Class of 1992

I once heard a story about a boy who, like the other children in the village, was told to go to the well and carry water back to the village each morning. It was a long journey, and the water was heavy, but he did as he was told. The problem was, his jar was cracked. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make his jar look like the others’. What made things worse was the water leaked as he walked to the village. Still, he went to the well each morning and returned to the village with whatever water remained by the time he arrived. The other children made fun of him and his cracked jar, as they proudly carried their shiny jars to the village. In time, though, small flowers began to grow along the path, flowers that grew only because the jar was cracked and water leaked.

Let those who have ears to hear, let them hear.

Ordinary Things

I did not write this, but wish I had. Here's to ordinary things!

Making The Ordinary Come Alive-William Martin

Do not ask your children

to strive for extraordinary lives.

Such striving may seem admirable,

but it is a way of foolishness.

Help them instead to find the wonder

and the marvel of an ordinary life.

Show them the joy of tasting tomatoes, apples and pears.

Show them how to cry when pets and people die.

Show them the infinite pleasure in the touch of a hand.

And make the ordinary come alive for them.

The extraordinary will take care of itself.

The stream

I am sitting beside a stream this morning, not the kind that demands attention, but one that meanders through this wonderful New England town not caring if I notice or not. Cars and trucks drive over a bridge as if the stream doesn’t exist. The stream doesn’t seem to care. It flows whether we want it to or not, whether we notice or not.

Beneath the surface, rocks line the stream bed, and I can only imagine how long they’ve been there. Content with their role of providing a bed over which the water can flow, they seem at peace. In fact, they seem to like having the water flow over them.

On the surface, leaves, sticks and bubbles glide downstream. They show the movement of the current, and don’t try to control where it takes them. They're content to sit on the surface and enjoy the ride.

Below where I’m sitting, there are small rapids which the leaves enter willingly, and almost appear to lift their hands in the air and dance their way to the other end.

Staring at the steam, I can’t help but wonder if it isn’t trying to tell me something. Maybe it’s telling me about a great stream that flows through this world whether I notice it or not. Maybe it’s bed is lined with rocks that have been there through the ages, and, on the surface, leaves invite me to join them on the journey. Who knows, maybe I can even learn to lift my hands and dance through the rapids! 

That would be a change.