Peeled Carrots and a Kissed Cross

Recently, I spent nearly two months in Slovakia. While there, I became enamored with village life, especially for the short season in which I was experiencing it during my mini-sabbatical. Dunno how I'd be if I had to live there long-term. Think I might miss coffee shops and cinemas and worshipping in English.

But I believe there will likely always be a part of my soul that yearns for respite in Slovakia every 2-5 years. That village has a home in my heart. You see, I was so warmly welcomed into the community; I found that though few people spoke English fluently and I, of course, do not speak Slovak fluently... effective communication was still possible

Now, that I've left the village, there are still a set of images that have been coming back to me as onward I've sojourned.

I met a friend's elderly mother while I was there. She was visiting the village for a week or two. This woman has had a hard life, especially in the past. She was married to an alcoholic. They lived in Eastern Slovakia, known to be the poorer part of the Slavic nation. Her family did not always have running water in the house. Some of her seven children have made poor marriage choices ( which have included alcoholism, questionable businesses, ambivalent relationships). Yet life does not have to be so hard for her, now, as modern additions are possible and some of her children have the ability to provide differently for her. Her husband has passed on, and she has numerous grandchildren who could bring her joy.

She has always attended mass daily when possible, and while in the village, she would often hold onto her rosary beads and pray in the quiet of the day. One day as she was cleaning windows, I gave her a cross hand carved by Slovak artisans. The cross was not a crucifix, rather it was empty, which for me, beautifully signifies the freedom that can be found because of the Resurrection. That afternoon, I trusted in the language that was not spoken, but eternal, to communicate my care for her and my desire to find common ground between her world and mine. When I gave the carving to her, she smiled broadly (a rare event) and and immediately brought the wooden cross to her lips and kissed it.

But she wouldn't use a peeler for her carrots.

Let me explain: there was a compost bucket where she was visiting. It was on the floor by the trash can, and was covered with a lid to keep the smell from wafting into the kitchen and the wine flies from congregating around this bio fertilizer in the making. Most people in the house would peel and prepare fruits, vegetables, etc. on the counter so they could stand upright. Then, they would uncover the bucket briefly and dump in the scraps and peels before quickly replacing the lid. But not this babka.

After she pulled carrots out of the ground from the nearby garden, she took a knife, bent over the opened bucket on the floor and labored to scrape off the carrots of their soiled coverings. When I saw her thus involved, I shuffled through the utensil drawer and found a ceramic peeler - the newest and best in food prep tool ware - internet ordered from abroad. With the newer invention in hand, I tapped her softly on the shoulder and indicated to its potential. She immediately shook her head to the offer and continued to double over... knife-scraping the peelings on the carrots into the questionably aromatic compost bucket. She was unwilling to experience the delights of modern kitchenware.

My heart aches for all of us who stay uncomfortably mired in areas of our lives that are not perfumed with freedom when it's right there tapping on the shoulder of our souls...

My prayer is that there is a continuance of letting go. May we let go of all the ways we bend over double and slowly scrape away at that which could be deliciously free of yuck... and may we reach out to accept what has been lovingly offered, relishing in the rewards of alignment with the Spirit.

I Walked the Other Way

I've been taking more walks recently. As much as I enjoy variety... in color, in friends, in food, in life... I have a tendency to be a creature of habit in some areas. Walking is often one of them. I find a route that I like. I see if it's smooth pavement (because I'm inclined to stumble or trip around lifted pavement, sunken crevices and so forth). Then I put on my music player and set off. While I'm walking, I don't want to have to look at my feet. I just want to walk, think, pray.

While in the Slovak village where I've been taking a mini-sabbatical, I found such a path. I'd walk down my friends' drive, turn right and use the sidewalks and a few parking lots until they stopped right past the village's historic church. Then, I'd turn around and return the way I'd come. I liked the familiarity, and I loved that I didn't have to pay close attention to my steps; I could just move. Walk. Think. Pray.

Then, there came a day midst the recent days when there was a change. I walked to the end of my friends' drive, started to turn right, but stopped instead and thought: "I'm going to walk the other way."

Now, that might not sound so profound. It might seem a simple thing. And in some ways, 'twas. However, in all the other ways, it was literally and figuratively a significant choice. When I walked the other way, I was walking in to the unknown. I passed goats, chickens, barking dogs, a ceramic mermaid on wheels, old Eastern European cars that were put out to field and a railroad track that seemed stuck out in the middle of nowhere.

I also walked into Nature instead of population. I walked past berries, and cat-of-nine-tail-like plants, flowers, and dying leaves on trees that were weaving in the wind. I walked toward the windmills I'd being seeing out my window for all the weeks I'd been studying at my friends' house. Then, I meandered into fields of crops I could not name.

When I walked the other way, I had to pay attention. I couldn't just move. I did think. I did pray. But most of all, I just relished being in the current moment. I didn't wish to be elsewhere. I soaked up the "now" of it all while breathing in the fresh air, un-perfumed by the tailpipes of passing cars. I noticed little details on the horticulture around me. My spirits lifted and endorphins became my friend.

On that day, I made a decision. It's one that's very likely changing the direction of my life. And it all started when I walked the other way...