twenty eleven

or two-thousand and eleven
Welcome New Year. Thank you for arriving in modest fashion.

A good friend recently finished writing for a small newspaper in Colville, Washington to pursue more southern things. Her final piece encouraged me to reflect on this past year because well, it is worth it. It is worth noting the things I left behind, those I gained, things I have learned, those yet to learn. Not any more important, but definitely not less is the collective reflection on our towns, our states (although many might have a foot in two or three), our nation, and our earth. What happened to the land we walk upon - growth? catastrophe? both?

The last year, for me, was a shuffle. Returning from Ecuador, graduating, roadtripping across the nation, "un-settling" in Santa Barbara, working odd jobs, and trips to and fro to visit friends and family in between. I was in a terminal of my life , if you will, waiting to be transported. I have learned that spending time in that terminal might be just as noteworthy as spending time in a destination.

I have not yet coined a term or phrase with which to build a framework for this new year. I suppose growth and maturity, even patience. Maybe patience will sound easier if I put it in Spanish "la paciencia." It doesn't necessarily sound hard, please allow my to clarify.

The word patience sounds so long.

It is my impatience that shows me, more than any other venial sin, a preview of the fragility of my spirit - patience with my friends, patience with my father and mother, patience with how long it actually takes me to do something well, patience with an untidy kitchen, patience with the most tender of men whose hand I touch almost daily, patience with policy...

It takes patience with myself to receive patience from those who love me so well. Thank you dear ones.

la paciencia
patience
la paciencia

When it rained heavily in Santa Barbara I was away for Christmas. I came home to a small, unkempt yard full of overgrown weeds. I was only gone for 2 weeks. If I were to sit on the back porch of our small house and watch my Italian Basil plant until I could use my gardening sheers to cut it's leaves and make pesto...well, I would not be practicing patience.

Good things take a while. And God's timing is much better than mine.