Wish-full Thinking

Monday.

Not my favorite day of the week.

However, I determined to start out the day and the week with a couple of cups of Jon's coffee, from Star City Coffee. He and his partner roast amazing free trade coffee. I barter pork, bread, milk, etc for the privilege of drinking great coffee everyday. If you know me really well at all, you know that that coffee is embraced by Coco's heavy cream, enough to make my mouth feel totally satisfied. None of that skim milk business. Why drink skim milk in coffee? I would rather have it black.

My children are not early risers, so that means I have some quiet time to putter around in the morning. This morning I was also determined to spend some time with the Book of Common Prayer and my Bible before things got crazy. I wish I could say that that happens every morning, but alas, it does not. I called a friend to remind me what year we were in, Year A or B, which lectionary to follow. Today's reading were so amazingly relevant.

One of the Psalms was Psalm 56. In verse 8 the writer recounts how God has taken note of his suffering and stored his tears in a bottle. I like to think that my creator takes note of my suffering and counts my tears as valuable.

Psalm 57 was one of the other readings. The very first verse mentions how King David takes refuge under the wings of the Almighty during a crisis. I thought of our broody Buff Orpington who hid out in an unused chicken house and hatched out some little babies this past weekend. Nora found those babies tucked under the protective mama's wings. We are feeling very protected in the middle of our crisis. Under the wings.

But here was one I thought was so apropos, with the wonderful rains we have had the last couple of days:

"You visit the earth and water it;
you greatly enrich it;
the river of God is full of water;
you provide their grain,
for so you have prepared it.
You water its furrows abundantly,
settling its ridges,
softening it with showers,
and blessing its growth.
You crown the year with your bounty;
your wagon tracks overflow with abundance.
The pastures of the wilderness overflow,
the hills gird themselves with joy,
the meadows clothe themsleves with flocks,
the valleys deck themselves with grain,
they shout and sing together for joy.

Psalm 65:9-13

There were also scriptures about the resurrection and those who go before us in death. I love our Anglican tradition. That for generations others have shared these scriptures, and that they are all woven with threads that are greatly tied to the earth upon which we live, the seasons, our animals, even the weather.

The weather on the farm today was hot, sticky and a bit miserable as rain threatened. The children behaved as if Monday were not their favorite day of the week either. But forge ahead we did, and managed to cover some mathematics, literature and history, with a little phonics thrown in for Nora. I didn't even try to break up brawls. Just walked away and they somehow resolved them on their own. A little gardening was done. A lot of laundry. Some brainstorming and planning. After running to the bank, the little girls and I popped into the cemetery and had a chat with Philip. Nora and Rose run up and down the hill, inspecting the other flowers and grave markers. I pointed out to them Catawba Pass and if that we lived on the other side of that mountain over there.

After doing this and that this afternoon, we enjoyed watching the new baby calf integrate with the herd. The girls, Dulce and Carmelita, look like giants next to Tenderloin. At least that is what I named him. The kids call him Mocha, because he looks like coffee and dark chocolate. I say, call him what I hope he will be some day. The cows and steers and heifers licked him and loved on him. What a sweet happy family.

The mama hen with her seven chicks wandered all over the farm. All the baby chicks are about to get their first feathers. She takes such good care of them.

So Monday wasn't so bad after all. We survived. Nothing terribly special.

Unless you realize that waking up and living is quite special. With gentle spring rains and chicks and calves and cream in my good coffee, pink sunset skies and stories with my children. I want to be mindful of the gifts we have been given. That temper our loss with sweetness. Maybe someday I will research the meaning of "temper." In the meantime, everyone else has found their bed and so must I.