Flowers for Our Friend

The flower place I use every year to send flowers to Moz on Mother’s Day emailed me to let me know about the special deals it has right now. I let my friends know about this. They know my mom passed away at the end of February, and I figured they’d know what that email notification from the flower place meant to me. Several of my friends suggested I think of someone else to send flowers to this year. I really liked the idea of that a lot.

So today my friend, Laurie – a woman my mom loved dearly – received Mother’s Day flowers. In my mind Laurie received those flowers from both Moz and me. I imagine Moz smiling. I know she would have really been tickled by Laurie getting those flowers.

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Flower Doodle by Karen Molenaar Terrell

“The floral apostles are hieroglyphs of Deity.”
– Mary Baker Eddy

“A Mother’s affection cannot be weaned from her child, because the mother-love includes purity and constancy, both of which are immortal.”
– Mary Baker Eddy

        “MOTHER. God; divine and eternal Principle; Life, Truth, and Love.”
– Mary Baker Eddy

 

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Zen Moment in the Secret Garden

And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed new miracles.
– Frances Hodgson Burnett

Recorded the birdsong and flowers  I found in my garden this morning – I wish I could give you the fragrance, too… 🙂

Click here for a zen moment in Karen’s Secret Garden.

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Karen’s Secret Garden

A New and Sparkling Morning

“On that first morning when the sky was blue again Mary wakened very early. The sun was pouring in slanting rays through the blinds and there was something so joyous in the sight of it that she jumped out of bed and ran to the window. She drew up the blinds and opened the window itself and a great waft of fresh, scented air blew in upon her. The moor was blue and the whole world looked as if something Magic had happened to it. There were tender little fluting sounds here and there and everywhere, as if scores of birds were beginning to tune up for a concert. Mary put her hand out of the window and held it in the sun.”
– Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

Woke up to one of those dazzling mornings that just makes your heart sing and your body want to immerse itself in the Great Outside. The birds were chirping, the air smelled of blooming things and lawn newly-mowed, and the sky was a vivid, vivid blue. I quickly got dressed and hopped on my bicycle to ride into the little town of Edison for breakfast.

I need to preface what I’m about to say with this: When I was a young girl I lost a friend who was hit by a car while riding his bike. In those days nobody wore helmets. My friend might still be alive today, if he’d been wearing a helmet. Helmets are a good thing, and I would advise everyone to wear one.

This morning I completely forgot to put on my helmet. I wondered at the freedom I was feeling – everything sounded so clear to me! And my vision seemed to be wider. And I could feel my hair blowing behind me. It felt amazing. It wasn’t until I was half-way to Edison that I realized why I was feeling so free. So – yeah, always wear your helmet – but if you should happen to forget your helmet, then you might as well take advantage of your memory lapse and get something good out of it, right?

I had no idea what time it was, and when I reached the place I’d originally intended to go I found it wasn’t open, yet. Quick change of plans. The Edison Cafe was open, so I coasted there instead. I called my son to see if he wanted to join me for breakfast, and he said he’d be right over.

While I waited for the son, I took in the people who were already sitting in the cafe with me. There was an older gentleman – probably in his late eighties or early nineties – eating a plate piled high with what looked to be eggs and hash browns. And sitting at the counter was a father with his young son – the youngster looked to be about four or five, and was still wearing his jammies.  The father was reading the comics, and I saw his son point to one of the comic strips and ask, “But it doesn’t really look like him, does it, Dad?” And then I heard the father explain cartoons to his son, and watched him point to the words in one of the cartoons as he read them out loud to his boy. Wow! I felt really privileged to be witness to a youngster being introduced to the idea of “comics” for the first time! That was an event, to be sure. (Before they left, I heard the father say to the son, “Okay, when we get home I’m going to watch the ballgame, and you’re going to mow the lawn.” That had me cracking up.)

My son arrived and ordered his breakfast. While we waited for our orders, my son said, “I learned something really cool last night. Watch this…” and he took one of the paper napkins, folded down a side, rolled it up like a tube, twisted and pulled and made me a paper rose, complete with a stem and leaf! I looked over at the older man, and held up the rose for him to see – “Look at what my son made me!” I said, and he smiled and nodded his head. So then I made a rose out of a napkin – and I walked over to the older gentleman and gave it to him. He grinned and thanked me, and a little while later – when he put on his beret and ascot scarf to leave the restaurant – he made sure to take the paper rose with him. He saluted me with the rose and thanked me before he left.

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Paper Rose Made By Son

When I got home, I grabbed my Kindle and headed back to my Secret Garden to read a bit more of mountaineer Joe Simpson’s The Beckoning Silence. I could hear the birds rustling around in the hedge and singing, a dragonfly landed on my shoulder for a moment – just long enough to greet me and acknowledge my presence there – and the sun shone its warmth down on me through the butterfly bush, and the climbing rose, and the grape arbor. I had a lovely time back there.

 

Just had to share my morning. 🙂

A Poem Lives on My Windowsill

There is a poem on my windowsill.
A treasure found, unfolding grace,
a cup full of fruition.
And love.

I see the caramel-colored agate I found
glowing on a beach in Bellingham,
and the tomatoes nurtured
and ripened on our back deck.
The rose blossoms were picked dew-laden
from our front garden this morning
and placed in the vase I bought for myself
in a rare “impractical” purchase
just because it made me happy
to imagine filling it with future buds.
And there are the ruby-red vases
trimmed in gold that my beloved Aunt Junie
gave me before she left this world
and that I will pass on with love
when that time comes.

A poem lives on my windowsill.

– Karen Molenaar Terrell

photo by Karen Molenaar Terrell

A Poem on the Windowsill

 

The Secret Garden 2015

“Might I,” quavered Mary, “might I have a bit of earth?”

However many years she lived, Mary always felt that she should never forget that first morning when her  garden began to grow.

And the Secret Garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed new miracles.

– from The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

Fourteen years ago, my Secret Garden started with a lilac bush, a couple knee-high azaleas, a stubby mock orange, some wild roses, and twin flowers. And look at it today – it is a haven for birds and bunnies, and me. I walk through a portal of climbing clematis, and sit underneath a canopy of Cecile Brunner climbing roses which have been in my family for more than 50 years, and watch the birds splash around in the birdbath I set out for them, and eat from the feeders I hung from the ash tree branches. There is something very satisfying about watching the garden evolve, and watching the wild creatures visit and enjoy its peace…

Celebrating Spring!

“For lo, the winter is past…The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.” – Songs of Solomon 

“Nature voices natural, spiritual law and divine Love,  but human belief misinterprets nature. Arctic regions, sunny tropics, giant hills, winged winds,  mighty billows, verdant vales, festive flowers,  and glorious heavens, – all point to Mind, the spiritual intelligence they reflect. The floral apostles are hieroglyphs of Deity. Suns and planets teach grand lessons.  The stars make night beautiful, and the leaflet turns naturally towards the light.” – Mary Baker Eddy

Presence is needed to become aware of the beauty, the majesty, the sacredness of nature…You have to put down for a moment your personal baggage of problems, of past and future, as well as your knowledge; otherwise, you will see but not see, hear but not hear.  Your total presence is required.” – from The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle

***

When spring arrives, I feel my heart start to sing.  I walk out the door and am surrounded by the joy of creation – birds singing, lambs bouncing around in the fields, daffodils bringing their cheery sunshine to the meadows, the smell of newly-mowed lawns and pungent blossoms filling the atmosphere – and it feels like a party, a celebration, a gift.  In the spring,  it’s easy for me to feel the playful, joyous presence of my Father-Mother God, Love.

There’s this great line from Jurassic Park (Michael Crichton) : “Life will find a way.” That’s what Spring feels like to me – like Life is just bursting out all around me, breaking through the winter, clothing the trees with new leaves, unfolding in the blossoms – and bursting out of me, too. There is renewal here. Nothing can stop it. Life is finding its way.

Lately I’ve made a conscious effort to shut out all the dialogue that’s continually going on in my head and just tune in to the sights and sounds of the world outside me  – the birds singing, the whooshing sound the leaves on the trees make, traffic in the distance – and I’m seeing things maybe I never noticed before – individual petals on flowers, the flickering of individual leaves, the changes from one moment to the next – and it’s just amazing the way everything around me is moving in harmony, dancing to some universal rhythm – and everything is where it should be, moving where it should move, filling its own niche, serving its own purpose.

I know many people consider God to be a supernatural being. But I consider God to be supremely natural – the name for all that is good – Principle, Mind, Soul, Spirit, Life, Truth, Love (synonyms for “God” given in the Christian Science textbook, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy). In the spring, it’s easy for me to see evidence of Her everywhere – in the harmony and rhythm of a continually unfolding creation, and in the joy and energy of new life.

For me, springtime represents the constant “newness” of life, a rebirth, an opportunity for new beginnings.

***

Morning has broken

Like the first morning,

Black bird has spoken

Like the first bird.

Praise the singing!

Praise for the morning!

Praise for them springing

Fresh from the Word!

Sweet the rain’s new fall

Sunlit from heaven,

Like the first dewfall

On the first grass.

Praise for the sweetness

Of the wet garden,

Sprung in completeness

Where His feet pass.

Mine is the sunlight!

Mine is the morning.

Born of the one light

Eden saw play!

Praise with elation,

Praise ev’ry morning,

God’s recreation 

of the newday!

– words by Eleanor Farjeon