Pondering Hope in Everyday Moments
Just above freezing, the air was crisp and clean this morning on the way to Mass. There was some fall color, but most of the leaves on the pecan trees had fallen. Still, it was a scene of serenity and beauty as I pondered the scene in silence.
I was so grateful to have the freedom to go to Mass and worship, and I prayed for all the beautiful young men and women who have died in too many wars to guarantee that freedom. May they rest in the glory of the beatific vision.
A few days ago on our morning walk, my husband and I came across an interesting herd of sheep (we think). At first we thought they were goats, but there was something sheep-like about them. They were doing important work – keeping the weeds at bay under the pecan trees.
I guess these sheep are a little like people. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which ones are the sheep and which ones are the goats.
Only God knows.
One good thing has come about from ‘social distancing’. Every morning my husband and I take a walk together, something we never did in the past. This morning we walked along one of the irrigation canals that meander through the nearby pecan groves. Although spring is apparent in our neighborhood, the pecan trees are still dormant. They won’t come into leaf until May. Soon the canals will be filled with water from the Rio Grande River; the gates into the groves will be lifted; and the trees will be flooded with life-giving water.
Our walk always ends up at the local Post Office. I wait outside while my husband checks our box. We always see someone we know and wave at a distance.
A few years ago, my husband and I bought a lot that included 33 mature pecan trees. When the pecans ripened in December, I experienced the wonder of gathering food that fell from above. This was a new experience for me, since I had never lived on a farm or even planted a vegetable garden. I didn’t mind bending and stooping to search through the dry leaves for the pecans, though I was sore for several days afterwards. One tree in particular produced so many pecans that I thought I could live on them for a year. I probably couldn’t have, but so it seemed at the time. We eventually sold the lot, so I only experienced that one abundant harvest. I treasure the memory.
Now it is May, and the pecan trees at the Carmelite Monastery have just come into leaf. It will be seven months before this year’s crop is ready for harvest, but the promise is already here. The earth is full of the goodness of God.
Contemplation Garden 