trail angels

 

  If  there has been one gift of this, stay at home, wash your hands, don't stand that close, pandemic, it has been time to read.One book by Scott Peck, led me to type up journal notes from a trip to Great Britain 6 years ago.The last two have connected me to my youngest son in a way that leaves me breathless.

  The first,"Girl in the Woods", is a memoir of an 19 year old , who after a sexual assault by a fellow student, dropped out of college and walked the Pacific Coast Trail from Mexico to Canada.What a story! But the most riveting moments for me were the appearances of the gifts of trail angels. A plastic bag hanging from a tree with sweet peaches, a meal here and there, a shaded hammock, a roof over  the hiker's head just because; with no charge and no expectation of repayment. A wooden shed filled with plastic jugs of water that someone lugged up the mountainside and left for the hikers coming off the desert part of the trail Amazing..

 I remember a trail angel on the Camino in Spain. We at dinner were talking about the loud snoring in the hostels we stayed in and he dug in his backpack and produced two ear plugs for a stranger-me.I told him he was an angel and he said no one had ever called him that before.

 Finishing that book, I picked up another, "What Stands in A Storm.", written about the tornadoes that touched down in the South on April 27, 2011.When it was over 384 people had died and whole towns were wiped off the map.The forward by Rick Bragg suggests that this is not just a story of destruction but of the many stories of kindnesses and courage.

There is one story not in the book but it should be.I tell it the day after wishing my youngest son a Happy 43rd Birthday. It is his story of making friends with a family on their spread in Alabama as he looked for salamander species in their ponds. His sad trip back to the property after that 2011 tornado onslaught. How he couldn't find the place because all the trees were laying down like pick up sticks in every direction. Where houses had stood were foundations. Finally  he found the grandfather who had survived but his son in another house had eventually died in his arms. How the flowers he bought and offered touched the older man as they both stood crying together.

 I was not surprised by the flowers and the tears from this son.He, who hopped in his truck after Hurricane Katrina and drove to Louisiana with a friend and some dog food.They drove around trailer parks knocking on doors and asking how they could help.The first disheveled survivor said' "Hey man, I need beer and cigarettes", and off Sean went on his mission.

If life is a journey, and it is and if we are all on some path, which we are, then we all have met trail angels. 

And so it was at Thanksgiving that Sean spoke of his one year old son at his feet, how deep beyond description did he love that boy.All he wanted for his son was not great grades , not a high paying job but that he be a good person, one who shares with others. I looked down at this bright eyed, smiling little guy who was staring up at his Dad "Look", I said," he is watching you and he will be fine."

Looking For Jesus

 Photo by Clarissa Pinkola Estes



If this has ever happened to you, you know the feeling of terror. I was at the beach with my small children, 5 and 3 at the time. I never liked to go to the beach with them because I was obsessive about watching their every move.So much could happen in the blink of an eye. They were playing right at the shoreline so I took a chance, grabbed my Newsweek, and settled in to read one article.When I looked up only one child was there, my son was not.One can't describe what it feels like. Sheer terror.I was about to scream when I looked to my right and there he came toddling along having gone who knows where.Incredible relief poured over me and I hugged him, weeping.

I never pray the rosary and come to the Fifth Joyful Mystery, The Finding in the Temple, that I don't think of that day. His parents looking for days for Jesus and then the sheer joy of seeing him. I understand.

And now I am going to make a bold statement: We are all looking for Jesus.No matter who you are, what you believe , how you were raised, we are all looking for Jesus.For the Love that will be with us into infinity, without measure and who wants only our good.And like the Mother I was at the beach, He is looking for us too.

I think of Heather King , an atheist, alcoholic, ex- lawyer and ex-wife who stumbles into a church one day looking for a place to hide her tears, or maybe some peace? And found Jesus .I just read her inspiring book, "Ravished". She now has a God centered life. Or Barbara Hall, producer, author and director of the series "Joan of Arcadia" who, after a brutal rape, sneaked into a church and found the peace that passes all understanding.

 It was a summer day in California in the early 70s when I turned back to the One who I had dumped a few years before. I knew what I was missing and just said:"Help" and with a leap of joy He came back into my life.We look for Him and the experience of that love when we hoist a drink, fall in love, try to succeed in business, all the things we chase that somehow don't measure up to our expectations. Because we are meant for the Big Love.And eternal things.

The most precious moments during this quarantine has been sitting with John in the woods reading scripture, praying for others and then sharing what the Lord has been doing in our lives.Looking for Jesus and what he wants us to do.Now is the time, now is the moment. Just ask:"Where are You ? I need you, help."

Simple and holy.

Something so ordinary but I was enchanted. It was a cold but bright sunny winter day on Long Island.It was noon and I was on the second floor looking out at the line of trees that separated our house from the next.They were evergreens and laden with a thick coating of snow.On one branch, spread out as if on a white brocade couch, was a grey squirrel, sound asleep in his after lunch nap.That sight made me so happy, he and I cherishing our restful naps.His solitude and peace.And mine.

This reminds me of a Merton quote that I had to put in my journal: "It set the seal on all the silences in which I had found Him, without seeming to find anything and I knew that I had every time come home with something tremendous, although my hands were always empty." He is talking about his trips to the woods and what he found there. It is my belief that since I have allowed God into my life, if He is a big part of my waking thoughts, then I will find Him everywhere.

 In 2003 I wrote: "In praise of that day when I wandered near the Flint River through the dry stiff leaves to an open spot in the woods.There, dropping low over the water was a dead tree, bent flat with it's bark long gone.The smooth wood presented itself and I sat down.

The sun slanted through the bare trees enough to warm and I settled, listening to the ripples swirling around the tree branches.The barred owls calling back and forth , the small downy pecking nearby. All the sounds that I need to hear to calm my mind and hear what the river , the trees have to say. The white sun seemed like a candle on a high shelf of a church as it flickered through the tree limbs."

I will never forget that day of peace and Presence.

Nor the day of strolling among the trees struggling with an a issue, to find a heart shaped lichen  on a smooth barked tree.Or the amazement of seeing fat lumbering turkeys take off and fly over the river to the other side, their footprints in the snow, splayed and huge.Or the heron that floated above my log soundless in its flight.

Near the end of his life Merton was besieged by people wanting to talk to him, disturb him in his hermitage in Kentucky. I know the feeling. So,Thomas, no longer here, I bow down in gratitude that you wrote what I feel. You were anti-war and then I didn't get it. I do now. Each day you started your writing anchored by words about place, the trees, birds, sounds, all holy. I see the same thing and I am humbled. Thank you.