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by Lisa Sheldon, filling in for Lisa Minney
First, I would like to
thank each of you for the wonderful response I have received regarding
the Bright Ideas For Bright Young Minds column in the Chronicle. It is a
joy to write and I learn while I’m writing.
April
is always a light at the end of winter’s darker days. The cleansing
rains carry the last dry leaves of fall down the hills and away, making
the earth ready for the green of spring. Our yard is overrun with an
amazing variety of birds in a splash of color and symphony of sound. Our
grass, which never did get brown during this mild winter, is lush and
looking for the mower. The abundance of activity in the ground, on the
ground, and in the sky, always surprises me after the stillness of
winter.
Two weeks
ago, I heard a thought-provoking sermon by
Rev.
Bob
Russell
that focused on living with a quiet heart. He discussed how we get so
caught up in the daily running of our lives that we miss some things
worth stopping to see, like the peachy breast of a young male blue bird
or the first up shoots of this year’s garden.
I have two
young boys and I know there are times that my concern for whether they
are using good manners or eating enough vegetables overshadows moments
of their growing. So, I was very interested in this quiet heart thing.
Then, a week
ago, I was reading the new revised edition of Take Joy, by award-winning
writer
Jane
Yolen,
who wrote, “Go outside. Sit still for a half-hour, for an hour, and
watch what goes on around you. Life happens. Busy, mobile life. If you
do not move, you will not affect it. You will be an eye only: A careful,
studious, sometimes startled eye.”
Although the book is
about writing, this passage sounded a lot like good directions for
moving toward a quiet heart. I gave it a try.
It took a
while just to calm my thoughts and push from my mind all those daily
things like: what’s for dinner, did I give the boys their juice money
this morning, and what areas do I want to cover in the
June’s
Bright Ideas. I was also coming down with a cold, which in this instance
helped me. I was tired, gave up my jumbled thoughts and rested my head
on my knees.
As soon as I
did, I heard him, a chipmunk, on the hill beside me, scurry one way then
the other and send a few pebbles clicking down toward me. How long had
he been playing there beside me while thoughts of baked chicken and
historical happenings whirled round and round in my head? It did not
matter, I heard him.
Then I heard the tiny trickle of the run beneath the crunchy leaves and
the wind circling around me. I looked up to see a swirl of leaves
dancing up and away and I smelled . . . dirt, fresh, dark, healthy dirt.
I decided I like having a quiet heart. This is going to take practice,
but what a reward: the whole wide world. |