Sun Rise

Posted on by a quiet walk

SUN RISE

I saw the sun rise this morning
The mist clings to the trees in the Dales.
Sheep move like ghosts in the mist,
Faces buried in the sweet grass.

I saw your gentle face enshrouded with sleep.
Slowly your eyes open to me.
You smile,
And, I saw the sun rise this morning.

©Ruth A Jewell, 10-9-00

I wrote this on Johns and my honeymoon in the British Isles.  We were staying at a B&B, in Cumbria, in a very old farmhouse were sheep grazed right under your window.  The house did not have central heating and it was very cold in our room (no heat in the bathroom either), with only one light bulb.  In the morning as we were getting up, I noticed there was a heavy fog, and outside the window sheep were grazing and moving in and out of sight.  You could hear their bells tinkling and listen to their gentle voices while cropping grass.  It was wonderful.

February 7, 2022

I was searching though old blog posts and re-read this one from July 2010.  When I did, John’s and my honeymoon popped into my head with total clarity. We had so much fun in England, Wales, and Scotland. But the sweetest memory was this one in Cumbria.  I still get tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat when I read what I wrote that morning. 

As John’s dementia progresses, he has forgotten much of that trip and only remembers when I bring out the pictures.  At some point he will not remember even then and that makes me so sad. I am losing the one person I love more than anyone else and it is hard.  I am sometimes afraid of what will come, but memories like these remind me that love doesn’t die, that even at the end love is still there and love will hold me until I move on into the darkness.

July 28, 2010

It is in the small moments of the day that I find the greatest peace.  I don’t HAVE to go to a separate location to find God, yes, I do love to go, but it isn’t necessary.  Yesterday was one of those moments.

John and I hiked up to Barclay Lake near Baring Mt. and all day long I kept asking myself when I will feel God’s presence, She seemed to be absent from this walk.  Now mind you we are walking up a mountain trail with vistas everywhere; Dark green trees, babbling brook below, sunshine on the path, and ferns gently blowing, sound idyllic enough for ya’.   When we reached the lake and sat down to watch children enjoying the water and eat our picnic lunch, the sky was so blue, with not a cloud in sight and I kept saying “hey You, are You on this hike with us?”  It wasn’t until we reached home tired, sweaty, and dirty that something clicked.  There in front of me was John and Freddie being goofy as John got ready for his shower and suddenly, I realized I was looking in the wrong place and waiting for the wrong voice. 

Yes, the glories of the mountain and lake were wonderful metaphors of God’s presence but John’s presence throughout the walk was the real gift.  He waited for me as I stopped to look at small flowers and ferns.  He didn’t quibble when I simply stopped to take in the view, losing myself in the landscape.  John and Freddie made me laugh as they walked down the path in front of me and offered me a picture of memorable proportions.  

I often tell people that when I look into the face of others, I see God looking back and here I was seeing that expression right in front of me and I didn’t see it.  Wow, talk about not paying attention!  99.9% of the time God doesn’t make Herself known to me in grand gestures.  She speaks to me in the small everyday things and events in my life, (not that John is a small thing or event) the ones that go by so quickly that if I blink, I will miss them.  Opening my vision, hearing in my heart all those events require more than spiritual practice, or patience, it requires me to slow down and let Her voice and presence penetrate my awareness. 

Awareness is a spiritual practice that I frequently ignore because I am ‘just so busy I can’t take the time to be aware.’  What a crock!  Yesterday was so beautiful and there in front of me was God, ok so He is a little bowlegged and is wearing shorts and a dirty T-shirt but the image of God none the less, and I was so intent on hearing God in the wind or seeing God in a tree that I missed the loving embrace of the Divine.  I admit it, I’m an idiot!  God, I love you in all your images, trees, mountains, dogs, lakes, but most of all as John who is your presence here on this earth with me.  Thank You!

Ruth Jewell, ©February 7, 2022

Image: from Wallpapers, Sheep in a foggy field, free image.

Things I Do on a Winter Day:

Posted on by a quiet walk

Read books

Pet Chihuahua’s

Look for books

Drink tea

Smell books

Give Chihuahua’s snacks

Talk about books

Eat snacks

Read books

Cuddle with Chihuahua’s

Go to sleep with book in hand

. . . And a Chihuahua by my side, in my lap and at my feet.

My Three Chihuahuas

Ruth Jewell, ©January 1, 2022

Images by Ruth Jewell

Winter Solstice

Posted on by a quiet walk

Welcome, welcome
the returning of the light

While winter’s grip still holds
we see the promise of spring

As I watch the cold snow from my window
I can almost see the Robin searching among the crocus

The Creator gave us the dark to rest
but I am eager for the light

Come, light a candle of hope
Come, light the fires of love

Come O light of new birth
Come O light of the promise

Come, O Creator with your blessing of light.
Come, see the blessed light

Ruth Jewell, ©December 21, 2021

Image, Ruth Jewell, Sunrise, Edmonds WA, summer 2013

Grief Comes

Posted on by a quiet walk

Grief comes
one step at a time
one moment
one breath

I watch you
slip away from me
each word
each look

My sorrow grows
every day
little
by
little

I don’t want you to go
I want you
to stay
to laugh
to sing
to dance with me

Yet I know you,
you have no choice
your world is shrinking
the door is closing
the window is being shuttered

So my grief comes
one step at a time
with each closed door
each shuttered window
my grief comes

I have only memories
falling stars upon the deck
laughter at silly dog antics
cuddles on the couch
memories I hold
in the golden box
of my heart

Love won’t overcome
my grief
love will hold it
and cradle it
giving me love back

Ruth Jewell, ©June 3, 2021

My Nativity Scene

Posted on by a quiet walk

This is my Nativity Scene. It was purchased in November, or December, of 1946 by my parents, probably from Woolworths for less than $10. It is the Nativity Scene I have had all my life.  As you can see a wise man has gone for a walk, some sheep have wandered off, two camels got tired of waiting for their riders and the angel looks like she was mucking out the cow’s stall. While this cheap, plaster of Paris set, which is chipped and dusty has no monetary value, at 74 years of age it is priceless to me. 

My parents used this scene to explain to me what Christmas was all about.  Not presents given or received, not Santa, not even joyful celebration. Rather Christmas is about God reminding us that They/Them are one of us. God became a human to remind us that They/Them walks with us, sits with us, listens to us, pray with us, dance and sing with us, cry with us, grieve with us, be disappointed with us, to doubt with us and then, . . . then discover that the Great Divine is right here to comfort us. The Great Divine surrounds us, moves through us, is part of every molecule of the clay vessel we call a body.  They/Them is present in every animate and inanimate object of the universe. We cannot escape the presence of the Universal Divine for They/Them are part of every fiber of our being. 

Love is recognizing we are here with each other, and the Divine Creator loved us enough to become one of us just to remind us of that. From the beginning we are created to be one with They/Them, She/He, how ever you address the one Universal Presence that came down to us 2000, 1000, 74 years ago, or right this moment. 

I do not celebrate Christmas the way most people do, never have and never will.  But I offer this prayer to every one of you: 

May the love of the Universal Divine come into your hearts.
May you remember the Holy is incarnated within you.
May the sacred light shine forth from you.
May you shine out as bright as the star in the East with Love’s gift of
     Justice, Kindness, and Peace.

Amen

Ruth Jewell, ©December 24, 2020

So, I Don’t Like Christmas

Posted on by a quiet walk

It’s the end of the year
everyone around me is
feeling excited, joyful.

Not me!

Christmas music is playing,
wreaths are being hung,
trees decorated,
the stupid elf is back on the shelf.

Not in my house!

I used to wonder why I
felt empty in the last month of the year.
not anymore.

I know who I am now.

I feel put upon to decorate!
I feel sorry for trees being cut down!
I feel sorry for the turkey!

But those aren’t the reasons.

I don’t like Christmas because
joy doesn’t only come in the last 4 weeks of the year,
happiness doesn’t come in a wrapped box,
Jesus isn’t Santa Claus

But that’s just the start.

I dislike what Christmas has become.
A self-centered circus to please ourselves
when it should be a celebration of God
coming to us as love.

What does the birth of baby mean to me?

The image of a God being born as a poor child
means we are to love the poor,
care for those who do not have enough.

Oh, there’s more.

The child image tells us to love children
not just the rich, the healthy, or the perfect,
but the poor, the sick, those not like us.

So, who are those children?

The child born to a despised race
means we are to love the immigrant,
the stranger, the culturally different.

So, the prophets told me what to do.

Do justice: stand up for those being abused,
      fight injustice
Love kindness: feed and clothe the hungry,
      give freely of your abundance
Walk humbly with your God: remember whose you are.
      do what is right in the eyes of the great Divine.

So, who am I?

I am the one who chooses life
I am the one who listens
I am the one who gives back as much as I receive
I will listen to the prophets and the lessons of The Carpenter
I do it all year long not just in the last 4 weeks of the year.

This is who I am.

Ruth Jewell, ©December 4, 2020

Bread of Heaven

Posted on by a quiet walk

This morning I arose early and decided I would make bread.  I wanted to give some of my home-made jam and a loaf of bread to the doctor who repaired my wrist allowing me to be able to make bread, by hand, for the first time in a year. 

The making of bread has always been sacred to me. There is something mystical about watching yeast bubble up, folding it into flour and then watching dough expand and grow. I have often listened to music or I would sing a chant when I bake but, because it wasn’t even 5 am I chose instead to repeat scripture and the Lord’s Prayer from Matthew 6:9b-15 (NRSV) came to mind:

9b Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. 10 Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. 11 Give us this day our daily bread. 12 And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. 13 And do not bring us to the time of trial but rescue us from the evil one. 14 For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; 15 but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.

Along with Matthew 13:33: He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.”

As I chanted the verses I made them my own and, in the process, I came to a quiet point, a still point of creation.  I felt the bread take form beneath my hands. Soft dough becoming elastic and springy, and rolled into a ball Then I allowed the mystery to take place as it swelled into a soft white pillow.  Taking that pillow and forming two loaves and baking them until they looked like gold was just as satisfying as any work of art. I was given a gift in the mystery of yeast, flour, milk, salt and butter. I offered the first slice of the warm bread to John, who pronounced it yummy.

I also offered my gratitude to the doctor who made it possible, I offered a prayer for the rain, soil, sun and farmers who nurtured and harvested the ingredients that went into the making.  My bread became holy, it became the Bread of Life, the Bread of Heaven.

My Mother Spirit who art in and about me . . .
       scald 2 cups of rich milk
Sacred is your name . . .
       add 2 T sugar, 2 t sea salt, 1 T butter until dissolved,
       set aside to cool a bit

Your beloved kingdom is like yeast . . .
       dissolve 2¼ t yeast, and ¼ t sugar in ¼ cup warm (110° t0 120° F) water
       in a large mixing bowl until bubbling
       measure out 6½ cups sifted flour, set aside

That a woman mixes in with her flour. . .
       add 3 cups of flour to the bubbling yeast and the milk mixture
       beat with a heavy spoon until the batter is smooth,

And in Your Kingdom  . . .
I will do Your will . . .
       add additional flour until a stiff dough forms
       and the dough leaves the side of the dough

As together we create Your heaven . . . 
       turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface
       knead until smooth and elastic, 8 to 10 minutes.

 Until all of it was growing and bubbling with love and joy.
       form the dough into a ball and let it rest for 10 minutes
       butter a large bowl and place the dough in the bowl
       turning it so the top surface of the dough is covered in the butter
       cover and set aside, in a warm place until it has risen double in size,
       about 1 hour.

Give to each of us bread to sustain our lives . . .
       when doubled punch down and let rise again for 45 minutes
       until doubled in size.

Forgive us when we walk away from you . . .
       when doubled, punch down and divide in half
        and form into two loaves.
       place in greased and, lightly, floured bread pans,
       let rise until double, about 1 hour.

As we forgive those who in their fear and anger walk away from us . . .
       when doubled bake 35 minutes at 400°F
Do not bring us into a  time of trial,  . . .
       remove from oven and let cool before slicing

But deliver us from,
and teach us to do kindness for,
Those who would do us harm.      
       Eat one loaf and give the other away.
Now and Forever, Amen

The bread recipe is from an old Farm Journal cookbook called Homemade Bread, A Belmont Tower Book, New York, NY, 1969.

Ruth Jewell, ©August 13, 2020

love has a fur coat

Posted on by a quiet walk

Blessed one in coat of fur
    warm body, sweet breath
    tiny paw tucked in my hand
    dark eyes gaze into mine
    ears pricked,
          listening to my voice
    small pink tongue
          licks my nose

You trot along beside me
   head held high
   tail wagging a mile a minute
You tell the world
   this is my Mom
          don’t you bother her
I may be small but mighty

Blessed small furry friend
   jumping and spinning in greeting
you have the courage of a wolf
the mind of a cunning fox
the heart of angel
you are my comfort
   snuggled close,
   warm joy in a fur coat

Blessings small furry person
who holds my heart
in his paws.

Ruth Jewell, ©July 17, 2020

Image: Louis Guido Maximillian Jewell

You and I Together

Posted on by a quiet walk

We began this journey with
paint brushes and camping gear

We laughed and sang and
danced down the aisle

We traveled the world
you and I

Eucalyptus trees, canals, sandy beaches, forests
memories, time, love, together

Now we, you and I, hold memories close
forgotten in time

I listen as the past closes a door
the future comes to soon

We are traveling a new road,
a road well traveled

Still an adventure
still a journey

So, I light a candle to bless the past
I ring the bell to bless what will come

You are my light
my blessing

We travel together,
always together, never alone
 
We who are one
are never alone

Ruth Jewell, ©July 12, 2020

What Lies Around The Corner?

Posted on by a quiet walk

What lies around the corner?

Light plays on green leaves.
Bird song carries on the breeze.
Warm air surrounds.
And, you ask, “What lies around the corner?”

Why is that important?
Why is the moment not enough?
Why do you long for tomorrow?
Why is this moment not enough?

We miss so much
in our rush to be somewhere.
We lose our way
when we can’t see today.

Stop for moment and
let the wind touch your cheek.
Wait for tomorrow
for today is enough.

Let tomorrow take care of tomorrow.
Hold this moment in time.
Let light, and love, and peace
take its place in your heart.

Let tomorrow take care of tomorrow.
Let now be important for once.
Let today be enough for the moment.
Let peace, light, and love heal your soul.

Ruth Jewell, ©May 21, 2020
Photo: Yost Park, Edmonds Wa, August 2006, by Ruth Jewell