The Present

Yesterday's flower turned out to be a natal plum flower.   What a lovely thing. I had forgotten about the photograph, until I spotted this bud a couple of days ago.  I believe it, too, is a natal plum flower, just a different stage.  

  

I saw Mozelle last week.  One of the assistants mentioned that she is 98.  Mozelle retorted, "I am not 98. I am 95." She then looked at me and said, "You have a very beautiful face.  I think people trust you." 

  

I love Mozelle, but I knew she was not through.  I also knew that one must brace oneself to not take some of her follow-ups personally.  "But, you have very small eyes."

   

Of course, the image that came to mind was not one of beauty, but rather some poor beady-eyed, haggard chaplain.  We did not linger with that particular conversation thread.   

  

Yet, her comment led me to remember my father's eyes.  I think they may have been rather small as well.  However, he made good use of those eyes.  He was always looking, always noticing, always keeping an eye on the life around him.  Ranchers are like that.  They must pay attention and see what can easily be overlooked.  He loved the land around him,and even in the inevitable West Texas drought, I don't think he ever wearied of looking at it.  

   

Thank you, Mozelle.  I am grateful to remember that while life with Dad could be difficult, he probably was the one who taught me to not only look, but to try to see. 

  

Yes, she is 98. However, I am not going to be the one to tell her that.   She loves to laugh, and does so readily.  When she does, I often think of Sarah, listening to the angels and giggling, because she cannot believe she is to bear new life in what seemed to be barren land (Genesis 18).