

Blessed New Moon!

I was going to skip posting this moon, but then i found myself writing, really missing this moon-thly reflection...

This moon has brought the bridge of spring into summer. The Marian focus of May Day (see a very common French May Shrine above, they really do May Day right), the purifying focus of Beltaine (same day, but the way its celebrated in ancient Celtic traditions). Kind of the two sides of "in like a lion out like a lamb" in feeling there. And with that two-side-ness, well there is also something a bit unstable this time of year, movable, like the weather itself now can be---and so its all flux-y this time of year both in a disorienting way and a helpful way too.

On my end, i found the I've been kind of depressed and slow, kind of unfocused, this moon-th. The whole water fiasco (tank etc needs replacing, no running water, headship issues up around it too, see here and here and here) may be part of it. The summer heat ,especially when i have to close the windows due to noise and fumes (far too often), may be part of it. My partner being out of state working, another part. Knowing i really need to move again at some point now that i know what summers are like here etc, another part. This part sounds like a long litany of complaints and i am sorry for it. I've just had a hard time getting enthused about much, or focusing much, this past moon. I seem to have fallen behind on almost everything.

This last moon has still held real treasures though. May day was this moon, i always love that day. Reflected on a line of "squirrel co-in-see-dances" then, and it turned out to mean something looking back now. The squirrrel stuff (see here, at the end) was all relational stuff i kept seeing in my path from them...mating, grooming. And that's been a big part of this moon...

Because all through this moon, its been an embracing of a lifelong call to abbey-ness, to a peaceful and private life. I have longed for that so much, since i was a little girl. And suddenly it became very concrete and calling this moon when a blog friend encouraged sharing a memory i had of a little chapel in the moonlight (see here). Remebering that brought SO much up, and things shifted in its wake, including the blog. It kind of turned into a little virtual "abbey" of sorts, matching the abbey-ness i'm trying to open to in the rest of my life.

Abbey-ness. Peace. During this moon i kept feeling (and still do) something slowly growing and shifting here. I keep feeling that peace is not about seperation so much as it is about harmony. I know for some this is obvious but for me, especially as a deep introvert, its rather a wake up call. That peace is not about seclusion as much as its about a lack of conflict and chaos. And a knowing you are safe and respected and cared for, that there is harmony in your life and in your relationships. Harmony respects the boundaries you naturally have. This is far different than seclusion, it is what some have called "sharing solitude"--being with others but still being able to be centered (a challenge for an introvert---so when it happens it is deeply precious). THAT, not seclusion necessarily, is peace, is harmony. This harmony theme came up in a dream this moon as well, an inner spring dream, see here.

Remembering dreams again has also been a HUGE gift i am grateful for this moon. Kind of ironic with my feeling so lifeless and scattered lately, but my dreamlife has deepened. Though maybe its not so ironic. Things have been slowing down in general lately, even in blogging. Actually, thats changed quite a bit looking back. The flood of comment interaction has stopped (leading to both sadness and relief) by setting up a separate mailbox instead. And also the complusion to write in itself has slowed way down lately.

A theme running through the moon has also been water. Knowing the abbey-ness i seek is definitely not about the dryness and aestetism of desert spirituality, but rather is oceanic. Then there have been the physical issues with water, leading to me having to carry water in. Though physically difficult, there is something primal about it, its like going to the well. And water, always precious, is becoming even more so. Water is becoming more..personal. And with the inner spring dream, though it was speaking of a seasonal sort of spring (though on an inner level), i keep seeing a water spring whenever i hear the word spring. Makes me remember i actually have a native american ancestor whose name meant bubbling spring, or something similar.

These reflections are kind of scattered and floaty i know. But so has the moon been too. Maybe there is a gift hidden in scatterings and floatyness though, and i think there is...

From the US, Me of Those Northern Skies also shares her reflections this moon-th, thoughtfuly exploring "same but different"-ness. (Looks like she intuitively feels the "two-side-ness" of this time of year too!) From her post:

When we had C, we chose not to know her gender before birth. My MIL was adamant that we have a boy even though we both wanted only girls. Because my MIL was so insistent, I mentally prepared myself for a boy. I cried when I held my little girl. I am not an even crier. I didn't cry at my wedding or on my honeymoon or...

When we had K, we chose to discover her gender. There were several reasons for the decision but I will say this for those who wonder. It is fun to do it both ways. Both ways create a sense of expectation. I cried when I found out she was a girl. I had once again mentally prepared myself for a boy and for the same reasons.

While I was pregnant with K, I couldn't imagine her in anyway but just like C. She very quickly disabused us of that idea. Where C was fussy and hated to nurse. K was a champion nurser and much more laid back unless her limits were stretched. Interestingly, while in most ways (keeping in mind that K is still very much in the terrible two/three stage) C is still more uptight and K is still more laid back.

However, it is easier to get C to change her mind than it is to get K to change her mind. Not that change is easy for either of them. ;)

C was never a particularly cuddly baby although she did liked to be held all the time. Was it a function of being a first-born with novice parents or a function of who she is? I would say a bit of both. Even now, C likes to have you near her so that she can keep a running commentary pouring into your ears.

K was much easier to put down and seemed to enjoy having her own space and yet she is the physically affectionate child. Sometimes I beat myself over the head with the fact that it is my fault that C isn't physically attune to affection. I was depressed a great deal during her first year and so I often think maybe I distanced her.

I was put on anti-depressants before K was born and I was much more affectionate with her. But maybe that is simply hindsighting as Madeliene L'Engle would put it.

K is much more phsyical in her approach to life - much more physically gifted than C.

C is a global learner, K seems to be much, much more analytical.

I could go on and on about both their physical and emotional differences. But I won't bore you. However, I will say this.

They love each other passionately. The first person they want to see in the morning is their sister. And they stick up for each other and comfort each other against their 'unfair' parents. And because they love each other passionately. They fight passionately and sometimes dislike the other passionately. But it is the love that always wins out.

The fact that they are different is a never-ending source of delight and amazement to me. It is a journey of discovery both for them and for me.

And I will say this I am very, very glad God made them different. Sometimes I wish they were the same, it would be nice to be able to use the same methods on both. Easier for a slow-learner like me to apply what I learned from C to K. But most the time, I am just plain glad. Having two of me running around wouldn't be any fun. It is much more fun to have a foil for our personalities.

As different as they may be, they both own my heart.

(And best of all is her heart in hand pictures there, see here...)

Also from the US, Melissa of Tea with Milk takes a very honest look at how the stresses of life can lead us to leave our love letters from God unopened. From her all too relatable post:

"...as another month passes, I’m afraid I’ve been almost too busy in my head to see God’s blessings. This isn’t anything new, but it frustrates me when activity clouds my perceptions of the Lord working in my life. This could be my regular monthly posting—God’s Love Letters that don’t get opened, I’m afraid.

But I’m not going to take on a whine. He’s there whether I’m paying attention or not. And I’m thinking this past month has been one of me being tested a bit further. Being let go to stretch and grow. Not always comfortable, but necessary so as to be usable. Not that I’m keen on being usable, you know. I’d rather be safe than tweaked sometimes. To stay in my zone, not coloring outside the box.

My children are the ones who are challenging me now. They’re not into any trouble, but just living their lives. When they work, I have to trust them to the Lord’s care and that’s been hard for me. When your little ones are under your roof all day, it’s easier to feel content. But when they dash off across town in their own car, and work late, you have to gather up some courage and let them go. And I’m ashamed to say that even writing that brings tears to my eyes since I try to stuff down how hard that is for me.

A month of growth. Pruning and needing lots of watering. Prayer is the water, and I need to drink in more.(That is such a strong image...prayer is the water...)

And from British Columbia, Krina shares a very moving tribute to both motherhood and sewing, more intertwined than many might think : ) From her sweet post:

I remember my first foray into the world of making – I was probably about 9 or 10 years old and I sat outside under some kind of makeshift gazebo-esque lean-to befitting the old growth forest atmosphere where my mother and step-father lived far far away from the world in their tiny cabin. I held lightly to the handle of the machine, letting my hand rise and fall with the smooth, slow, rhythm of the hand-crank. Each fall heavy and purposeful, elegant and glorious as I watched the needle push and pull thread through the purple gauzy fabric. Straight lines, straight long stitches steady as train tracks – shugga, shugga, pause, shugga shugga pause, shugga shugga .... reaching the end, reaching back to lift the foot up off the fabric, metal clinking goodness, I twisted the fabric back toward me, the foot falls again loud and sure and I backtrack, once, twice, three times and then finally I pull the fabric away – cutting it away from the thread. In my hand, I hold the teeny sleeve, the ruler wide strip of cloth and gleefully turn it outside right and behold the perfect little party dress – her first handmade slip of a dress, my Barbie, my doll, my outlet would be the belle of the ball.

My hand sat upon that crank many times, through Barbie clothes making, jean altering efforts to fit-in, through giggle fits and tears. I began making things first because she encouraged me to, my mom finding things for me to do during those visits in the woods, then I made things because there was little else, and gradually I learned new things, I followed patterns, I made patterns (rudimentary basic crudely based on what I saw patterns), and it was all just something I did.

But then it stopped. I stopped. I got to a time and place when I didn’t want to do it anymore. I was young and foolish and young, I wanted, I coveted what I saw around me and nothing I cranked out “compared” to what I saw and so I stopped. As I got a little older and became a mom, I tried time and again and I made things periodically, and I enjoyed it, but it was a rare occurrence and often motivated out of need for something rather than want, desire, play.

But this month ... these months ... have seen a change, seen me change my perspective, opening my eyes to the beauty of the weave, the simple joy in a stitch, a quiet contentment in my spirit ... I am making again ... for the first time without purpose or cause ... except my own. This month I have ordered and anticipated and eagerly received boxes of wool, mohair, cotton poly fuzzy joy in small round bundles of yarny bliss. I have build bigger and better looms, had my husband fabricate wooden needles with big eyes, found inspiration in a sister who loves to make and build and try as well (that’d be you, Lisa). And I am happy in it. Co-in-see-dance-ly, my mother continues to bring me all sorts of odds and ends she believes I can make things with ... she brings me jars full of clay wind chime pieces and fabrics and this and that, still finding me things to do, as if she knew I needed them even before I did.

I am not living the life I planned, I am not the classroom teacher I went to school to become, I am not even the mother I dreamed I could be ... I am becoming something much more ... I feel I am becoming the her I am intended to be ... a gift richer than I deserve or could hope to receive.

Thank you Lord, for these and all the gifts you have unknowingly bestowed upon this feeble frame. Thank you for sheep and goats and their fabulous wooly, hairy wonder ... for sisters with talent, for that singer sewing machine (which sits on my shelf as reminder, as inspiration), for my mom and her unwaivering belief in who I am. Thank you seems such a feeble word ... but thank you for walking me along this path for guiding hands on cranks, pulling threads through fabric, for pulling me out from my gloom and dark places ... for hands and the will for making.

(Wow, this calls of the old testament, the foundations being fashioned carefully like a garment...)

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