Living Down Deeply Each Summer Day
“Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.” —Henry James
I
have to agree with Henry James, that great American novelist—
particularly when you realize that many of his summer afternoons were
spent in that green of greenest islands—England. Yet, I personally
would amend his quote and say that for me, some of the most beautiful
words in the English language are “summer mornings.”
Summer mornings. Summer mornings.
This
spring and summer, for the first time I can remember in my whole life,
I have been able to live down deeply in each day. I’ve gardened day
after day, week after week, exultant with the beauty of each moment—the
mist rising on cool April days. The sun casting golden radiance
throughout May. Water sparkling on green new June leaves.
How
aptly David’s Psalm 104 expresses my feelings (and which I read to my
husband, David, to amplify my own inadequate human expressions—and as
he dug out wild weeds and shrubs for me). It reads:
“You
make springs gush forth in the valleys … the earth is satisfied with
the fruit of your work. You cause the grass to grow for the cattle, and
plants for people to use, to bring forth food from the earth, and wine
to gladden the human heart, oil to make the face shine, and bread to
strengthen the human heart. O Lord, how manifold are your works!”
For
the first time in my 80-some years (that I can remember), I’ve been
able to luxuriate for this whole growing season in just being—actually
being intensely, almost insanely happy in the Presence of my Creator
God.
At some point I was struck with the fact that all my
life I’ve longed to live a contemplative existence—this would be a life
where the soul and the intellect and the emotions are in harmony and
have time and intent to observe, notice, watch, be aware, then fall in
love with the beauty of the world that surrounds it. And for me, an
intentional Christian who often fails at living an intentional
Christian life, it is someone who sets aside time to luxuriate in just
being, someone who is deeply, deeply, almost insanely happy at existing
in the Presence of the Creator.
In fact, for much of my
life, I’ve longed (often without knowing it) for some kind of
contemplative existence, but with four children, a husband in ministry
who all our married life has complimented me by inviting me to
co-minister alongside him, with too many home-making and housekeeping
responsibilities, not to mention my own writing of some 23 books, and
for many years traveling from home every other weekend to speak at
conferences and retreats, then eventually being asked to serve as a
trustee on the board of two international development and relief
agencies, I finally came to the conclusion that I would never be able
to spend uninterrupted hours contemplating the beauty of God as
revealed in His created world.
What I hadn’t counted on,
however, because I couldn’t possibly surmise what was beyond my
experience, was the joy and the time and the richness and the rare
exquisiteness of becoming aged!
That, of course, is partly
because I have never been an old woman before. But here I am, suddenly
living down deeply each summer day! How has this suddenly happened!
Simply enough, I am in the first year of my eighth decade.
 Karen Mains' version of "American Gothic"! I
have come to the conclusion that this watchfulness, this unusual
noticing, this joyful heartfelt state of praise, tinged around its
edges with gratefulness for life being lived richly, for being able to
still share the days with my husband, David Mains, for some sixty-two
years—this all is simply a gift, a divine gift surely. So, one summer
morning—one summer morning, it hit me: I am finally living, at least
for these short seasons that are left, of rationality that is left, of
knowing the beauty of it all wondrously and passionately, the life I
never thought I’d have. Time to look. Time to see. Time to hear.
This
is the gift of age—to see all around me, above and below me, before me
and behind me—the wonder of creation and the Divine Agent responsible
for its being.
So, I have happily (most happily) worked in
the garden morning after morning, taken naps in the hammock, given
plant divisions to friends and neighbors, gone garbage-picking early
before the “waste-management” trucks make their rounds. “David,” I
said—reluctantly, to be sure—to my sleeping husband at 5:30 one
morning, “I hate to wake you, but someone has junked a wooden potting
table, and I can’t get it into the back of the Mazda by myself.” (I’m
not only a contemplative; I’m also a junkee.)
A little frog seems to follow me around from one outside task to the next. Does he trust me because he knows I’m old? Or am I simply sending out happiness pheromones?
Do frogs claim people for their pets? It followed me as I laid down
straw on the new strawberry bed, then it hopped into the screened-in
porch where I’ve fixed an arranging counter, then watched me (I think)
as I stained the wooden glider (which I also garbage-picked but managed
to leverage into the car trunk by myself). And I may be imagining
things, but the frog (or was it a toad) seemed rather curious about the
barrel I tucked under a drainpipe in order to conserve soft rain water.
There
seems to be a blessing on this little plot of suburban earth where we
live in a suburb west of Chicago. The plants are all blooming
beautifully. The canopy of trees that surrounds our property are green
and completely hide us from our neighbors’ houses to either side as
well as across the street.
I’ve loved having time to visit
farmer’s markets filled with Illinois and Michigan spring and summer
produce. Cooking in season has been delightful—rhubarb bread, cold
cantaloupe soup, rich tomato gazpacho, curried chicken salad, sun tea,
and peach cobbler. The new doors are finally painted a rich deepish
red. The front patio fountain has been repaired. I had to replace the
tubing that had crumbled in our freezing winter weather and apply a
cement “mud” to keep the water from draining. When it finally began
bubbling, ten or so robins exulted in the fact that their bathing pool
was working again. One mean bird landed and chased the others away
(yes, there are mean birds like there are mean people), but for the
most part, they shared the fountain. A few landed on the bubbling top
and shook the water of their feathers into the sunlight.
We
sit out on that patio by the front door, hidden from the street by the
shrubs we planted three years back and by the heart-shaped leaves of
the Dutchman’s pipe vine that covers the trellis. Here we enjoy a cup
of coffee or some kind of finger-meal, eaten, of course, without
utensils. Gladness rises—gladness to be still alive with one another, to
be together.
Did I mention that we have next-to-no-money? We
have chosen to be in the kinds of ministries that do not make you rich.
Did I explain that we live totally by faith?—that’s a whole other
topic. Consequently, everything that comes our way is considered a
gift. Food and these lovely summer days and the living creatures and
the grassy fields waving on the edge of our little town, and the
stunning beauty of the backyard daisies. And strangely, we are happy,
some days exquisitely so. Do you think there could possibly be a
connection between these states of being? I will have to spend some
time contemplating that.
Summer mornings. Summer mornings. These are certainly some of the most beautiful words in the English language.
Karen Mains
MOVIE NOTES
Sound of Freedom
The movie Sound of Freedom
is a must-see for Christian audiences. It not only raises the issue of
child sex trafficking in the United States, but the film focuses on the
true story of Tim Ballard, a former U.S. Department for Homeland
Security who conducted a sting operation in South America to rescue a
young brother and sister from human trafficking in Colombia.
A
press release from Angel Studios states that the depiction of Ballard’s
“relentless pursuit of justice exposes the dark underbelly of this
global crime, leaving an indelible impact on the fight for freedom.”
Sound of Freedom
is, not surprisingly, controversial among some experts in the topic of
child sex-trafficking, who say it paints an inaccurate, sensationalized
picture of this horrific reality. The film portrays children being
snatched off the street and kidnapped by strangers. Polaris, an
organization that operates the U. S. National Human Trafficking
Hotline, points to a more prevalent reality. Most victims, in fact,
have been trafficked into prostitution and pornography by romantic
partners, or even family members.
Angel Studios acknowledges
the movie takes creative liberties in depicting the various methods of
child trafficking—this for the sake of building a gripping storyline.
Rarely are children snatched off the streets. “The majority of
trafficking occurs through a manipulative grooming process.”
In
some ways this, discussion is really more of a moot point. Christians,
concerned about the moral decline of our culture and about the use of
children as sex objects (the movie refers to them as “slaves”), need to
be aware of this horrific reality in our very decadent culture.
As
of this writing, the film is a blockbuster. It grossed more than $100
million in the box office in less than three weeks after its release.
This is obviously a phenomenon for an independent film not backed by
one of the industry’s major studios.
The head of theatrical
distribution for Angel Studios, Brandon Purdie, said in a press
release, “There have only been 10 wide-release movies in box office
history that have had a second weekend increase greater than 35% over
their opening weekend. All of them achieved this milestone during
Christmas. Angel Studios is the only studio to accomplish this feat
during the summer blockbuster season with Sound of Freedom.”
Perhaps
this is a message God felt moviegoers—particularly Christians—should
see. Controversies aside, though David and I felt troubled by the
topic, we were nevertheless grateful that our awareness was raised by
it. As the signature message in the film says several times, “God’s
children are not for sale.” NOTICES
Note From Karen and the Editor
This is the first new Soulish Food
e-newsletter to be published in nearly two years. However, we have
received numerous emails from readers requesting that we revive this
outreach. We hope to publish a Soulish Food every two weeks or so, depending on schedule. You might
want to recommend this to friends also. If they would like to sign up to receive the newsletter, they can go to www.HungrySouls.org. David & Karen's Podcast
David and Karen Mains are still podcasting their Before
We Go show. You can find more info about the podcast, and where
to listen to it, at www.BeforeWeGo.show. All episodes are available online for free. |
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Karen
Mains
"For the first time in
my 80-some years (that I can remember), I’ve been able to luxuriate for
this whole growing season in just being—actually being intensely,
almost insanely happy in the Presence of my Creator God."
BOOK CORNER
The Healing Power of Doing Good
by Allan Luks with Peggy Payne
As a remedy for what’s wrong in the world, I spent a past season past
finding and reading books on the topic of goodness. I’ll start with
recommending one book but will review some more titles in the next Soulish Food.
Back-cover copy reads: “The Healing Power of Doing Good reaffirms and explains that when we care for others we care for ourselves.”
“Being
good is good for you. It’s that simple, according to a growing body of
research that links altruism and optimism to better health.” – USA Weekend
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