Some

I will return to my introductions next week. This week I’ve been thinking about how our children have “processed” my “injury.” It has been almost two months since I suddenly found it far too painful to walk, let alone move about my daily life. I was reflecting recently about how differently our children react to me than most other adults. As adults we tend to imagine what it would be like to be in someone else’s shoes, often through our own lens of perception. Not surprisingly most adults express how sorry they are, and how difficult it must be to not be able to walk around or to experience constant pain; after all, most of us rely on movement to get through our days.

Children have a different perspective. Lewis and Lovett are 6 1/2 and 3 1/2 respectively, and so they see the world as it is now, today. They of course remember when we would all ride our bicycles to school, or run down to the barn, but today Papa has a “hurt leg.” They say this often with glee and excitement, as if it were the new fun news of the day. My “hurt” is nothing like what they seem to relate to when they think of hurt. For them it is a stubbed toe, a bee sting, some big event that has a burst of pain and is forgotten. What they do understand is how to help. They are happy to bring me my plate of food at dinner, or get my toothbrush as we get ready for bed. Perhaps because I am around all the time, and more present but I get emotional support as well: more hugs, kisses, loving smiles, “massages”, toe pulls, and “I love you Papa” then I have ever had.

Helping makes sense to children when there is a need. Lewis has spent a number of days home on the farm this summer and he loves pitching in. This past week he helped Holly and John load up the baby chicks and take them out to the field. As well as helping to unload the new baby chicks.

One of my challenges during this time has been finding silence. Of course it is not completely silent in my room with the windows open, the house sparrows nesting in our porch below maintain a constant chorus along with the various sounds of wildlife and farmlife. Yet there is an inner silence that wanders in with stillness and that is my journey. Silence is not something many of us associate with young children but I have found recently that in my silence Lewis and Lovett are able to see me in a way that was not there during the usual bustle and instruction of parenting. Through my silence comes their love, care and help.

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Wendell Berry

HOW TO BE A POET
(to remind myself)

Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill – more of each
than you have – inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your work,
doubt their judgment.

Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.

Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.