In the fall of 2005 my grandpa died at the age of 90; my grandmother, at 87, followed suit a few months later. As lifelong farmers, they had lived their lives divided into seasons. Spring was for plowing and planting. Summer was for blackberries and cutting hay. Fall was harvest time while winter was for enjoying the hams hung in the smokehouse and canned goods stored under the bed.
My grandparents' death brought me into a new season of my own.
The ends of their lives caused me to consider my own. If I was lucky and able to live with the same good health and longevity as they, my journey was half way complete.
My oldest was a freshman in college and my twins were juniors in high school. In other words, what I had considered unending tasks of daily mothering was in reality coming to an end. The wind was shifting in my life and without fully understanding, my becoming was at hand.
What exactly would I do with what was left of my "one wild and precious life?"
As I leaned into trying to make this decision, I (very seriously) decided to devote much time in prayer. I would figure out what God wanted for me. My quiet time of looking inward lasted for about 23 seconds and I gave up on having the gift of discernment. Instead of praying, I began to walk.
I walked alone early in the morning and again in the evening. When the weather was rainy or cold or hot, I walked.
For a year and a half, I walked, and slowly, I walked back to the woman God had created me to be.
A woman with simple tastes and needs. A woman who would love and delight in her children no matter what road they chose. A woman who would return to her parents to celebrate and mourn all that life brought. A woman who saw her teaching as a calling itself and not just a stepping stone to something more. A woman who didn't want the big house or big debt that went with it.
I walked away from my marriage.
I wish that the next season had been one of light and love, but the changing of seasons is often stormy and disconcerting. A divorce is never easy. The process is messy and heartbreaking and the recovery can be a long time coming.
As I began to navigate this new season, I found the perfect walking companion in a rescue pup I named Grace.
(Side note: Before separating, my then-husband and I tried marriage counseling. The therapist asked me what I would need to stay. I quickly said I needed to live in a house full of grace. When that turned out to be a deal breaker I knew it would come at some point in my life. So for better or worse, a puppy that would grow to be 110 pound ensured that I would most definitely live in a house often bursting with Grace.)
Grace and I walked -- a lot and we began to count our walks as prayers. We walked right into our worth and the holiness that had always been there. We walked with friends and family. We walked alone, and ultimately, we walked with Walter. Our prayers had become conversations and laughter and joy.
Covid brought a new season for all of us. Grace's age and arthritis were noticeable and my enthusiasm and energy for teaching 5th graders was beginning to wane. Our walks were shorter and slower, and we no longer needed a leash to hold us together. The thousands of walks we had taken had melded us together for all time.
During this season, Grace has completed her journey. I've retired from a long and happy teaching career.
Honestly, my walks have been far and few between until this past week.
Walter and I adopted a new dog named Jayber, after a beloved character in Wendell Berry's novels.
Jayber is learning to walk on a leash, and I'm getting used to having a walking companion that loves fire hydrants and has an enthusiastic obsession with birds and squirrels. I can tell that we are going to be great friends.
And as I enter a new season yet again, I notice that I'm walking quicker and holding on to the leash tighter these days. Yet in the middle of it all I know that God remains, and I find that I'm still walking with Grace.
No comments:
Post a Comment