I used to envy the father of our race, dwelling  as he did among  the new-made fields and plants of Eden; but I do so no more, for I have discovered that I also live in "creation's dawn."  The morning stars still sing together, and the world, not yet half made, becomes more beautiful every day. - John Muir

The Day My Prayer Plant Died

                     

The Day My Prayer Plant Died

By Elece Hollis

        October and November were months filled with trauma and stress. Margaret, a widow woman our family has taken on the care of over the past fifteen years, became much sicker. There were trips to the local hospital, transfers to Tulsa hospitals, visits almost daily, and then a trip back to the nursing home, a move out of her apartment, a setup with hospice care, more visits, more moving and tending and attending to business. Then Margaret died and the funeral arrangements, burial arrangements, and financial arrangements all wore on us. So much to tend to and all the while I had to drum up enough time and enough emotional strength to tend my family, my students, my grandchildren, and my work commitments.

        You probably know how I love flowers and grow plants—orchids, cyclamens and African Violets are my favorites. This summer I had started a prayer plant. A pretty houseplant, Maranta or prayer plant, is so called because in the evening the leaves begin to fold up and completely close in the dark. In the morning light they will spread their leaves again.

        After the funeral I began to try to catch up. I cleaned house, washed tons of laundry, filled my birdfeeders, finished a writing assignment, and worked on my houseplants. The prayer plant had been set out of the way behind a Philodendron. It hadn't been getting any attention, no sun or water. Most of the once red-backed leaves were crumpled and brown. All were bent and curled from their edges like sheets of paper in the hands of a nervous child.

        If my prayers were so neglected as this plant had been I would not fare so well. I would never make it when times got tough. But the times when I am most distressed are the times when God calls me close and I can hear his voice and speak out my fears, trials, and hurts to Him. He listens. His voice comforts me. He reminds me that I am His child and He cares for me. He holds my hand and guides me through.

        It is during the good times and the unremarkable days that my prayer life is at risk. Then I may go all day without sharing  my thoughts and my heart with the Lord Jesus or listening to his guiding voice. So sad.  If I only spoke to my husband when I was in trouble or only spoke with my relatives or friends when I needed help how would those relationships fare? Not so well, I think.

        So I want to learn what the prayer plant showed me. Pray in the sunshine. Grow new leaves. Produce a flower or many blooms. Pray and build the roots that will hold me close, close, close, in times of despair and tribulation.  I snipped the dead leaves from my Maranta and gave it some water and sunshine. Hey! Two leaves are raising their faces again and folding their hearts to pray again. All is not lost! Thanks, Jesus. Yes, I hear ya.

Autumn Rain

Autumn Rain

By Elece Hollis

Rain trembles from the eaves,

Slow and so so slatternly,

Spatting like chinaberries falling at midnight,

Then drip-dripping like a leaky faucet.

Rain stutters as a breeze passes,

Stop and go, staccato beat,

Tedious, tired as a poor typist tripping,

Tapping, pausing to seek a shifty letter.

Rain pours! Rain roars

From the gutters. Roiling, Rushing!

Splashing! Crashing! Racing like wild maddened mustangs,

Across the wide and wind-tossed prairie.

Love Note From God

Sprays of yellow blossoms 

Like sunshine

Wave to me; 

Wave in the dust of a late summer afternoon.

They wave. 

I slow my car. How bright!

How wonderful!

I stop and listen.

They speak. 

Yes, they speak.

They say:

"Hey, You there!

 Look here!

God is thinking of you today.

 He asked us

To stand out here and wave you down,

Get you to stop

 And remind you 

He loves you."

All nature sings and round me rings the music of the spheres!

Dear God,

       Thank you for the sighing sound that wind makes in trees at night. Thank you for the sound of children plinking and plunking on piano keys. Thanks for the sound of wind chimes. Thank you for the noise of voices when friends are together. 

       Thanks for the thrumming sound of cicadas in summer heat. Thanks for the songs of tree frogs in a rainy spring time. Thanks for the voice of someone who has been away returning through my back door. Thank you for the patter of rain on the roof. Thanks for children's voices. 

       Thank you for the majestic swell of orchestra music. Thanks for the soft strumming of guitar, the sweet trill of flute, the staccato beat of drums. Thank you for the tick of my clock, for the sound of a friend knocking, a phone ringing, my mother calling my name. 

       Thanks for children's voices singing in Christmas programs, for the note of happiness in Grandma's voice, for the crack of a voice  steeped in emotion. Thanks for songs of birds in the trees outside my window. Thanks for the sound of cows mooing on your hills, of cat's purring, of horses's neighing, and dog's barking.

        Thanks for the crackling of a fire in the woodstove on a cold winter's morning. Thank you for the swish of a fan on a warm day and the steady purr of an air conditioner on a hot August noon.

        Thanks for the melodic sound of water flowing over rocks in a stream. The splash of water where kids are swimming, the lap of water on the lake shore, the roar of ocean breakers. Thanks for wind in pine trees and the rustle of a breeze in the cottonwoods. 

        Thanks for the whir of a sewing machine, the burrrr of my mixer, the hum of insects in the garden. Thanks for the sizzling sound of meat cooking, the chopping chip of vegetables being cut up, the ruffling sound of book's pages being turned.

        Thanks for the sounds of each day. Thanks for music and voices and whistlings. Thanks for rhythms and rhymes, for cadence and melody. Thanks for birdsong, trumpet blasts, bells ringing, for trains in the night, and the sound of an "I love you" from my husband, my teenager, my grandchild, or my friend. 

        Thank you, Lord, for your voice. Not in the storm, not in the crashing of war, not in the roiling sea, but the still small voice you speak to me with. Thank you.

Love you, Elece

Dear Jesus,

Thanks so much for the chance to come to Michigan this winter to care for my ailing parents. I look out at the falling snow or the sunshine shining on the sparkling snow and my heart is filled with joy for the beauty of it all. I know you are in control and that you have been all along.

It has been hard facing the prospect of my folks aging. It has been hard knowing Dad has cancer and that I might soon have to give him up. I seem to remember Dad best when he was about thirty-five. Such a happy good man. Such a special dad. All my friends were always jealous and many of them liked to call him Dad. He is certainly a treasure.

Mama is a treasure too, although she has been sick for so long, many of her thirty-four grandchildren have never known her any other way. They don't remember what I do about her; how creative and skilled she was, how outgoing and strong and good. She is a mother that many would have gladly claimed because of her personality (and her beauty besides).

Thanks for placing me in this family, God. And thanks for the blessing of two great parents who always taught us to look up to you and to serve you for the joy and peace that you give.

Thanks for letting me be here with them, Lord. Help me to be the daughter they need. Help me to bless them in every way I can in these few days. Help me to treat them like I would treat you if I had the opportunity.

Love you,
Elece

Dear Dad,

I remember that day at the fair when I was only five-years-old. I lost you and panicked and ran to catch up and grab your hand. Imagine my fright to realize I had chosen the wrong hand! I knew how your hand felt and knew I had erred. Soon I found you and the comfort of your hand holding mine has stayed with me all my life. How I wish I could hold your hand now.

It is hard to be so far away and think of you lying in a hospital bed with a broken leg, a new mechanical hip joint, and doctors probing and testing you for cancer. I am afraid for you, afraid for us. We need you. I need you. I need to feel your hand and know all is well. The universe seems to jump a gear and run haywire sometimes. I feel now just the way I felt that day at the fair when the wrong hand's face leaned over to me and said, "I bet you think I'm your daddy, don't you, little girl?"

I'll be coming up soon to take care of you and Mama for a few weeks. It will be so good to sit near you and talk to you. It will be good to touch your hands and know it is you and you are getting stronger and soon will be working again, carrying in firewood and building a fire, pouring a cup of coffee, wielding a pen over a crossword puzzle, lacing your work boots, shoveling snow, planting your garden, greeting a friend with a handshake, tousling a grandchild's hair.

I see that day. I know it will come soon and I will be comforted even though my own hands should be the ones doing the comforting this time. I think I will always need you, Daddy.

Love you,
Elece