2 weeks ago, I took my son to a cubing competition. In the large room that accomodated about 200+ of us, we stayed together and cheered on our children for 10 hours. Although long and tedious, it makes me happy to be part of such a community so dedicated to their children’s interests. Although, I was masked, having learned from his first competition where I caught COVID, I got sick again. This time it was not COVID, but still pretty bad that I’m still recovering and just this Tuesday felt back to my normal self. This is the reason, I have been unable to finish the last of the Conversations Series.
As I am coming out of my illness, I have learned that a sister in Christ, one who had fought cancer valiantly and was doing well took a turn for the worse and is now in hospice care. She was one of the first who subscribed to Becoming (Child)wise and is a kindred spirit. I always watched to see what she was reading and she had just last year shared that she had begun to read Wendell Berry. I had resisted reading him as I already have piles of to-be-read-books all over the house, but as a way to be closer to her in these last hours, I began to read whatever was available on-line and ordered two of his books, along with reading an interview from the New Yorker. What an important, refreshing, beautiful spirit and voice with a unique persepctive from the main stream media.
I hope you will understand that I will be finishing the series as soon as I am able, but for this Holy Week, I will set my heart and my eyes to eternity as another dear friend is being called home. Would you say a prayer for her and her family and loved ones.
Some Sunday afternoon, it may be, you are sitting under your porch roof, looking down through the trees to the river, watching the rain. The circles made by the raindrops’ striking expand, intersect, dissolve,
and suddenly (for you are getting on now, and much of your life is memory) the hands of the dead, who have been here with you, rest upon you tenderly as the rain rests shining upon the leaves. And you think then
(for thought will come) of the strangeness of the thought of heaven, for now you have imagined yourself there, remembering with longing this happiness, this rain. Sometimes here we are there, and there is no death.
Wendell Berry
Wishing you all a reflective Maundy Thursday and Good Friday in full view of the Sunday just around the corner.
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Sometimes here, we are there, and there is no death...
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Hello dear friends,
2 weeks ago, I took my son to a cubing competition. In the large room that accomodated about 200+ of us, we stayed together and cheered on our children for 10 hours. Although long and tedious, it makes me happy to be part of such a community so dedicated to their children’s interests. Although, I was masked, having learned from his first competition where I caught COVID, I got sick again. This time it was not COVID, but still pretty bad that I’m still recovering and just this Tuesday felt back to my normal self. This is the reason, I have been unable to finish the last of the Conversations Series.
As I am coming out of my illness, I have learned that a sister in Christ, one who had fought cancer valiantly and was doing well took a turn for the worse and is now in hospice care. She was one of the first who subscribed to Becoming (Child)wise and is a kindred spirit. I always watched to see what she was reading and she had just last year shared that she had begun to read Wendell Berry. I had resisted reading him as I already have piles of to-be-read-books all over the house, but as a way to be closer to her in these last hours, I began to read whatever was available on-line and ordered two of his books, along with reading an interview from the New Yorker. What an important, refreshing, beautiful spirit and voice with a unique persepctive from the main stream media.
I hope you will understand that I will be finishing the series as soon as I am able, but for this Holy Week, I will set my heart and my eyes to eternity as another dear friend is being called home. Would you say a prayer for her and her family and loved ones.
Some Sunday afternoon, it may be,
you are sitting under your porch roof,
looking down through the trees
to the river, watching the rain. The circles
made by the raindrops’ striking
expand, intersect, dissolve,
and suddenly (for you are getting on
now, and much of your life is memory)
the hands of the dead, who have been here
with you, rest upon you tenderly
as the rain rests shining
upon the leaves. And you think then
(for thought will come) of the strangeness
of the thought of heaven, for now
you have imagined yourself there,
remembering with longing this
happiness, this rain. Sometimes here
we are there, and there is no death.
Wendell Berry
Wishing you all a reflective Maundy Thursday and Good Friday in full view of the Sunday just around the corner.
With love,
Rosalyn Won