Gone to the Fields

Yesterday I learned that Anita had passed. I woke this morning wondering how to acknowledge that passing. I appreciated her very much. I have written of her before, how she struggled with learning her whole life. She loved people and I never heard her say a negative word about anyone.  Even if someone was excelling at being belligerent and arrogant, she would say, "Oh, honey, we love you." Invariably, calmness would return. She loved to sing hymns, and had a good ear. Late in her life, and maybe always, she struggled with trusting that God's love was really for her. I take refuge in the belief that she must surely be convinced of that now, since that is where she is.  She was probably in her 70's when she died.  

This poem came this morning in my emails.  I feel an old friend has just come to the door.  I love the line, "Gone to the fields to be lovely."  That is where Anita is today.  This morning, I will practice setting my work down, and take Jack for a walk. Perhaps the flowers will sing to us. Sometimes their beauty is such that I can almost hear them.    

  

Anita, thank you for befriending me. I shall think of you when I sing. I will miss your voice, and the encouragement that no matter what came out of our mouths, you would quietly ask, "Isn't that lovely?"  I have no pictures of camas lilies, but this white calla lily will surely do. I sense you may have felt that you never bloomed in this world.  I am your witness that you certainly did.  

Honey, we love you. 

  

  

Camas Lilies

Consider the lilies of the field,
the blue banks of camas
opening into acres of sky along the road.
Would the longing to lie down
and be washed by that beauty
abate if you knew their usefulness,
how the natives ground their bulbs
for flour, how the settlers’ hogs
uprooted them, grunting in gleeful
oblivion as the flowers fell?

And you — what of your rushed
and useful life? Imagine setting it all down —
papers, plans, appointments, everything —
leaving only a note: "Gone
to the fields to be lovely. Be back
when I’m through with blooming."

Even now, unneeded and uneaten,
the camas lilies gaze out above the grass
from their tender blue eyes.
Even in sleep your life will shine.
Make no mistake. Of course
your work will always matter.

Yet Solomon in all his glory
was not arrayed like one of these.

~ Lynn Ungar ~