Dirt and Worms

Few things are as beautiful and the black, loamy, worm-rich soil I shoveled out of my compost heap last Saturday.   Turning those rich, black shovelfuls into the hard, dry planting rows of our garden I felt something of the agricultural strains of my ancestry playing through my veins -  a unique mix of hope, sweat, purpose and a belonging to the land that belongs to me.


Next to great dirt, my favorite part of composting is a two line sentence I stumbled across at the end of a book on composting which I got at a yard sale for a quarter.  After chapters upon chapters on chemical decomposition, directions for aeration, recipes for getting dirt in 2 weeks, 6 weeks or 8 weeks, the author concluded with the thought "Dirt happens."  He expanded that thought by saying that if you just leave your leaves and grass clippings long enough, dirt will happen.  I liked that.  We give ours two years.


For me, much of life is like that.  Put the right ingredients together, give it time and good things will happen.  True, there are some parts of my life where I have the expertise to balance diverse variables in an equation of elegant complexity.  But those areas are few and far between.  In most of the areas of my life I create a pile of good intentions, good ideas, a few goals and as much work I can squeeze into a day and I watch to see what happens.  It is amazing what good results bloom up out in that kind of soil.


Once, a man was complimenting my grandfather on his full life and large posterity, and rather fatuously asked "How ever did you do it?"  To which my grandfather replied, "Clean living."  Now, anyone who knows my grandfather, knows that statement to be full of the wry, intentionally simplistic humor that comes so readily to a well read man like himself.  But under that snappy come-back is a great deal of truth.  A life of clean living can bloom out in surprising and wonderful ways.


The point?  Life is often less complex than we give it credit for.   Like composting, if you put good things in and give it time, good things will come out.

The world is won by those who let it go.
~Lao Tzu

The individuality of the one

Diversity.  For a word that encompasses so much, we give it a rather limited scope.  We generally think of it in terms of skin tone and nationality.  Lately I have been marveling at the infinite diversity of souls on this Earth - particularly the diversity of souls in the rather "homogeneous" group of North American Christians it is my privilege to interact with.  


My husband comes from a rural (RURAL) area in Oregon.  Just a few miles past Beet Dump Road sits the modest red-brick, steepled chapel of his youth.  The air inside smells of old wood, Pine-Sol and love.  The congregation is largely made up of farmers; their burly frames poured into well worn suits.  Sun reddened necks chafe against starched collars  while large, calloused hands turn the delicate pages of much used scriptures.  The refinement of the women stands in stark contrast to the geography just outside.  Despite living miles away from any sort of shopping establishment, they manage to bring grace and style with them to church, as well as a refinement of the soul.  I especially look forward to the chorister there.  She sings with exuberance.  Her face shines.  She lifts her gray haired head to heaven and with both arms flung wide she stirs the air enthusiastically in time to the music.  Oh sure, the grammar from the pulpit may slip a bit, (occasionally it landslides), but Christian charity flows through that group the way water pours between the banks of the nearby Snake river.  


Today, in our home congregation (located in an area where the occasional sighting of a chipmunk counts as a rural experience), church began with a young, teenage girl who loves to bead and go four wheeling.  She talked about the missionary experiences she has already had in her young life.  Then, a young missionary from Leeds, England spoke.  He was young and fresh faced and armed with the polished turn of phrase that is so typically English.  With unstudied, yet elegant language he bore bold testimony of what he knew to be true.  His companion (in my church they always come in twos) was a straight talking, snowboard riding, motocross racing fellow from Arizona who bore a similarly bold testimony.


I think of the women I have become friends with in my little corner of the world:
the glamorous individualist
the brusque, but deeply generous military wife
the former Gothic turned writer
the home-schooling mom who reads philosophy
the woman across the street who taught my husband how to change our breaks.
the professional opera singer
the pleasantly befuddled extrovert
the former model turned entrepreneur
the philanthropic, semi-professional decorator


The diversity found in such an "un-diversified" bunch boggles the mind.  


I get so bothered when people complain about a lack of diversity at a school or in a church or in a city.  Usually those folks are looking for the kind of diversity that exists on the surface, in the skin, in the accent or in the country of origin listed on a visa - that or they are not brave enough to see past exteriors.  Would they but scratch the surface they would find a limitless variety of personalities, pains, struggles and brilliance.  The individuality of the one transcends races and places.  


It seems to me that diversity is a well established fact, not a goal.  Perhaps the world would be better off if we focused less on external diversity and strove more for internal unity.


The Lord said, "If ye are not one, ye are not mine."  D&C 38:27


Ironically, the more we strive to become one with the Lord, the more gloriously unique we become.  That is a kind of diversity I can really get behind.

Ammendment

Okay, so I just realized that I only wrote down the depressing half of my theory on us not progressing much past five.  There is a rather gorgeous side to that theory.  While I do believe that our problems stay fundamentally the same (pride, selfishness, finding our identity, kindness, no hitting, braving new situations, wanting acceptance, etc.) I believe our greatest achievements fall into the same genres as our five year olds' too.  The Savior said of little children "of such is the kingdom of heaven."  I marvel at my children's capacity to love, forgive and accept.  I rejoice in their light and their abandon.  They show affection without affectation.  They create beauty daily.  They smile easily, perhaps as a result of the audacious optimism that comes naturally to children.  They explore and dream.  They inspire me with their remorse for wrong and their strength in goodness.  They show no fear in professing what they believe.  They are fierce and faithful and fabulous.  I aspire to be like the best that is in my children and I hope to learn from them as we battle our life-long challenges together.


How silly of me to leave out the best part of that theory.

Ta Da!

I just broke into my shed with two dandelion diggers.  I repeat, it was my shed.  Something in the knob had broken and this spring afternoon required the scooters that were in there.  When that door swung wide I felt like I had super powers.  I should mention that I can also mend fish-net tights with dental floss and can use a blow-dryer to start an 88 Chevy Nova with a jammed carburetor.  Super-powers indeed.

So far my duct-tape/popsicle-stick fix on the doorknob is not working.  But I have a Phillip's screwdriver that says this battle isn't over.

No this is not particularly elegant, but it qualifies as simple and daily for me.  Two out of three .... yeah, I'll go with it.

What Elegance Isn't

Today I wheeled child #3 and a basket of groceries out into a glorious morning. The persistent gray drizzle that pervaded the past three days had let up and the sun had just broken through the clouds. As I walked to my car, I felt marvelous. I smiled at the woman walking toward me and she gave me an ear-to-ear grin, full of warmth. Her fluffy peroxided hair and bright fuchsia 80's silk shirt drew a stark contrast to the lingering gray of the morning and to the gray of her sweat pants. Not exactly an "elegant" outfit, but who cares what a person looks like when they treat you like your very existence has brightened their day. Just behind her was a lady dressed in the season's latest from New York and Co. I, feeling full of sunshine and human kindness, smiled at her too. She looked past me with the squint eyed sourness of the self-proclaimed sophisticate. I shriveled a bit inside.

Now I am not saying that stylish dress begets sourness. On the contrary, elegant dress and things and experiences often bring out the best in people. And marching to the beat of an off-beat drummer (stylistically or otherwise) does not guarantee a soul full of sunshine.

My point is, that this morning I was given a powerful lesson as to what elegance isn't. Style devoid of substance is empty, not elegant. Stripped of story and warmth and joy, no person or thing can attain true elegance. But the quirky, the off-beat and even the flat out odd exude elegance when they possess that "je ne sais quoi" that gives joy and light to those around them.

Equalish

I hold this truth to be self-evident, that all men are created equalish.

Obviously, all people have certain inalienable rights and responsibilities, but that's about the extent of it. Way too often I start comparing my life and myself to others under the false assumption that we are the same. In that sense, no person is equal to another.

My personality, priorities, proclivities, family history, health and talents are like a three dimensional fingerprint - unduplicated anywhere in the world. And get this, it is constantly changing. So comparing my self with the person I was 10 years ago isn't even viable.

I had the most amazing day yesterday. I got all the laundry done, folded and away (normally a four day activity). I did the dishes, made dinner, got my tires rotated and balanced, and even picked three bucketfuls of dandelions. Where did this day come from?! I don't know, but sign me up for another one.

Last night, I lay in bed remembering a day, just a few years ago, in the thick of my chronic fatigue when I spent most of my day laying on the couch. When the children wanted to go outside, I staggered to the back yard, lay facedown on the cement patio and stayed there inert till they clamored to go inside again and I could transfer back to the couch. Everything measurable in my life fell way below par. That was very much a "one talent" phase of life for me. I would think back to the super-productive, accomplishment-packed "ten talent" phase I had been in at the end of college, or even the "five talent" phase I experienced as the illness was just taking hold and I would feel desperately inadequate.

When surrounded by people in five and ten talent mode, it is nearly impossible to remember that the Lord only asks us to do the best with what we have. Sometimes, just enduring is the absolute maximum we are capable of. But, when we do what we can do, even if it is next to nothing, the Lord blesses us with an increase. I emerged from years of sickness with new eyes and a new heart. I viewed myself and my fellow man with increased tolerance and love. My empathy deepened, and my judgements gained generosity. I learned that what we do is fairly inconsequential, but who we are is monumental. Not a bad return on that one talent experience.

So before I pat myself too heartily on the back for my amazing days or get too down on myself for my less than amazing days, I'd better remember that the Lord gives what he will give. I just have to do the best I can and quit my comparing. Because in the end, I will never be "equal" to another person's accomplishments or challenges, but the Lord will make me equal to my own.